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russellsppttemplates · 6 months

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Uh oh, I'm falling in love (Lando Norris)

Y/N and Lando both have jobs that require good sight and attention to detail and yet they're oblivious to their feelings for eachother

Note: english is not my first language. I'm in a very fluffy mood, so I got really excited when I got this request! This also makes my expectations even higher and calls me single in about seventeen different languages at once...

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions a needle (for sewing)

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Hey guys! How's everyone?", Max said to the camera as you made sure the set up was right, the screen showing his and Lando's faces on one screen and the table on the other like it was supposed to.

"As per your many, many requests, we have brought our graphic designer at Quadrant, Y/N", Lando announced as you appeared on camera, sending a very awkward first wave to the camera, "today's stream is little different than our usual programming, but it was the only way she agreed to be in one! You guys really wanted to see her, so we had to be creative!", Max said as he moved the friendship bracelets making kit into view on the table.

"Hey, Queen Taylor said we should make the friendship bracelets, so we're just following her!", you chuckled, looking at all the coloured threads and colourful beads, sorting them out and grabbing a pen and paper so you could draw your ideas.

"Since you guys wanted to get to know Y/N, can I tell them to send in questions?", Lando questioned you, "sure, I'll answer them to the best of mu ability", you smiled.

You were picking the letters you needed for the bracelet you were making when Max spoke up, "first one: how did you start working with Quadrant? I'd love to work on the team when I finish my degree!".

"I saw the job offer, and I must admit at first I didn't really know much about the company. I looked it up, looked cool enough and I sent my CV and portfolio in. So keep your eyes peeled for any offers, I guess? We have them now on the website, which was my doing, so you can check them out there if you want to be part of the team", you offered.

"I need help, guys", Lando said as he fiddled with his bracelet, the orange and grey beads with his initials sliding on the elasticated material, I can't do the closing knot on my own", he pouted as you placed your bracelet down.

"You have to flip it like this, here. Just put it on your wrist and I'll do the rest", you ushered him, your fingertips gingerly touching his hand and wrist as you quietly laced it, "this way we don't get frilly bits out and it looks pretty, see? Pretty!", you smiled, modelling his wrist for the camera.

Pretty, that's what he often thought about you. Not only pretty, but it was one of the first physical traits that came to mind.

"We should all have matching ones!", Max said as he completed his bracelet, impressively on his own, revealing the colourful beads with Quadrant spelled in white round beads with black letters, "I'll make one for each of you", he said as he watched you show your own, pink beads and a lyric he assumed was from a Taylor Swift song.

"I'll make Y/N's, she helped me after all", Lando said as one brave fan sent a comment into the chat.

He's so giddy to make Y/N a bracelet, it's a shame it will snap because of his lack of skills

Am I delusional if I say that they'd make a great couple?

If you're delusional, then what do I call myself? I still think they're making heart eyes at eachother whenever they catch the slightest glimpse!

We're joining forces, I think it's a noble pursuit!

He's a dork, Y/N, but you should give him a chance

Have you always known you wanted to be a graphic designer?

"I thought about different careers before I settled on this one, for now at least", you explained, "engineering was in the running up, but then I figured out that I was curious about how things worked, but that didn't mean that I wanted to be the one working on it. And this was a way to express my creativity, my strategy planning as well, and at the moment it's been quite good", you smiled as Lando grabbed your wrist softly, "I need to make sure this fits", he interrupted, "and it won't snap because I've learnt how to do it, thank you very much", he blushed. So he, too, was reading the comments, choosing not to dwell in them.

"Look, this way you always have a lucky charm with you everywhere you go, even if we're not together. We're eachothers lucky charms!", Lando announced as Max mafe a fake gagging noise.

"Are you all ready?", you said as you and Tara walked inside the room, clasping your watch on your wrist and hoping to find the boys ready.

Quadrant had been invited to a gala dinner that celebrated the companies in the same line of business, inviting five people to take part in the meal. After some team members politely declining the invitation since they had things booked already, the group ended up being Lando, Max, Callum, Tara and yourself.

The dress required everyone to up their usual style, hence the long dress you were wearing. Even though it was far from your usual everyday attire, you felt beautiful in the dress you ended up with after browsing the online shops for a while. The cut was simple, the skirt widening from your waist down and complimenting your curves as the sheen from the midnight blue fabric looked soft and sweet against your skin.

Lando seemed to think the same, trying his best to not let his mouth hang open when you and Tara walked inside their room, heels clicking on the wooden floor as you hurried them, "does it really take that long to put on a suit? I had to help Tara with the laces on her back and we still got ready faster than the three of you?", you asked, shaking your wrist to check if the dainty watch wasn't going to fall and that it wasn't too tight either.

Looking up to meet Lando's eyes, you were sure you physically and audibly gulped. No one should look that good in a plain white shirt. The cuffs were still unbuttoned, but the shirt itself was tucked in his black pants. He didn't have any jewellery, so his tanned skin caught your eye as it contrasted with his clothes.

"Lando has a problem with his shirt and we are trying to solve it", Max said, a little bit too antsy given that, at the naked eye, there didn't seem to be a big issue with the piece of clothing you had been inspecting quite closely.

"There was a loose button, and I tried to fix it, but I made it worse", Lando said as he pointed to the button on his hand, the slight movement showing you the place where it was supposed to he holding the piece together and closed.

"Three people in this room and no one thought about grabbing the sewing kit from the amenities?", Tara suggested, looking for it in the box that was the same as it was in your room, "see? Simple as that! Can you sew it, Y/N? My hand isn't fully healed yet, I can't quite grasp something that small yet".

Tara had injured herself earlier on in the week, prompting her to ask to tag out of the gala until you pleaded her to go so you wouldn't be alone, so she couldn't do it. None of the other guys seemed to even know how to pull the thread through the needle, so you grabbed the kit from Tara's hand, "sure, I'll do it", you said, "if that's okay with you, that is", you looked over at Lando.

"Sure, anything to solve this. Do I keep it on or should I take it off?", he questioned, wanting to slap himself straight after at his offer. Why would he volunteer to be shirtless in front of you? It certainly wasn't the way to go, shoving himself like that.

"On should be fine", you muttered, missing the snickers going on behind you as you wet the thread with your tongue, careful to not transfer any of the lipstick on it and ruining the piece without point of return for good, easily looping it through and adjusting the size of the ends.

"Button", you put your hand out so Lando could place it in your fingers, "I will do my best not to poke you, let me know if I do so accidentally", you mumbled at the closeness to him you found yourself in. It was the third button from the top, and as much as you loved the sight of the shirt slightly undone, the dinner required his shirt to be done up. Looping the thread on the button a few times, you moved to pierce the crisp white fabric so it would be secure, your hands dangerously close to his skin as you could hear his laboured breath. Lando still remembered and thought constantly about your fingers touching his hand and wrist when you did the friendship bracelets video for the YouTube channel, and right now, it only added to his predicament.

"It's done, all good!", you exclaimed, looking up as you cut the thread and seeing Lando's eyes on you. The intensity nearly threw you off of your balance as you stood the tiniest bit crouched down on your high heels.

Scrambling to further the distance between your bodies, you smoothed out the non existent wrinkles on your dress, storing the supplies back in the kit as Lando managed to utter out a thank you, too stunned and intoxicated by your scent to say anything else.

"I sewed a button as neither of you look any more ready that you were when we got here? We're going to be late!", you hurried, sitting next to Tara and ignoring her smirk as you scrolled through your phone.

"That shoot will have to wait since Lando won't be back here soon, then", you said, moving things around in the online shared calendar, "when did you say you could again? I'm sorry", you asked, rubbing your forehead and squeezing your eyes, adjusting your glasses and looking at him through the screen.

"The first weekend of the next month", Lando assured, "are you okay, Y/N?", he asked. The bags under your eyes didn't fool anyone and you looked tired. And sick, he guessed by the layers of clothing you had on.

"I had a pretty shit day, actually", you admitted, "I had to go with the guys from storage because there was an issue. The supplier sent the samples and we wanted to get things moving so I could have some ideas for the description and the social media team also wanted to prep the draft for the whole story telling, but it all went under. I also think I caught some bug, so it's been a fun day", you exaggeratingly smiled, mocking your own misery.

"You look like you need a hug, Y/N. Do you need a hug?", Lando asked as you nodded, "Actually, that would be pretty good, but I live alone. The neighbours would think I'm pretty weird if I went around like this asking for one, too", you reasoned.

Even though he wasn't next to you, Lando still managed to pull a smile out of you as he got up from the chair he was sitting in, hugging his laptop, "did you feel that hug?", he loudly wondered, "it's full of Get well soon fairy dust!", he smiled charmingly.

"Fairy dust, mate?", Callum wondered, reminding you of his presence in the videocall, "you try and spend more than a few hours with a little girl and you let me know. Mila has taught me all about fairy dust and princess magic", Lando added.

"How will we get out of here?", you wondered, starting to regret joining Lando, Max and Pietra when they said they were going to watch a football game. You loved the sport and you figured it would be a nice distraction after a work loaded week, but now, things were looking less than a distraction.

"We will let them space out once the game finishes, free up the roads as well because getting out of here will be a pain, too", Lando suggested.

The game granted your team a win and three points in the championship, the crowd going wild as they clapped, whistled and waved their scarfs, slowly leaving the stadium.

"Should we make a run for it now?", Pietra said, holding her boyfriend's hand as she allowed him to pull her away.

You followed Lando, thanking his choice of a colourful hoodie to wear today as it made it easier for you to spot him, "go in front of me, I'll back you up", he switched positions. You weren't having too much trouble until you were met with a ramp, people carelessly shoving others as they tried to leave as quick as they could, all with the same intent of avoiding traffic and crowded roads.

"Here, Y/N", you heard Lando as he grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers in his and pulling you along, excusing you two as you approached Max and Pietra again, "we're here", you tapped the blonde woman's shoulder with your free hand.

"Goodness, that was and adventure", she said once you reached the stadium car park, the crowd clearing up significantly as there was maybe another ten people headed the same way as you were now, "is everyone alright? I think someone stepped on my foot quite a few times, or many people stepped on it at various different times", you reasoned, walking alongside Lando still.

"Don't we need to hand the bracelets back?", Max said as he looked at the sign, taking his bracelet off and depositing it in the box in the booth, Pietra doing the same as you seemed distracted.

"Are you okay, Y/N?", Max asked, seeing you and Lando were still holding hands and, because of that, not taking off your bracelets.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?", you scrunched your eyebrows, "we need to hand the bracelets back in, so I kind of need to have yours, too", he teased, looking at your hand still entwined with Lando's.

Removing your hand from Lando's as if it har started burning all of a sudden, you removed the bracelet, apologising quietly to the stadium employee as you thanked him, "shall we go now?".

"Dinner out?", Lando gulped, getting into the driver's seat, "Good idea, yes", Max added, sitting in the passenger's seat as you and Pietra sat in the back, your hand rubbing your other hand that had been laced with Lando's own one for a long time. Uh oh, you were falling in love.

The launch was finally over after an amazing response from the fans, leaving your heart happy and warm with a sense of mission accomplished.

"Is everything packed into the van?", you asked Tara, "yes, it's just this box. It has fragile things, so do you think you guys can take it in the car with you? It probably only fits at the front, so you'll have to squeeze in with the boys on the back", she smiled apologetically, "it's fine, we'll keep eachother warm like penguins do", you chuckled, holding the door open as she set the box safely.

Saying goodbye to her and the rest of the team, Max and Lando joined you, "You sit in the middle seat", Max pointed at you, opening the door ao you could scoot closer to Lando and he could get in.

"Could you tell me how long we have until get back?", Lando asked the driver, "with traffic at this hour, I'd say around 90 minutes", he smiled, turning on the blinker so he could leave the car park.

"Plenty of time for me to catch up on sleep, then!", you cheered, making yourself comfortable in the space you had, folding your scarf into an impromptu travel pillow, closing your eyes.

"Are you a snorer?", Max asked, making you blindly swat his thigh, "only when I'm sick, and lucky for you, I'm in presteen health, no blocked nose", you grumbled.

It didn't take you long to fall asleep. In the last week, all of the nights combined, you probably slept less than thirty hours, so your body was indeed in need of rest.

"And there it goes", Max said as your pillow undid itself, Lando lifting his shoulder in reflex so your head wouldn't drop drastically, landing on top of him, "Good thing she isn't our engineer, hm?", he chuckled, looking at how his bestfriend was looking at you like you hung the stars and the moon.

"I think I'm in love with Y/N", Lando whispered after he took your appearance in. You had forgone wearing make-up today, so he could see all your moles and scars, your pouty lips and the darkened skin under your eyes. It took everything in him to not bend down and kiss your forehead.

"Congrats on being the last one to find out, mate", Max added, shaking his head, "I genuinely thought you had some issue processing information, I'm glad to find out you don't.

"Now you just have to act on it, which is going to take you, what? Two, three more months?".

#lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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batsycline69 · 23 days

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Head Above Ground, Feet in the Grave

Summary: You get a tattoo from Jason and realize your first impression may not have been spot on

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Words: 5,576

Warnings: needles, profanity, canon-typical violence, reader has tattoos but is otherwise not described, jason doesn’t know how to flirt.

“So. Whatcha reading?” he asks over the buzz of his needle gun. Your confused look is enough get him talking again. “Saw you with a book out front.”

As soon as he stepped out into the front thirty-five minutes after your appointment was supposed to begin, as peeved as you were, you couldn’t deny he was attractive. One of his broad shoulders leaned into the wall, his thick, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. Dark curls with a patch of white at the front.

“Oh, it’s Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier,” you reply, a little surprised the guy built like a brick shithouse was asking about your reading. Then again, he’s probably just trying to make conversation.

Jason just nods.

Maybe he isn’t trying to make conversation.

The bad news is, up close, he’s even more handsome. Now you can see the little scar that angles through his eyebrow and another that curves up along his cheek. His eyes are intense as he works, his absurdly large hand has a firm grip on your forearm, guiding you as he works. He smells like cigarettes, but only just, and what you can assume is the lingering smell of the timeworn leather jacket sprawled across the chair in the corner. And all of this is bad news because this guy is obviously bad news. How can he not be, right?

It’s just this feeling, one that you couldn’t shake as soon as he sauntered towards you, the smell of cigarette smoke lingering on his worn black t-shirt. Like he’s too cool for you. Even as he’s permanently etching a skeletal bird into your arm, there’s this air about him you can’t quite place.

Before he led you back to his station, you were so certain there was going to be some sort of bikini-clad model plastered to the wall. But yet, the space is surprisingly empty. There’s a little corkboard leaning against a small table with old designs thumb-tacked to the board and not much else.

“How long have you been working here?” you ask.

Despite asking, you already kind of know the answer.

You’ve been following the shop’s Instagram for a while now. You remember the post introducing Jason, the carousel of photos demonstrating his work. Not that you’d tell him right now, but you had fallen in love with his style as soon as you saw it. The sure, thick lines. The moody shading. Bones and knives and bugs. He had no Instagram of his own for his work that you could find; only the posts in the shop with the caption ‘by Jay.’

“Couple months,” Jason replies. “I was traveling around for a while before. This is the first steady place I’ve worked.”

“Oh, wow, that’s cool. Where were you before?” you ask. It’s small talk, and you hate it, but the lack of conversation is uncomfortable in a way that usually isn’t the case. Silence doesn’t bother you. His silence does.

You wonder if his home lacks as much personality as his station. You imagine his apartment is the kind with the mattress sitting on the floor, TV on top of a folding table, and a refrigerator full of cheap beer. Something that doesn’t feel completely moved into.

He gives a small shrug of his broad shoulders. “All around,” he replies.

Even small talk seems to be off the table.

You give a curt nod of your head. A couple minutes pass, and you can’t take it anymore. “Sorry, you mind if I grab my book real fast?”

Jason nods in return, pulling the gun away. “Go for it.”

God, you feel him watching you as you slip off the table, heading towards your bag on the little couch in the corner. Why is he watching? Why is this so awkward? Is it you? Is this guy just that standoffish? You pull out your worn bookand get back into position on the table.

“You good?” he asks, his intense eyes still trained on you.

“Yeah, all good,” you say, holding the book open with one hand as the buzzing starts back up again.

This is pathetic.

Jason has spent the last few years spending his time around the worst of the worst. He’s been with assassins, arms dealers, and soldiers so bad, even the U.S. Military didn’t want them, and yet, he’s fumbling just because someone cute is reading classic literature.

Fuck.

He’s supposed to be better than this. Ever since he got back into Gotham two months ago, he’s been making deals with the worst of the worst—as far as drug dealers go—without breaking a sweat, and yet holding a conversation with you turns him into Mr. Darcy. He’s blowing it, and he cares that he’s blowing it.

At least everyone thinks he’s dead. If this had gotten out to anyone, he’d die again.

It’s been five years since he was resurrected. A couple of weeks have passed since he flew back into Gotham with another one of Talia’s connections, this time intending to stay for good. He found a little tattoo shop near Crime Alley. Close enough to keep tabs on everything, but not so close that he’d be crossing paths with Batman regularly. The last thing he needs is to run into Bruce while trying to come up on top of Gotham’s underworld. Not until everything was ready.

That’s his world. Swept off the street and recruited for a war that wasn’t even his, not really. That’s just what he was sold: security to a kid fending for himself.

Bruce may have believed he had something to show Jason about Gotham, but this city raised him more than anything. Without a stable place to call home, the city’s streets were the substitute. What more did Bruce have to teach him when Jason had already huddled for warmth in these alleys? Ran from cops, knew all the hiding spots. What did Bruce have to offer when Jason already saught comfort in a place where comfort died? In a place where hope was trying to grow on salted earth. A place so haunted, it’s more ghost than city.

Jason was made for Gotham.

After he died, Gotham fell to ruins in the greatest earthquake she’s ever seen. An anomaly. The world wanted to watch Gotham burn, abandon the city and everyone remaining inside it. Leave her buried in the fate the world deemed appropriate for a city so infected that everyone around suffered.

He knows what it means to come back again, maybe when staying gone was what should have been done.

While he learned how to kill, he learned how to tattoo. Bruce always went on about the importance of keeping their identities safe; he chose his playboy routine, and Jason chose this.

It started before Bruce even took him in. One of the older kids he used to sell stolen car parts to gave him a stick ‘n poke in the back of his dad’s auto shop. It’d only been a few weeks after his mom died. Bruce saw it within a few days of living at the manor. He didn’t comment, but Jason saw the scowl when Bruce saw the shitty skull on his ankle. He didn’t approve, and that made his chosen path all the sweeter.

In London, the guys he was staying with tattooed each other to pass the time. That’s how it all really started. He watched their hands as they worked, watched the way the ink shot into the skin. He gave his first tattoo in the seedy back room of some haunt for scumbags. He had yet to feel at home within his body again, like it was just on loan. Like his reanimation was contingent on something that could be taken away at any time.

But he kept living. And he picked up tattooing fairly quickly. He gave plenty of shitty tattoos to men whose lives ran off of fucking over innocent people. Some of them wouldn’t even live to regret his uneven lines. A good number of them, Jason watched die.

None of that, however, negates the fact that he still can’t have a conversation with you.

Every so often, he spares a glance at you as you read. You’re holding the book with one hand, awkwardly turning the page with your pinky in a way that he knows won’t last long. He’s trying to rack his brain for something, anything, to talk to you about once you need a break from your position.

When his moment finally comes, he clears his throat.

“You ever read any Virginia Woolf?” he asks.

He’s going to spoil his whole ‘asshole tattoo artist’ persona because he’s not supposed to be reading tragic modernist writers, but he can’t bring himself to fall into his usual routine. He wants to hide behind the metaphorical mask he wears when he’s not wearing his literal mask, but he just fucking can’t with you.

He doesn’t know you. You’re just someone who booked with him a few months ago. You’re a civilian, and he is supposed to be getting ready for his Gotham takeover. Now isn’t the time. He’s got work to do.

Unsurprisingly, you seem caught off guard by his question when you look up from your book. You try to regain your composure. You seem like someone who wants to be polite like that. Jason’s eyes land on your finger as it slips into your book to hold your place.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’ve read a couple of hers.”

Jason gives a single nod of his head. He breathes as if steadying his aim to shoot. “I’m reading Mrs. Dalloway right now,” he says.

If you were someone he had to threaten, it would be going better than this. He could get you to tell him all of your secrets in under a minute no problem. But he doesn’t actually have to know how to do any of this to know that’s the wrong way to go about it. Besides, how could he forgive himself if he brought you into Red Hood’s world? You don’t belong there.

“Are you much of a reader then?” you ask.

Jason recognizes it for what it is. You’re holding out a hand, practically guiding him into a conversation just like you’ve tried so many times. You notice he’s trying too.

His lip quirks up a bit at the corner. “Yeah, I am. But don’t tell anyone. If they figure out I’m not an idiot, they may ask me to help out more.”

You graciously laugh at his joke.

He likes your laugh. It’s soft, like your skin. He’s tried to not think about it, but he has noticed. He knows you’re going to take good care of the bird carcass he’s tattooing.

When you reached out and told him what you wanted, he knew he couldn’t possibly turn the idea down. He did always have a fucked up sense of humor.

You’ll never know what makes this funny. He can’t do that to you. Maybe you can know Jason the tattoo artist, but you can’t know Red Hood.

Jason looks at you with a softness you miss when you glance away for a minute. “I’ve got a Metamorphosis tattoo over here,” he says, briefly raising the arm holding yours down.

You turn your head, trying to get a look of his Kafka tattoo, and Jason feels a little bit of warmth growing in his chest, even if he desperately wishes he didn’t. He’s getting way ahead of himself like a kid. It’s going to hurt that much more when you realize all the reasons you shouldn’t get involved with him. He shouldn’t be drawing attention to himself. He shouldn’t be getting distracted. This job isn’t for him to make connections with avid readers; he’s here to know what’s happening and when.

For all he knows, you could be a spy, aware of the moves he’s trying to make. Could work for the Penguin. But he’s aware that’s a Bruce level paranoid thought, and he’s not proud to admit that. His ties to Bruce are supposed to be severed forever.

Two hours pass far less painfully than you were expecting. Not in the literal sense, because your arm has started to get sore, but in the sense that you and Jason are finally actually talking, more or less. You take a break, trying to get the blood flow back into your arm from being at an angle for so long.

Your stomach started rumbling half an hour ago, and now you’re scrolling through your phone, chatting with Jason on what you should order. He says by the time food would get here, he’d likely be finished up.

Jason’s already told you he doesn’t do a lot of delivery. He says it’s because things are always fresher at the restaurant.

After the last couple of hours spent talking literature, you know your first impression of him was wrong—there’s a joke about books and their covers somewhere in there—but be that as it may, you still haven’t quite figured him as the sort of guy that’s going to be overly snobby about food.

He says he cooks, and you believe him, more because you like to indulge in the thought of him knowing his way around a kitchen. You also just want to believe it for the sake of justifying the crush you feel creeping in every time he shifts your arm.

You’re not going to hold your breath hoping he opens up to you, but you can tell he’s someone with a story. Someone with history. And that’s something you can respect, because you’ve got your own past you’d rather not shell out just because your tattoo artist is hot. That doesn’t stop your mind from wandering though, trying to fill in the blanks.

Maybe he did some sort of stint in the military. That’s your first guess, at least. You didn’t get any more information on the tattoos he’d done ‘all over,’ and he doesn’t talk about it anymore, so you can’t really figure out anything more than that. You also consider the fact that it’s Gotham, and shit just happens. It’s not your right to meddle in whatever tragedy this city has doled out for him.

“One of the apprentices orders delivery here a lot,” Jason says, and you roll your eyes.

“That’s not helpful, nor does it answer my question,” you say. “Even if you don’t get things delivered, you still have to know what’s good around here, right? You’re not bringing a little brown bag lunch to work every day.”

“And what if I do?” Jason asks. His voice is low, almost like he’s daring you. The features on his handsome face are serious, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes that hints he’s teasing you. And damn those eyes. You’re thankful he’s been spending the majority of your appointment staring down at your arm, because you’re not sure you’d survive two hours of looking at him, seeing where the thin ring of blue around his iris before it bleeds into vivid green.

You laugh. “Then I’d admire your dedication.”

You think he’s mostly being difficult because you offered to buy him food, a perfectly normal thing to do. But explaining to him that you’ve offered to everyone you’ve gotten a tattoo from doesn’t seem to change his mind. He’s stubborn, that much you can tell.

As you continue to scroll your phone, silence settles between the two of you. The silence doesn’t feel so oppressive this time, not weighted by awkwardness and uncertainty. Now it feels like a surrender. Neither of you bring up the beginning of the appointment. Not how he was late, not the tension that seemed to linger between the two of you, not how convinced you were that he actually hated the fact that you were sitting in his session.

“The fries at Wally’s are the best in Gotham.”

His voice comes from behind you, and you jump, turning over your shoulder quickly. He’s peering over your shoulder, eyes fixed on the screen of your phone. You hadn’t even heard him get up from his stool. Last you’d looked his way, he was sitting across from you.

You spit out a curse. “When did you get back there?” you ask, clutching your chest with overdramatic flair.

“What, you didn’t see me get up?” he asks.

You scoff. “No, I didn’t see you get up. What are you, some kind of fucking ghost?”

And Jason laughs.

At the best of the times, you consider yourself a relatively dignified individual. Maybe it’s a bit of flattery, but regardless, that’s what you’d like to believe. And yet, there’s something so incredibly rare about the sound of Jason’s laughter, something that makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. It’s like hearing something long forgotten. Like catching the song of a bird long thought extinct. This isn’t the playful scoff of laughter like when you’d said maybe Northanger Abbey was your favorite Jane Austen book, and he’d said you seemed more like an Elizabeth Bennett than a Catherine Morland; this seems like something secret. Something reserved.

Even if the sound makes your stomach flip, your foul language hardly seems funny enough to warrant such a laugh. Your silly off-handed joke doesn’t seem worthy of the burst of laughter that bubbles up from his wide chest.

“I think the hunger’s getting to you,” Jason replies finally when the laughter settles. He nudges his head back towards your phone to get back on topic. “Wally’s is good.”

You have to yank yourself from your thoughts and will yourself to nod. “Yeah, okay,” you say, feeling like such a loser for the way a single laugh could knock you off your track so quickly. You go back to scrolling through the menu to give yourself something other than gawk at him. “So fries. What else is good?” you ask, not daring to raise your eyes.

Jason crosses back over to his stool and sits. Your face gets hot as you feel self-consciousness creep up thinking maybe you’d been obvious, worried you’ll scare him off. But before you know it, he’s naming off his favorite things. And yeah, maybe you bought more than you alone could eat, and maybe you got the burger he spent a few minutes gushing about. If he doesn’t want it now, he can save it for later.

But nearly an hour later, you have a whole spread of junk food in Jason’s station and a finished bird skeleton plastic wrapped on your arm. Jason rolls his eyes at your generosity, and you threaten to eat everything you bought all by yourself, but he eats the burger and steals the fries you jokingly told him to keep his hands off of.

“So can I ask why you were so late?” you ask.

You’re toeing your boundaries. Maybe you’re intentionally trying to press your luck. Part of you knows you maybe shouldn’t ask. But you do it anyway.

Jason looks up from his burger, wiping a small smear of ketchup off his lip. “You’re gonna think I’m an asshole.” He smirks when he sees you quirk your eyebrow. He was thirty-five minutes late; of course you already think he’s an asshole. At least he’s a good sport about it. “I was out smoking.”

“Mm,” you say with a mockingly serious nod of your head. “Leaning up against a wall, cigarette in one hand, Mrs. Dalloway in the other. I guess you must be so cool I have to immediately forgive you,” you say sarcastically.

“Shut up.”

You smirk and go back to eating your food, unaware of Jason’s subtle gaze your way now that your attention has been diverted.

Jason’s used to a somewhat infrequent eating schedule, otherwise known as he rolls out of bed half an hour before he’s supposed to be at the shop, which doesn’t give him much time to eat. And by the time he’s done with his shift, he’s usually starved. He tries to eat an hour before kicking anyone’s ass so he doesn’t cramp up, so that involves him cramming whatever leftovers he has in the fridge into his mouth the second he gets back to his apartment. Then, he goes back out to work.

He’s become somewhat of a late night chef, putting together whatever he can make as quickly and easily as possible. The sort of skills he’d picked up when he was all on his own, trying to keep himself fed from whatever was available, doing whatever he could to make the best of a bad situation. Shoplifting butter and pasta, crushing up old Corn Flakes in a bag with a hammer to put on top. It was something his mom had done. Something he didn’t want to give up.

For the past two hours, he’s been hoping you’ll say something stupid, like how cool you think Batman is.Instead, he finds you kind in a way he doesn’t really see that often. You tolerate his shit to a certain point, and you push back when he goes too far.

People are scared of Jason, hood on or not. And they should be. They see his scars, his tattoos, his sheer size, and they cross the street. They turn their eyes as he buys bread at the grocery store. They can see him for what he is. But for some reason, you don’t. At least not now.

He’s mapping out his plan of how to take over the city, and you’re giving him shit for being late to an appointment for a job he only has for information. The fact that he met you is just a blip in the greater scheme of things, and yet that’s going to be what he walks away from today thinking about.

A guy came into the shop earlier. A local dealer. Jason played cool, pretended he didn’t have an idea who the guy was. This lowlife didn’t need to know Jason already knew where he picked up his supplies. He’d asked if the guy had any plans for the day, as if Jason didn’t already know about a shipment coming in late tonight. Jason’s plans for the evening had been clear. All he had to do was get through one more appointment.

Except that appointment had been yours.

The shop is closed now. A few stations away, one of Jason’s coworkers is still working. In the lull as you both eat, the faint buzzing of the needle and music playing from the speakers up front. Even if Jason wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s comfortable with you, there’s something of a surrender in the time you spend together.

You don’t know the things he’s going to do once you leave, and you wouldn’t assume them of him. What are you seeing in him because it’s sure as shit not something he’s ever seen himself.

At some point, Jason knows he’s going to fuck it all up. You’ll probably get ready to leave, and he’ll say something as you walk out the door that will make you question all of this. Make you second guess this good opinion of him you’ve managed to come up with. It’ll be for your own good.

His eyes drift over to your arm, your bicep still wrapped up in plastic. He can still feel the warmth of your skin lingering on his palm.

For so long, he’d been used to the dull cold of the apartment he squatted in, frigid air seeping in through neglected walls. As hard as he tries not to, he remembers arriving at Wayne Manor for the first time. He’d forgotten home could be so warm.

The warmth of your arm felt like that.

Since coming back in Gotham, he’d given plenty of tattoos, touched plenty of arms. Body heat is body heat, except when it’s yours.

“Where do you go from here?” Jason asks, looking up from his burger.

You shrug your shoulders. “Home, probably. Gonna get that good post-tattoo sleep.”

It’s cold out. You’re bundled up in your coat, aware of the tenderness of your arm where the fabric brushes up against the flesh.

You’re walking towards your train stop. The sounds of sirens echo somewhere in the distance. Purple light filters out through the blinds of one of the apartments you pass, loud bass temporarily overpowering the distant wail of emergency vehicles for a moment as you walk by, until it fizzles back out into quiet. As the music fades, you hear the sound of a couple arguing from an apartment somewhere up above you.

Across from the stairs up to the station is a bar, patrons hanging around outside smoking cigarettes and laughing. You can feel a huddle of men watching you as you move, but you don’t glance their way, just make your way up the stairs.

Yellow-tinged lights line the station, a lamp every fifteen feet or so. From what you can see in the beams of light weakly dispersing from the streetlamps, you’re alone. You find a spot under a nice shelter, though nice is relative considering the lingering smell of piss and obscene graffiti on the walls, but it’s not out in the open where anyone stumbling onto the stop will find you.

The light above you flickers sporadically. You wish there was somewhere else you could wait.

Jason hadn’t seemed thrilled that you were going out to wait for the train all on your own, but you assured him, somewhat indignant, you could handle yourself.

“You sat really well,” he’d said, and you couldn’t help but entertain the idea of inviting him along on the train with you, but you were not going to stoop to that level.

The sounds of approaching footsteps reminds you to keep your focus. You can kick your feet about Jason once you get back to your apartment.

Three guys stumble up the stairs. And just your fucking luck, you’re pretty sure they’re the guys from outside the bar. They’re laughing, and their voices carry from the opposite side of the tracks. You hope they’re going northbound, that they’ll have no reason to cross the tracks. You keep your eyes fixed away from them, down the tracks, now feeling even more impatient for the arrival your train, hoping somehow it will turn you invisible.

But their boisterous conversation suddenly turns much quieter.

Your shoulders tense, and as subtly as you can, you try to slip your hand into your bag for your pepper spray. Blindly, you feel around, trying to move as little as possible so as to not draw any more attention to yourself, because you have no doubts you’re the reason their conversation has become so hushed. If this doesn’t end horribly, you’ll have to try to remember to clear out all of the junk you have stashed away.

One of the men laughs, and then their conversation stops all together.

Your fingers curl around the tube of spray in your purse.

Without looking, you know they’re moving towards you now. Their shuffled, stumbling footsteps are growing louder. They’re drunk and not looking for their night to be over just yet. Unfortunately, you just happened to be in their way while they were looking for the next phase of the evening.

“Hey!” one yells.

You don’t acknowledge him. Maybe they’ll be drunk enough to think you genuinely can’t hear them and give up. It’s wishful thinking, but what does that matter?

Now you’re regretting pretending you were so tough for Jason because these guys sure as shit wouldn’t even give you a second glance if you were standing next to him.

They’ve crossed the tracks now, and there’s still no sign of train headlights. Your grip on the pepper spray tightens, not wanting it to slip now that your heart is starting to race.

“Hey! You!”

You don’t look.

One of them grabs your arm and tugs you out from the shelter. You wince at the contact against the fresh tattoo. “We’re talking to you,” he laughs.

You’re about to use your pepper spray when it clatters to the ground.

All three men look down at it.

“What’s this?” the second man says, bending down and picking it up.

But before any of them can say anything else, a figure just outside of the ring of light the four of you are standing under. You can’t make out any details about him besides the sheer size of him.

“Walk away while you still can,” he growls. The sound of his voice isn’t quite right. It sounds distorted. Your skin prickles with nerves from the sound of it.

The man who picked up your pepper spray turns it towards the figure, threatening to spray.

The figure just chuckles. It sounds cold, metallic. The sound of a gun cocking follows as the figure steps just into the light. The pepper spray wouldn’t do the man any good.

A man wearing a red helmet walks into sight, gun trained on the man holding my arm, but his grip drops instantaneously as he knocks through his other two friends to run, but the other two follow behind almost immediately.

And that leaves you and the guy in the helmet alone.

Gotham has its fill of guys in mask, and sure, there seems to be a new one popping up all the time, but you don’t know this one.

You look up at him, eyes wide with fright. The second the men are gone, he puts the gun back in one of the holsters on his thick thighs, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has them. You don’t know who this guy is, who he works with, whether he’s any better than that group of men or just more armed.

“You alright?” he asks when you don’t say anything. He has a voice modifier, you realize now, though you piece that together slowly.

After a beat, you nod your head. Your hand curls over your throbbing arm. You don’t like that you can’t see where he’s looking. Just two unblinking white voids where his eyes must be. “Yeah,” you breathe. Your eyes fall on your pepper spray. The man holding it must have dropped it when he ran.

When it’s clear you’re not moving to pick it up, the man bends down and grabs it. He holds out a gloved hand, offering it back to you.

Your trembling hand raises and you take it from him, offering a barely audible thanks as you slip it back into your bag.

He nods.

There’s still no sign of a train, and he’s not moving.

“I can give you a ride someplace. If you want.”

Don’t take rides from strangers. You’d heard it just as much as anyone, and the man standing before you is the definition of a stranger. You can’t even see his face; you have no idea who he is beneath that helmet. The one thing you do know is he has a gun, and he’s built like a fridge.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he adds, but his modulated reassurances don’t ease your concern. He senses your hesitation and takes a step back. “Do you want me to leave?”

A few more seconds pass as you consider the question. What if those guys come back? What if some other group comes along? But is giving your home address to the guy with a gun a better idea? And would him standing beside you as you wait for your train make you feel any safer? Could you so willingly accept he wasn’t going to just wait for the moment your guard is down to do something, just the way this city works?

Finally, you shake your head. Neither decision seems like the right one to make. But he did help you. Now you just have to hope to god he’s not going to take advantage of your vulnerability.

You want to ask if he’s one of Batman’s friends, but you don’t find the words.

Instead, you two fall into a silence. For you, it’s tense. You wonder if he feels the same, or if this is just a regular night for him. He stands near you but keeps his distance, like he’s aware how intimidating he could be.

The train is so late. There must be some hold up. One of Gotham’s usuals causing a delay in public transit. Go fucking figure.

“Are you new?” you ask finally. If the train never comes, you might end up taking him up on his offer for a ride, so you may as well try and figure something out about him. Any sort of indication of if you can trust him or not.

There’s another distorted chuckle, though somehow, this one seems less malicious than earlier when threatened with your pepper spray. “You could say that.”

You have no idea how to respond to that, so you don’t.

Silence settles between you again. You can see the lights of the train in the distance. You’re hoping that nothing happens on the train. All you want is to crash into your bed.

The man in the red helmet stands beside you, not pushing any further to make conversation. He waits with you. As it screeches to a halt in front of you, you turn to thank him, but you notice he’s already gone.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #x reader

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likedovesinthewindd · 1 year

Note

Heeeyyy I really love your stories!! <3 can I request hobie being a runway model and reader being fashion designer for him. I been thinking about the fact he said he was briefly a runway model and I can’t get it out my head. I dunno what direction you’d want to take the story in if u wrote it but im pretty sure I’d b great! :) (sorry about the vagueness)

hi babes, thank you soo much you're so sweet:')) also so sorry this took so long!!

hobie brown x reader

warning: mention of pins/needles

wc: ±1100

a/n: don't really like how this came out might rewrite it later on. not fully proofread.

You didn't consider yourself any Westwood or McQueen just yet, but even the best had to start somewhere, right? It just so happened that your "somewhere" would be the old community hall in your neighborhood. This would be your very first fashion show, not something you took very lightly. This could make or break your almost nonexistent career, so it was important that everything was absolutely perfect.

Planning this had been an absolute pain; trying to find an affordable venue that wasn't on the verge of complete degradation, finding a way to decorate said venue accordingly, promoting and hunting for possible columnists and other industry players to invite, along with a million other things.

One of the most important aspects were models; the people who ultimately would be representing your brand. The only problem was that you didn't have money to hire any people, much less approach an agency, so you had to get creative. You had held "auditions" in your neighborhood; basically asking your friends and other people if they'd like to model for you.

You were upfront, admitting that you would not be able to pay them properly. People were reluctant at first; the idea of no compensation turning some away, but after a few days you managed to find and recruit a handful of people to help you, most of them being friends and people you knew from scool. Things were looking good, and your project was on the right tracks so far.

You were running around in your apartment-turned-studio, frantically searching for the tracing wheel you had lost once again, when you heard a knock on your door. You opened it to find a tall and lanky young man, hands in the pockets of his jacket. "Heard you're looking for models," was all he said in a low deep voice and you raised your brows. "Y'know I can't pay you right?" you said, and he nodded in reply. "Long as the clothes look good I don't care," he said.

After first glance, you already knew he'd be a showstopper. He just looked perfect for a runway; you could already imagine the way your pieces would fit him. That's how you had met Hobie, how you gained a model, a muse, aswell as a friend.

✴︎.˳⁺⁎˚｡⋆

It still shocked you just how much you've managed to pull off in these few months leading up to the big event. The whole thing had been one big family-friend initiative; everyone stepping in to help where they can.

Your old roomate, who worked at a hair salon had asked her colleagues to help with doing every model's hair. She had a friend who worked as a beautician in a salon, who had asked her colleagues to help with everyone's make-up. The choreographer had been your aunt, courtesy of her "certified pageant mom" status. The lighting and sound provided by a friend who worked as a part-time DJ at some dingy club. He had smuggled some equipment to use for the night.

The small closet rooms that served as backstage facilities were packed with people doing make-up, running around in robes and adding all the final touches.

When the time came for everyone to get dressed, you were running around like a headless chicked, hemming a few pieces here and there and filing down slippery shoes, even having to calm one of the girls down due to an anxiety attack.

"How does that feel? Comfortable?" you asked pulling and adjusting at the top of Hobie's outfit, trying not to restrict his airflow. "Good," was all he said. "Are you nervous, superstar?" he asked, as you worked on a piece of stubborn material at the back of his pants. You scoffed quietly at the stupid nickname. "Yes," you answered truthfully, "there's a few important people out there. If they like what they see, they'll be writing articles. Articles mean exposure, and I really need that right now." You laughed nervously.

"But it's gonna be great," you added, moving away from his pants and taking a moment to admire your work, albeit from behind. "because I have my showstopper right here, and he looks incredible," you added with a smile. He turned around, giving you a coy smirk in return. "You outdid yourself love," he said, looking down at his attire, "on your way to becomin' the new Westwood, yeah?"

You scoffed at his comment. "C'mon you have to go line up," you said.

★˚｡⋆.˳⁺⁎˚

The show itself was absolutely perfect. You watched backstage with bated breath as each model disappeared through the dark curtains, then like clockwork returned, some to change into new pieces, then fall back in line.

Hobie had both opened and closed for your show, and by the end of the night when everyone stood in applause, he and your mother had urged you to go on stage to give your final bow. You thought it was corny, but you humored them, walking onto the runway until you were visible and giving everyone a wordless thank you, before making your way backstage once again.

You had thanked every single person who worked with you, giving everyone a warm embrace aswell as thanking them profusely for their hard work. When you finally got to thank Hobie, you wrapped your arms around his neck, placing a fat kiss right on the apple of his cheek. "You," you started, pulling him away from your embrace, but keeping his shoulders in your two hands, "stole the fucking show."

He laughed lightly, shrugging dismissively. "You're the one that made this possible," he said, and you flashed him a megawatt smile, the adrenaline from the night pumping through your body.

"Y'know, there were a few casting directors scouting here tonight," you said, "you might be getting a few calls soon, they'd definitely want to sign a catch like you." He only scrunched his face his dismissal. "Nah," he said, and you furrowed your brows. "I'm not committing myself to some agency, wouldn't want to leave you," he added.

He continued to work with you several more months; working closely with you when designing and creating your pieces, than modeling those same pieces. Your popularity grew, and with it the demand for him; numerous agencies looking to potentially sign him. When it all became too much, he decided to stop all together. You respected his decision, and still remained close with him. You still called him showstopper, and he still called you superstar.

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown fic #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #likedovesinthewindd

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scribbling-dragon · 5 months

Note

22 with ranchers? >:)

all my love will be your breath

summary:

The first sign that something is wrong. That something is going to go wrong, is the prickling pain in his hand. Tango flexes his fingers a few times when the sensation reaches him, attempting to shake off the pins and needles as he continues working. The first flash of biting cold has him gasping, hand spasming as the pencil slips from his fingers. It clatters loudly onto the half-finished door he’s using as a makeshift table.

(ao3 link)

(3,085 words)

haha some good ol' ranchers angst. haven't written anything for double life in a hot minute so here you go! this was done for these writing requests - which are still open if you have any (and i am still working on the prompt i have left!!)

His hands ache, his arms sore from the work he’s been doing all day to fix up their ranch, just a little bit. A significant portion of the nearby forest has been cut down in his efforts to rebuild their farmhouse better than before. The previous iteration had been ugly, but good enough to house them. This new version – one that he’s actually drawn plans and created measurements for – will be better than the previous one could have ever been.

He pauses in his sketching; alterations of the farmhouse had to be made, when he realised that it would be too complex to complete within the time frame he currently has. He wanted to complete it before Jimmy returned from his mining session, wanted to have something to show off to him.

It’s a stupid thing to want, but he wants it nonetheless, and it’s looking good. Like it might be finished before night even begins to set in.

Progress has been helped along by Grian lending a helping hand – a helping axe, rather. It’s obvious what he’s going for, attempting to mend the burned bridges between their pairs. Tango had accepted the help with gritted teeth and a strained smile, willing to set aside his own anger for the sake of finishing the house before Jimmy returns.

He shakes his hand again, the bones in his wrist shifting with the force he uses, hoping to dissipate the feeling so he can return to his drawings. Instead of disappearing, the sensation only strengthens, until his entire hand is numb.

The first flash of biting cold has him gasping, hand spasming as the pencil slips from his fingers. It clatters loudly onto the half-finished door he’s using as a makeshift table. That, coupled with his not-so quiet gasp, draws attention to him.

“You alright?” Grian calls over from beside the log pile. He’s stripping the bark from them, forming them into neater planks than Tango would be capable of making with his own hands. He is not designed for the intricate details that builders manage to achieve, preferring complex and sprawling arrays – who has the patience to make sure every single plank is the exact same size? Grian apparently does, and it’s also why he shooed Tango away, his need for aesthetics overriding any sensible thought of this is someone I might have to fight to the death, why should I be helping him? apparently.

Tango isn’t going to comment on it. Not when it will probably reduce the draught that had forced him and Jimmy into one bed, beneath several blankets, to huddle and conserve warmth.

Simply the thought of that evening of closeness, of the quiet, stifled giggles and curling warmth that had nestled somewhere deep within his chest and not yet left is enough to make him feel warm from the inside out, the ends of his hair curling into small flames.

“I'm fine,” he grits out, registering the echoing silence that has stretched between him and Grian, the way the other still watches him, remaining fixated on the side of his face until he responds.

“Uh huh,” Grian tips his head to the side in a very bird-like manner, a wry smile crossing his lips. “Then why are your hands shaking?”

Are they?

He hadn’t even noticed, both hands beginning to shiver and tremble, phantom pains no longer sparking over the backs of his hands and into the fine bones of his wrists. He flexes them experimentally, coming to the chilling conclusion that he can’t feel his hands at all.

Whatever it is that Jimmy’s experiencing, it’s left him with little feeling in his hands. Something that is beginning to crawl up his arms further. It’s startling and uncomfortable and- and not something that should be happening at all.

He feels out along the bond that tethers him to his other half, feeling along the string that has only strengthened during their time here. He pulses something resembling curiosity and worry along it, transmitting the feelings in the same way a redstone line would transmit a signal.

He still doesn’t understand how it works, and Grian is vague with the details of how it all works.

Tango doesn’t think even he knows, thinks this is all something that has spiralled a little out of Grian’s control, into something that he’s still grasping for, still attempting to regain control of. Either that, or his bond with Scar is frayed enough that he cannot transmit anything at all; his lack of knowledge originates not from a lack of control, but from a place of not experiencing it at all.

He waits a few, tense moments after sending the question across, waiting for a response. Any kind of response.

He crumples beneath the weight of what is returned to him, the sheer panic and pain radiating through to him is enough to make his head ache. He cradles it in his hands, in his numb, cold hands, and struggles not to cry out.

He can taste blood in his mouth, though whether that is his own sensation or something from Jimmy is unknown.

“Woah,” someone skids on the grass beside him, coming to an abrupt halt. “You are clearly not alright.”

“Gee, thanks for that,” he bites back, teeth flashing as he glares up at Grian. “What might’ve given you that idea?”

“There’s no need to be so rude,” Grian bites back, wings ruffling in clear agitation. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong or should I just leave?”

Tango remains silent, staring mulishly at the ground he’s currently kneeling on. The grass is charred and ashy; somewhat of a relief that it cannot catch fire again, with the sparks jumping from his flicking tail.

“Fine,” Grian heaves himself back to his feet, the knees of his jeans stained with ash and soot. He brushes at them a few times, something that Tango watches from the corner of his eye, but only succeeds in smearing the ash further over his jeans and onto the palms of his hands. “I’ll leave you to it. Come find me if you improve your attitude.”

Tango feels regret as soon as Grian starts walking away, dead grass crunching beneath his feet.

He opens his mouth to call out behind him, beginning to rise to his feet before a burning sensation floods up his arms. It brings him low again, down to his knees once more in the wreckage of his home.

He cries out wordlessly, the sound transforming into a snarl at the end of it as he bites down on his tongue, embarrassed and frustrated with his own inability to do anything.

He wanted to fix this, wanted to repair the home that he and Jimmy had begun to call theirs, something that belonged only to them. And yet he failed at that, unable to even lift a pencil to fix this.

The burning fades fast, quick enough that he’s left choking on his own breath, throat constricting painfully as he shoves himself upwards.

His head collides with someone’s chin in his haste, and both of them fall back. He glares at Grian, who winces and then glares right back at him. “I just bit my tongue because of you.”

“And? What were you doing so close?”

“Checking to make sure you weren’t about to keel over.”

“I'm fine,” he sniffs. He stands up slower this time, ears flicking back and forth anxiously. He doesn’t know what it is travelling across to him, only registering the numbing pain that’s beginning to snake up his arms again, biting cold against his skin. But there’s something wrong, that much is easy to figure out. “I need to find Jimmy.”

“Obviously,” Grian scoffs. “Where’d he go?”

“Mining.”

Grian gives him a flat look. “You’ll have to give a few more details than that – where did he go? How long did he say he was going to be? What was he going to get.”

“Why do you care?” he snaps. He turns around then and there, shoving his way through the gate, wood clattering behind him as it bounces back into position from where he shoved it. It clicks open a moment later as Grian follows him out.

“Because I'm going to help you,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” Tango doesn’t even bother to turn and face him, heading in the direction he remembers watching Jimmy disappear in. He’d been walking with a pep in his step, and Tango may have been slightly distracted by watching the way the rising sun silhouetted him, the way it framed his face just so-

Heat lances up his arms again, curling around his elbows, gone as quickly as it was there, as though someone dumped a bucket of water over the burning. The blistering cold returns moments later, hands beginning to tremble once more.

Grian snatches at one of his hands, both thumbs pressing into the palm and forcing his claws to splay out. “Hey!” He attempts to tug his hand out of Grian’s grip, but it just turns bruising in its strength and he halts his struggles as quickly as they had begun. He doesn’t want to cause Jimmy more pain than he’s already experiencing, even if his hand is almost completely numb by now. “What are you doing!”

“You have frostbite,” Grian shoves his hand in his face. “Your fingers are turning purple. How did you not notice?”

“I don't know if you’ve noticed, but my claws are dark anyway,” he yanks his hand free from Grian’s grip, and the other man lets him this time. Allows him to retreat a small distance away and observe his hands himself. He grits his teeth and suppresses a small growl when he realises that Grian is right. He’d just been too stupid to notice it before.

“He’s somewhere cold,” Grian surmises.

“Wow, give it up for the genius over here,” he mutters. He thought it was quiet enough that Grian wouldn’t have heard him, but he still turns on Tango with a furious glare.

“I’m helping you,” Grian hisses out. “Be a little more grateful.”

“You're atoning for your soulmate,” Tango fires back. “Don't make up something when we all know it’s a lie. Why even bother when you're one bad situation away from abandoning him entirely?”

He halts the moment the words spill past his lips, born of frustration rather than anything more malicious. Still, it has the effect he was going for a few moments ago – before his rational thinking and decision-making capabilities caught up with him – and Grian’s face closes off, going dark and angry.

“You don't mean that,” Grian tells him. “And you don't know what you're talking about either.”

“Fine, maybe I don't,” he acquiesces. He won’t apologise, not when Grian won’t accept it from him, but he can still feel a little guilty. “But I also don't want to be stood around chatting about this while Jimmy- dies! Or whatever it is!”

“Freezes to death,” Grian corrects. Then pauses and lights up, turning on Tango with none of his previous anger, an inspired gleam in his eye. “Frozen!” He yells, like that makes any sense at all, gives him any clue to whatever leap of logic Grian just made.

“Uh,” he says smartly. “What?” And winces a moment later, heart thudding hard in his chest as the cold retreats for a moment, before cascading back in like- like snowfall. Like snowfall! “Frozen!” He yells back at Grian, grinning like an idiot before he gasps, chest stuttering with the panic that pulses over to him, flooding his senses with a nervous energy.

“The mountain is this way,” Grian tells him, yelling slightly with the frantic energy that has overtaken the two of them. Tango wouldn’t consider them allies – wouldn’t consider them even friendly after Scar’s little escapade at their ranch, but maybe they could start something somewhat like an alliance after this? Provided they manage to find Jimmy. Provided that they're even right. “Come on, come on!”

“I'm coming, I'm coming!” He breaks into a sprint, even as his chest feels as though it’s being compressed, something heavy weighing down on his ribs and preventing his lungs from expanding properly. The burning in his throat and his lungs only spurs him on further, legs turning numb from both the cold and the exertion as he makes the first leap up the craggy clifface of the mountain.

A blur of colour shoots up past him, Grian splaying his wings out when he reaches the top to slow his descent, touching down delicately as Tango continues his mad scramble up the side. His numb hands falter a few times, but he digs his claws in a little harder as he climbs further, easing himself into it until he’s as familiar with the rocks as a mountain goat.

Grian hops from foot to foot at the top, and as much as Tango wants to haul himself over the edge and lay there for several hours, maybe even a lifetime, he shoves himself upwards onto his feet as soon as he can, ignores the burning of everything. The burning that could be him but could also be Jimmy -wherever he is.

It doesn’t take them long.

Not with the laughter travelling clearly through the cold air, carried to them on a sharp wind. He doesn’t even need to think it through before he veers in the direction of the voices, the taunting that reaches his ears.

He flares so hot that it probably reaches Jimmy over their bond, and clears a circle of snow around him.

“Oh, look who’s arrived!” Joel turns to him with a smile, arms outstretched. “Took you long enough.”

“What are you doing?” He can see Grian backing up from him out the corner of his eye, but can’t find it in himself to care as he flares up. He doesn’t even care if he sets fire to this whole damn forest. All he can focus on is the slight movement of snow at Joels’ feet.

“Nothing,” Joel shrugs. Scar, behind him, at least has the decency to look guilty…Scar?

He whirls on Grian. “You knew?”

“What!” Grian shrieks out, outraged and shocked all at once. “How was I meant to know! Why do you even think I knew?”

“Scar’s here!” he yells, gesturing towards the offending person. “You're telling me he ran off and you didn’t think to check where he’d gone?”

“I was helping you all day! How was I meant to know he came up here to do something like this?”

Tango hisses out a breath filled with smoke and a little flame, uncaring of the way soot coats the inside of his mouth and the back of his teeth. He can scrub the taste away later, when his hands are no longer numb and his heart doesn’t feel as though it’s going to break to pieces.

He surges forward, ducking beneath Joel’s arm when he tries to block him and plunging a hand into the powdered snow. He scrambles around, ignoring the yelling that starts up behind him, grasping and reaching blindly until he finally finds something solid amongst the numbing cold.

He holds on tighter and yanks backwards, using his body weight to pull Jimmy free from the snow. He falls back with the force, when the snow finally releases its victim, allowing him free of the snowy prison he’d been trapped in for however long.

He’s shuddering so hard that Tango’s afraid, for several long moments, that he might just vibrate out of his skin, teeth chattering so hard he might bite off his tongue.

He pays this little mind, pulling Jimmy close to himself and stoking the fire in his core as much as he can, pressing his forehead to Jimmy’s, wincing at the clammy feel of it. He sits there, in his circle of melted snow until Jimmy blinks his frosted lashes open, squinting up at him.

“Hey,” is all he says.

“Don't hey me,” he bites out, frustration from a source of worry and fear and panic and everything but anger, stress making him feel like he’s on the edge of some great drop; any movement would send him over the edge, and then he might do something even more stupid like start sobbing right here. “I didn’t know where you were,” he tells Jimmy quietly. It’s loud enough to carry, now that the yelling behind them has stopped.

Tango doesn’t turn to check on their companions, focusing only on Jimmy, on the way his extremities are no longer purple with cold, returning to a slightly more healthy pink tint, cheeks rosy with the cold.

He steels his resolve then and stands, ignores the small sound of panic that Jimmy makes, the way his cold hands wrap around the back of his neck, as though Tango would ever drop him. His arms are beginning to burn with exhaustion, muscles trembling, but he refuses to release Jimmy. Not when he’d almost slipped away from Tango completely.

He ignores the apologetic look from Grian, ignores the guilty one from Scar. Ignores Joel entirely.

Jimmy presses his face against his neck, speaking words that Tango can only make out because of how close they are. Words spoken so close to his skin that they're almost branded into it. “I can walk,” he says, embarrassment colouring his voice and his face.

“I know.”

“Then…”

“I want to carry you,” a stray feather brushes against the exposed skin of his neck, brushes just below his chin in a way that makes him shiver. “Besides, I think you're quite enjoying this, aren’t you?” he teases, hoping that it might make Jimmy smile, at least a little.

The embarrassment and flustering will keep him warm until they're back at the ranch, where Tango can wrap him in blankets and offer him warm drinks. And maybe he’ll sit alongside Jimmy, within that cocoon of blankets, warm him with the flame stoked somewhere deep in his chest.

Jimmy tightens his grip, though it is no longer from fear of being dropped, and more to press himself closer to Tango. To his warmth.

Despite himself, Tango flushes, and prays that Jimmy can’t feel it.

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champcargill · 6 months

Text

✨ MJF x Female!Reader fluff. Feedback is welcome — still a work in progress but hoping to finish by Xmas or New Years. This is my first writing since late 2019 — writer's block hit heavy (snippet below):

"Sure Thing" — MJF x Female!Reader Context: The four times Max knew he was in love with you and the fifth time when he finally admitted it.

[I: The First Time]

He stopped at a sketch, hidden meticulously in the back of the thick pad and marked differently from the others. It would’ve been easily missed if he had been distracted. His brow furrowed, analyzing the outline of the model and the clothing it wore: white trunks patterned with stripes in khaki, red, and black.

“This model looks a lot like me. (y/n/n), did you—”

Max thought back to the particular late nights in your basement three years earlier, as the finishing touches were put on a formal design made for a recent fashion competition: you directing him on where to tack needles on your mannequin as another horror movie played on the television in the background. He listened to your own wide-eyed dreams: designs in the biggest magazines, decorating shelves in the fanciest stores, your clothes on the hometown runways of New York, going international in Paris. Even before you had him try on the finished piece, the stacks of filled sketchbooks already told Max you were destined for something far greater.

“Surprise! You’ll need something else to wear besides shorts and a t-shirt once your training is complete.”

“We can’t be sure I’ll be that good at this yet.”

“You wouldn’t have been talking about this nonstop for the last four years if you weren’t. I’m still thinking of a few other designs with you in mind.”

Time had stopped, if only for a brief moment, with the echoes of training sessions and the distant chatter of fellow wrestlers all fading into an otherworldly silence. Max blushed, eyeing the sketch once more, a rush of emotions swelling within him as he took in the notes scribbled on the side of the drawing: which materials wouldn’t trigger his allergies, strategically placed accents and the more intricate details only known from each late-night conversation. He could feel your head lean against his shoulder, your hand resting on his leg, waiting for him to speak.

“Hello? Earth to Max.”

#aew #mjf #maxwell jacob friedman #aew x reader #mjf x reader #mjf imagine #aew imagine #mjf one shot #aew one shot #writing in progress

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rmoonstoner · 10 months

Text

***

Poisoned Empanadas

***

Pairing:

Moon Knight (Jake Lockley) x Spider!fem!reader

Spider-Man 2099 (Miguel O'Hara) x Spider!fem!reader

***

Warnings:

18+, violence, strong language, mentions of death, mentions of depression, sexual themes, volatile emotions, part 2 of the sex dream, dats a big boi

***

Summary:

This one is a little different. It's a recounting of the first chapters, but from Miguel's point of view. When the reader is referred to, it will be with she/her pronouns, not you. It's going to be shorter, because I want it to fit the chapter sizes I have picked.

***

Chapter 4 - B - Fast food dessert type Empanadas

These are the most commonly marketed Empanadas in the food industry. Many famous chains have their own versions of these sweet and delicious pastries. Chains like Taco Bell and McDonald's. (Yes, I know that McDonald's version is technically a pie, but to me it's literally the same thing in a rectangle, with venting slits. This is not a plug for McDonald's, I just happened to be really fucking high on edibles and eating a McDonald's pie at the time of writing this. I added Taco Bell as an afterthought. I wanted one from Taco Bell, but our location vanished mysteriously in the middle of the night a few months back.)

***

Miguel was tired and grumpy. His life up until now had be hard, and the most recent hand had him almost folding entirely.

First he had been screwed over by his boss and was tricked into being hooked on a designer drug. Next, his fiance had cheated on him with said boss. And finally, his boss had forced him into doing research and tests on a subject he didn't want to do or agreed with.

Sure the subject had originally been his own choice, but his employer thought it necessary to make certain changes to what Miguel was doing. They all added up, and eventually Miguel began to hate his work with a passion, as it wasn't his anymore. He also hated his dependency on the drug.

Then to add insult to injury, his boss changed something in his current test setup, which was working in a cure for himself, didn't tell Miguel, then when Miguel ran the experiment, he ended up being pricked by something. In his panic to fix his mistake, he hadn't seen what had pricked him.

It was an alarmingly large vial of volatile Spider DNA, and it worked quickly to change Miguel's body and his very chemical makeup. It caused him to become sicker than when he was withdrawing, yet his boss still forced him into coming into work the next day, with barely any check up on the accident. In fact, his boss was actively trying to cover it up, and offered a bribe in return to keep his mouth shut.

But Miguel wasn't going to take that bribe. He wanted to blow the whistle and make his boss pay for everything he had done to him. He thought better of those plans, and decided to politely decline the offer with not much of a fuss.

Miguel didn't think his boss would take things further after he refused.

Unfortunately he was very wrong.

He was set up yet again to fail. The next experiment he conducted, one he chose and wanted to do, had somehow failed spectacularly. He suspected it was on purpose, and Lyla had informed him it was.

Just like his boss had planned.

Miguel didn't have time to ponder on the incident. He had been violently ripped from one dimension to another in a failed experiment. An experiment that he was conducting to try and rid himself of a previous condition he had acquired in the last test.

A massive explosion ripped through the lab he was in. It happened just seconds after getting into the chair to have the robotic assistant to inject him with a serum to reverse the Spider DNA infusion.

Well, needless to say, that didn't happen.

Shit hit the fan.

Red lights and warning buzzers went off. The meters were off of the charts, breaking the indicator needles in the process. Miguel had been caught in the blast and sent flying through the wall into another part of the lab. He ended up hitting a machine that held a casing of some sort of unstable material, and then he had blacked out.

***

When Miguel awoke, it was to the sound of birds chirping. More sounds of a bustling city started to bleed through. Cars, horns, chatter, footsteps, heavy machinery…

He was confused that it was dark, as it had been daylight when he started the experiment. Mid-morning to be exact.

His whole body hurt. Muscles ached, and a lot of his skin had been bruised and cut, but it wasn't as bad as it should have been. He felt sick and after emptying his stomach and he tried to figure out where he was, and why no one had come for him all day…

Until he realized where and when he was.

***

That day sucked. Miguel was lucky enough to have his watch, and subsequently his AI assistant, survive the explosion and sudden displacement. Lyla was able to worm her way into the primitive internet networks, and with a little tweaking, she made up a basic identification system for Miguel. By doing this, she unlocked a simple bank account for him and managed to syphon some funds into it. She even booked a prepaid mid-range hotel in the bad end of town to keep him busy.

He had a long shower the first day, did a bunch of research on the current time period and the customs. Laws, and basic things one would need to know if hurled back in time some fifty plus years, and then he slept for a long time.

***

The second day of the second week, he noticed he had a gnarly beard starting to happen. He didn't enjoy the scruff, which grew so much faster now than it used to, and he needed a change. Miguel went shopping and bought a razor and some scissors, along with some basic supplies to enjoy during his stay here.

He went home and cut his hair with Lyla's guidance and shaved. He went on to do more research on the local area, with Lyla compiling files on the local heroes, starting with the most well known first. The Hulk, Iron Man, Captain America, Black Widow, Vision, Hawkeye, Ant-Man and the Wasp, and every Spider-Folk there was.

Miguel found himself spending a lot of time on those ones, particularly the light Spider. He told himself it was because she had weirdly specific light related powers, and not the fact he really digged the way her outfit looked and hugged every curve.

His research led him to the more mythical or cosmic members, like Thor, The Scarlet Witch, Doctor Strange, Master Wong, Captain Marvel, and the Guardians of the Galaxy.

He was amazed at just how many there were.

Then he went on to the lesser known ones. He went through a large list, and found a few that seemed quite absurd to him. One of them appeared to be a pack of ever changing and roaming knights that claimed to be the fists of Khonshu. Some of the sources he read into lead him to believe they were the same person with some sort of fashion crisis.

That one left a sour taste in Miguel's mouth and he had no idea why. He just didn't like them. How could he, when the knights left a brutal trail of blood and gore behind them wherever they went. Apparently there was a whole reddit thread dedicated to these lunatics. Miguel was suspicious that these weren't different people, and merely just one man running amok like a crazed Mr. DressUp.

The guy that was in a white tailored suit, he was reasonable, passive, and tried to talk his way out of situations. He still beat the shit out of people, but only when provoked. He also talked non-stop, and had a British accent.

The one in the scraggly ancient looking robes and bandages, he was quiet and well calculated. He had a purpose, and he would do his tasks with barely a word. He was fond of violence, and had no issues causing major bodily harm to people. He would only kill if it was necessary. When he did talk, his voice was a rough American accent.

But then the third outfit just looked exactly the same as the first one, but in a dark smokey grey. Everything was the same, but reversed. The stitching on the mask was on the other side, pocket square was on the left and not the right. He was the most violent of the three, being the only one to gleefully kill their targets while cracking lame jokes and roasting them relentlessly. He would use improvised weapons, firearms and knives, and he spoke fluent Spanish.

Miguel got lost down a rabbit hole concerning these guys. There were theories it was really three guys that worked as a team, but others recounted how they had witnessed one of them literally change his suit in the blink of an eye with the aid of some sort of magic.

Those stories were concerning to hear. That there was some madman out there fighting crime with magic, and murdering people without much consequence in the name of some ancient God. The problem was that the authorities thought there were three separate individuals, so nothing could really be done if they couldn't be caught.

Miguel spent the rest of that week researching and compiling the largest folder of data on these people as he could get.

***

In the beginning of the third week, he happened to be watching television in the sub par motel. It was a rerun of the Captain America musical, and Miguel was floored with how bad the whole thing looked. None of the characters looked like any of the heros he had seen in the paper. Just twenty minutes in, he was about to change the channel, when a Daily Bugle news bulletin came across the screen.

LOCAL SPIDER MENACE CAUSES A RAMPAGE WITH THE RHINO, AGAIN!!!

Miguel was confused at first, but as the television showed a bird's eye view of the aftermath of a warehouse that had collapsed, he found himself sitting on the edge of his seat. The camera panned to a major highway, with cars stopped all over the road and people running and screaming.

There was Spider-Man running after the Rhino down the road, and the Rhino appeared to be chasing another Spider-Man. The camera zoomed in, and Miguel was surprised to see it wasn't a man, but a woman in a black space patterned suit. She was making bubbles and disks of light appear, then jumping onto them, or using her webs on them to get away.

He was intrigued as the camera got closer. By now he figured it was a drone that was flying about covering this story. He could see how fast the space Spider was, and how she was purposely slowing down for the rampaging man to catch up to her. Every so often, she would let the angry man get so close, it almost appeared like she was either really good at her job, or like she was playing with death and hoping to get gored.

She would even toss out a snarky and sassy line at him, just to make him angrier and lash out. Apparently she was quite good at pissing off the villains and goading them into chasing her down.

***

For the next few days Miguel went out and about in his street clothing. Miguel was making note of important landmarks around the city. He scoped out Stark Tower, the Sanctum, the Daily Bugle, local laboratories and other such places. He took a look around the problem areas with high crime rates, and then he checked out the better neighbourhoods. He did it all by foot and it helped Lyla keep track of everything.

Miguel was so focused on these hot spots, that he never bothered to look up local restaurants or food places. He had gotten used to just going to the local corner store for all of his needs. It was usually mass amounts of junk food, soda water, and a couple of new drinks he had found, Mountain Dew and Monster energy drinks.

The Mountain Dew soda brand had all sorts of weird flavors. Miguel wasn't very fond of the original green one, but he very much enjoyed the ones from the cultural foods import section. His favorite was Baja Blast and Goji Citrus Strawberry.

And the Monsters! Holy shock! They were delicious! Miguel ended up buying every flavor they had. He drank two right away, both being some sort of fruit punch flavor, he wasn't sure. He had the urge to go on a run, and he was out there for four hours, before he realized how hungry he was.

That's when he also discovered how insanely good pizza pockets and Heluva Good dip were. He spent the day working out and binge eating, much to Lyla's dismay.

***

On the seventh day of the third week, he was looking at clothing at a main street vendor, an energy drink in his hand, and he was making fun of a bootleg Spider-Man costume.

"This looks so awful. It looks nothing like the local Spiders. None of them."

"Miguel, it's a bootleg. It doesn't have an official merchandise tag on it." Lyla piped up and Miguel laughed.

"It's still shocking awful-"

"Help me! Please!"

A loud scream rang out from behind. Miguel looked over and saw a woman that was being hauled away from her car towards the alleyway. Miguel looked back at the tacky outfit and snatched it from the shelf without a single thought.

Within moments he had hidden his clothes behind a dumpster and had changed, before dashing off to help the woman. Somehow he was still carrying his half empty can of Monster. He grumbled about the tightness of the costume and how uncomfortable it was in all the wrong places.

"Maybe you should have taken the extra second to grab an adult size." Lyla snickered at him as he approached the suspect.

The suspect was surprised to see a large man in a very ill fitting and cheap spandex costume, and he shoved the woman at Miguel. Miguel caught her and apologized, then he leapt after the man on all fours. He caught up to him, and threw his can at the man. It missed, but the contents exploded all over the suspect. Miguel caught up to him while he was wiping his eyes and cursing, only to be flipped into a dumpster for his efforts.

With his luck, he managed to end up in a particularly gross pile of trash, with most of it being rancid food waste. Miguel hissed and let out a string of angry and bitter Spanish as he spent the rest of the day tracking the guy down. It was easy, because the man now stunk of Sweet Tarts, which subsequently was what the energy drink smelled like to Miguel.

It was nightfall by the time he caught up to the bastard and boy was he tired. By then, it was way too easy to take him down and subdue him. It was right before Miguel had dealt a kick to the man, took the purse, and sent him flying into some trash cans when he heard and smelled someone else's presence.

Flowers.

He smelled flowers. That was a pleasant and easy to spot smell, since he was covered in gross sticky garbage juice and body sweat from the day.

Then he could hear a heartbeat and breathing, along with gasps and a shuffle of shoes on concrete. He peaked over his shoulder and saw a small dark bump on the railing, and he turned back just in time to avoid an attack from the man he thought he had knocked out. He incapacitated the criminal and then secured him with his webs. Once done, he turned and addressed the other person's presence, and to his surprise, it was a woman. A woman that promptly hid from him.

He couldn't help himself, so he jumped up to check her out and see what her deal was and why she was creeping around on a roof all by herself.

And boy was he ever glad that he did.

There she was, that pretty little light Spider in her sparkling night sky outfit.

It was such a weird event, and in the end, she ended up sharing her identity, accusing him of being her ex boyfriend, yelling at him, her deciding he wasn't her ex, apologizing, and then buying him some pizza.

They talked all night.

Well, up until he bailed on her once he saw he still had that lady's purse.

Well okay, it was really because he was getting far too comfortable with her far too quickly. She felt safe, warm, and welcoming… After she stopped yelling at him. That got his attention, if you know what I mean.

He had openly stared at her, his eyes drinking in the way her outfit clung tightly to her body. He enjoyed the shape of her face, and how her eyes shined like the night sky. He was especially fond of the way she seemed quite feisty and foul mouthed, even if she used terms he wasn't accustomed to.

He decided it was best to stay away, keep a low profile, and hope she assumed he had left.

But things didn't go as planned.

***

Miguel had exhausted all his options, with his only local answer being Stark Industries. He set a plan into motion to try and get Lyla to jack into the place so he could snag the information he needed to get himself back home.

While he made mental notes on how to go forward, he made his way back to his hotel, collecting his lost clothes and bag from before. He had a much needed shower to rid himself of the stink he had been marinating in all night, and put the costume into the sink to soak for a few hours while he slept. Lyla had promised him she would work on something to replace it.

***

His dreams didn't help him at all.

Miguel ended up in an acid trip copy of the city, and he was stuck wandering the rooftops endlessly. He noticed the costume he was wearing, actually fit him perfectly, and the design had changed drastically. It was nice, and he made a mental note to let Lyla know.

He had no idea what the point of the dream was, but he could tell that there were lights coming from an especially dark area of rooftops. It almost looked like an aurora borealis, but only over that one rooftop. The one that was the tallest.

He decided to make his way over. His movements were choppy and almost like he was missing chunks of the journey towards the roof, and it didn't seem like he was getting any closer at all. It also felt like he was moving at fifteen frames per second, and he did not like it at all.

A flash of grey caught his eye. It was moving quickly, much faster than he was, and it was fluid and graceful. It was hopping over the buildings faster than he could keep up. At first he thought it was a shadow, but the more he looked at the streak of grey, the more he began to see it was a man in a well tailored suit.

A suit that looked freakishly familiar.

Miguel suddenly sped up and went at a full run. Everything sped up to the way he liked it to be. He wanted to get closer and catch it, and as he kept the chase up, the man that was running away started to look more and more familiar. The closer he got, the more details he could see.

The man was wearing a mask that covered his entire head. When he looked back at Miguel, he appeared to not even acknowledge him, or perhaps he didn't see him. Maybe he did, and just didn't care. Either way, Miguel followed him, noting that, he too, was going for the lights on the building.

A sudden thought hit him like a bullet. Miguel had webs! He raised his hand and shot at the building above him. When it connected, Miguel yanked himself up and over the man in the dark grey suit. The man scowled and shot him the finger.

Triumph filled him as he zipped past the guy and drew himself closer to the light. He was filled with pride at how well he was doing. He had to make a brief stop to kick off the side of the building in order to keep up this momentum, and that's where shit went sideways.

The moment he shot out another web, it was met with a glinting metal object and it was severed. He tried again, but the same thing happened. He got angry and turned to peer behind him, seeing the masked man literally moving over him and kicking him right in the face as he used his shoulders to leap upwards.

Miguel yelped as he fell. The top of the building flew away from him, sending the light far away. He tried to shoot out a life line, but he failed to snag anything.

Darkness was threatening to swallow him up, when he tried a final time to grasp any sort of surface to save himself. The last rope he flung out managed to hit something, and he used the sudden change in motion to send him upwards.

Miguel slammed hard against a concrete wall, his claws digging in easily, like a spade into dirt. He huffed and looked up, feeling like time had shifted forwards again. He couldn't see the other man at all.

"I miss you, you know. Every night I think about you. It helps to keep me going, knowing you'll be there when I get back." Miguel heard his own voice, twisted and not exactly right sounding.

He snarled and pulled himself up, almost violently as he climbed higher and higher, similar to an angry bear chasing its prey up to the top. In seconds he had pulled himself up to the edge and looked over. His eyes focused on what was there and he grit his teeth.

There, in that fucking asshole's lap, was the girl that had bought him pizza. The pretty light Spider that he'd been thinking too much about recently. She was quiet as the guy spoke to her while his hands were all over her, grabbing and pawing, and Miguel snarled to himself.

"Do you know why I call you, 'mi estrella'? I consider you like the sun, and myself the moon. You're so brilliant and warm, and your greatness shines so brightly. It reflects onto me, making me feel like my heart is full."

The words sent Miguel's gag reflex into overdrive and he almost barfed at how corny and cheesy the phrases were. He didn't like it one bit and he began to drag himself up and to a standing position. As he stood, his eyes processed how she was reacting. She seemed distant, even though she was letting the man touch her. The lack of a response from her was maddening.

Even in his dreams, the woman he had met didn't seem too thrilled about what was happening. He wasn't either.

Miguel moved quickly. The action was so fast, the other man didn't see it coming as if time had slowed right down for everyone, except for Miguel. Miguel lunged forward, grabbed the man by the lapels, and yeeted him straight off of the building, before sliding into his place under the Galaxy Spider.

Time sped up again, and she looked surprised to see him there. Surprised, but pleased. His mouth began to move, words spilling out as she squirmed in his lap.

"Don't think about him. His pretty words mean nothing when he keeps breaking your heart."

"Miguel." Her voice sounded like liquid silk to his ears, and he couldn't stop himself from pushing her back and kissing her with need.

He remembered calling her beautiful, and then the rest was a wild and vivid fever dream. He had been desperate as he clawed at the fabric of her suit and ravaged every inch of her skin that was revealed. She seemed to enjoy being bitten and manhandled, while he enjoyed the way she thrashed, bit, and clawed at him in return.

She made him throb with desire, and he knew that he was hooked, when he probably should have minded his own business. He knew he couldn't leave any time soon.

He enjoyed her sitting in his lap. He enjoyed it even more when he pushed her onto her back and ground into her to the point he heard the building crack, and she begged him for more. He made her come so easily, and he couldn't fathom why. It wasn't like he was a virgin or anything, but he didn't think sex could be this…

Well, pornographic and mind blowing.

His favorite part of the dream, was when he webbed her hands, feet, and torso up, then proceeded to make a makeshift sex swing. She also seemed to very much enjoy the contraption, and he made use of it for every position change after.

That dream lasted an eerily long time, and when it was done, Miguel woke up feeling like he didn't rest at all, like he was really there, actually doing that for hours. He was hot, tired, and very sweaty and sticky.

And so were his sheets.

"Good morning, Miguel. I take it you had a very… Explicit and pleasant wet dream?" Lyla chirped up at him, effectively startling him.

"Shock! Don't scare me like that. And, uh, nooo…"

"You don't have to lie to me, Miguel O'Hara. Your heart rate and blood pressure skyrocketed, you were tossing and turning and the final evidence, is that you had a seizure like reaction and-"

"Alright already! Yes! Yes, I had a wet dream. Ya happy?"

"Oooo, was it about the lady Spider?" Lyla asked, but Miguel didn't answer.

Note:

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Series Master List

***

I decided in this story, that Jake's Moon Knight suit can be different and ever changing. He wears his comic book one we didn't get to see in the Moon Knight series, and a version of Steven's suit, but charcoal and black. You might remember it from the sex dream Y/N had in a previous chapter. He won't be using the other one much.

***

Special thanks to:

Beta Reader:

@einno-arko

Proof Reader:

@iceclaw101

Ideas:

@theaussiedragon @howaboutcastiel @einno-arko

***

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#poisoned empanadas #moon knight #marvel moon knight #jake lockley #18+ fanfic #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockely #jake lockely x reader #spider man 2099 smut #spider man 2099

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iheartjohnlennon · 7 months

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hii, can you write Mick Jagger x famous fashion designer!female reader in which he irritates and begs her to design and sew Bianca's wedding dress until she accepts but then they often have sex and make out during "creative discussions" and when the dress is finally ready they kind of end up getting married instead? with THE dress.

Is it considered steal the groom if the groom himself takes the initiative to exchange the bride? lol this is kind of fucked up and I'm going to feel bad for Bianca but I think it's something Mick would definitely have the nerve to do. I honestly think it would be one of Rock's most tragicomic and iconic stories if it had happened.

I hope you see the appeal as I did, but feel free to ignore it if that's not your cup of tea. LOVE <3

'Luna, amore e no'

London, early '71

Tags: Infidelity, Smut, Orgasm, Emotional Conflict, Resolved Sexual Tension

A Saturday night in Chelsea

The boutique was adorned with fabrics that were shades and tones of purple, pink and white. Delicate mannequins were draped in her coquettish designs, and a scent of perfume filled the space.

It was a haven she had beautifully thought up for herself, and the thought had managed to garner her acclaimed and revered attention.

This shop in Chelsea was particularly popular, but now there was a quiet stillness of the Saturday evening, and it was a welcome change from the bustle of London during the daytime.

The clock struck 9 PM when Y/N entered the boutique, her sketchbook clutched in hand.

Her footsteps echoed through the front room and into the retail area before she entered her beloved office.

She shed her coat and placed her sketchbook down. She was about to settle into her desk chair with a few of her textiles in hand when she heard it ring.

"Oh, Christ."

She threw down her silks and needles onto the nearby couch. The telephone had begun ringing, and she knew it was going to continue incessantly. She also knew it was going to do her head in.

She toyed with the idea of ignoring it, or perhaps letting it ring a little longer. Maybe he'd give up. But it persisted, each chime a reminder of his stupid determination. The reason why she lingered to pick up, was because she knew exactly who was calling, and why he was calling.

Although his want was clear the first time they very briefly spoke on the phone, he wanted more than that, and that loosely intrigued her.

Mick had strategically been ringing every Saturday when he could. It was a way to let her know he wasn't going to let her get away easily, not without having some part of her. She sighed into her seat and focused on her book, flicking through concepts and sketches.

"Fucking hell, it's like clockwork for him."

Her patience had quickly worn thin and she leaned forward, her fingers navigated the rotary dial. The ringing had finally ceased, replaced by a muffled dialogue.

The phone's receiver, cool against her palm, spoke to her.

"Evening darling."

"Hello."

"Ah, Y/N, always a pleasure to hear your voice."

She was taken aback, yet swiftly regained her composure and brushed off his subtle flirt.

"What is it that you want, Mr Jagger?"

Mick's voice was ribbon and it flowed into one ear and right out of the other.

"Well, I was hoping for a chat with the most sought-after woman in London."

She couldn't suppress a scoff.

"Yes, yes, yes, of course, but what is it that you want?" She pressed dismissively.

"I want the pleasure of your company."

Y/N's brow quirked, feeling an incredulity.

"Company? Mr Jagger, we haven't even agreed to a meeting."

Mick was unfazed and pushed on.

"Well, Bianca adores your work, you know. She'd be over the moon to have you design for her."

She tutted, "Oh, how touching. I'm sure she would."

"You really should give her the wedding dress she deserves, Y/N. I promise you won't regret it."

Y/N's breath hitched, caught off guard by the sweet audacity of his words. He was, after all, soon to be wedded.

"I'm sure Bianca would be thrilled to hear you're so invested in her gown."

Mick chuckled.

"Well, she deserves nothing but the best, and you, you are the best."

"Do you have a penchant for dresses, Mick?" She teased.

His response was swift and sincere.

"I have a penchant for the woman making the dresses."

She giggled, unable to stifle the sound. His persistence was both exasperating and endearing.

Mick was still adamant.

"You're the perfect designer for this, Y/N. Please, just give me- us a chance."

"Mhm."

Mick had to find more fuel, any excuse or plea to see her.

"She's genuinely taken with your talent, Y/N. You're the only one she trusts for this."

Her resolve wavered, swayed by his flattery. With a soft sigh, she relented.

"Fine, fine. We'll meet."

He wasted no time in setting a date. "Yes, next Friday evening, preferably when we have the place to ourselves?"

"Ooh, just us, then?" She teased.

"I'd like that." He answered without hesitation.

She raised an eyebrow.

Mick's confidence remained unshaken.

"Regardless, love, I'll be waiting eagerly for our meeting, next Friday.

"Fine, next Friday it is."

She scrawled the date on a notepad, it was a flimsy agreement.

"I can't wait to see you, Y/N."

See he said. Why not meet? This was only business after all.

"Likewise, Mick, likewise."

"Y/N, you're a gem, you know that?"

"Oh, don't let this get to your head, Jagger. It's just a design."

"Just a design? This is Bianca's dream we're talking about!"

"Well, I wouldn't ever dream of standing in the way of your wedding would I?"

"And I wouldn't dream of keeping you waiting."

He had said that suggestively, although she didn't want to see it that way.

"Good. I have a reputation to uphold, after all, you know."

"And what a reputation it is."

She smiled and decided to cut his unwavering flattery short, "Goodbye, Mick."

"Goodbye, Y/N."

When Mick heard the click of the phone, it was a call back to reality, and that reality was enticing.

The Friday

The door chimed and Y/N was standing poised near the entrance for him. Mick wasn't alone. He had brought a photographer with him by the looks of it, and he seemed eager to capture every moment of this collaboration.

There was an attraction between them as they stood close.

He immediately extended his hand, the gesture was as smooth and as handsome as the man himself.

Mick's eyes traced the contours of her form. He wasn't one for simple impressions and wanted her to know he was intrigued.

"Mick." She greeted simply.

"Y/N, it's a pleasure."

He pulled her hand to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to her knuckles.

She cleared her throat, regaining her composure.

"Likewise. How have you been?"

"Nervous, very nervous, but I have faith in your talents, love."

"As you should." She said snarkily.

"You look even better in person, if that's possible."

"Oh. Thank you."

The unexpected compliment hung in the air, and a charged pause settled between them.

Her eyes flitted to her watch, cautious of time, even though they had lots of it.

"Well, Mick, you know it's bad luck for the groom to get too close to the dress before the wedding. You might have to stay away from me." She joked.

He smiled, and with that, Y/N turned, beckoning him to follow her to an office.

She couldn't shake the feeling of Mick's eyes being all over her.

When the door closed, the air seemed to shift. They were in a smaller more intimate space.

Mick settled into a plush chair, and his thoughts were consumed by the captivating designer who had finally walked into his life. She'd been in many other lives, whether through a purchase or a fling, but he was glad it was his turn now.

She cast a glance back at him as she ruffled through, "Make yourself comfortable, Mick."

Y/N bent over her desk as she rifled through the drawers. Mick watched her with an almost fascination. To him, she was a marvel, an artist in her element. Each motion seemed to carry a kind of ethereal grace that held him in attention.

With everything she needed gathered in her arms, she approached him and sat on the arm of the chair.

Y/N reached for a glass of wine, preparing for the storm that was going to be this wedding.

"So, what's on your mind, then?" She asked casually, taking a slow sip.

His eyes wandered over the sketches but he didn't seem to be all that interested, he seemed bored.

"This silhouette here." He pointed to a sketch of something puffy, and she thought that it didn't suit Bianca's figure. She also thought it seemed inappropriate to be chatting about the bride's dress with the groom, but whatever.

"How about this one, here instead?" Y/N flicked to a page of things more form-fitting and flat.

Mick's eyes looked to a particular design on the page, another choice that seemed miles away from Bianca's taste. "This one," he mused, his finger tapping the paper. "It's got a flair, a vibrancy. What do you think?"

She sighed and looked down at him, he had a stupid smile on his face, he'd had it since he had walked in.

"I think you're very distracted, Mick."

He let out a hearty laugh and swiftly took her cup of wine.

"What do you mean, darling?" he quipped, trying to sound innocent, though the cheekiness in his tone betrayed him.

With a sigh, Y/N stood up and carefully arranged everything on her rug.

She slipped off her shoes to get comfortable on the floor and undid the top button of her blouse.

"Come here, Mick." She gestured for Mick to join her, her voice was warm and inviting to him.

She looked sultry sitting on her rug, and he wondered if she was making an innuendo for them to shag on the floor or something.

Everything was spread out before them. Y/N's patience wore thin and she implored for the final time, "Are you going to be serious this time?"

"Hm..." He said childishly.

"No, Mick," she insisted, her voice firm. "Answer the question. Are you going to be serious this time?"

He relented, only because he liked her demand.

"Alright, I'll be serious," he declared, his arm moving to encircle her waist.

She removed his arm and shifted, settling on her knees.

Mick shifted his position to mirror hers. He sat on his knees, somewhat determined to focus.

"Thank you, Mick. Now, a pattern, any pattern you can think of."

"Something floral, understated but not dull, you know?"

She nodded resolutely and wrote notes whilst drawing little concepts beside them. Mick was watching in awe, she couldn't place why, this was the most boring part of it.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you since I got engaged. I'm enamoured with your work, you know." He confessed.

Why did he have to say since he got engaged, it sounded like he was expressing his love for her over Bianca, and she dreaded that thought.

"What do you mean?" She asked, timid.

"You're my favourite designer, Y/N. There's no one better."

She tutted and shook her head, "Oh, come now. I'm sure there are better."

"Nah, I'm convinced you're a creative genius." Mick giggled.

"And I'm convinced you have a way with words." She deadpanned.

"Trust me, Y/N. You're my favourite."

"Right. Well, let's discuss the dress. What colour are you envisioning?"

She changed the subject, fearing that what she thought Mick was thinking would materialise.

"How about orange?"

"Orange?"

"Yeah, why not?" He said sarcastically.

"Stop it now."

"Alright, alright, obviously white."

"Obviously, but what shade of white?"

"Dunno, suppose you'll have to surprise her."

"Okay." She groaned and rightfully decided she wasn't going to ask Mick for anything, ever.

She leaned over him to grab something, and his arm once again found its way around her waist, an intimate hold, like he was trying to show affection. It was a move that was becoming all too familiar, and she didn't like that.

"Come on, Mick," Y/N sighed, frustration evident in her voice. "What are you doing?"

Mick didn't want to beat around the bush, not with her.

"This is getting a bit dull, don't you think, love?" he suggested.

Y/N's brow furrowed in disbelief, struggling to keep up with the sudden turn of events. "What's gotten into you?"

"You haven't caught on yet?" he teased.

She mustered a shaky breath, "I did, but I was hoping you'd spare us both the bloody trouble."

"I haven't even scratched the surface, love."

His arm was still around her waist, so he pulled her closer until they were nose-to-nose.

He closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers in a hard kiss.

Y/N moved back abruptly, her disgust palpable. "You've lost your mind, Mick. You're engaged, and I'm designing her dress. This is sick- you are sick."

He shrugged.

"Well, she's not the one, love. Not by a long shot."

"Then who is?"

Before she could process the weight of her own question, Mick kissed her. He started it soft. There was a gentle brush of lips, a mingling of breath. His arms circled her waist and as the kiss deepened, so did the intensity. Their tongues swirled together, tasting the wine they shared. The world outside seemed to blur, leaving only the spontaneous connection between them.

Y/N's hand remained on Mick's chest, her fingers curling against the fabric, her voice barely above a mumble as she uttered his name. Still, he didn't stop. Instead, he kissed her deeper, his hand moving to grab her bottom.

They both pulled away at the same time, their breaths mingling in the charged air. Mick's eyes held a mixture of desire and uncertainty as he looked at her.

He cleared his throat, "Should we stay here on the floor, or find a more comfortable spot?"

Mick was very confident, so confident he didn't bother to use perception, though he didn't need to in this circumstance.

"A couch sounds nice," she replied, mischief in her eyes.

They untangled themselves, their movements carried a sensuous grace. Making their way to the nearby couch on the other side of the room, the atmosphere seemed to thicken, the unspoken promise of what awaited them palpable in the air.

He took her by surprise, his hands pushed her forwards over the arm of the couch so she could be bent over for him.

Mick pulled her closer, his hands moving down her body as he unzipped the back of her skirt and eased it off her hips. He sighed with as the fabric rustled around her ankles. He tugged on the waistband of her tights and dragged them to the floor.

"Do you feel me, hm?"

He pressed himself into her and it was teasing both of them.

She looked back at him, "I feel you.."

The sound of leather on metal clinked in her ears as he pulled the belt from its loops. His trousers were made into a pile around his ankles, leaving him with his boxers.

Mick held her hips and pressed himself against her, she could feel the warmth of his cock through the thin fabric of his underwear.

His hands found her panties, he pulled them to one side and he thrust harder, pushing his erection against her bare cunt.

"Mm, Mick."

He thrust two fingers into her eagerly, enjoying the sensation of her cunt clenching around them. She giggled at the sudden intrusion, and he pushed his fingers in and out of her faster, eager for more. He moved his fingers more vigorously as she became wetter.

He removed his fingers, and pulled off his boxers. His cock bounced free; he couldn't wait any longer to be inside of her. He stroked himself twice, savoring the feeling. The head of his hardness was tapped against her entrance, then slid inside of her, inch by inch. He lightly stretched her open, allowing himself to fully enter. He groaned when he filled her up completely, and only slowly moved in and out.

He went from the tip of cock to the middle of his cock. She was so wet for him. He went balls deep a few times, light taps filled the room with each time he did so.

Her back arched as his dick slid in and out of her, the fuck was swift.

He drove into her with an intense passion. She looked back at him with wide eyes, a mix of pleasure and desperation.

Mick's thrusts were deep and unyielding, directly hitting her g-spot with every movement. Her walls clenched involuntarily as the sensation grew, seeming to never end.

Mick was getting close so he fucked into her harder. Her body slid back and forth beneath him, her stomach moving against the arm. She moved her hips back, urging him on.

"Fuck." He groaned.

He was getting close so he fucked into her harder. Her body slid back and forth beneath him, her stomach moving before the arm. The sensation of her warm skin made him shudder.

He pulled out just in time, his penis coated in sticky white fluid. She got up promptly to kiss him, excited.

Her lips clasped against his and for a moment it was as if no time had passed between them, but then she broke the seal of her mouth and trailed kisses down his chin and neck to his shoulder blade

They were giddy from their illicit activity, like teenagers sneaking away to do each other right under their parents' noses.

Well, it was under someone's nose.

#60s rock #vintage #the rolling stones #mick jagger #keith richards #brian jones #Mick Jagger x reader #rock music #fanfic

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an-otterly-adorable-being · 9 months

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Hey there! This is a Rocky Rickaby x fem! Or gn! Reader hc req so i hope you don't mind the specifications for the reader i have lol. This is gonna be similar to the Rocky Rickaby hc with the socialite but its more independent.

Reader probably grew up in poverty but then like, moved to america to start and worked there. Basically a fresh start, things were rocky at first but they got the hang of it. But then somehow, for some reason, reader managed to be the most successful kitty cat in america. But despite being very rich and very successful, that doesn't mean they won't have envious people or rivalries. (Or admirers, bcus y not?).

But since this is fiction, reader is girlboss and managed themselves and is still financially stable, mentally? Probably not. But that's why reader LOVES Rocky right? Even if Rocky is this poor, stupidly deranged and insane, sad cat living in his (well, the lackadaisy funded it) own car. He still treats reader as he would to anyone. Even more so if reader is an artist like him.

I also feel like reader would secretly fund the lackadaisy and be best friends with Wick or sumn (i can hear Rocky's maniacal laughing rn). Btw, sorry if this was a lot for you to take in. When i see a fanfic writer saying they're alr with specifications yk damn well im jumpin on that req button. Hands n everythin. And since this was very long you can do this later or delete it if you wanna. Oki- BYEEE <33333

Ooooo, first request. And don't worry about the length, I've got you. Anyways I present to you...

Rocky x Fem!Successful!Reader Headcanons

For context, reader is a fashion designer. Hope this is good enough. Enjoy!

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

• You grew up as a poor girl living in the streets of a small town in Italy, and it shaped a lot of your life.

• Your mother was a low paid seamstress, your father a soldier.

• When the Great War broke out, it left your family shattered.

• No deaths, but your father was never the same, and your mother followed suit after seeing how terrible he was doing.

• Throughout your life, there had only been one constant, one tiny thing that kept you afloat in the sea of misery that was your life.

• Fashion.

• You took after your mother, however you wanted to create your own designs, your own outfits.

• And so, that's exactly what you did.

• When your parents shut down, you took a needle, some thread, and whatever fabric you could scrounge up and got to work.

• Though you didn't receive much notoriety yet, you did manage to get enough money to go somewhere else.

• America was your decision.

• You moved from place to place for a while, setting up shop in Boston, New York City, Buffalo, and even Savanah, Georgia.

• All the while you kept at it.

• Your English wasn't great at first, and neither was the money you were making, but you could see it start to snowball as America's prosperity continued to ramp up.

• You moved around more, Los Angeles, Salt Lake City, Chicago, Houston, Philadelphia, all these places you called home once.

• And while you moved your designs spread. Once seen only on the back pages of a local paper, your designs were beginning to feature on the fronts of national news.

• Catalogues and catwalks galore, you built a fashion empire on your blood, sweat, and tears, and the American people loved it.

• Eventually, after a few years of back breaking work, getting citizenship, getting a company started, etc etc, you became one of, if not the most, successful cat in America.

• Sure, you didn't have as much money as the heirs of old monopolies and tycoons, but damn were you close.

• You had your admirers across the nation, as well as your enemies.

• There were more than a few men who thought they could get one over on you, and while they still despise you and your work, you got the last laugh.

• After so many years of moving from place to place, it became second nature. And that's when you made it to St. Louis, Missouri. The plan was to only stay for a year, maybe more, if it was a decent place.

• You even managed to land yourself an invitation to a local speakeasy from an admirer.

• One night, you finally made your way down to the Lackadaisy, and you got to talking with a businessman, Sedgwick Sable.

• The two of you had a pretty good conversation, becoming fast friends over a mixture of success and hating most rich guys.

• And then a cat ran through the door, panting as he tried to carry about a dozen bottles of booze.

• After getting a bit of assistance, he made his way to the bar and sat at the stool next to you.

• It looked like he had been running for most of the night, and you could swear you smelt something burnt.

• Naturally, you talked to him. If his entrance was one thing, his normal conversations were about ten times that level of chaos.

• He didn't recognize you, too, or atleast pretended not too.

• You ended up finding out his name was Rocky Rickaby, and when you told him who you were, he was rather indifferent.

• That was certainly something new, and it intrigued you further.

• You asked him why he was being so...casual.

• "Well, maybe I don't know you, and maybe I do. Either way, artists like us are still people too."

• The rhyme was an unexpected, but not unwelcome response.

• Honestly, you wish more people had his attitude.

• From then on, you became friends. But eventually things changed.

• You ended up continuing your stay in St. Louis, partly because you grew to love the place, and mostly for Rocky.

• You ended up falling for him, and you know what, you had every right to.

• When you were younger you wished for attention, especially as your family crumpled around you.

• However the love and even hate you got from your work never truly satisfied that.

• Rocky did, though. He was sweet, a little insane, sure, but overall he was amazing.

• So, you crafted the ultimate plan.

• You made sure Rocky got a good amount of sleep the night before, offering up your bed for the night.

• It was way better than the car.

• Then, you spent the day together. You got him new clothes, took him out on a joyride around the city, and ended the night on a bridge over the Mississippi River.

• There, as the moonlight shone overhead, and Rocky played the night away.

• You heard him play many times before, but you loved hearing every new improvised song he came up with.

• You told him how you felt, and he happily returned your feelings, a massive grin on his face.

• The two of you have been happy together since then, and still are now.

#rocky rickaby x reader #rocky rickaby #lackadaisy rocky #lackadaisy #lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy headcanons #headcanon

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thief-of-eggs · 4 months

Text

‘Thoughts of You Consume’ writing update for you all (plus a sneak peek of a later chapter)

First off, I want to say thank you to all of you who have been reading and invested in my works. Truly, I cannot tell you how much your support means to me, and it never fails to make me giggle and kick my feet when I think of how many people are enjoying my silly stories.

For everyone asking- yes, I am still writing my snowjanus longfic ‘Thoughts of You Consume’. I’ve gotten a lot of comments and asks, and it felt easier to post this then answer them all (although I still might try to)

There has been a lot that’s arisen in my personal life this past month (unexpected move, loss of a pet, relapse with my auto-immune disorder) that has caused me to put my fics on hold while I focused on getting my life back on track. (Aka- i’ve been reading a shit ton of books. Sometimes the writer just needs to be the reader for a moment)

I have not forgotten about the fic, or about all of you lovely readers! I have the next chapter half written, and I try to visit it every day to add even just a little <3

I’m hoping to have a new update for you soon, but in the meantime, as a treat- enjoy this little excerpt from a future chapter:

(Spoiler Warning)

Coriolanus is quiet as he sneaks back in to the Snow’s apartment, though he’s not entirely sure why. Surely their grandmother has already gone to bed, and it’s not like he has anything to hide. So he’d been out with a friend- that’s not too absurd is it?

Yet he still feels as though he’s done something wrong.

He begins to head straight to his room, but pauses as he passes their kitchen, seeing a candle lit on the table. His cousin is bent over her latest bit of embroidery- some tablecloth for Fabricia. He doesn’t know what leads him to it, but he finds himself walking closer, crossing in to their little kitchen.

His foot steps on a creaky floorboard, causing Tigris to startle, before laying her eyes on him.

“Oh! You’re home- I hadn’t heard you come in.”

Coriolanus hums, walking silently to their worn kitchen table, and takes a seat across from his cousin.

“Did you have a nice night?”

Again he hums, watching as she returns to her embroidery. Her needle slides delicately through the fabric, weaving an intricate floral design with mere thread alone.

“Did you eat while at the Plinths?”

A spike of fear grips his heart- how did she know where he’d been? He certainly hadn’t told her, that’s for sure. But then… where else is he known to go? He doesn’t maintain friendships outside of the Academy, hasn’t gone over to anyone’s place besides Sejnaus’s. Yes, that’s right. It was a mere logical deduction on her part, nothing more. She hasn’t picked up on anything, other than his mundane habits.

The thought eases a bit of his chest, though really, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she knew. Tigris has come to be his one and only confidant, and the fact that he’s kept this from her so long eats away at his insides, a muddled up secret begging to be set free.

The two of them sit in relative silence for a while after. Coriolanus watches the candle sink lower and lower, his mind playing over the events of the day, playing over Sejanus’s face, Sejanus’s words, Sejanus’s everything.

Eventually, it becomes too much to bear. He opens his mouth and pauses, weighing his words in his throat before finally speaking.

“Can I- can I ask you something Tigris?”

His cousin looks up from her embroidery, her needle in hand as she peers at him in the dim light. She cocks her head, care and concern laced in her expression.

“Of course Coryo. What is it?”

Coriolanus takes in a breath, holding it carefully in his chest before releasing. He tries and fails to formulate just how to go about asking what he means. Eventually, he settles for something more cryptic than he’d have liked.

“Would it be so wrong if I were… different?” Coriolanus asks, desperately hoping Tigris will somehow pick out his deeper thoughts and meaning.

“Different how?” She replies, and Coriolanus feels his chest deflate like a balloon. Of course she couldn’t know- and he isn’t likely to tell her just now.

“Never mind,” he mumbles, standing from the table. He’s suddenly quite exhausted, and finds he’d like nothing more than to curl up and let the day be washed away in the grips of sleep.

“Coryo, wait-“

Tigris stands as well, reaching out to grab onto his arm. He allows himself to be stopped, turning to face his cousin as she steps closer, standing directly in front of him as she places her hands on his shoulders.

“Different is never bad, Coryo.” Her eyes bore intently into his, so full of tenderness, full of love and care. “You could be all sorts of different, and it wouldn’t matter one bit to me.”

Coriolanus can’t tell if she’s grasped at anything, or if her statement is truly a blanket one. But still, it makes the ache in his chest loosen, makes his eyes flood with tears that he can’t fully understand, besides knowing that they’re partly forming out of relief that his cousin wouldn’t abandon him should she find out he were disgrace to their family name.

“Thank you Tigris,” he murmurs. She reaches up to cup his cheek, gently wiping away a stray tear that falls.

“Oh Coryo,” she whipsers, before pulling him close in her arms. He buries his face in her neck, holding his breath as though he could hold in his tears, his eyes screwed shut as her hand passes gently through his hair.

He pulls back a moment later, his vision blurred by his unshed tears. “I’m off to bed,” he says with a sniff, stepping back with his gaze trained at the floor. He doesn’t wish to see Tigris’s pity in her eyes just now, doesn’t wish to see all the ways she might suspect him different.

“Alright,” she murmurs. “Sleep well Coryo.”

He nods, turning on his heel to trudge back into his bedroom. Once past the threshold, he closes his door, leaning back on the thick mahogany wood with his eyes squeezed shut, his breath held tight in his chest.

It’s no use now that he’s alone. The sobs come quietly, because Coriolanus had learned early on in life how to manage his grief in silence. Slowly, he slides down the door until he’s sitting on the barren floor. He tugs his knees up to his chest, buries his face in his hands, and weeps.

He can’t fully work out just what he’s weeping for.

#snowjanus #snowjanus fic

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mxdarling · 1 year

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["You’re so pretty when you smile." / "We’re stuck together now, I’ll make sure of it."]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: shu is making pretty outfits for his lovely model, aka you / you finally have a lover, mika isn't too thrilled about it.

ೃ⁀➷: Word count: 1469

ೃ⁀➷: Reference/Inspiration: N/A

ೃ⁀➷: Event: [200 followers event]

ೃ⁀➷: ERA: !!

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. I don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. If you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, I am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[Warnings:] bad oneshot, lowercase, maybe ooc shu and mika, yandere behavior, implied reader could be in love with shu, reader gets called darling (ma chérie), reader is being treated like a doll (shu's part), reader has a lover (mika's part), reader friendzones mika, implied murder, mentions of getting rid of a body, mentions of stabbing.

[GN reader]

SHU ITSUKI had quite the hobby of stitching up new outfits whether it be for a valkyrie performance or not. most of the time you'd find him in his office spending upon hours and hours designing and stitching up an outfit from scratch. sometimes you'd see band-aids wrapped around his fingers from when he'd accidentally poke himself with the sharp needles, or how some of the threads will be attached to his clothes when he finally leaves his office.

you're often left curious what goes on in the process of making these distinctive and compelling outfits. what deductions does shu do to make a decisive decision on every part of the outfit? where does his creativity flow come from? such questions were left bitterly unanswered yet you didn't have the heart to ask him. you couldn't bear to disturb the peace while he makes these clothes. so, you've slowly accepted just watching from afar.

a few months have passed and nothing out of the ordinary has happened during the day. completing your usual routine, helping mika with his idol work, and...slightly admiring shu from a distance. that's how it always went—just a simple unrequited love. nothing more, nothing less. till that simple yet crafted planned out routine was crashed all by a unexpected encounter.

"do not be mistaken, for it was not I who have made such a demand, but mademoiselle who persistently kept requesting your presence in my office."

without hesitation, of course you said 'yes'. he spoke in his usual harsh tone and wordings, yet, just for a split second, there was a slight fondness in his eyes. perhaps you were just imagining it but it wouldn't hurt to believe in it, right?

since then you've starting spending your time in his office, modeling till morning to dawn, sometimes late evening depending how satisfied he is with the final product on you. being of service to shu thrilled you, so much more when he began to seek you out more frequently. you finally got to see the whole process of his creations, the amount of beta designs one outfit goes through. the motion of his hands sewing the fabric together, you could finally see all of them in front of your eyes.

as time went by, you started to grow more and more concern. you're still thrilled to be able to spend time with shu, don't be mistaken, but it felt like you were spending more and more time in his office than doing anything else.. it wasn't often that shu would disturb you during your morning tasks, he'd wait until later afternoon or early evening to start. soon morning tasks were moved to the afternoon as you were preoccupied with modelling for shu. slowly but surely you've started to abandon almost your duties in favor of wanting to spend more time helping shu with model his outfits.

to be honest, you felt bad for leaving all your work to mika.. poor lad must be struggling in pressure and stress from how much he has to do in a day and next the following days. though mika has reassured time and time again that this is no problem for him. ("helpin' producer is what i want to do!"). although you've demanded to aid mika have never truly died down, they are met with the same verdict repeatedly and again.

"please don't make such a dejected expression, ma chérie. it will ruin the appeal of the overall creation of my hard work."

shu successfully hushes your protests from slipping out your mouth, opting in keeping your mouth shut, knowing your words won't change his mind. standing up from his desk in favor of walking towards you. he takes slow and steady steps, sound of echoes of his shoes bounces off the walls sends a elegant yet eerie vibe, goosebumps rising in your arms and legs. for the first time since you've been with shu, you feel unsafe.

"there, smiling suits you best, don't you know? smile for me, alright? you’re so pretty when you smile, ma chérie.."

MIKA KAGEHIRA was a sweetheart to you. it was hard to find it in yourself to dislike him. even if he messed up one of his tasks, you could tell he was trying his best to learn and adapt. plus, you were there right by his side to help him! help guide him when he looked lost and needed your help! often you praise him for his hard work when doing his tasks—even if it ends up a little wonky, it was hard work nonetheless.

you took note of how happy he gets, and how much wider his smile gets when you praise him. he seems more motivated and more determined to finish when you do so as well. to you it was a very cute sight to see and witness on a daily, it reminded you of good puppy doing tasks for its owner to try and win their praise. of course this giving of praise wasn't one-sided, no no no, not at all. in fact, he probably does it way more than you do!

you two were like two peas in a pod, inseparable. attached to each other's hip and always right by each other's side. if the other goes, the other follows. lots of people have observed that and would comment on how close you and mika were. even shu (plus mademoiselle) has made such comments about the two of you. it became more and more of a common sight to see the both of you doing something together. whether that be sewing outfits to show to teach, collecting stuff toys, making (forcing) mika eat a proper meal, going shopping, everything.

naturally people around would often say how nice you two look together, how it was adorable you two were matching bracelets, how you two look like an actually couple. couple, you and mika? you never really thought about how people would view your very close friendship with mika, neither did you ever thought of really dating him. the idea wasn't unwelcomed, but it wasn't something you desired either. you couldn't really find yourself actually dating mika and being in a romantic relationship with him. it just didn't felt right to you, so you'd end up telling people you and mika are just friends multiple times as the assumptions about you being a couple continued to grow.

with that in mind it was safe to say that you weren't surprised when people jaw dropped the moment you announced that you had a lover and it wasn't mika. so many people expected you'd two were gonna become a real thing, listen to the people's assumptions, you guessed. introducing your lover to mika was... awkward. mika kept acting 'weird' in your lover's words, knowing mika longer and more personal than they have, you know that's just mika being nervous. still he was odd when describing how he felt about your lover, all the muttering and whispers weren't normal, nor was his oddly empty and dark gaze.

it was even more odd to find your lover not in your shared apartment that night, yet it all made sense when you find your lover dead on the ground, and the culprit was none other than your best friend, mika.

your lover lay flat on the ground, most likely already dead by how dry the blood on the floor is. their clothes were a bloody mess, you can see the stab wounds through the clothes they wore. worse of all, a knife stabbed right through their fucking skull. you wanna throw up, your stomach feels sick just by looking at this scene alone. you turn your head towards mika, who you caught just before he was about to get rid of the body.

your eyes showed disbelief, he was your best friend after all. his eyes looked guilty, almost like you weren't supposed to seem him like this.

"waah... please don' cry..! I'll cry too! I.. I did a good job, right...?"

mika points out your crying you were unaware of. he soften his gaze and walks towards you, opening his arms to signal he's gonna hug you as an act of comfort. (perhaps he should dispose of the dead body in the alley. if he did, it removed your source of discomfort, or so he thinks.) putting your comfort above his 'task' he tries to give you into a (not) comforting hug. he knew you were scared. you were trembling, seeing blood and a dead body isn't good for your untantained eyes. out of fear and instinct you step away from him, hitting the alley wall as a result—trapping you with mika blocking your only exist.

"no! please don' leave me! we’re stuck together now, I’ll make sure of it!"

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

[a/n; ohhh boy.. this was long LOLL mostly because this just wasn't one character. this took way too long for me to write i'm so sorry. though i definitely had a lot of fun writing this, especially shu's part. in all honesty i sort of did rushed mika's part but i think it was still good lmaoo. anyways, thank you for requesting shu with dialogue #7 and mika with dialogue #22! i hope you still like this despite it being a few months late! again so sorry for not being active! its really hard to be active here without any interactions with followers! pls i encourage asks about anything really! i wanna talk to you guys i swear i'm really nice🥺🥺]

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ongit0 · 1 year

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Soft Sparks for You

(Serial Designation) N x Reader / y/n

3 hours. It’s been 3 hours since I could remember my life. Almost every time my body temperature has spiked I begin to sweat and forget where I am or how I got where I am. Just now I was supposed to guard the landing pod from pesky worker drones yet I find myself standing over a young worker.

The now was brutal, freezing the worker drones from crawling away as their leg spilled their fluids. They gave a dry cry as their circuits were begging for warmth. They were freezing, unable to move any more. They didn’t have much fuel in them. I wanted to watch them try to claw their way to “safety” but I couldn’t watch their fluids spill anymore. I need to preserve it. There weren’t many worker drones that wandered around so their life would be preserved for my strength.

The whimpered as my feather blade fingers dug through their chest plate, impaling them to the ground. Their voice bot snapped out their chest as I tore out their innards. I lifted the beating voice box, hearing each sizzle and small beep. Holding it high in the freezing icy daggers of snowflakes. I watched the oil stop trailing down my arm, felt the small droplets of blood fall down to my metal face.

It was cold.

They were alive for a few seconds, dying so slowly. Shame. A true shame they went cold. That’s what I get for being a fool and playing with my food. J would scold me for sure. It’s unfair how V can go unscathed for making balloon animals with the wires of the workers yet when I do it I was called an idiot.

I got to my knees, dropping the “heart” in order to dig in to the body. I could feel my fangs shine and gleam of saliva as the satisfying crunch of their chest plate crack open, revealing the drones still warm oil spill. Cupping my hands I sunk my hands into their body, watching the oil ripple into my hands. I leaned lower to the body, slurping the oil into my hands. I bit down on my lips, ingesting the oil as it cooled my gears. I wanted to fall over to my side, curl myself in a ball after relieving the fever like heat. Such bliss made my wires and code go haywire.

I took another long gulp of the oil into my hands, smacking my lips as the warm oil filled me. I could feel the corner of my lips subconsciously twist into a smile.

I was famished, needing this oil as I could almost feel myself die without getting another taste of oil on my tongue. Discarding all etiquettes I grabbed the ribs of the drone, cracking it much wider in order to plunge my face into the oily pool of wires and the exoskeleton. If I were human I would die from the oil in my lungs or lack of air. Yet I was gulping the oil, slurping the small pools left around tangled wire. I licked and sucked every wire, my fingers and claws. I giggled, my tail swaying side to side with the needle upwards. “Damn, it’s really been a week since I’ve had any kills. Darn.” I lifted the corpse’s head to my face. “Ugh, sucks you were conveniently hot.” I killed its cheek before kicking it to the sky.

I watched it fall near the landing pod, rolling face down to the snow. “I gotta practice more. I’ve gotten weaker.” I complained.

The softest ‘ting’ made my body twist around, needle ready to impale the nearest creature.

I rolled my eyes as a body fell from a large height, screaming until his impact before me. I opened my mouth to speak but was hit by a hat. “Ugh, N! What are you doing sneaking up on me?!” I threw his hat at his silver white hair.

He blubbered his words, raising up to his feet, dusting off the snow on his long coat. I reached over to his shoulders, fixing the fur on the collar. I ignored his small yellow blush emote on his face panel. He gulped and waved his hands around as he spoke. “Sorry, sorry. I wasn’t sneaking on you, I swear! I just happen to be cruising by. Small place, ya know.” He gave a sheepish giggle and smile. I eyed him, hands on my hips as he seemed nervous for some reason. “Have you always been a clutz at flying? How can you be our leader?” The robots eyes went large before giving a small laugh, scratching his head. “I can’t didn’t fall. I was thrown by J.” He grinned.

As if on cue, the female robot came down above, her wings spread wide and large. It was a complete contrast to her girly physique. Her twin ponytails blew in the cold wind. Her yellow eyes glowed as she stared at the both of us. Her wings retracted into her back as she stepped closer to us.

N screamed, cowering as he fell on his bottom, still smiling at the girl who seemed to enjoy harming the weak leader.

I stepped forward, my lips becoming a small frown as I scowled at her. “Awe, what’s wrong N? Ashamed you can’t land on your own feet and have to blame me again? Come on, I barely got here.” She glared her eyes at me, her claws still out. Despite her being much taller than I am, my composure to stand against her made me 6 feet tall.

“You that scared that the little mute girl has to protect you?”

I wish I wasn’t mute but I must when it comes to her. Narcissists will use your words against you. Her ego is fed by robots stuttering around her because of her. Especially when in fear.

So as much as I wanted to yell and rant and scream at her for hurting N, I stayed silent. I hated it. Having to break my moral code ‘if you see something, say something’, but who am I kidding? No one else cares for N but me.

“Wanna get tossed too-“ With her hand barely raised from her side, I took action. I would take all blame and accept N’s scolding later but I think J deserves some pain.

Without being able to take a stance to let the female robot know I threw a quick but hard jab to stun her, causing her take a couple steps back. It was perfect in range for what was next. I planted both my feet to the floor, bending my knees to ready for a jump. During the leap I rotated my hips to get my leg straight, allowing my foot to give a strong blow to her head. J flew meters away from where she stood, sliding into a pile of snow. N screamed, getting up to help J. I shook my head. She hurt him yet he’s large and bleeding heart always wanted to be useful. Bless his stupid heart.

“J! J are you okay?! Do you- are you in need of medical assistance?!” He swiped the snow off her panel. He gulped as I grabbed him off her. I stood over her, my needle softly tracing down her face. Her eyes watched the needle that was practically ready to impale her, full of nitrate acid. I was annoyed to see her upset at me. Yet I was glad she knows how I felt knowing N was still allowing her to abuse him.

“Y/n please. Don’t hurt her.” He begged, placing his hand on my shoulder. I nodded before I planted my foot into her knee. She screamed, her tail ready to impale my side. I dodged it, allowing the needle to destroy a metal wall behind me. I pushed N away, watching the metal panel fall on her. “J!” N screamed, pulling the panel off J.

I wanted to yell at him for saving her but I can’t her hear me. I’d rather be a silent threat.

She coughed, healing herself before standing up. “You’ve got some nerve to go against me!” She didn’t seem so confident as before, not approaching me like earlier. It’s funny how fast she is to lose control. I almost want to laugh but now wasn’t the time.

I stepped away with N apologizing for me as he headed to the landing pod. “What was that for?” He said. “I’d like to ask the same thing.” I said.

“You and J. I know you hate each other but you don’t have to get physical to each other. We were sent her for a reason, together.” He posted as I jumped into the landing pod. “She needed it.” I said.

“No she doesn’t!”

“I was being nice to her. After all the rude shit-“

“Language.”

I slowly turned my head to him, glaring at him of annoyance.

He kept rambling to which I blocked out my head. I opened the floor of the pod. N seemed to shut up as I pulled out cups and mugs, hell, even jars of oil. His were wide, gleaming at the warm oil. I swirled the warm oil in the cup, holding it by the ear. I handed him the cup. “Careful, it’s still hot.” I closed the box and placed the cover of the fake tile.

I heard slurping and squeaking. I turned to see N’s panel show a large X, his fangs out from his smile. His tongue was out, catching the small droplets. I grinned. “I’m guessing V and J took your kills from the hunt?” I asked, sitting on the floor, hugging my knees. He sighed, holding the still warm cup in his hand. “Yeah.”

I kept my eyes on the floor. I knew he was defeated just by that deflated sigh after his response. It’s best if I just hear him. “So I take it you don’t want to go out for a hunt?” I asked.

“I love doing anything!” He said, getting up on his feet. I got up from the ground, flying out the landing pod. It wasn’t shortly after that N followed. I gasped as he flew past me. He was much faster than I was but that was expected from the leader. I was careful to follow him as he landed on a small metal panel. I fluttered my wings, standing next to him. I looked below to see a couple of worker drones sit around, laughing by a campfire. “You take this one, I’m full from my hunt.” I clapped my hands, grinning the the pale robot. “R-really?” He stammered. Geez, he blushes so easily.

“Don’t you want some too? I don’t want to hog all the oil for myself.” He held his hands, his fingers rubbing as he looked below. “Yeah man. You got this.” I tapped his shoulder. He gave a small squeak, flying down and impaling several drones. Their screams of anguish mixed with th e sounds of gunshots and metal crashing to the floor pleased my circuits. I jumped off the edge, landing both feet on a drone’s corpse. “Wow, you were hungry.” I chuckled as he popped a victim’s head off their body. He drank and sank his fangs down the large tube which many would fall their spinal cord. It was his favorite place to drink the warm sweet oil faster.

I say back near the fire, ready for N to finish his meal. It didn’t take long though, he ate his his meals fast. He sat beside me, his legs cris crossed. “Thank you.” He whispered. “For what?” I asked, laying on my back. He looked down at me which made us both smile. In almost every angle I must admit, he has such a pure and sweet smile. Of all impurities out there, N was perfectly pure. Seeing his gleaming gold eyes and small u shaved smile almost made me forget he was the same leader who has killed hundreds. I couldn’t help but find myself smiling wider just having someone elite N as my friend.

“You… you’re the only one who doesn’t hurt me.” He mumbled. I softened my stare at him, sitting up in order to scoot closer to him. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s the bare minimum as a friend.” I hugged him. He rested his cheek on my shoulder. “Well, now I feel like s terrible friend. You do so much, I’m mot sure how to be a good friend for you.” His words were muffled by my coat.

For months N has always been open of emotions which is good but he opened up to the wrong people. J used them against him and V bullies him. I pity him for having a crush on her. I wish he raised his standards but it’ll take time for the robot to heal.

“You do more than enough.” I whispers, hearing the campfire sizzle out of life. It’s these moment start I cherish and keep as my core memories. Ever since the landing pod crash I can’t afford to lose any more memories. I lost more than V or N combined but no one must know. Maybe one day I’ll recollect them.

Time passed by us, the sun not being able to touch us, allowing us to sleep. Safe from V or J. My heavy eyes glanced over at his sleeping form. His fluffy hair flopped upside down as we hung from the ceiling by our feet and tails. He was so peaceful when it was just us. J would stay making assumptions of us and V would question us but as long as N could spend his days of sleep in peace I disturbed then by all means I want to keep these assumptions to myself. All to keep him safe.

I hummed, shutting my eyes, making my panel go black as I recharged. I would fully shit down when sleeping but I needed to stay on guard to protect him.

It’s odd how even when we crashed into this toxic waste dump planet, I had a connection with him despite my corrupted memories.

#reader insert #x y/n #headcanons #reader #reader x character #platonic #yandere n murder drones #n x yn murder drones #n murder drones #murder drones #n x Yn #n x reader #ao3 works #ao3fic #ao3 author #ao3

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daughterofcain-67 · 7 months

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𝕽𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 (𝔭𝔱.9)

(Dean Winchester x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After an argument causes you and Dean to split up, Dean finds himself in trouble with Sam. Sam inevitably get’s Dean back to the bunker where he will begin the process of transforming back into a human.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Needles, injections, Demon Dean being a jerk, I think that’s it?

Then..

“I think it wouldn’t be smart to try and double cross Crowley and screw up the deal. After all he is a businessman.”

“He’s just another demon. As long as he gets a soul, what’s the big deal?”

“You know, I really don’t appreciate the sudden appearances.” You rolled your eyes. Then you noticed the heavily displeased look on Crowley’s face, causing you to groan.

“What did he do?”

“Are you kidding me!? What didn’t that bastard do!? He killed my client so now I won’t be able to get the soul! He had the audacity to push me around like nothing in front of my servants! And he had the Gaul to tell me he would do whatever he wanted to do!”

“If he was really a demon, he would have done what he was told. He would have killed the designated victim without a second thought. He wouldn’t have had a preference if he were a full demon. I mean, even if Catrina was more of a bitch for her end of the whole ordeal, she was still a client who’s soul I lost because Dean can’t listen to an order! I even threatened the idea that he may have felt sorry for Bethany. If he had felt bad, then maybe he’s more human after all except he’s got those pretty black eyes of his and he’s working alongside you and me.”

“It was nice talking to you too, Y/N. But seriously. If you want to save your skin, either call Sam and tell him where Dean is, or walk away.” After that, Crowley walked out of your hotel room door.

“What are we going to do now, Dean?” You asked yourself but something deep within your conscience knew what you should do.

Now…

You had already typed out a message to Sam to let him know where Dean was. You hadn’t sent it yet since it was still in your draft box.

You didn’t want to betray Dean’s trust. Now that you’ve been exposed to different human emotions, you were beginning to figure out why it made you feel uneasy to think about betraying the person you’d been traveling with.

That vision was sticking with you though. What if Dean’s vessel was really fighting? What if there really was hope for Dean to be cured? Sam would be able to finally have his brother back and things could go back to the way that they were before.

On the other side of the coin, if he was human again, how much damage would his soul have taken after fighting the demon threatening to take over? And what if the mark starts to effect him again and he dies if he can’t kill.

If Dean were to die because he couldn’t kill, then the demon would just come back and you knew it would be yet another endless Winchester cycle. It would be torture for both of them if they went back and forth constantly like that.

Crowley was sure to sell Dean out if you weren’t going to send this message to Sam. So you knew Dean would be in trouble either way no matter what you did. You went ahead and saved the draft instead of sending the message to Sam and you put the phone in your pocket just as you heard the door open again.

You watched Dean come in holding a six pack of beer and you lifted a brow.

“Weren’t you just at the bar?”

“I take it Crowley came in and ranted to you.”

“I don’t know why I’m suddenly the marriage counselor for you two, but yeah. And he said things were over.”

“Well they are. So hopefully he won’t be expecting you to be some kind of shrink anymore.” You laughed slightly.

“I dunno, seemed kind of fun hearing about the things you do just to get under his skin.” You admitted as he sat down next to you. He offered you a beer and you took it.

“Although, I heard you did end up killing that client. I told you there would be problems after that.” You reminded as you opened the bottle and held it up to your lips as you drank from it.

“I didn’t ask for the ‘I told you so’ speech.” He said with a little grunt and you gave him a light nudge with your arm.

“I’m not saying that to be a bitch, I’m saying that now that you’ve done what you did, you need to keep an eye out for Sam. You know Crowley’s likely going to tell him where you are.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Saying what?”

“‘You.’ As if you and I haven’t been doing this together? You’re in this muck just as much as I am. So why do you keep saying that?”

The question took you by surprise. Maybe that was just a moment of humanity on Dean’s part but you knew at this rate it would come to an end once he becomes a full demon.

“I say ‘you’ because your brother isn’t concerned about getting me back into the bunker, and I’m fairly certain he doesn’t want to turn me human. You know he’ll likely use human blood to cure you like you almost cured Crowley.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the thought of what his brother might try to do.

“Crowley said that you’re having trouble picking a side… You seem lost these days, Dean, and it’s a little-“

“I swear if you say it’s concerning or worrisome I’d rather you stop right there. I’m just fine and I don’t need you to act like you care about what Sam soes or what the condition of my soul is. It gets tiring.”

“Okay fine, I won’t say that. But I will say that it would be wise of you to at least think about what Crowley says about picking a side. At least killing humans for Crowley gave you a fix and it would have kept you out of trouble!”

“I don’t need you to tell me what to think about. I sure as hell don’t need you to tell me what to do! Especially from someone who doesn’t know what they want themselves.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh nothing. Just that you don’t know what you want just as much as I don’t. You’re nothing but a hypocrite.”

You clenched your jaw for a moment, “You know, snarky ass comments like that make me understand Crowley’s impatience with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You put your bottle of beer down and you looked down at Dean, “I mean that you think you can say whatever you want, push whoever you want around without any regards as to what the people around you think or feel. I told you back when you and your brother first got me that you needed to think about who you would lose. You’ve lost a friend in Crowley, you’re dead set on losing your brother for some crazy ass reason, and if you aren’t careful you might lose me too.”

“Oh sweetheart, you aren’t really thinking of going anywhere are you? What are you gonna do, run off to Sam and rat me out before Crowley does?” He asked with a cocky smirk you were tempted to smack off his face. But you watched him stand up too, looking down on you with such a condescending look.

Perhaps this was his turning point? Was he going to kill you here in the hotel room like he did in your vision? If he did, you knew you may have deserved it for so many people you’ve killed. But you’d be damned if it was by Dean’s hands like this.

“If I left then you wouldn’t have anyone looking out for you. Wouldn’t have anyone advising you so you could mistake them for nagging you. You won’t have anyone to make sure you stay out of trouble but hey - maybe you like it that way. Maybe it’s some sort of leftover self sacrificial Winchester bullshit your human self left behind.”

“Oh yeah and where would you go? You closed down your shop in Ohio. Sam’s not gonna take you. Crowley’s not gonna give a damn what you do. You won’t have anywhere to go.”

So he wasn’t going to stop you, just comment on how he didn’t think you knew how to go into hiding. You scoffed as you brushed past him and started grabbing your things.

“Sweetie, I’ve only had that shop for a few years of my lifetime. No one knew where I was before that and I can guarantee no one will know where I go next. I’ll fade from your memory and you’ll never have to see me again.” You said as you slung your back over your shoulder.

When you looked back at him, you saw something flash in his eyes. You didn’t know what it was but for a split second you could tell that was the human side of Dean and you wondered if deep down, he wanted you to stay. But it was too late.

“By the way, since you’re a demon now… I’ll take that back.” You said and you held out your hand. Then the First Blade slipped from behind Dean’s back and right into your hands.

“Y/N.. You know that we can find you if you take that thing with you. So fine! Go ahead and go!”

“You see the thing is, I seldom return to the same place I was before. Not that you’ll decide to look but if you did, I’ll keep you on your toes and you’ll never know where I’ll be.” You said before you walked out of the door.

Dean was sitting at a bar in front of a piano. That conversation with Crowley was beginning to bug him.

He didn’t pitty that girl he was assigned to kill. He just didn’t like the hypocracy so that’s why he killed the client. So what? Now Crowley was at least out of his hair so he could continue killing and doing whatever he wanted.

What more did he need?

This was his life and he was living it the way that he wanted to. He was happy, he was free. He didn’t have to answer to anyone if he didn’t want to. He could drink as much beer, sleep with whatever girl he wanted to, and he didn’t need to worry about the consequences. Why couldn’t everyone just accept that?

He pressed down on a couple of keys on the piano while his mind was swimming in all of these thoughts. Then he looked up at his hand. He tilted his head as he pulled out a different knife since he always had some kind of weapon on him. Dean pressed the blade into the palm of his hand and watched as a red line appeared and blood began to seep out.

Those words came into his mind from Crowley again… Was he a human? Was he a demon?

“Pick a bloody side!”

Dean’s jaw clenched as that last phrase rang through his head perhaps louder than the rest of the conversation he had with Crowley. His eyes changed to black and slowly, the wound in Dean’s hand began to close up as if nothing had ever happened.

Watching you leave was getting to him too. Deep down he had to admit he was having fun with you around. He’s killed with you, shared beers with you, laughed with you after he got you back from Cincinnati. He knew that if he did have the slightest bit of humanity left within him, he’d maybe even start to have feelings for you.

“I’ll fade from your memory…” Your voice echoed and his hand turned into a fist. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he wouldn’t just forget about you.

None of that mattered, though, now that you left. Maybe that was just the kick in the ass that he needed to embrace being a full demon. He needed that blade back that you took. He knew there were ways to find it so that was only a temporary issue of his. Then he could kill you with it and not have to worry about anybody taking it ever again.

The next thing Dean knew, he could hear footsteps. Judging by the weight of each step and how heavy they sounded, Dean could tell without even looking that it was his little brother again.

“Sammy. I see that guy that was supposed to put a bullet in your brain must’ve missed.”

He slowly looked up at Sam who had those same pathetically empathetic puppy dog look in his eyes. He looked like he had gotten into a fight with someone, but Dean wondered how desperate he was for another fight if he came around here.

“So. Who winged ya?” Dean asked as he took his glass of whisky and started to drink from it.

“Does it matter?” He heard his brother ask, making Dean shrug.

“Not really.” He replied, setting the drink down along with the knife he had.

“Where’s the First Blade?” Sam asked and Dean’s gaze darkened or a second.

“Nowhere you can find it and try to take it, that’s for damn sure.” He said. “I told you to let me go.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Sam said, but surely he had to see that Dean didn’t care why he couldn’t just let him go. “By the way, Crowley was the one that sold you out. I got a message from Y/N shortly after.”

Dean tried not to wince at the idea that you ratted him out to his brother. Crowley, he knew, would do something like that. With you he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Really now. Sounds like something they’d do.”

“Crowley? Yeah. Did you have a falling out with Y/N or something?” Sam asked and Dean chuckled.

“Right now is when you want to talk about chick problems? Please, there’s nothing to talk about there. Next topic.” Dean said as he stood up and held the knife.

It wasn’t the first blade, much to his dismay, but he knew Sam would die with a knife just the same. And Dean knew he would have just as much fun killing his brother no matter what weapon he used.

“Woah, now hold on a second. We don’t have to do this. We know how to cure demons remember? And Y/N even confirmed it can be done with this mark.”

“Sam, didn’t it ever occur to you that maybe I didn’t want to be cured? Didn’t you ever stop and think that if I wanted to be cured I wouldn’t have bailed?”

“That had to be Crowley.”

“No, It really wasn’t. And it wasn’t Y/N either in case you were wondering.”

“Okay well that doesn’t matter. Either way, you and I will be able to fix this. It’s always been us against the world and why would this situation be any different?” Sam asked as he cautiously walked towards Dean.

Dean smirked a little, amused that Sam was so adamant about this. “Will we fix this though? Because right now, I’m doing all I can not to take this knife and gut you like some kind of fish.”

The look on Sam’s face was so worth it, the terror and shock of it all that he would kill his own brother after all they’ve been through. “Sam, I’m giving you a chance. Walk out that door, and for the sake of your own hyde, don’t come back.”

“Sorry, I’m gonna have to pass.”

Dean hummed a little as he poured himself another glass of whisky, “So what’s your plan? Because I’m not walking out that door with you. It’s just not happening, so are you gonna kill me instead?”

Sam watched as Dean took the sip of the alcohol and shook his head a little, “No,” he finally replied.

“Why? You don’t know what I’ve done. Hell, I might even have it coming.”

“I’m not gonna kill you, Dean, because you’re my brother.”

“Oh this whole speech again? Please, you can’t expect the brother speech to work every time. Where were you the time I was in Purgatory, huh? Where were you when I was being tortured in Hell? You didn’t worry about saving me then, and whenever I try to bring it up - you’ve even said that the fact that we’re brothers is not a cure-all.” Dean seethed.

“Well either way, you are my brother and whether you like it or not, I’m here to take you home.” Dean bursted into a fit of laughter at this line.

“W-What? Are you kidding? ‘I’m your brother and I’m here to take you home.’ Oh I didn’t realize I was in some kind of Hallmark movie.” Dean laughed.

Sam’s jaw tightened but then he reached into his pocket, pulling out the demon cuffs before Dean spoke again, “You really think that’s gonna work on me?”

“No, but this might.” Dean heard a different voice say.

When he turned to you, he saw you only to get burned with Holy water and he groaned with the pain of it all. He got up and he started to pull his knife on you and saw that you were holding the First Blade in your hand.

“You bitch!”

“Oh, Honey, I’ve been called worse by people more threatening than you.” You seethed and when Dean tried to lunge at you, Sam managed to cuff Dean with the demon cuffs.

Naturally Dean tried to fight Sam off when he was cuffed and he felt useless. The most humiliating feeling in existence as he was shoved into the back seat of his own, messy car.

When the door slammed shut, Dean looked out of the window and saw you, Crowley and Sam all there. A little trio of traitors.

You three were talking about something that he couldn’t quite make out but when he looked at you and the both of you made eye contact, Dean wondered if even once you may have felt something for him before you stabbed him in the back like this.

The eye contact with Dean was giving you an ache in your stomach. He looked at you with nothing but hatred in his eyes. After that fling you had, you wondered if you may have stood an actual chance since you were both demons at the time.

But you were honestly growing tired of all of this. You were glad that this could be over.

“Now now, Y/N. You know you don’t actually have a use for it if you really want to be in the underground. Dean could easily find you if you have the blade.” Crowley said

You bit your lip and you looked down at the weapon. It was true that you loved killing with it again, but it was also true that you never really needed it. Not in the way that Dean did.

You cautiously handed Crowley the blade and you heard Sam speak, “So where are you going to hide it?”

“I dunno. Crater on the moon, some volcano, I’ll get creative, don’t worry. With the type of grudge Dean can hold since we all betrayed him, I don’t want to get boned you know.” Crowley said then he looked at you.

“Good girl for making the right choice and saving your skin.” The demon said and you scowled.

“Get bent. He still wouldn’t have been in this mess if you never went after Cain you know.” You replied.

“Ahh well. Learn from your mistakes I suppose.” He shrugged.

“Ciao.”

When Crowley disappeared, you could hear Sam turning around to go to the car but you reached out and put a hand on his arm, “Wait a second.”

Sam turned to you and lifted a brow, “I thought we were done here.”

“Well, yeah with the whole maintaining Dean’s mark thing, yeah that was pretty much shot the moment he died. And.. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t much help with that.” You began and you could see from the look on his face that Sam was surprised and wasn’t exactly expecting this kind of conversation.

“Uh… okay?”

“I want to ask you a favor though.”

“Um.. yeah, okay, I guess… shoot.”

“Let me be there in case you need help during the process. Crowley is right, you know how Dean can hold a grudge. And who knows what Castiel’s condition is.”

“I don’t see how that’s really a favor to you, but I guess I can work with that. I’ll need whatever help I can get. But I’m gonna need a few days that way I can get Dean to the bunker and get him secured so he doesn’t escape while I get sanctified blood.” You nodded a little and you and Sam shook hands as a parting.

Sam gave you a grin, “Dean was right. You aren’t like any other demon we’ve come across before.”

You wondered when he said that to Sam during the midst of the whole Metatron ordeal, but you didn’t comment on it.

“Keep in touch and let me know when you need me at the bunker.” You said and Sam nodded.

You looked over at Dean one last time. His gaze was still on you but this time when you looked, he scowled and looked out of the window. Then you snapped your fingers and left.

Several days went by and Sam was able to get Dean bound to a chair in a devils trap in their dungeon. He gave you a call to let you know that he had the sanctified blood and you could stop by to check in or whatever but obviously he was more focused on saving his brother.

He opened the door and saw his big brother raise his head only to glare with that arrogant smirk he seemed to like to wear now more than ever.

“So you’re really gonna do this? Please, I know you wanna try and fix your big brother. But news flash, Sammy. Maybe I don’t wanna be fixed.”

Sam looked at his brother, knowing that the trash talk was bound to happen sooner or later. But it was still annoying when demons talked like that.

“Just let me go and live my life and I won’t bother you.”

“Yeah, no can do, Dean.” Sam said as he opened up the container of human blood and started breaking out the needles.

“Oh what do you care?”

Then there was a moment or two of silence while Sam started splashing holy water onto the concrete floor. He began muttering some Latin while his brother ranted about how he wasn’t going to be all ‘weepy’ or whatever like Crowley was.

“You don’t even know if this is going to work, do you?”

“I know this will work.”

“I’ve got a hell of a lot more in me than just this demon juice.”

“Yeah, the Mark of Cain, blah blah blah… I know. We’ll deal with that later.” Sam said, unphased by whatever threats his brother was trying to pull. Instead, Sam grabbed a needle of human blood that happened to be the same type as Dean’s.

“Awe, Sammy.. You know how much I hate needles.”

“Yeah well… you know how much I hate demons.” Dean changed his eyes and tried to intimidate Sam, just for Sam to splash the demon with the Holy water and he stabbed the needle into Dean’s arm, injecting him with the first dose.

Sam stepped back to observe how Dean would take it. After a few seconds, Dean began to cry out and groan. His muscles tensed, the veins in his neck popped up and he was pulling against his restraints. Sam could hear the way Dean’s voice changed to something deeper and assumed that was the demon part of him beginning to fight for his life.

“We have more where that came from.” Sam said.

Then he stabbed Dean with another needle with human blood into his arm, causing Dean to wince again.

“For all you know… you could be killing me right now.” Dean managed to speak between heavy breaths.

“Yeah, or you could just be messing with me to get me to stop this.” Sam replied, placing the needle down so he could grab another. “Either way, the lore doesn’t mention any exceptions. This should work whether a demon has the mark or not.”

“Oh this is just a load of crap! Lore, hunters, monsters. All of it.”

“Oh what do you know? This isn’t even the real Dean I’m talking to.”

“Oh yes it is, Sammy. This is the real me. The new real me. The me that sees things for what they really are. And I know the things you’ve done while you were out looking for me. The stunts you’ve pulled with those poor unfortunate souls. Unfortunately for you, one of those humans got themselves killed by yours truly.”

Sam’s eyes widened when he heard this. He didn’t know anyone had gotten hurt. Yeah he had told one or two humans about making deals with demons. Sure he may have tortured those demons to try and get any kind of information. But none of the humans were supposed to get killed!

“There’s no difference between you and me. You’re just as bad if not worse than I am. Hell, Cain himself may have thought you could be a candidate for this mark if he saw the shit you’ve done over the past few months.” Dean said.

“We Winchesters… gosh, I just thought it was you and me that defied the natural order. Defied death one too many times. Turned out guys like me, are the natural order. This is how things are supposed to be Sam. So just leave it be.”

“Yeah well… guys like me… we still have to do what we can. Whether guys like you like it or not. No matter how blurred the grey line between black and white has become.” Sam said.

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me. You just tortured whatever demon you could come across just because Crowley was a no show and no one knew where we were. We did pretty good stayin off the radar before Crowley sold me out.” Dean smirked.

Sam clenched his jaw yet again before he jabbed Dean in the back of the neck, injecting him with even more blood. After that, Sam walked back to the table and set the needle down. He couldn’t believe that human lost both her life and her soul because Dean killed her. He killed Catrina.

“You know what Crowley also told me, Dean? He told me you were too wish washy.” Sam said, beginning to taunt Dean back and he looked at his brother. He needed some kind of payback and sometimes it was fun to taunt demons.

“He said it was like you were torn in the middle of being human and being a demon. So you may think you’re a big bad demon now even with that mark, but you aren’t as intimidating as you think you are. I know my brother is in there somewhere, and I know that maybe the human part feels like shit after letting Y/N walk right out your front door.” Sam said and he watched as Dean slowly lifted his head to glare broodingly again.

“What does that wench have to do with any of this, huh? She’s nothing.” Dean growled.

“Oh you say that, but deep down you know you were wrong. She was the one that wanted to make sure I never found you, remember? She was the one that told me that you didn’t want that kind of accountability anymore. Admit it, you needed her more than you think you did.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“In fact, with as much time as you’ve spent with her, and the fact that Crowley told me you two even had a fling, not to mention that while you were alive she seemed to affect you pretty well… whatever is left of my brother may have even fell in love with her without knowing it.”

“I said SHUT UP”

The demonic voice boomed from Dean and Sam injected the demon with yet another needle of blood. The demon shut his eyes tight and barred his teeth, hands turning into fists as Sam walked away from him.

“You know… if this doesn’t work, you may have to kill me, Sam. Do you really have the stomach for that?” Dean asked, and Sam stopped for a moment. But then he walked out of the room to give Dean a little break. He had a phone call to make to Castiel since he had been giving the angel updates.

You made it to the bunker and you were surprised that Sam never made new spells. You had been in this bunker before and they made a way for you to have immunity to the wardings. Not that you were overly concerned about that.

You started walking downstairs and you figured since this place was so big, Sam wouldn’t be able to hear you. You figured he’d be at the dungeon with Dean. Sure enough, as you walked down the stairs to the dungeon you saw Sam hanging up the phone with someone.

“Y/N, there you are.”

“Hey… catching up with your little angel friend?” You asked as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Yeah… just gave some less than hopeful news is all.” You heard him admit and you knew whatever Castiel said, it couldn’t have been good.

“Castiel says I have to be ready to kill Dean if this goes sideways….”

You frowned a little, knowing Sam didn’t want to think about watching Dean die yet again after having him back in the bunker for the first time in months.

“Hold on to that hope, Sam. Yeah, be prepared. But we may not even have to think about that just yet.”

“He’s not doing well, Y/N… this wasn’t like when we tried to cure Crowley. This is different and he’s in pain. A lot of it.”

Sam walked away from you and what started out as his average step turned into a rush as you heard Sam call Dean’s name. You walked behind him and saw that Dean had his head hung low and Sam was trying to wake him up.

“Dean? Dean, come on, man you’ve gotta wake up. We aren’t done with this.” Sam said and Dean slowly opened his eyes again.

“I’m up.” He grumbled incoherently.

You could hear Sam let out a breath of relief as he stood up but you hid behind a corner, not wanting Dean to see you.

“Dean.. you’re okay…”

“Yeah… if you say that drowning in sweat while your blood boils is okay….” You could hear just from the sound of Dean’s voice that he wasn’t doing so good.

“Well, we have to keep going. We can’t stop.”

“Sure you can. All you have to do is just stop.” Dean said and looked up at his brother. But that was when Dean sensed it. He sensed you.

You were there. He knew you where there. That made the pain of this whole thing fell so much worse now that you were there able to see it. But he had to maintain that facade.

He wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of being affected by you, not after what you did.

“There’s no point in trying to bring your brother back, Sammy and I keep trying to tell you that.” He said as he watched Sam walk back to that table with those damned needles he was hating more and more by the second.

“Your guilt ridden, weight of the world wearing brother has been M.I.A. for quite some time now. But I’m loving this new me whether you like it or not.” He said.

“You wanna know why I wanted to get away from you? As far away as possible? It was to get away from your whining and complaining over this mark. Your nagging. I even chose the king of Hell over you. But damn, I got stuck with a bitch that was a worry wart just like you are! How crazy is that.” He laughed, knowing you were there to hear it.

“But you know what the kicker is? Maybe I’m just tired of luggin’ your ass around and constantly trying to save you just because you were all I had left. The truth is, my mom would be alive if it wasn’t for you. Hell, so would my dad. Your very existence ruined all of what i could have had, did you ever think about that?” Dean continued.

At this point, rambling and taunting was enough to distract himself from the physical pain these treatments were causing him.

“This isn’t my brother talking.” Sam said and Dean scoffed.

“You never had a brother! I was just some excuse for you to never man up. I was the one watching out for you and you could just sit back, relax, and you didn’t ever have a need to see half the shit I saw growing up. I was a bodyguard, not your brother.”

“Besides… Do you ever get tired of telling yourself that, kid? Because deep down, you know it’s true.” Dean smirked.

“No because I know you aren’t my real brother right now and I can’t quit on this. This family doesn’t get to quit.”

“Yeah well we’ve got nothin, don’t we?” Dean tilted his head.

“Is that something you had the balls to tell Dad?”

Then so many memories of John Winchester came up and he laughed as best as he could, ignoring the pain the laughter caused him.

“Dad… now there’s a prize. A man who brainwashed his kids, trained them to be soldiers to win his losing battle. He didn’t even get to kill the demon he wanted to, by the way. He couldn’t just accept the death and move on and try to make a normal life for his two sons. What a good role model.”

Dean watched Sam go to the table and pick up another needle, “What, is this a sorry attempt for you to grow a pair?”

“No… This is an attempt for me to pull your sorry ass out of the fire.” Sam said and yet again, pierced Dean’s skin with the needle.

Dean tensed up again and he could feel himself losing his strength. His vision was beginning to go blurry but as he lifted his head, he caught a glimpse of you before the door was shut.

This wasn’t over. And Dean would make sure of that.

Hey guys! Thank you for reading! This series unfortunately is almost over but I want to thank all of you for the support you’ve shown through your feedback, reblogging, and liking. I wish you all the best!

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uglypastels · 2 years

Text

Painless Endeavour // tattoo artist Eddie x reader

a/n: I had this idea and I went with it. Might not be entirely era accurate, but we're not here for a history lesson, are we? Also, here, Eddie has much more tattoos. (Also, I am actually obsessed with tattooist!Eddie so if anyone wants more of him... just let me know)

summary: an AU in which, after his first failed attempt to graduate, Eddie drops out of school to follow an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlour. 3 years go by and you stumble into that same studio, unlocking some lost memories.

word count: 8.3k

warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking (weed and cigs), tattoo gun needles-- pain, making out while high. The story also includes the use of flashbacks (indented italics).

Best believe that needle won´t hurt you.

Best to see these true colours, than to follow one of your false virtues. - Tattoo, Van Halen

You knew exactly what you were doing, your mind was set in stone, yet when you saw the slightly dilapidated black sign in front of you, your heart leapt up to your throat. This was it. Only a few steps away, and then there was no going back. You wouldn't let yourself run away. Not this time. You had run away from things for way too long, and today was the day when you would finally take a risk.

The letters creating Black Skull Ink called to you. The little voice in your head telling you to turn around had been completely shut off as you told yourself to keep walking, one foot in front of the other. Don't forget to breathe.

There was no bell above the door as you opened it, and the place looked just like the outside, rundown and… you didn't really want to think about what else it reminded you of. Large sheets with tattoo designs covered the walls, combined with other images that you assumed the artists working there had drawn. The light was surprisingly bright, focusing on the front desk, behind which was a station set up with something that looked very similar to a chair you've undoubtedly seen at your dentist's appointments.

Behind that front desk, a man was seated, drumming his pencil to the beat of the music that was playing loudly. He looked up at the movement at the door, halting whatever he was doing to talk to you, but not before leaning over to the sound system and putting the volume down to a more reasonable level.

'How can I help you, sweetheart?' he asked when you made eye contact, and you froze. For one, the nickname startled you for a moment, especially as you took the image of the man in. A pair of big brown doe eyes, eyeliner smudged around it. He looked you up and down, more out of curiousness and awaiting an answer to his question than anything. His long dark hair was pushed back, a black and white bandana keeping it in place, out of his face. He was wearing a black t-shirt, on it a logo of a band you didn't really know, and he covered it with red flannel, sleeves rolled up to reveal the countless tattoos on his arms. He had pulled out a cigarette from between his lips to ask you the question you still had not answered.

Secondly, as you looked into those brown eyes of his, you felt as if you had looked into them before… a long time ago. It was like a vague and blurry memory you weren't even sure existed.

'Well?' he nudged you on to speak.

'Oh, uhm, I want a tattoo.' You said, your voice suddenly much weaker; it was coming closer and closer to the point of no return. The guy smiled at your response, putting his cigarette out in an ashtray on the table. You kept looking at him, unable to push away the feeling that there was something very familiar about him. Like you had seen this stranger before– and not in the "its a small town, everyone knows everyone" way.

'Then you've come to the right place,' he leaned over the desk counter, reaching out his hand to you, 'I'm Eddie.' Perhaps it was all in your head. He didn't seem to know you, so it must be just your mind playing games with itself. Maybe he just reminded you of someone else. So, you quickly push all of those thoughts down as you introduce yourself.

'y/n,' you took his hand and shook it, a bit weak. But Eddie didn't seem much phased with it. He pointed to the stool at your side of the table, for you to take a seat.

'What were you thinking of getting?' So it went that quick. Somehow, the informality of it all, if that was the way to describe it, threw you off. You had imagined it all to go much more differently. Surely, there would be a bigger process to something like getting a tattoo? One thing was for sure– you were glad that you had been holding on to the piece of paper for the entire day and that you remembered to pull it out at Eddie's question. If you hadn't, you didn't even want to think of what you could have ended up with on your skin. The paper had wrinkled slightly on your way to the parlour, but the sketch was still visible.

'Something like this, maybe? If that's possible?' you looked at Eddie as he took your drawing in. 'I know it's not the best thing ever, I'm not exactly a great artist–'

'No, no. it's great.' He looked up at you, 'I mean, the lines are wonky as shit, but I can easily get that fixed for you. Where would you want it?'

'I was thinking, here,' you pointed at the inner side of your thigh. You had thought long about it, as you really wanted the tattoo, have for a long time, no matter how scary the idea was, but getting it would also mean having to deal with what all the other people thought. Which, to be frank, wasn't really any of their business. This was something you were doing for yourself. So, it had to be a place not easily accessible or visible to keep it out of the preying claws of the judgemental raptors in your town. 'What do you think?' but for some reason, you did feel like you needed some kind of validation. Some recognition or at least Eddie's professional opinion and approval on your choice of placement and design.

'Yeah, easily done.' thankfully, he gave you the reaction you had hoped for, 'Shouldn't hurt too much, either, so that should be good news for you.' He smiled, but for some reason, his words of supposed reassurance only made you more nervous.

'How much will it, though? I mean, hurt?' You had a nervous habit of biting the inside of your cheek, and that is exactly what you did as Eddie replied to your question. Perhaps he saw the panic in your eyes because he was quick to respond, with a very sensitive and caring tone that you did not expect from someone who looked like… well, him.

'Don't worry. It won't hurt much, especially since you only want the linework done, no big patches of colour, it will be like a cat scratch… a really long one, but it won't be bad.' He gave you his sweetest smile, showing the dimples in his cheeks, and placed his hand over yours, 'I promise.'

'If you say so,' you smiled, at least half of it genuinely meant before quickly looking away. You just couldn't keep looking at Eddie, those thoughts from earlier still floating around in the back of your head. So you let your eyes wander about the artwork on the walls. Primarily black and dark, you could see something that resembled demon faces in them. Abstract, but beautiful, in that sick and twisted sort of way.

'Why don't I go to the back and redraw this little masterpiece for you,' Eddie waved the drawing you had made up, regaining your focus, 'you can sit down there, it's probably more comfortable.' He pointed at one of the big chairs in the corner. So sit down in the chair is what you did.

Next to it was an old crate that had been repurposed as a coffee table and a stack of magazines. Tattoo Expo, Skin Ink, Flash Tattoo… you wouldn't have been surprised if, in the stores, most of these were sold next to the Playboys, as the covers of almost all of the issues had a photograph of a woman posing sensually, at least half-naked, if not entirely. Bored, you picked up the issue on top of the pile. You never understood the appeal of those kinds of magazines, why guys would need that to get off on. But the longer you looked through them (as if what else was there to do while you waited), you realised that these magazines were far from your generic glossy porn pages.

The women in these magazines, while yes, very much naked, looked like pieces of living art. The vibrant colours popped off their skin, and the images that had been etched into their bodies were some of the most gorgeous drawings you had ever seen. Intricate mandalas, flowers, dragons, and entire fantastical scenes. But there were also more abstract pieces, still showcasing the artistry put into it.

'Like what you see?' Eddie asked out of nowhere. Like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, you shut the magazine closed, looking up at him with wide eyes.

'Don't worry, you're allowed to look at those,' he smiled, the pencil he had been drawing with behind his ear. 'I was just getting some stencil paper. I'll be done in a few minutes.'

'Sorry– you just scared me.' You admitted, putting the magazine back onto its pile, heat coming over your cheeks.

'Didn't mean to,' he said, swiftly returning to his work. He had his workstation at the other end of the studio, and since you were the only two people there, it felt a bit silly to not acknowledge each other in the room. You could almost hear him draw the stencil over the music, yet you kept quiet. It was his job, after all, and you didn't want to distract or disturb him. So you listened to the music playing around you. It was some kind of hard rock– metal– band that your parents would never have let you listen to when you were younger. They didn't allow you a lot of things, and perhaps this, what you were getting yourself into there, was also a small act of rebellion against them. Most people would probably think so if they looked at you, but it wasn't that what made you go get this tattoo.

You listened to the music but quickly realised that there was something off with the singing voice. It sounded as if it was layered… coming from two different places: one was obviously from the speaker, but the other… was Eddie. He was softly singing along the lyrics as he drew.

You knew, at first sight, you'd enjoy my attack–

The song continued on, but Eddie pulled his chair back and got up, a thin sheet of paper in hand. With a spark of excitement in his eyes, he came over to the front desk and waved to you to come over, which you eagerly did. He leaned on the table with his forearms.

'Alright, here we go,' he turned the paper for you to take a look. It was almost the exact same drawing, except that the lines were much crisper, and he added in some details you hadn't even thought about, but seeing it all together– it was exactly what you had wanted.

'It's perfect,' you smiled, looking up at him.

'That's what I like to hear.' He seemed very proud. 'So, ready to do this?'

'I think so,' you nodded, ignoring the tight feeling in your throat. Eddie raised an eyebrow, but you persisted. 'I am.'

'Ok then. Can you pay upfront?'

'Oh yeah, yeah, sure. Is cash ok?' You pulled out your wallet and handed Eddie the amount of money he had requested. You watched him put it into the register… or try to. The cash drawer seemed to be stuck, so Eddie slammed his hand against the side of it until the machine opened up with a ding. He gave you your change of ten bucks too.

As he handed you the money, your fingertips touched for a moment. For some reason, one that was even unknown to you, you expected there to be something. Some kind of feeling you'd feel at his touch, but there wasn't really anything. He gave you the money, and you stuffed it back into your wallet. Eddie gave you the time to put everything back in your bag before leading the way to the back of the room.

'You can sit right here,' he pointed to the dentist's appointment chair, which, at closer inspection, didn't really look anything like it.. 'I'll just get everything ready. Then you can take off those jeans, maybe. Just the one leg is fine.' Right, suddenly, the idea of getting your first tattoo done on the inside of your thigh didn't feel like such a great idea. But all that anxiety was a thing of past You. You could do this. This guy was a professional, after all. He knew what he was doing, and he seemed very nice. Seemed… it was more than that. Even though you could not explain any of it, you just had that feeling that you knew this guy. Somehow, things were very slowly stacking up. Not far enough yet to get a picture of what you thought you were remembering. But you were aware that there was that something.

'It's ok, if you're having second doubts, I can always give you your money back,' Eddie glanced over at you when you realised you had most likely zoned out. He had been preparing the tattoo gun– and Jesus H. Christ did it look gigantic. The needle was practically–

No! Stop it. Don't do that, you told yourself. You told your inner self you thought until Eddie asked: 'Don't do what?'

'Fuck, sorry, I thought I was saying that in my head. You don't have to stop doing anything.' You felt like a complete idiot.

'I can't do much if you don't take that pantleg off,' he pointed at your jeans, and, in petrifying embarrassment, you started to undress. Only half. Like Eddie suggested, you pulled the jeans right back up over your other leg that would not be getting assaulted by a million tiny little knives– this was not helping!

'Actually, wait,' he stopped what he was doing, 'let me set the chair up lower, if that's alright, with you?'

'Yeah, of course.' You got up and watched him push down the chair's backrest, so now it was flat like an actual bed.

'Ok, if you will lie down on your side for me, sweetheart, then I'll get right to work.' And with that, he turned back to his machine while you made yourself comfortable. Because of the tattoo placement, you had to lie down with your back to him, but the longer you lay there, the more you doubted it.

'Can I still change the placement?' you looked over your shoulder at Eddie.

'Yeah, of course. Where would you want it?'

You sat up straight and pointed at the front of your thigh. 'Just a few inches to the side.'

Eddie laughed. 'Yeah, that is no problem at all. It will probably fit your leg nicer, too,' he grabbed a paper towel and some disinfecting liquid, spraying it onto the paper. 'May I?' He pointed at your leg and waited for your permission before applying the towel. It was cold, both the towel and his hand. He wiped the paper over your skin gently. His touch was so light; his every move was like he was scared to break you. The same went for when he had taken the small razor and started to go over that spot of your leg. And again when he took a new paper towel and cleaned it again. It had almost been relaxing, even with the harsh music still playing. Another song had come on by this point, but you could tell it was the same band. He must have put on a cassette of theirs. You wondered if he had put it on a loop or if, in ten minutes, he would have to pause the session to go and put on something new to fill the background with.

The chair's headrest felt a bit too high, so you repositioned yourself in the chair as Eddie grabbed the stencil.

'You alright?' he noticed you wiggling around.

'Yeah, just trying to get comfortable.' You managed to, in the best way possible.

'I wish I could tell you that this is just a temporary thing, but this chair has been a piece of shit since it got here– Do you mind?' he put the stencil up, close to your leg, to indicate he wanted to put it on you.

'Oh, no, not at all.' You let him, 'and you don't have to ask me every time.' It felt a bit unnecessary since it was his literal job to have his hands on you… just, perhaps, phrased a bit better.

'I'd rather not risk it,' he said, 'you're the client. Your comfort is a priority.'

'That is very chivalrous of you,' you teased, as both of you knew that it was basic human decency, which still managed to go over many people's heads.

'Oh, I don't care about that. But if you start moving around, I might fuck up the tattoo, and then you'll want your money back, and my boss will be pissed and blah blah blah blah blah,' he started laughing again, and you could swear it was one of the nicest laughs you had ever heard… but you had heard it before. You must have. Just the place wasn't coming to you. The dots weren't connecting.

With your permission given, Eddie stretched out the stencil and carefully placed it in the place you had indicated. You watched, almost with a held-in breath, as he gently stuck it to you, making sure nothing was sticking out, or there were any irregularities in the paper. It was a bit damp, again cold, and his touch consistently delicate. No one had ever touched you like that before… except…

But no, that was impossible.

Eddie pulled the paper off, revealing the drawing in a thin blue line copied onto you. One step removed from it remaining permanently on you.

'Alright, so that's all done. Now the fun part can start,' Eddie was clearly looking forward to this part as a little mischievous spark blew up in him. He chuckled, his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth as he turned around to grab the tattoo machine. The relaxation you had felt moments before immediately scattered. You were reminded why exactly you were lying on that leathery chair under the bright yellow light. Just the sound of the machine buzzing made you tense up.

'Would it be a stretch to assume this will be your first tattoo?' Eddie turned the machine on for a test run, and you flinched.

'What gave me away?'

'Oh nothing, just,' he started the machine again, and, once again, you flinched. 'That.'

'I don't know why I'm this jumpy,' the laugh that left you was empty. You couldn't believe how dumb you were acting, stressing out over something you knew you had no reason to be scared about.

'It's alright.' Eddie reassured you. You tried to focus on him as he spoke instead of what he was holding in his hand. 'I've had much worse clients.'

'What's the worst you've had?'

'You know, the usual psychos…One guy almost bit me once.'

'Bit you?' You knew that he was telling you this to distract you and keep your mind occupied, which was highly appreciated.

'Yeah, bastard wanted a face tattoo and couldn't take it. Took him all of five minutes to start crying like a baby.' He rolled his little workstation closer to you, locating the needed ink. You, meanwhile, were still processing what he had told you.

'Face tattoo… why would people do that?' Then you quickly realised how it might come off a bit judgemental. 'I mean, it must hurt so bad!'

'I know, right,' Eddie looked at you with a shocked expression. His free hand reached up to his bottom lip, and he pulled at it, 'what kind of sick mutherfucker would do that to themselves?' and so, he revealed, in smudged and faded grey letters spelling out "VIRGIN" on the inside of his mouth. You looked at it with wide eyes.

'Oh, I didn't mean it like– but wauw,' you burst into a fit of giggles, which Eddie was quick to join in. 'That is hilarious,' your stomach started to hurt, 'but why "Virgin"?'

'Oh, you know, I wanted something that really spoke to me.' He shrugged and dipped the needle into the ink, 'On that deep, personal level.'

'Yeah, I know what you mean,' you had almost caught on to your normal breathing. With one big sigh, you said, 'Madonna, right?'

Eddie had the tattoo gun in his hand, but when you had said that, he let it drop on the table, not being able to keep a straight face.

'Fucking hell. Yeah, exactly.' Eddie composed himself, shaking his head with amusement. He needed another second to properly get control back over his body before he picked the tattoo gun back up. With a paper towel, he wiped off the ink sitting on it before he dropped the machine and dipped it in the container of ink once more. You took a deep breath, shutting your eyes as if you were diving underwater instead of getting a permanent sticker painted onto your thigh.

'Just relax for me, sweetheart,' he cooed, finally bringing the needle up to your skin. Right at the time that you had taken your needed exhale, releasing some of the tension in your body. The dozens of pinpricks ran up and down your leg as Eddie drove the needles over the lineart he had done for you.

You couldn't look at it, so you pulled your head up, getting blinded by the light above. After that, you let your mind wander, trying to think about anything else but the pain in your leg. The proper subject to keep your mind away from the present was Eddie's tattoos. The light above your head was getting too much, so you had to look back down, but you didn't want to actually see what Eddie was doing, so you focused in on him. His arms, specifically. Covered in black and grey pictures. Very similar art as to what was plastered over the walls. But one stuck out to you in particular.

A flock of bats flying on his lower arm. You had definitely seen that before. Memories were now flooding in, and with the evidence of those bats… there was no way that two people in Hawkins had the same exact lip tattoo.

'Did you go to Hawkins High, by any chance?' you asked, not sure really of how to bring up what you were going for. It wasn't the most casual topic to mention.

'I'd love for you to show me a person in this town that didn't,' he answered as he leaned over to pick up some more ink on his needle. 'But yeah, I did. Class of '84.'

'84, that was the year you were supposed to graduate. It was just one darn D in Spanish that unravelled all your plans and made you retake your final year of high school. It had honestly been a bunch of bullshit, and you were still sure, to this day, 2 and a half years later, that Mrs Brund had failed you simply for the sake of taking out her midlife crisis on one poor sucker in her class.

On the last day of school, when you realised you wouldn't be graduating with the rest of your friends, someone threw a giant party. Technically you had nothing to celebrate, but it was an excellent excuse to get drunk and momentarily forget how miserable you felt. Your parents weren't angry… just disappointed. You were disappointed too, of course. And just so frustrated at everything. What better way to remove your frustrations than the mystery punch someone had served on the kitchen counter. Completely unattended, perfect for you to drown your teenage-angst-sorrows in.

"Woah, I'd suggest slowing down with that shit," a voice said to you as you were about to chug your second cup. You looked over to where the voice came from. He stood in the doorway. Hair a bit shorter, fewer tattoos and a leather jacket instead of a flannel, but it was undeniably him. Eddie Munson had stood in front of you at your non-graduation party 2 and a half years ago, and now he was sitting next to you, tattooing your thigh.

The memories were coming in clear as day now. Or, at least, a very dark and foggy day. The alcohol you had managed to down helped you forget a huge portion of that night. Perhaps that is why you didn't recognise Eddie so quickly. Did he remember you? Or anything that had happened that night? Probably not. He would have said something, right?

Then again, as you watched him trace those lines of ink on your leg, you could not imagine admitting to what you just remembered.

Eddie walked over to you and quickly took the cup from your hand, spilling it right back into the punch bowl. Not exactly the most hygienic move, but everyone was too drunk to care, and there was no one even in the kitchen with you to see him do it.

"I really think you had enough."

"What do you know about me?" You leaned against the countertop. You had no idea what was in the punch, but the effects kicked in quickly. All your worries drifted away as you swayed to the music blasting in the living room.

"Nothing, except that you just had a whole cup of that shit, and it would probably fuel a horse for a lifetime, so you should stop before you're ahead." He pushed the punch bowl away from you.

"I'm y/n," you extended your hand to him.

"I know," he shook it, amused. "And Eddie."

"Well, Eddie, if you don't know anything about me, how do you know my name?"

"Everyone should know the name of the class president, shouldn't they?" He quipped, leaning against the counter beside you. Usually, mentioning your achievements brought you pride, but now… it was like a deflated balloon. What was the point of anything you had done over the past years if you couldn't graduate properly when you were supposed to?

"Did I say something–" Eddie noticed your empty expression.

"No. no. it's nothing." You reached out for an almost empty bowl of chips.

"If you say so, sweetheart," he didn't know you and understood that it wasn't any of his business, which is probably what you appreciated the most out of everything that he had done that night. He didn't try to comfort you over whatever made you sad. Instead, he helped you forget it.

And then you forgot him.

'You knew my name,' the words slipped out of your mouth, thinking back to that night. But Eddie hadn't been listening, too focused in on his work. But he had acknowledged you speak, so he cocked his head up.

'Sorry, what was that? I didn't hear you, sweetheart?' He was using the same nickname since you had walked into the studio. But you couldn't jump to conclusions. It could easily just be his thing when talking to women. A little bit of careless flirting.

'Nothing, it's nothing,' you shook it off, letting him continue his work. But maybe that had been a mistake, as you just become aware of his hands.

He had been working his way through the tattoo upwards, not wanting to wipe off the stencil at the top as he tattooed each of the lines. But he was nearing the top now. His hands were softly moving over the top of your thigh, and against all your intuitions, you could feel that warm feeling glow inside you. More memories, not helping your situation.

To help you sober up, Eddie took you outside. He had intended on just going out to the garden, but you started walking further and further down the road. There had been a playground somewhere in this neighbourhood.

And indeed, there was. A large colourful tower, with a slide, monkey bars– the lot— included.

"I'll race you," you said.

"Oh, you're on," Eddie ran like his life depended on it, but so did you. You both reached the tower around the same time, but Eddie climbed up via the slide while you opted for the more traditional climbing route. His shoes squeaked as they slipped down the metal. Nonetheless, he made it to the top before you.

"What do I win?" He asked once you climbed inside the tower. He was sitting on the floor, back against the plastic wall.

"The honour of outracing me?" You sat down next to him.

"Should have told me that before I almost broke my leg on that thing." He pointed over to the slide, which you were now sitting right across from.

The walk to the park and playground, though short, had done wonders for you. The fresh summer air took care of whatever that punch had left you with, so you sat in the playground castle next to Eddie with only a slight buzz in your head. You had come there entirely on impulse and had no idea what to do now that you had arrived at your destination. You both remained silent. Two complete strangers, sitting shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the sky above the railings of their little tower.

At one point, you put your head on his shoulder. His hair had a surprisingly sweet scent to it, but it was overshadowed by the smell that you knew all too well.

"Do you smoke?" you asked.

"Uh, yeah. Want one?" He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. But you shook your head.

"No, that's not what I meant," for some reason, it was a bit funny to you how you had suddenly landed in this position with a guy you barely knew who needed clarification between smoking weed and cigarettes. Because he didn't question anything, you said. Eddie just put his cigarettes back and then roamed around in the inner lining of that jacket to pull out a little metal box.

"Would you perhaps be interested in some of this?" He opened the box, showing you already pre-rolled joints. You scrunched your nose.

"No thanks, but if you want to, go right ahead."

"Are you sure?" He looked at you with his big eyes, possibly thinking this was some kind of test, but you had meant it all earnestly, not caring about the secondhand smoke. You nudged him on.

"I know you want to. Just do it." And so Eddie put one of his joints between his lips and brought out his lighter. It was a heavy silver one, engraved on all sides. He flicked it on a few times before the flame appeared, lighting his face up with a bright orange glow. You watched him bring the fire up to the tip of the joint and watched it burn as he quickly took a long inhale. He sucked his cheeks in hollow and pulled out the blunt, still keeping the smoke in his mouth for another second until releasing it in a slow cloud. Out of respect for your lungs, he turned aside, so the smoke wouldn't blow in your face. You still didn't care, though.

You watched him in astonishment. The way he moved was so casual, so relaxed. He didn't have a care for the world, and it showed, and you wished that could be you, or at least a small part of you, for the time being.

'Tell me,' Eddie asked, breaking up a long period of silence, 'why exactly did you choose to get this tattoo?'

'Isn't that a bit of a personal question?' you raised an eyebrow. Not that you minded telling him, you were just curious as to how he would respond.

'Baby, you're half-naked and I'm literally on top of you right now, I think we've surpassed the formalities.' He was highly amused by his own antics. He wiped at your skin to get rid of some excess ink, 'I can guess if you'd prefer?'

'I'd like to see you try.' You dared him, and he was quick to take on the challenge.

'Alright… attempt at pissing off Mommy and Daddy?'

'Would have done it somewhere where it's more visible, wouldn't I?'

'That is a very fair point… then it must be a midlife crisis.' He wiped the ink again and quickly moved on to the next line of the tattoo.

'So you either think I'm really old, or am going to die very young. Thanks.'

'That did come out wrong, didn't it?'

'A little bit, yeah– sorry, can I just–' you waited for him to stop what he was doing so you could reposition yourself. 'Thanks.'

'So not rebelling or having an identity crisis… what is it then?' He asked as he went back to work.

'Can't it be just for fun?'

'You don't seem like the type, though.'

'I'd like to be the type.' You sighed, dropping your head back down on the headrest and looking up at the ceiling. 'Actually, I don't want to be "a type"; I just want to be me.'

'There we go! That's the answer I was looking for.' Eddie cheered out playfully. 'And I completely agree. People care too much about what others think of them. It's forced conforming.'

'Yeah, exactly.' You smiled to yourself. He was right. About everything. And you had also, most definitely, been one of those people that cared more about what the rest thought, and it was getting exhausting.

"I'm not graduating this year," you blurted out. Eddie was the first person you had told. Before your best friends, before your parents even. This random guy you had never spoken to and were now sharing weed air with was the first person you told your darkest moment about. And his response baffled you.

"Me too," not a care in the world.

"Oh."

"What? You thought you were the only one with problems around here?" He didn't mean it viciously; you could tell by his laugh.

"No," you knew how much of a mess Hawkins was, fuck, a kid had gone missing not so long ago. "Just, hate the idea of having to go back there next year."

"Not exactly looking forward to it either, sweetheart." maybe it was the way that little word made your heart skip. Maybe it was the way he sat there, head tilted back as he let the smoke escape his lips. How he had his hand on top of his knee, holding the joint so casually. Or maybe it was the way he looked over at you afterwards. Eyes dark, curious, thoughtful. Something others would call dangerous, but all you saw was excitement.

Just like that, you had found common ground with the guy everyone could call your Polar Opposite. Something to bond with the man you wouldn't have ever spoken to if it wasn't for the fact he saved you from alcohol poisoning. You really would not have exchanged a single word if it wasn't for that punch. He was nowhere near your social radar at school, just another face you didn't recognise. And now, you sat together in this playground, two blocks away from anyone you actually knew.

You would never have talked to him if it wasn't for that punch. Not even because you were so different, but because that difference scared you. You had grown up with the same exact group of friends; what was the point of talking to new people? Ones who you would have nothing in common with…

It surprised you how you had not told him to fuck off after he poured out your drink. That's what you would have done at any other party. But you stayed, talked, took that walk to the park, and sat there with him, inhaling the secondhand smoke from his weed and letting it consume all your worries.

Eddie kept looking at you, probably because you kept looking at him. Your eyes locked in on each other, and a game had started. Not a silly staring contest, but more of a dare. Who would pull out of it first? Because as you looked at him, your bodies pulled together as if magnetised. Slowly, your chest bumped up to his, and his lips ghosted over yours, so close you could practically feel them.

And then you did.

He had chapped lips and a bit of a stubble on his chin, scratching against your skin, but it didn't matter. As soon as you kissed, his free hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you in. Awkwardly, you climbed over his leg, needing to be as close to him as possible. What started out as a soft and tender kiss was now evolving, growing, into a passionate and heated moment. The warmth of it escalated through the rest of your body, an entirely new sensation. It wasn't your first kiss, far from it, but the feeling that came with it– that was something you had never felt before. No one had touched you like Eddie had in that moment. It wasn't even anything intense, and he still had one of his hands holding on to a blunt, but the way his other hand held you, fingers digging into your thigh…

Your teeth grazed over his bottom lip, revealing that ironic tattoo, then still fresh and the ink vibrantly blank in contrast to the natural soft pink.

The tattoo machine buzzed as it slid across your leg, when a sharp sting, a pain suddenly worse than it had been for the past hour, made you jump.

'Fuck, sorry,' you apologised quickly, repositioning yourself to how you had been lying down before. Eddie had pulled his hands away at your quick movement, and he sat there, looking like a deer getting arrested in the headlights.

'It's alright. Was it a spasm?' he wiped off some drops of ink that had spilt from the tip of the needle onto your leg.

'Uhm, yeah, just like a sharp pain, too.'

'I'll try to be gentle.' He winked and went back to work. You, however, lost the ability to breathe for a short second. When you finally did, with a deep inhale, you considered shortly the idea of bringing up that night. Maybe he didn't remember it? But then why mention it? Why make him remember? Would it be worse than ignoring it, though? It was highly likely that he did remember everything that night, more than you did, and was embarrassed about it too. He would mention it, wouldn't he? You weren't.

And yet, he kept on tattooing and kept on coming closer and closer to the top of your thigh, wiping it off with that paper towel, brushing his thumb over the spots he was about to touch with the needles. He was so close to you, too, you could feel his warm breath on you.

He pulled away from you to take a deep breath.

"Fuck," you felt him say it against your cheek, and the sensation again rushed through you, down to your very core.

"Yeah," your breath was shaky. Eyes closed, for it felt too good to be real. You just let it all wash over you, the pure bliss.

However, it was a feeling that was slowly subsiding, and you needed more. The kisses Eddie left on your jaw and neck were helping, but it wasn't enough.

"Eddie," you said airily, to which he responded with an attentive hum. "I need more."

"I really doubt that, sweetheart." He chuckled, pulling your hair aside and kissing you right beneath your ear. His words and actions felt counterintuitive and confusing.

"What?"

"Believe me, you don't want this." Your lips met for another brief kiss. This one was again much more simple and soft.

"Why wouldn't I?" You had opened your eyes once that kiss ended, looking back into his. He was smiling, but it was sadder than all those great smiles he had shared with you before.

"Be honest, do you really want to have sex with me?"

Your silence was more telling than any words you would have said, and Eddie understood it completely. But when you thought about it, it wasn't because it was Eddie. In general, you did not feel like you could do it… with anyone.

Sitting in that chair now, you didn't regret what had happened at the party. You regretted what followed. Eddie had let you escape for the night, given you a true experience, a little taste of what life could be, and you let it pass. The morning after, you didn't remember much, but also just let slip away the things you did. You never tried to find the man that had made you feel alive, didn't even bother to remember his name. Instead, you went back to what you knew and wasted your heart on guys that couldn't give a shit about it.

You had run away from something once again.

And maybe it was dramatic and childish to now think of that tiny moment in your life and perhaps make it bigger than it really was. The relevance you put to it was completely arbitrary, but now it stuck, and the fact that you had run away and yet still managed to return to him somehow…

Even though you had never been the kind of person to believe in fate, this also didn't feel like just a big coincidence.

'Almost finished here,' Eddie murmured over the tattoo. In the background, the music faded out, and no new song started playing. The loop had played out. The only sound in the room now was only the buzz of the machine gun. 'You're doing amazing, by the way.'

'Thanks,' you laughed. It really hadn't been as bad as you had imagined. Not bad at all.

"We should probably head back, don't want your friends to think you got kidnapped," he joked and did, indeed, bring you back to the party, and after you parted your ways, you still managed to get more drunk while having fun with your friends. But throughout the entire night, the feeling of Eddie's lips against yours, his hands on your body, the bitter taste of leftover alcohol and weed… it lingered on you.

An unforgettable kiss that still managed to be lost overnight. The next day you woke up in your own bed, feeling sick and with a headache that made all the bright colours in your room scream. The events of the night all blurred into one second, and all you could directly recall was that you had made out with someone, drank way too much, and danced with your friends; in what order that might have been, you could not know.

But you also woke up feeling a bit lighter. When you eventually told your parents about not graduating, something in the back of your mind told you that it would be ok. A little voice calling out to you, reminding you you wouldn't be alone.

The next time you would hear that voice would be 2 and a half years later.

'Aaand… we're done.'

'What?' you blinked slowly, watching Eddie get up out of his seat. You looked down at your leg. The skin was a bit agitated by the constant abuse it had received over the last hour, but you could see through it as the image that was now on your skin was absolutely perfect.

'Sorry, I wasn't very talkative, sometimes I just really get in the zone,' Eddie laughed, grabbing another paper towel and another bottle of disinfectant. 'Let me just clean that up for you, and wrap it up.'

'Thanks.' You were glad you had decided to wear your looser jeans, as your thigh already felt sore as Eddie was applying the bandage over it. But, to have tight jeans around it, too… you didn't think you would be able to make it home.

'Really, thanks for everything.' You said again once you were up and fully dressed.

'It's been my pleasure, just remember to come back here if you ever want anything else done.' He was cleaning up his station, putting away equipment, and unattached the used needle from the tattoo gun. The way he was working so efficiently, you could keep watching him all day– but that would have been creepy and weird. It was your time to go home. But you couldn't make yourself go. Not now, before you knew-

'You said "class of 84",' you bit your cheek again, 'but you didn't graduate, did you?'

'Never said I did.'

'You never did… you dropped out during the summer.' You had no idea why these words were leaving your mouth, but you hoped that Eddie wouldn't take too much offence in your rambling brain.

'Nothing escapes Miss Class President, does it?' He smirked, turning the light above the tattoo station off.

'You do remember,' you gasped. 'Oh god,' now the embarrassment was coming in like a flood. 'When did you-'

'Pretty much the second you walked in. Was actually a bit offended you didn't.' He winked, walking with you to the front of the store again. You could see through the windows that the sun was slowly coming down.

'I am really, so sorry- it's been so long and I had been so-' you felt awful. For everything. But, Eddie being Eddie, put his hand on your shoulder, brushed some hair out of your face with his other, and spoke softly and calmly.

'I know. And you really don't have to apologise for anything.' His dimples were visible again, 'I'm just… happy to have been able to be a first for you.' The small comment made you smile too, in a little nervous sense, but mostly because you saw that he really didn't mind. Everything was alright between you.

At that moment, something rushed over you. Maybe adrenaline, or something. It kicked in higher than it had when you made out with Eddie in that playground castle, or when you had gotten your ears pierced against your parents' wishes. You felt it more than when you had laid down on that chair to get the tattoo. This was the moment for you to take a big risk. A leap into something where you truly didn't know where you could end up. There were big chances of a catastrophe, but you didn't care. You had to truly say fuck it to take that leap now.

'I promise I'll leave your parlour soon,' you guaranteed Eddie, 'I just want to say that– and I know it's not my place to say it– but I wish you hadn't dropped out.'

Eddie took a step back and blinked slowly. He didn't say anything, just looked at you, so, not caring if you would make the situation worse or not, you kept on talking:

'I wish that because, that night or at least the bits I can still remember,' you both lightly laughed at that, 'really put my life into perspective. Not in like a very dramatic sense, of course not, but it just made me think: It, subconsciously, stayed with me, in the back of my mind for the past 3 years, and I just realised that now.

'I think, that night, I felt like I had made a friend easier than I had ever done anything before, and the fact that I didn't even remember it properly makes me want to kick myself. So, when I say that I wish you had stayed in school, I wish you had walked into that dumb and ugly building after the summer so I could have seen your face and instantly remembered everything that had happened in that playground castle and that we could have had more moments like that or even better ones, or worse ones, but that it wasn't where it had ended.'

Eddie looked at you, confused as if he didn't understand what you were asking him. But then that smile reappeared, full of mischief.

'Are you-' he crossed his arms, 'asking me out?'

'Jesus Christ,' You hid your hands in your face. Out of all of the things you had just said… that's what he picked up? Well, maybe that is what you had meant and even thinking about it, his question didn't offend you. On the contrary, it made that old bubbly feeling in your stomach bubble up. So, pushing away any sense of shame, putting up the most confident facade you could evoke out of yourself, you looked up at him and said, 'Yes. Yes, I am.'

'Well, that is certainly not something I expected to happen when I woke up this morning.' his tongue poked out from the corner of his lips as you waited for his answer. 'How about tomorrow? I can pick you up. Around 7?'

'Sure. 7 sounds good.' you gave him your address, and with that, you left to go home.

Even though you knew exactly where you were going, to your car, to drive home, it didn't feel like it. You had just taken that leap into uncertain terrains, but it didn't scare you for once. The anxieties that followed you throughout your life were, for once, exchanged for excitement. Perhaps that's just what it had been the entire time, but it didn't matter. And it didn't matter where this would eventually end up, you and Eddie. It might be a perfect happily ever after, or it might end with just the one horrible date. You didn't know, and, truly, for once, you didn't care.

The End

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