#And go back to my doc and ask for a new letter

[black-king-white-knight]

Vent.

Now, I understand that therapists provide an invaluable service and they’re a very important thing that I’ve known I’ve needed for many years and have tried to acquire. And will try again.

BUT.

The fucking feeling of being sent to a ‘therapist’ so utterly unqualified to deal with someone like me that I get sent into a two day (I saw him at 9AM yesterday, it’s now 11:30 the next night) depressive spiral. (Although a clue should have been that he’s a Mr not a Dr on his card.)

Like I get he was trying. But my autism, double severe general and social anxiety, BPD, severe depression, suicidal ideation, eating disorder, self-harm, ptsd, ADHD and whatever the fuck else is in my mind, plus complications from chronic pain was a little above his paygrade as an accredited social worker.

And being sent home with his refusal to engage with the reasons about the explosion of a friendship, to the extent where I’m trying to point out how my social circle has suffered due to said explosion, and how I’m trying to finish glossing over my BPD before moving on to how autism and ADHD have impacted my ability to make friends all my life because, once I make a friend I generally can combat the anxiety and depression with some help, but you know, other factors.

And I start out by... basically explaining what BPD is. (Since the explosion of my friendship largely over this was really the most recent big thing and I figured work backwards, you know? At least it’s somewhere to start.) Which really should have been a flag on it’s own but I thought, ‘Oh, okay, he’s testing my knowledge, trying to see if this might be an actual thing or just a buzzword I saw online,‘ and when I start trying to explain a Favourite Person, he’s, seemingly seriously, just like, “Well everyone has that.“

MY GUY IF YOU’RE LIKE 60 AND HAVE UNDIAGNOSED BPD THEN MAYBE YOU NEED TO SEE SOMEONE ON YOUR OWN DUDE. AND SHOULD ALSO TAKE THAT UP WITH WHOEVER TRAINED YOU AS A THEORETICAL MENTAL HEALTH PROFESSIONAL.

BECAUSE NO NOT EVERYONE HAS THEIR FUCKING PERSONALITY WARPED AGAINST THEIR MOTHERFUCKING WILL BY INTERNAL MENTAL HEALTH SHIT.

Anyway, back on topic, that, combined with boiling down all the shit I think I have through research and reading up other people’s personal experiences with their shit as either anxiety or ‘Doctor Google‘, (i.e. self diagnosis/hypochondria. Without me even getting through the entire list of shit that’s wrong with me before he leapt in with THAT particularly charming comment.) To say nothing of past trauma outside of my own head.

And to be sent home with an appointment I didn’t technically agree too, the fact that he started the appt by saying that it was for him to get to know me and me to decide “if I’m worth the time talking to professionally,“ but then didn’t ask and just wrote me in for another appt.

Oh also he kept my referral letter which seems really odd given my partner’s therapists have never done that. Previously they’ve just photocopied them and given them back. Which he didn’t seem to have one, but he can email my doctor and ask...?

And I’m kind of trying not to cry or tell him off as I walk out, especially because my dad offered to drive me and he doesn’t need additional stress, and when I mentioned how I considered myself broken, the social worker turned around and snapped out, “I don’t ever want to hear that word out of your mouth again, okay?“

Which, I get, negative self talk all that shit. But I was trying to talk about how my brain perceives me and therefore what I’m exposed to being inside my skull day-to-day.

And when I tried to list off what was wrong with me he also said like, “if I went through the DSM 5, (which he at least explained what it was) I’d find like 20 diagnoses for you, and probably 30 for me.“

Which. My guy. It’s the DS-fucking-M 5. It’s hardly a reliable source free of justified criticism.

I don’t want to say him being old was a factor, but the combo of old and sharing a building with a baptist church recruitment centre did not give me confidence I could touch on queer subjects. Like my own fucking identity.

Or that of my partner. Or my boyfriend. Or trying to explain being polyam to him.

“What’s something you enjoy doing? Do you have hobbies?“

No. I have fucking *depression* my guy.

On the subject of whether or not I exercise, “No, because my shifts at work are so physically intensive and-“ I have chronic back pain, I’m going to say so that messes with my ability to exercise.

“Work doesn’t count.“

Okay, so clearly the fact that i cry sometimes because of how much pain I’m in that walking, standing, sitting etc, all hurt, CLEARLY ALSO DOESN’T MATTER.

Like how this morning I woke up at about a 5-6. Clearly irrelevant to my exercise.

So he sent me home with instructions to do a basic bitch breathing exercise, which was inhale until my lungs are full, hold for a second then slowly exhale. And I’m to do that every 10 minutes. Because, be-fucking-cause, this making me slightly light headed is good because that means my frontal lobe is oxygenated. Which is good at combating anxiety, which he describes as just, “fear of the future“, and depression is “a sadness of the past.“

SO NICE TO KNOW THAT MY DEPRESSION IS JUST A BIG SAD NOT A NEUROTRANSMITTER IMBALANCE MR. THEORETICALLY ACCREDITED FOR MENTAL HEALTH WORK SOCIAL WORKER MAN.

So yeah. Breathing exercise that runs counter to pretty much everything I have read in my own research/heard from other people, get up at 7AM every day, (with chronic insomnia? Yay.) And go for a one hour “brisk“ walk. Then come home, shower, eat breakfast, (with an eating disorder that frequently doesn’t let me get hungry until I’ve been up for a few hours?) Then write for about two hours each day.

So basically. After my very first, (and only, even I’m not that into self-harm... not anymore at least) session with this guy, we seem to have cut straight to what my life should be like as a 30-second montage in a movie when I’m in a good place, and that’s my treatment.

Oh and we didn’t even touch on my severe financial stress.

TL:DR; I seem to have acquired a fucking homeopath of a therapist.

Honestly there’s probably more shit in that hour that I’m forgetting. Credit where credit’s due, he got shit done in that hour.

It may have been because it was 9AM, but maybe there was a reason his office was fucking empty.

Oh, and the walls were thin enough that I could hear my dad on the phone outside. Not enough to hear what was said, but charming aspect to a therapist’s office. He could hear our voices too.

To be fair to him, he was quite patient with explaining shit to me. To be fair to me tho, I didn’t need anxiety explained to me like I was 6. I will survive if you call it an amygdala and not “a very old part of the brain“ my guy.

But to be fair to me, I seem to have been sent to someone with enough mental health training to help do family therapy for stressed bc of work parents and a kid caught in the middle. Not for shit of my calibre.

Although he did have a drawing made by a child presumably, thanking him for helping them. So I’m glad that kid got seemingly good help.

BUT ALSO FOR FUCK’S SAKE MY GUY.

Also he didn’t really react to the news I’m on SSRIs. And I feel like a patient saying, “Oh yeah I’m on anti-depressants-“ should be, maybe. Potentially. Possibly. A clue that’s it’s not just anxiety and implied hypochondria.

Because I get I may not have done an ideal job explaining BPD to him. But. No everyone does not have intrusive nightmares about taking the veggie knife in the second drawer, going in through either my temple, eye, or the soft spot behind my ear and carving bits of my brain out until i hit what I wanted (or at least I hope y’all fucking don’t) so I can stop fucking fixating on someone I wouldn’t even want to date/fuck if I was given a choice my own fucking brain was trying to manipulate me into, and thankfully I wasn’t. I mean even the offer to write them into my story was one made in haste courtesy of the high BPD was giving me for being able to talk to them, not something I actually wanted to do in hindsight for all sorts of reasons.

Also our knives were part of the furnishing given by the landlords and they couldn’t keep an edge for shit.

So yeah. I need help for that especially given my poor self-control, for when my FP flares up again.

Because being able to trust the objectively of your own thoughts is. Probably still something I don’t really understand ‘cause I don’t have a psychosis or something, so, you know, I’m probably just being dramatic, but that was a fucking ride of a couple of weeks.

Idk, feel like I should report him to someone for something but fuck if I know who or for what.

Now I’mma go cry, hope my hands stop shaking and probably not sleep for 24 hours.

Oh, at least he accepted the existence of my epilepsy.

Yeeeah.

#Vent post #Nyx's mews #tw: Suicidal ideation #tw: Eating disorder mention #tw: Shitty therapist #tw: Mutilation mention #tw: Lots of swearing #I am very salty about this #tw: Self harm mention #Mental Health #And now I get to write a polite letter to him refusing future appts #And go back to my doc and ask for a new letter

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 4)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 3, Part 5

summary: You get your laptop fixed... eventually.

warnings: smut!! (finally lmfao) masturbation, mutual masturbation, tiny bit of voyeurism, recreational drug use, dry humping, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: caught up to where the og oneshot ends so i wanted to switch it up!!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.8k (still in shock i wrote all this lmfao, i'm strictly a <4k words kinda gal)

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

lips black and blue and gold.

You're frustrated. Bouncing off the walls, head spinning; and it's for a couple of reasons. 

First off: you haven't managed to find a laptop. Money you've worked damn hard for, and you can't really afford a new one. With moving around, you've burnt through quite a bit of your emergency fund. Enough to convince yourself you'll be just fine with a pen and paper in class, and the Google docs on your phone when desperate. It might actually force you to go to the library instead of half assing assignments the night before, you think. 

And there's your lab book, which you were smart enough to back up on your computer, but guess what? That's fucked; probably taken apart and sold for scraps by Miguel's mysterious friend , who you've conveniently never even heard of and–

"Just ask for an extension." He says, feet up on the sofa. Oddly enough, you've been doing that more often; spending time together. He's not holed up in his room as much, and spends time studying on the dining table, or pretending not to watch the soaps you've got on TV. 

"You're overthinking it. Explain the situation, chula, and it'll be fine." He doesn't even look up, just throws the statement in your direction like the lazy pass of a ball. 

You scoff, because he's right, and go back to overthinking. You think you can copy out the ruined half of your labbook by hand, and if you beg your OChem teacher for an extra credit project then–

"If I let you use my laptop, will you stop doing that?" 

"Doing what?" You frown as he walks over, and reaches to gently pull your hands apart. He turns your palms over, pointing at the raw edges of your fingernails. 

" That. " Mindlessly, you'd been picking at your fingernails, without even noticing. Looking up at him, he rolls his eyes. 

"...is that a yes?" You nod, hesitant, and catch the hint of a smile as he pads off to his room. 

When he returns, open laptop in hand, he thrusts it into your arms - and sits himself back onto the sofa. This time, he splays out facing you, avocado socks resting on your knee. You fight the urge to push him off, a small price to pay in return for his moment of kindness. He's been doing that more often now, slightly more touchy and maybe even… comfortable around you. Eyes flickering up towards him, you catch his. His brows knead together, and you return your attention to the screen just as quickly. 

You're going through the motions, more or less, logging into your college's portal and drafting up quick emails to send to your lecturers. But it's when you open up a new tab, that you see something at the top of the screen and pause. Mouse hovering over an incognito tab, hidden in a nest of referencing websites and scientific journals; it's there. Bold letters, in all caps: WOMAN POUNDED BY BIG BEEFY–

You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. Once again, you look up at Miguel, and he couldn't care less; tapping away at his phone, only stopping to look at the TV. Nevertheless, you shift to hide the laptop screen from him. But you're not going to look, or anything. You know better than to take a look at your roommates porn habits, the stuff he drools over whilst he fucks his fist; a big, dextrous palm wrapped around his shaft. 

You've done it. Clicked on the tab and nothing's exploded, as of yet. You turn down the brightness, with some shame, as if to make the paused video less explicit. But the image stays, a woman folded under the weight of the man above – in the middle of bullying his fat cock into her pussy. It's amateur; hot and sweaty and sticky, with only the woman fully visible. You suppose your curiosity's been sated, but you can't help but think…

…the woman. She looks like you. 

Tilting your head, you can't help but see the resemblance. Not the exact same of course - but her hair is similar, body type, skin tone, eyes. It's not close enough to be weird, you guess, but it's enough that that thought stays - burrows into you like an earthworm into an apple. Scrolling down, you see other videos, with the same woman, other women that look like you - the telltale red bar of watched videos. Evidence, but not really, and it makes you heat up. Your mouth goes dry, and you look over to him: only able to concentrate on the hand he's got spread out at his belly, the brown flesh peeking out - and how it looks just like the one on the base of the woman's stomach in the video. 

"...everything ok?" He's looking at you, suddenly; and you attempt to click over to your original tab, discreetly. 

He doesn't seem to notice, padding over to your side and leaning into your shoulder. 

"Yeah, no, I just…" All you can manage is a nervous smile. "The screen froze, so…"

"Oh." He gives the track pad a swipe. "Seems fine to m–" 

He freezes up slightly, and you watch as his eyes flick up the screen. The laptop is eased out of your hands, and he gives a few quick clicks. By the time it's back in your lap, the offending tab is gone. Imperceptible, his jaw shifts. 

"...Should be okay now."

You hum, a little amused at the display. He's seemingly unfazed, his little slip up notwithstanding, and leans back to lie up against you. Obnoxious, he splays onto the sofa cushions, his weight practically smothering you as you fight to push him off. You think he likes it – it's the only possible explanation – and gets off from watching you squirm. He seems desperate for a reaction, a child pushing boundaries and pressing buttons to see what exactly makes you tick. 

And that's the second thing: it works . He's  more touchy, and just as insufferable – jumping at any excuse to be near you, it seems. Miguel has a tendency to hover, follow you around the apartment as you talk aimlessly, and you do the same. You sit by against the doorway to the kitchen whilst he makes dinner; he floats around the door to your room when you try to study. In fact, you've spoken to your roommate more in the past week than you have in the past month; about anything and everything. Sometimes, he actually tells you where he goes during the day; off to lectures of his own, another tutoring session or his basically-an-unpaid-job of an internship. In your words, it seems like with the shit they make him do at Alchemex, he may as well be a full employee: with way fewer perks and a distinct paycut. It's almost as if they're paying for my degree, he says with an eye roll, practically hanging off your door frame. 

He does that a lot, now: arms drawn upwards to lean from the oak trim. Especially during lazy mornings in - he'll hang on the frame, and move to tug at your heel, waking you up despite fervent protest. Ultimately, it's a kindness and you don't know how to tell him how much you appreciate it; as he wakes you up on time to get to the library in good stead. You're still waiting on that laptop, debating whether or not to bite the bullet; but for now Miguel obliges, letting you borrow his now and then. 

He's not nice, you think his tongue is much too sharp for that; but he is kind, giving you some grace you're not too sure you deserve. It's more than what you've been given in a relationship of 4 years, and you don't know how to feel about it. 

Well, you do. Your talk on the living room floor not so long ago flipped a switch and all of a sudden you're paying attention to your roommate; really, really looking at him. He is very, very pretty; with a tendency for lingering touches disguised as something else. And you're out of practice: horny, frustrated, stressed. With the way he touches you; a hand on your back to greet you, a squeeze of your shoulder to tease, bare legs across yours on the sofa; it's a lethal combo. 

And here you are, headphones on, prepping to take a dildo. Incredibly self-indulgent, but you need it . You don't quite have the emotional stability for a one night stand (you think if someone touches you just right, you'll fall in love), but this dry spell has taken its toll. 

It wasn't just after the break up, either. Mismatched libidos had felt like a steady death knoll. Realistically, you knew Jaime was always too tired after a placement, but it didn't make you feel wanted. You just want to be desirable and fucked within an inch of your life – was that too much to ask? 

As a result, your toy drawer had grown: vibrators and dildos, clit-suckers and g-spot strokers; crude once said aloud, but all in search of something. With the stress of school and Miguel, Schrodinger's slut ; it's a wonder you haven't cracked it open earlier. 

You're on the floor, its purple base suctioned to the hardwood and towels to cushion your knees. Lower half completely exposed, it's an art , porn on your phone to complete the visage. The screen is smaller than that of the laptop you're used to, only providing some stimulation. And so, as you sink down on its silicone length, you can't help but think back to the sofa - and the videos squirrelled away on an incognito tab. Miguel, hunched over and fisting his cock to someone that looks like you; maybe even thinking of you – although the jury's still out, on that one. 

But you keep it close to your chest, rub your clit to the thought of it: you're his type, and maybe he'd fuck into you like the man on your screen. Broad, gorgeous shoulders and you wonder how pretty he'd look with scratches littered down his back, or hickeys sucked into skin: lips plump and messy and swollen. 

"Oh, fuck," You say it under your breath, knowing that whilst Miguel is out of the house, it still feels odd to put your lips around the pleasure that thinking of him gives. 

You speed up, the slap of thighs ringing out into your bedroom. The dildo is around 6 inches, sizeable; but you can't help but wonder how it compares to Miguel's. He might even be bigger; thicker, most definitely; and you bet his cock is just as pretty as he is. Oh fuck, and he'd tease; press into your hole just to snatch it away at the last second, rubbing persistent circles at your clit. You hear his voice in your head, the low grunts and groans you've memorised from all those nights he's spent with other girls. 

"Miguel,"  You're moaning shamelessly now. "...f-fuck, please–" 

There must be something electric in the way he fucks: with the litany of girls in and out of his bedroom, what keeps them coming back? He must talk them through it, whispering filth with his plush lips against their ear, and you wonder what he'd say to you. God , you'd give anything to hear it him say, just once, how beautiful he thinks you are; for him to wrap his hand around your neck and pull you close. You want him to fuck you; hard and deep and desperate. 

With that, your pace quickens and you gush around the toy. A spasm of limbs, and you're clamping down on the silicone – an orgasm that leaves you breathless and heaving. You convince yourself it's the taboo of it: fucking yourself to the thought of your roommate, after listening to his grunts and groans for the past couple weeks. He started it … thin walls, and all that. 

You ignore the want that lays stubborn at the pit of your stomach, riding through stuttering spasms as your orgasm winds down. You're touch starved, that's all, and Miguel's the closest warm body to latch onto. Nothing more, nothing less. Groaning, you shift, picking up your hips to gear up for another round. Just once more, so you know for sure. 

Thin walls. The sound leaks into your roommate's bedroom. But with your headphones on, you can't hear the sounds that echo back: Miguel O'Hara, back home early, with an ear pressed to the wall and desperately pumping his cock. 

~~~

"I'm not completely convinced, to be honest." You're in Miguel's car, tongue sticking out as you fiddle around with the dials. 

His gaze flicks over, and bats your paws off the dashboard. Flopping into your seat, you watch as he turns up the AC and switches the radio, as if reading your mind. 

"You really think I'd go through all this trouble?" He scoffs. "Bundle your ass out of the house and drive all the way here to…. do what exactly?" 

"Assert dominance in our shared ecosystem." You say it with finality, and he scrunches up his face in confusion. 

"...what does that even mean?" 

"Like in that nature doc you were watching the other day." 

"Well, the point was that spiders aren't hierarchical in the traditional sense. They form colonies that are… quasi-social, if anything, and–" He pauses. "Wait. You were paying attention?" 

You shrug. "I thought it was interesting." 

"Seriously?" 

"...no, not really."

You laugh as he pulls over to park, in a space next to what looks like an apartment complex. It looks way nicer than your place, with sandy brick and hedges that look well kept. Your laughter peters off. Miguel looks decidedly not amused. 

He opens the car door and clambers out as you scramble for the seatbelt. To your surprise, he opens the door for you; stretching out a hand for stability as you get out. When you both walk over to the intercom, your palm burns with his touch, and flexes with the memory of it. It's becoming a problem, his hands. You push down the beginnings of a hazy daydream. He presses a panel, waiting for the buzz. 

"Lyla? Could you let us up?" 

He waves demurely to the camera, and the receiver clicks. A cheery voice rings back. 

"...Us? Who's us, Miggy? Did you finally find a girl that puts up with your shit?" Her voice is singsong, teasing. With a smile, you watch as Miguel bristles, speaking into the slick panel. 

"My roommate, Jesus, Ly–" He says the next bit a little rushed, turning away slightly as if you still can't hear her loud and clear. "I thought we went through this, you can't keep trying to embarassmeeverytimeI–" 

She talks over him towards the end, rapid-fire banter that you can barely make out. 

"You never come and visit, except when it's 2am and you need to break into–" 

"Once! It was one time! Déjate, ya está bueno ya–" 

[Let it go, that's enough now–] 

"Let it go? No, no, absolutely not… what is it that you always say? It's the principle –" 

"Can you just fucking open the–" 

"What's the magic word?" 

He sighs, mouthing an apology to you. "Lyla–" 

"Magic. Word."

He mumbles. "Please." 

"Please what?" 

"Please could you open the fucking door."

There's a pause, and rustling over the intercom. The door buzzes open. 

In the elevator up, you keep quiet, trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. Miguel is visibly brooding; arms crossed and brow furrowed. 

"Don't." He says, with a pout you almost think is cute. Almost. 

"I'm trying really, really hard not to." You put your hands up, as if to surrender. "... Miggy."

"Fuck off." And then, a little softer. 

"...I told you I have friends."

~~~

You leave it at that until you're in Lyla'a apartment, when she opens and ushers you in. She looks exactly the way she sounds: pretty, mousy features, with her hair in short, choppy layers. She's bundled up into a plush white robe; heart-shaped sunglasses sliding down the tip of her nose. 

Miguel breezes past her, towards the murmuring voices you can just about make out in the front room. 

"Lovely to see you too, Miguel." It's under her breath, but when she turns towards you there's a twinkle in her eye. 

You introduce yourself, and she pulls you into a tight hug. 

"I know," She says. It's ominous, but her voice is light and airy. When you separate, she flashes a wide smile. "Lyla. It's nice to put a face to a name."

"Uhh, sorry. What?" She ushers you further into her apartment as you speak, confused. 

"Oh, Miggy talks about you all the time. Complaining , mostly, but in that way he gets when he's trying really, really hard to pretend he doesn't care. Like, he texted me yesterday and–" 

"Thaaat's enough." You feel hands on your shoulders, and all of a sudden, Miguel is steering you away from her grip. You stumble into her living room, so bright and airy your eyes have to adjust to the light that floods in. Looking around, her apartment is gorgeous; a spacious open plan, floor-to-ceiling windows with a prime view, and lush furniture. Everything about it screams expensive – especially in comparison to your paltry place. Maybe the shock is visible on your face, but you're in awe. She can't be much older than Miguel, right? She looks about the same age, mid-twenties, not too far-removed from college… and it isn't quite adding up. 

"How can she afford this? That's what you're thinking." There's a voice on the sofa that makes you blink. A young man with messy brown hair, a set jaw and 5 o'clock shadow calls out to you in between mouthfuls of pizza. "Lyla's… mmhgh… suuper fuckin' rich… mmfgh… that's how." 

It's then that you notice there are other people here, sprawled out on the sofa set; boxes of takeout on the side tables next to them. Of course Lyla's rich: only 20-somethings with money to spare have matching sofas. 

She's like Beetlejuice, or the Candyman, and pops up next to you when her name's said. 

"I work in tech! With a cute little job on Wall Street, and a part-time one white hat hacking." She clarifies. " Ethical hacking." 

She giggles like she's told a joke somewhere, and you nod – still not quite understanding. 

"...and some side gigs that aren't as ethical." A blond haired man next to Mouthful-Of-Pizza pipes up. "When are you going to introduce us, Miguel?" 

He's grumbling in the kitchen area, digging through the shelves for something. He returns with a bag of chips and dip in a container, flopping onto the zebra print throw pillows. Distracted, he waves a hand around the group noncommittally. 

"Uhh, Peter, Ben, Lyla." He gestures to you, saying your name, and then to himself; tearing open the bag at the same time. "-and Miguel. All done"

"My turn for questions, now," Miguel says, pointing at Lyla, looking at the boys to his side. "Is she…?"

"...super high? Most definitely." Lyla giggles at Ben's words, for good measure. 

"...right. Peter Parker, nice to meet you." He throws a thumb to the back of the sofa, where you notice a little mop of red curls peeking out. "And this is my little Mayday."

Peals of laughter erupt from behind him, and you notice grubby hands with a death grip to the cushion rest. Miguel leaps up, rushing to her side to help her up its back. 

"Ayyy dios mio." He scoops her up carefully, "Buenas, Arañita." 

Mayday is on his lap now, a little toddler of about 1 or 2, snaking herself around to hug Miguel's chest. She is certifiably the cutest thing you've ever seen: gap-toothed and giggly, with a smatter of freckles like someone's flicked a paintbrush across her nose. And with the way Miguel melts, you can die happy, knowing that you've seen the impossible: Miguel O'Hara, cooing and fussing over the little girl. 

"Arañita?" You ask, to no one in particular. 

"Itsy-bitsy spider." . ..is the sing-song, choral response from everyone but Miguel. They're mimicking his tone of voice, and he raises his head from May, looking around. 

"I don't sound- " 

"You do, dude." Peter sighs, tickling the little red head on the tummy; smiling as she collapses into bright laughter. "I don't have a nickname, and I've known you waaay longer than she has."

Miguel covers her tiny little ears, and says, "Eres un pendejo, Parker . "

[you're a dipshit, Parker] 

The scraggly man sticks his tongue out in response, and May pulls at his hair for good measure. He yelps, and Miguel passes her over to her Dad. The scene is funny, for sure, but you feel it's warmth more than anything. God, you can tell they've loved and laughed with each other for years; the kind of friendship you'd kill to have. 

"We just need whatever's left of her laptop, Lyla," He's blunt, batting away long forgotten chips and dip. "...and then we'll get going. Wish I could stay longer, Arañita, but I've got some work to finish off."

May makes grabby hands at him, and you melt. Who knows how Miguel can stay strong in the face of her big, round eyes. 

He gets up to stand next to you, arms crossed. The height difference is stark: his tall, solid frame towering over everyone else. It seems like an intimidation tactic, but you know him just well enough to tell: he's trying not to be swayed by puppy eyes and promises of food. 

"You just got here, Miggy." Lyla sighs. "We're going over prep for Jess', and we'll be two minutes, I swear."

"Oh?" His eyebrows light up. "I knew it! You were being evasive on the group chat, and Pete wasn't returning my calls…"

Huffing, he clasps his hand around yours, ready to storm out. "This is an ambush. A goddamn setup!" 

"Wait, Miguel, I need my-" 

"I'll pick it up later for you, okay?" It's said like an aside, so soft only you can hear it. With his hand around yours, it certainly feels more intimate than it should. And it seems like he realises a little too late, dropping your hand as your faces are mere inches away. 

"Um, we should… we should go." 

You look past him to the faces blinking at you guys, on the sofa. A pause, and then you're gulping down stubborn feelings to ask a question. 

"Jess' ? Is there a party, or something?" 

Lyla nods. "Yeah, and Miguel's meant to be picking up cake."

The man in question pinches his nose. "I can pick up the cake just fine. It's the whole… going to a party bit I'm not too keen on."

"Come onnn, you know Jess would love it."

"She'd love to blackmail me with some dumb shit I did drunk, that's for sure."

"It's her birthday, hardass ." Peter whispers that last bit, covering little May's ears like before. "She can have a little blackmail, as a treat."

"You're gonna say no to a surprise party ?" Ben echoes, shaking his head dramatically. 

"A surprise birthday?" You light up. "Miguel, you have to go."

His stony demeanor cracks, for a moment. You latch onto it, hellbent on wearing him down. He's always got his laptop out doing work, or cracking open a little notebook to prep a lab. When he's not at home, he's at that internship, or tutoring, or planning a tutoring session. Work, work, work; and you'll be dammed if you let him rot away in a little cage of his own machinations. 

"Come on, Miggy." You watch him bristle, prying at that little crack in the surface. This has to be done with finesse: present a challenge, and watch him scramble to prove you wrong. "You're telling me a couple of hours at a party's too much for you? That's it? " 

"That's not–" 

"S'what it sounds like to me." You shrug, a little smile on your face. The aim is to look as smug as possible; and it seems to be working. 

His jaw shifts, annoyed. Lyla catches on, giving you a crazed smile. 

"Even your roommate's gonna come." She says, an arm linked in yours. 

"I am?" She gives you a little dig, and you're spluttering. "Y-Yeah, I am!" 

You can see him fight with his own ego; but it's a one-sided affair. 

"Fine. " He strains. "Two hours, max. And then I'm gone."

Lyla gives you a squeeze, and then wraps you both up in a hug he desperately tries to fight off. Ben slots around you guys, and Peter's last to join, with Mayday squealing on his shoulders. 

Eventually, you get what's left of your laptop: a little thumb drive with as much as Lyla could save. You'd thanked her profusely, of course; trying to slither out of her vice grip of a hug, as best you could. She's absolutely batshit, the good kind; cryptic, and strange, but with a lot of heart. She makes you wonder, and they all do; just how did they become friends with Miguel? How do they fit? 

The man himself seems a little different, as if reinvigorated by being around friends. In fact, you catch him smiling to himself on the drive home. It's sweet; to see a different side of him around people he's clearly comfortable with. If only for a little while, he sheds the heavy weight he seems to carry around. 

Around the house, you notice he seems lighter – humming to himself whilst cooking dinner. That very day, you watch the little sway of hips as he stirs a pot; headphones in, singing under his breath. He can't sing for shit, of course, and he'd kill you if you ever uttered a word; but it's a sight you commit to memory, not knowing when next he'll be in such a good mood. 

There's still the question of a new laptop in the air, but you feel more settled by the events of the day. You're a little less fucked school-wise, you've got a party to look forward to, and potentially a drunk Miguel to make fun of. He goes to bed early; and you can hear the quiet drone of a podcast from the other side of the wall. He drifts off to the sweet, dulcet tones of Top Ten Genetic Precursors for Early Onset Dementia; one of his favourites, you've determined. 

All is well, for now. A tentative truce, and maybe, just maybe: you're finally friends with your roommate. 

~~~

There's something about dramatic irony that seems to smack you across the face, every time. 

You've come to somewhat of a understanding with your prickly roommate, and the stream of women in his bed seem to slow down, for a bit. He's hot, he's a whore; but he's sweet, with an eye for detail. He can read you with a scary amount of accuracy. Antsy and hungry from a long day? He leaves you scratching your head at his clairvoyance when you come home, chucking you a hot water bottle and a warm meal. You go to bed with a full belly, cramps abated. 

He's still a prick, of course. Sarcastic comments, and a massive grump – but you've learnt to deal with that. Just a couple of days after a seemingly settled week; what you can't wrap your head around is the pounding music from next door, at fuck-off-o'clock . He shouldn't be awake, let alone interrupting your late night study session. 

You're pissed, leaping from your desk to pound at his door. You're thudding towards his room, ready to deliver a well-deserved verbal lashing, and the door just… swings open. Empty; there's a window ajar and music pumping from speakers. Bachata and cheesy 90s R&B; which sounds suspiciously like his sex playlist. 

Yes, he has a sex playlist. And it really has no business to sound as good as it does. 

Nevertheless, you're resolute. If he's managed to sneak someone, at this hour, you decide he's going to get more than a stern talking to. 

There's clattering in the kitchen, and you whip around; half-expecting the giggle of another girl. When you walk in, it's just Miguel, rummaging through cupboards: a half-naked thief in the night. 

"Miguel?" 

He pops his head up from a cabinet, with a half-eaten piece of bread in his mouth. Caught red-handed, you suppose; and he gives you a little smile. 

"S'everyfin' – mmmfggh –" He scarfs the rest of it down. "Everything okay?" 

You squint. "No. Not really."

He chuckles, a slight rasp at the edges of his voice. Dickhead – what exactly is so funny? 

"You can't have your music so fucking loud, not when I'm studying. It's the middle of the night and–" 

Dressed in nothing but a pair of gray sweats, he's busying himself with a sandwich on the counter; clattering around noisily like he doesn't have full control of his limbs. Which is…. weird, admittedly. You'd trust Miguel to slice a grape with a machete – his dexterity is usually unmatched. Not that you'd made a habit of staring at his hands, or anything. 

"Are you even listening to me?" 

He nods, attempting to keep a straight face, but the faux solemnity does nothing to hide that droop of eyelids and slump of his shoulders. You get closer, pushing him to face you properly. 

"Oh, fuck," His eyes are a little red, hair messy and windswept. "Are you… high? " 

Miguel O'Hara? High? You'd never thought you'd live to see the day, honestly. His eyes go wide, dropping his sandwich dramatically. And then he's got a big hand at your shoulder, pulling you closer with a finger pressed to his lips. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering your name like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone."

With the way he says your name it makes you light-headed. It's slow and careful, as if he's testing the way it feels spilling from his lips. And maybe, with the way he smiles, it feels good; tastes sweet wrapped around his tongue. 

"I won't." You breathe, and then you're both giggling.

There's something about the way he looks at you, peering under heavy lashes; basically eye-fucking you in the space of your tiny kitchen. You feel bare in a little t-shirt and sleep shorts; suddenly exposed. 

"You should…" He starts, cocking his head ever so slightly. "Join me, chula. "

It's soft; sinful, even; said as he coaxes you between his body and the kitchen counter. 

You don't trust your voice enough to answer, legs already shaky, so you nod. Slight, at first; and then with a little more gusto as the idea of him and you on his sheets – intimate, alone – creeps in. He stretches out a hand, and you take it; led to his bedroom like a scene you've seen before. All those girls before you; led to the dragon's lair like damsels in a fairytale. Except in this one, you suppose, you're not waiting for a knight in shining armour to save you. 

He sits you down on the bed, passing you a freshly rolled blunt. Passing it to your lips , more specifically; hand on your chin as he brings the lighter up to its end. Even prettier up close, all you can do is watch the press of plump lips, and pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates. As he leans in, there's a hand on your bare thigh. You inhale, deeply, and he hums with content.

"Good girl," He purrs, prying it from your lips to take a slow drag. 

"You're a bad influence." You murmur, watching as his eyes flutter shut. 

"You need to relax," He leans back, arm drawn lazily upwards. "This is helping."

"That's not–" Oh. You feel it now, a steady haze rolling over limbs. 

Miguel quirks up an eyebrow, amused. 

You repeat, slowly, "You're a bad influence ."

"Does it feel good?" You pause, trying to ignore his low tone; and the steady blaze that it ignites within you. Dragging your eyes to meet his, you see it: want, lust, something heavy that swirls behind them. 

You nod, itching for another pull. As if psychic, he gestures for you to come closer; and your lips almost slot against his. He exhales, and you inhale; in the closest thing you've come to a kiss in months. It makes you ache for just a little more contact, for those pretty hands to slot between your thighs and–

"Is this all I need to do for some quiet around here?" He asks, lilting. If only he'd stop talking; interrupting your fantasy with that stupid grin of his. 

You're shaking your head, laughing at the sheer gall . 

"You're fucking someone new every week, O'Hara. Loud. Who was it the other day? Cathy, Kayla –" 

"Sita, actually." He has a strange expression on his face. "And we didn't fuck. Just going over lecture notes."

"Sorry . Must have gotten mixed up with the half-dozen other girls in and out of here. Our apartment's not a brothel , Miggy."

He rolls his eyes, handing you the remnants of the blunt. 

"...s'not my fault there isn't anyone fucking you right."

You scoff. "How would you know?" 

"Thin walls. " It's cryptic. What the fuck does that mean?

You take a careful drag, and hand the blunt back – trying your hardest not to strangle him. It must show on your face as you tussle with the thought, because Miguel is staring; unabashedly, unashamedly. When you notice, it throws you off. 

"... what?" Ready to defend yourself, you huff. 

He shrugs. His expression is soft, reminding you of that night, not long ago. 

"You look like a painting."

You practically short circuit. You've been complimented before, of course. Hot, by men trying to get into your pants. Pretty, sometimes. Beautiful, the other times. Whether it's been sincere, you don't know – but you're smart enough to not overthink it. It's hard enough to live a life, as it is; and you'd rather not be bogged down by what others think, how you look whilst doing it. And yet, you feel your body betray you; a steady bloom of heat at your heart, like you've been stabbed. So deep, it spreads like blood on the front of a blouse. Like a painting, he says. And you like the way he says it; how it sounds spilling from his lips. 

Its implication sits heavy. Like a painting : hand-crafted, silken, soft –

He blinks, the crack of a smile on his face. And it ends in a fit of giggling, if you can even call it that. 

"Stop fucking with me." You grumble, and he thinks the way your face scrunches up with disdain is cute. There's probably an implication there he should unpack in therapy – how he likes it when you shout and put him in his place – but he's much too high to care. 

"M'not-" He quiets down, flattens his face into something resembling sobriety and gravitas. He gets a little closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body and flutter of lashes. With wide, dilated pupils, he stills - and it really doesn't help that he looks so pretty. 

"Can't stop thinking about you, hermosa." His voice is low, slurred with the weight of the blunt he's taken careful drags of. Every word makes you feel hazy, drawn in by his lips. " Fuck, all the time."

"Hear your laugh in my dreams, sometimes." He circles your bare thigh carefully, without breaking eye contact. With a thumb on your chin, he brings you closer, and closer still. Gently, you close your eyes, expecting the press of his lips against yours… 

…instead, you get a puff of smoke for your troubles. Reeling, you push him away. He collapses on the bed in a laughing fit. 

"... now I'm fucking with you." Rumbling laughter, and you've got the wherewithal to be embarrassed – hand still resting on his bare chest. 

A little cruelly, you push down, giving him an elbow to the ribs for good measure and he splutters with surprise – laughing all the same. 

"Asshole." You slur, and he grabs your arm to pull you onto the covers with him. You paw at him wildly, wrestling amongst the table of sheets. It's not a fair fight, not really; the wide expanse of his bare chest feels solid, and he's probably got more muscle in his pinky toe than you do in your whole body. Miguel is strong , but plays along regardless, pinning you to the bed with his hands around your wrists - but lets you turn him over just as quick. You're both laughing, the blunt long forgotten but its haze blurring the lines. You straddle his middle, hips flush against his and he keens; head back and cheeks flushed.

"Fuck," It's quiet, said as he writhes below you and you try to pin his hands above his head. Maybe it's the weed, but he lets you: eyes low, breath steady. And you stay like that, for a moment; bodies laid against one another. 

You don't know who starts it: the slow roll of hips, the swell of his cock bucking up against your heat. Regardless, you welcome it, letting the heat build up with the pressure at your clit. Your hips sway and all Miguel can do is watch. 

Lips parted, head back; and you set a steady rhythm that washes over you both.

Humping against one another, you get more desperate and drag your hands to his chest for purchase. Underneath you, Miguel practically purrs – one hand on your waist and the other clutching yours at his chest. 

"So, so pretty…" He sighs into it, wide palm pawing at your ass, shamelessly grabbing handfuls. By now, he's rock hard; and you feel him throb through the thin material of his sweats. 

"Fuck, I can't–" You moan, ragged, the roll of your hips gaining speed. 

Miguel coos, bringing a hand to your chin to pull you closer to the crook of his neck. 

"Too fast, hermosa. S-Slow it down for me." He grips your waist, forcing the pace to slow. Your hips stutter against his, delicious pressure making you cry out. And, God, you're close; pleasure building up at your gut. 

"Ohhh, fuck. Just like that, just like–" It's soft, whispered between the press of bodies like a prayer: reverent, intimate, a slew of garbled English and Spanish into the shell of your ear that goes straight to your pussy. 

"A-Ahi, ahi–"

[t-there, there–] 

Plush lips brush against your cheek, and you try so hard to not float away - with only his words to keep you tethered.  

"... no pares lo que sea que estes haciendo–ohh-fuck–" 

[don't stop what you're doing, oh fuck–] 

The coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you arch into his touch as he does the same. Miguel spills into his sweats, heaving with the effort. He can feel the clench of your pussy above, and he chases it in the aftermath; craning his neck to finally get a kiss. Limbs heavy, you still manage to swerve so his kisses land at your jaw. He's grateful for the contact anyway it comes and sucks careful hickies into the skin: at your neck, your collarbone, and anywhere else he can reach. 

You sink into it, curl up on his chest like a housecat; his hands wandering the gentle slope of your back under your shirt. 

Limbs heavy, you pry yourself from his hands ever so slightly. He strains to follow you up, snapping back into the sheets like an elastic band. Still, he kneads at your flesh - bare thighs spilling from your shorts. 

" Miguel," You whisper, hand travelling past his neck to cradle his jaw. "Need more…"

You punctuate that last word with a roll of your hips. Wanton, conflicted; he groans . 

"It's late, chula. " He says it slowly, hesitant – like he can't believe the words are coming out of his mouth. He's still high, lost in the whispy remnants of that blunt. You've never known weed to make someone more responsible, and you flop to his side, a little childishly. 

Miguel makes sure to keep a hand wrapped around your waist, dragging his other knuckles up your exposed tummy so that it rides up to the swell of your tits. 

"And you've got that 9am."

You cover your face with the span of your hands, grumbling. From between the gaps in your fingers, you repeat, 

" ...and I've got that 9am ."

He traces lazy circles in your flesh. Maybe it's the blunt, or the afterglow of an orgasm; but you make him laugh, a gentle ache replacing the creak and shudder of gears. 

"Idiot." He says, kissing it into your skin. And he burns from the touch, fleeting; like the warm flame from paper lanterns, or the flicker of a lighter against cool night air. 

_

_

_

Miguel taglist (1): @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼 #rigor mortis 😼 #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #atsv x reader #atsv fic

[sweetsweetjellybean]

A night out with friends turns into a surprise welcome home party for the man who broke your heart, Eddie Munson.

Masterlist Listen to Scar Tissue Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago, with flashbacks at the beginning of each chapter.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:5162. Beta'd by @superblysubpar

“Have a good day,” your mother calls out as you shut the front door to the gray clapboard-sided home that your parents had fallen in love with the moment they laid eyes on it. You hadn’t even gotten past the front steps before she appears in the doorway, pulling her purple terry-cloth robe tighter around her shoulders as she calls you back. “You don’t have to come right home after school,” she tells you, pressing a few folded bills into your hand, “Go out with your friends. Have some fun.”

“Thanks, Mom.” You muster up a smile, shoving the bills into the front pocket of your Levi's, certain they will end up in the ceramic pink elephant bank that sits atop your dresser, just like the money she gave you last week. She watches you walk down the steps, giving you a wave before she turns away, shutting the door behind her. 

She tries her best, but she doesn't understand that friendships in the seventh grade aren't made as easily as they were in kindergarten, and you can't tell her that in the six weeks you've been enrolled at Hawkins Middle School, not a soul has spoken to you unless asked to by a teacher. 

This was the life that your parents had chosen, a career that demanded constant relocation and upheaval. "It's an adventure," they'd tell you as your things were being packed into boxes. But the older you got, it felt less like an adventure and more like a test. A test to prove yourself over and over. There’s a phrase your mom has uttered so often over the years, that it's surprising it's not embroidered on the throw pillows. Bloom where you're planted. But here, in this town, you're only a weed in the garden.

Hawkins isn't any worse or better than any of the other ten places you've lived in the last seven years, but these kids have been together since birth and aren't eager to welcome newcomers into the flock. Pouring your efforts into being confident and friendly, projecting a cool and unbothered facade, the constant exposure has left you empty. The mask is too heavy, and you’ve been wearing it far too long. If this were one of the comics you kept in the box under your bed, you'd be discovering your superpower–Invisibility. They don't see you here, and maybe they never would. 

The edges of folded bills in your pocket press into the meat of your thigh. Adding them to your total should give you enough for the new Elastica CD.  With a bit of luck, you might be able to talk your dad into driving you to Tower Records in Indianapolis this weekend. A few houses away, the battered front door of a small yellow cape opens with a click and thud, drawing your attention. The house was more run-down than the others on this street. The grass was left to grow a little longer before being mowed, and a few nights a week, you could hear the yelling coming from inside before seeing the slow flash of lights of a cruiser parked in front. 

A boy with curly shoulder-length hair bounds out from inside the house, slinging on his worn backpack as he hits the sidewalk.

Right on time this morning. 

The scuff of your white Doc Martens falls in step with the crunch of his black Converse hitting the pavement. The chain running from his back pocket to his hip sways with his movements. It’s more of a determined bounce than a walk. Your eyes stay trained on the frayed holes of his Jansport, corners of textbooks and papers pushing through. You keep waiting for physics to kick in and the thing to give way entirely.

“Quit following me.” 

His voice floats over his shoulder, shattering the quiet of the morning. Your head swivels from side to side, looking for whoever he is speaking to. His body turns until he’s walking backward, both hands gripping the straps of his backpack, casting his expectant brown eyes on you. 

“Me?” You ask, touching your chipped painted fingernails to your chest.

“You’ve been following me for weeks, and it’s creepy.”

“I’m not following you,” you say incredulously, “We’re just going to the same place.”

“Well, walk on the other side of the street or something,” he says, turning back around, continuing on his way like he assumes you’ll comply.

“No.” 

Your defiance comes out flat and solid, drawing a line, sick of him and this whole town.

“Yes,” the word comes back without a glance, utterly unbothered by your show of determination.

“No,” you repeat louder, your eyebrows pulling together in a scowl, “If you don’t like it, you walk over there.”

“I was here first.”

“Seriously?” The anger in your chest turns to heat, rising up your neck and settling in your face. Your mouth opens, ready to unleash the venom sitting on the tip of your tongue when he stops walking.

“Might as well walk beside me then.”

Surprise melts the words in your mouth as your feet carry you forward until you’re close enough to see the freckles covering his nose. His eyes stay forward as his stride lines up with yours, moving forward at a more relaxed pace. A light breeze rustles the leaves of the Maples lining the street. The sound of your footsteps is interrupted by the occasional passing car. 

“You’re in seventh, right? You got Schnider?” He asks, his eyes darting to your face.

“Yeah.” You nod, looking down at your boots.

"Bad luck. She's a real bitch. I had her last year."

Answering with a shrug, you risk a look back at him. Long eyelashes framing big doe eyes, a sweet face he tries to hide with a hard shell. He wears a mask, too. 

Your brain’s on overload for the rest of the day—thoughts of the boy coloring away the hours like a secret, overanalyzing every bit of your interaction. When the shrill sound of the final bell rings, you join the current of students, gathering your belongings and exiting the building in a wave.

The fresh air is a welcome escape from the stuffy classroom as you cross behind the school past the football field, heading toward the path through the woods where the boy is lingering just beyond the gate, digging through his pack but coming up with nothing like maybe he had been waiting. Without a word, he falls into step beside you. When you look at him, this time, he meets your eyes. The sunlight flickers through the swaying leaves as your footsteps resonate through the trees as you continue together.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," his voice cuts the quiet air when you reach the front steps of his house, his tone revealing a hint of uncertainty. 

"I'll be headed the same way," you answer.

He turns away from you, pausing with his foot on the top step, looking up at his house before looking back at you. 

"I'm Eddie, by the way," he offers, his cheeks pinking at the vulnerability his words carry.

"I know," you respond, a small smile gracing your lips as you continue home.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," you mutter, tucking your phone into your clutch and bolting up the marble steps to the second floor of the Kimpton Grey Hotel. Composing yourself as you pass through the lobby and open the double doors into Vol.39. The bar exudes timeless elegance with its dim, warm light shining on the dark-wood accents. Vintage jazz playing through hidden speakers, sounding like smoke and liquor. Everything here is steeped in leather, old money, and sophistication. It's no surprise that Nancy chose it. 

"You're late," Nancy says flatly, no amusement in the blue eyes framed by the blunt cut of her black, sleek hair as she glances at her watch with disapproval.

"Sorry." You slide into the open seat on the tufted couch across from her, adjusting the material of your dark emerald midi skirt so the slit wouldn't be showing off too much thigh, "There was traffic." It definitely wasn’t the extra half hour you spent with your feet up on your desk at Stax listening to the new release from Band of Horses.

"This is Chicago. There's always traffic," she counters, keeping her voice low enough that it doesn't travel past the lit bookshelves lined with leather-bound encyclopedias framing the seating area that your friends are currently occupying. "That's why I gave you a time a week ago. So you could plan ahead."

"She’s in a mood," Argyle says from the corner of his mouth, his hair falling around him like a curtain as he leans closer from the velvet upholstered club chair beside you. 

"Where's Steve?" Nancy demands, setting down her crystal tumbler on the gray marble table in the center of the space.

"He's not here?" you ask, scanning the bar. "It was Robin’s turn to watch him."

"Me?" Robin exhales from the other end of the couch she shares with Nancy.

"You're his best friend," you point out with a quirk of your brow.

"Yeah, but you're his–"

"I don't know why I bother to organize nights out for all of us if no one is going to be on time," Nancy cuts off Robin, huffing as she crosses her slender arms over her chest.

"It will be fine, Nance," Johnathan reassures, coming back from the bar carrying a flight of martinis he sets down in the center of the table. "Just relax. Everyone's going to be here in plenty of time." He takes the seat beside her, comforting her with his arm around her shoulder. 

Nancy and Johnathan have been on again-off again since she left Hawkins for school in Boston. Rekindling their relationship when she moved to Chicago and accepted a position at Spectrum Media, where she still works as their vice-president of content strategy. 

"Plenty of time for what?" You ask, leaning forward to choose a martini, picking the Astoria with a knot of lemon. 

"There's a mystery guest," Robin says, wriggling her brows and hooking her thumb towards Nancy. “Full of surprises, isn't she?”

"Where's Flora tonight?" You ask Robin, noticing she is without an escort. 

"Flora?" She asks, picking up a drink for herself, "That was over a week ago." She dismisses her with a wave of the hand before running it through her wavy blonde streaked locks, "Sadly, she left for a goat herding commune in Sacramento. I've been seeing someone new, a painter named Taylor. She's on exhibit at Magnolia. Her florals are really dreamy." She bites an olive off the end of her toothpick, sighing. 

Smiling around the lip of your glass, you shake your head. Robin works as an exhibit coordinator for Magnolia Gallery in Wicker Park, falling in and out of love with artists as quickly as she sells their pieces. You give her credit, she's having fun. 

"Did you text him?" Nancy asks, her lips twisting with impatience. The tense clench of her jaw has you setting down your drink and reaching for your clutch with no arguments. "Do you know how hard it was to get this reservation?"

"Then why are we here?" Argyle complains, gesturing around the room while he slumps back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass with the other. "You know I own like six bars, right? No reservations required."

"But then you'd be working," Nancy explains, as Argyle smoothes out his handlebar mustache.

"I'm always working, babe," Argyle says with a smirk, looking the part of a restaurateur and music promoter in his shiny flat-front trousers and short-sleeved silk shirt. 

Argyle is a new friend - meaning not from Hawkins. The California transplant, whose family owns a chain of successful pizza restaurants, has breathed new life into the Chicago music scene. Booking up-and-coming acts as well as big names into his bars and venues all across the city. He's a good friend to have, especially in your line of work–a music journalist for Stax the city's premiere music, arts, and culture magazine.

“He’s on his way,” you inform them, setting your phone face down on the table before settling back on the couch.

“On his way or leaving now?” Nancy shakes her head, knowing with Steve it’s probably the latter. “Why didn’t you ride with him?” She asks, turning toward Jonathan.

“I wasn’t in the office today. I was on a shoot,” he says, pulling his arm away from her and setting his drink down harder than necessary, his patience with her at an end. 

Jonathan, like you and Steve, works for the conglomerate Second City Media. Nancy likes to think that she permits the three of you to work for her competitor, but Steve had already gotten his foot in the door, securing himself an entry-level position at Metro Sports division before she was even out of grad school. Jonathan had been doing alright freelancing as a photographer, but when Nancy started at Spectrum, Second City recognized their competitor would wind up with an edge and hired him on as full-time staff. Everyone knows it's better for their relationship not to be working in the same place, especially with Nancy as his boss.

“Give us some clues about this mystery guest,” Robin interjects to lower the temperature between the couple, which is ready to boil over.

"Okay, I'm here." Steve comes from behind you, his voice alerting you to his arrival before you see him. His tie is already missing, the first three buttons of his starched shirt undone beneath his midnight blue suit, and his hair tousled from a day of running his hands through.

"Really, Steve? You couldn't be on time just this once?" Nancy scolds him, rolling her eyes.

"Meeting ran late. You know how it is," he leans down to kiss her cheek,"Or maybe you don't. I heard things are a bit slow over there at Spectrum," he teases, earning a smirk from Johnathan. 

Steve worked his way up from the sports division to chief content officer for Second City Media. The position puts him just shy of the power Nancy holds at Spectrum, fueling the pair's competitive and ambitious nature until their bickering often drives everyone else crazy.

"Steve," Robin draws his attention before Nancy gets the chance to respond, "About tomorrow–"

"Just a minute, Robin. I haven't gotten to kiss my beautiful wife hello." He steps over Argyle's legs and gives the man a quick handshake in greeting before sitting next to you on the sofa.

"I'm not your wife yet, handsome," you tell him as his strong hands cup your cheeks, tipping your head up toward him. 

"But it sounds good, doesn't it?" He asks before soft lips close over yours, his thumb pressing on your chin, asking for access to deepen the kiss beyond the line that's appropriate in front of company. 

"Niiiice," Argyle hums as the others snicker. Steve takes a hand off your cheek, holding it in front of you to block some of their views as his mouth moves hotly over yours. 

"God, you two are sickening," Nancy's remark is probably accompanied by an eye roll, but you're too occupied to notice as you tighten your grip on the front of Steve's shirt, drawing him nearer.

Four of his fingers curl down, giving Nance a one-fingered message as he continues to kiss you until he's had his fill. Breaking away with a gentle peck. "How was your day today, Ace? Did you write me a Pulitzer?" 

"You ask me that every day."

Despite teasing you, he wouldn't be surprised if you had what it takes. That's how much he believes in you. He takes your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips to place a kiss next to the glittering diamond he put on your hand a little over two years ago. 

"Excuse you." Robin climbs over Argyle's legs that are still stretched out in front of him, taking up all the space between the chairs and the table, and walks over to the couch, squeezing her way onto the sofa between you and Steve, "Best friend privileges." She winks before launching into a conversation about the next exhibit she's putting together.

"You two crazy kids set a date yet?" Argyle asks at a volume higher than you'd prefer. Raising your index finger to your lips, eyebrows drawing together as your eyes flick over to Steve.

"I'm just making sure my invite didn't get lost in the mail," he says, sipping his drink. "I love weddings, man—all those tiny little versions of regular-sized food. Maybe I should open a restaurant like that, where everything is tiny. Tiny little kebabs and tiki drinks with tiny little umbrellas. I don't know what's taking you so long. You need to make an honest man out of him." His voice grows louder at the end of his sentence, earning him another look from you, a distraction that diverts Steve's attention from his conversation.

The waitress chooses that moment to appear, saving you from another conversation about setting a wedding date. It's not that you don't want to marry him–you do. Someday. Decisiveness has never been your strong suit, along with dressing up in big puffy dresses that look like frosting and being on display for everyone you have ever known and their plus ones. 

While Steve squints down at the drink menu, fondness warms you like the opening notes of your favorite song. Reaching across Robin, you tap his chest. He looks over at you as he pulls a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and slides them on his nose.

Your lips move without sound–I love you.

You too, he mouths back. His mossy eyes softening as he smiles just for you. 

You're happy. Why change a thing?

“I’ll have an old-fashioned. Top shelf. Please,” Steve tells the waitress after she had gone around taking orders for small plates to share and more cocktails from the others. “Another Martini?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yes, please. An Astoria,” you tell her as she finishes scribbling everything down on her pad and heads off toward the bar to put in your orders. 

“The ladies?” You tip your head at Robin, who nods, getting up to follow you. Steve squeezes your hand as you walk by as he continues his conversation with Nancy about the effectiveness of paywalls on digital content.

“God, she’s in rare form,” Robin comments as you enter the empty ladies' room, each of you closing yourself into a stall.

“Are she and Jonathan fighting again?” You ask once you’ve finished up and moved to the sink to wash your hands. The echo of your voices bouncing off the black and white hexagon tiles.

“When aren’t they fighting?” She pulls a few paper towels from the machine bolted to the wall and drys her hands. “It’s like foreplay for them at this point.”

You laugh, checking under your eyes for make-up smears. “Any ideas about this mystery guest?”

“No idea.” She tugs the brass handle of the door open, and you follow her back into the bar. “Maybe her brother?” 

“That would be nice,” you say, your boot heels tapping on the dark chevron floors, “He just got married, right?”

“So young, practically still a baby,” she tuts, her head shaking from side to side.

“Robin, he’s not that-”

Robin's hand clamps onto your forearm, a squeal escaping her mouth as excitement radiates through her. She bounces on her toes, leaving you in her wake. Whoever elicited such a reaction is being blocked by Steve and Jonathan. When she gracefully maneuvers past them, you catch a fleeting glimpse of dark curls before the two men shift back into place, obscuring your view once more. The clinking of glasses and chatter from the other patrons swells in your ears. Your feet carry you forward, curiosity resonating like the reverb of a guitar. Steve feels you coming up behind him and shifts to the side. Without warning, rich chocolate eyes are locked onto yours. Eyes you haven’t seen in eleven years when he left you a mixtape instead of a goodbye. The eyes of the man that shattered your heart into so many pieces, all the edges are still sharp. 

“Hey, doll.”

The breath trapped in your lungs forms a suffocating bubble, its dull, aching pressure stifling any movement in or out, causing your body to lock in protest. You're tugged forward, unable to fight it, until your body collides with his. The faint but familiar scent of him embraces you, lingering beneath the spicy notes of expensive cologne. Triggering a flood of a hundred painful memories, like songs you’ve overplayed and can’t bear to hear again. They jar your instincts into overriding the shock, compelling you to push him away. Eddie's solid frame absorbs the force. To your relief, the others haven't noticed as you retreat to your seat. Your trembling hand raises your martini to your lips, taking larger swallows than you normally would, but nothing with this situation is normal. 

"Desperate times," you mutter under your breath, tipping back your glass. By the time everyone has settled back into their seats, your martini glass stands drained, the lingering taste of its contents  bittersweet on your tongue.

Steve directs the waitress to bring another drink for you and a double Mescal for Eddie. The others' voices are a distant buzz in your ears, but their words don't breach the barrier of your thoughts. The chords playing in your mind are more discernible now. Their lyrics printed onto the faded photographs of a boy that you struggle to reconcile as the man before you. He's older, but you are too. His long hair is much shorter, the dark curls a richer brown pushed away from his face. A few lines grace the corners of his eyes and forehead–a reminder of the life he's lived without you. 

Steve's comforting hand wraps around your shoulders while the other finds a home sliding between the soft skin where your legs are crossed, exposed by the high slit of your skirt. Eddie's eyes are on you, his stare focused on Steve's big hand covering half your thigh. Your left hand moves on top of Steve's, adjusting to make sure the sparkling rock on your finger gleams with brilliance in the soft, ambient light.

"Well, this is a blast from the past," Robin notes, her voice full of whimsy as she dangles her cocktail glass between two fingers, swaying it gently like a pendulum.

"Aren't you all glad I forced you to come out?" Nancy quips, much more relaxed now that her plan has come to fruition.

"You did good, love," Johnathan murmurs. His fingers tangling with hers before giving her a quick peck. 

"Absolutely. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this," Steve agrees, "How long has it been, dude? Three, four years?"

"Yeah, I think that was the last time you were in L.A." Eddie scratches at his chin, covered with just enough scruff to almost be a beard. 

Steve keeps in touch with Eddie? Had he told you when you hadn't been paying attention to him, your mind wandering with the words you would write for other people's songs?

"Now, I know that I told you only old friends," Nancy says, angling herself towards the plaid upholstered chair that Eddie occupies. "But Argyle knows all the local talent, and I thought he'd be a good connection to have since you're moving here."

"What?" You ask, as if a sudden vacuum has just sucked the air from the room.

"You're moving here?" Robin's eyes light up with excitement at the prospect of all her friends in the same city. She was the original connection that brought you together all those years ago. 

"When you say here. You mean Hawkins, right? You're moving back to Hawkins," you clarify.

"No. I mean here. I'm moving to Chicago," Eddie says, leaning back into his chair, his long legs spread in his tailored black suit, the black v-neck underneath giving off a laid-back California vibe. "I told those corporate studio fucks I was done. I'm opening my own place to record music that's actually good, not just the kind that will sell. I'm surprised you don't know all this, doll. Isn't it supposed to be your job or something?"

“Fu–”

"Why Chicago?" Jonathan asks, cutting you off before you let loose a very appropriate response to his question, "Why not stay in L.A. or New York. Aren't there music scenes bigger than here?"

Eddie tips his head to the side, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "You know, L.A.'s lost its charm for me. Too many fake people made out of plastic. And, well, Wayne's not getting any younger. Thought it's about time to be closer, you know?"

“You'd be much closer in Hawkins. Bet you could find a place downtown real cheap. You should go look there.” You cross your arms over your chest, drawing a line in the sand. 

“Hawkins doesn’t really scream rock ‘n’ roll, and I already got a place, but thanks,” he says, unconcerned as ever by your tone.

“Look at you two,” Robin says, clapping her hands, “Just like old times, back to your usual banter." Her mischievous grin widens, "Remember when she had that massive crush on you, Eddie? You’d stroll into Musicland during our shift, and she’d follow you around with those big heart eyes.”

Your ears ring as heat rushes up to your neck to your cheeks,the whole world spinning. Eddie looks down, swirling the remnants of gold liquid in his crystal-cut glass.

“You’re exaggerating, Robin,” you sputter, reaching for your drink, hiding behind the lip of the glass, “We were just friends. And it couldn’t have been too major. I don’t even remember it.”

“Oh, come on,” she protests, “Everybody knew.”

"I didn't," Steve's voice cuts through her teasing, leaving an awkward stillness in its wake. The distant sounds of high-pitched laughter and the faint scrape of utensils against plates fill the void. Your friends exchange uncomfortable glances, even though there was no malice in his tone.

“Hey, it’s no big deal, though,” his smile puts everyone at ease. “Right, Ace?” His head dips, brushing your lips in confirmation. You nod as he continues, “Robin, remember when we both went on dates with the same girl. What was her name? Brenda.” His fingers snap with the recollection.

“That’s right, Brenda! Brenda Mackenzie!” Robin laughs and begins to regale the group with the story.

When you lift your eyes, Eddie’s stare remains fixed on you, amusement replaced with an intensity you can’t read. An unfinished sentence or lyric. Words hanging between you like a question that you can't answer—one that you don’t want to.

“I’m going for another drink,” you say to Steve, picking up your empty glass. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asks, brows drawing together.

“No, I’m okay,” you tell him with a plastered-on smile, “You want anything?”

He shakes his head no. “I let my car service go early. I’ll drive us home in your car.”

With gentle fingers, you sweep aside a stray lock of hair that's draped across his forehead, planting a tender kiss on his lips before making your way to the bar. 

There is a soft creak of the leather as you seat yourself on a high stool in front of the polished wood bar. A bartender with an easy smile takes your order and leaves, giving you a much needed moment alone. Your lungs expand and contract without releasing any tension. You study your reflection in the mirror behind the rows of brightly lit bottles. If you could rewind the tape to a few hours ago, you'd have happily stayed in your office. Calling Nancy tomorrow to grovel for forgiveness for messing up her plans. But you can’t and the song plays on. It’s always the music that hurts the worst.

You release an audible sigh, your breath escaping through parted lips, as he settles onto the stool beside you. With a casual tap of his rings against the bar, he signals for the bartender, raising a single finger, his tongue peeks out, grazing his bottom lip as he gestures toward his empty glass.

"What’s the matter, doll? You really that unhappy to see me?" Eddie drawls, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"It’s been eleven years, Eddie. Sorry I’m not organizing a parade." You settle back into your seat, glancing around as if you're bored.

The bartender lowers his eyes as they deliver your drinks and wisely retreats to the far end of the establishment.

"I didn’t come here to fight," Eddie replies, his tone softening. He shifts his weight slightly on the stool, one arm resting casually on the counter, the glint of a gold chain around his neck catching the dim light.

"Then why are you here?" Your eyes narrow as your fingers trace the condensation on the side of the full glass.

"A fresh start. To build something of my own." He looks at you with determination, his dark eyes reflecting the soft glow of the bar lights.

"Then build it somewhere else," you respond curtly, your words laced with frustration. You pick up your drink and down half of it in one go, the chilled liquid leaving a slight burn as it slides down your throat. Setting the glass back down, you turn to leave.

He stops you with a gentle hand wrapping around your wrist, his touch causing your pulse to quicken beneath his fingertips. "There are some things I want to say to you. Let me take you to lunch unless Harrington has got you on too short of a leash."

You pull your wrist back, the feel of his touch lingering like smoke in the air. "Whatever you have to say has waited this long, try again in another decade. Unless you're dying."

"Would it make a difference if I was?" He meets your gaze with amusement playing on his lips.

"Let me think about it… nope." Your reply is quick and sharp, meant to cut.

"I know you're mad–" 

"No. Mad would imply some kind of emotional attachment. What I feel is indifference. In case you don't know the definition, that means nothing at all." Your voice stays cool and detached as you hop off the stool. "It's a big city, Eddie. There's no reason we have to see each other again." 

"We'll have to see about that," he smirks. 

"Have a nice life," you say a final goodbye to your past and turn away, walking in the direction of Steve when he stops you with one more question.

"Did you listen to it? The tape, did you ever listen?" 

The lie comes without hesitation. 

“No.”

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Read Song 2. here

AN: I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it. If you have a song that you think Eddie would have recorded on the mixtape send it to me in an ask and it might be included. Anything before 2001. I'd love to hear from you. Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated.

#steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series #torn #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #Spotify

[tallymonster]

Careless Whisper ❤️ AO3 link ❤️‍🔥

Summary: Zesstra is a stripper and she just got off work. She turns on her computer and watches a very steamy streamer.

THIS IS PURE SMUT TRASH, IT IS NOT SERIOUS. If you come to my asks being an asshole, your ass will get BLOCKED.

A/N: there's a lot of emojis and out of character speak going on here. Do not take anything written here seriously, this was done for fun. Consider this a love letter to my friends on the Astarion Brainrot discord and to the ones who let me use their Tavs in this wild idea I had one day when I got too stoned and started to write on Google docs. Might be a one off, might be a thing, who knows?? Either way, enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day 😘💕

@cursedhaglette who let me use Halia (goldengalhal)

@tragedybunny who let me use Sera (SeraQueen)

@micropoe10 who let me use Colette (EcoGirl)

@just-a-refrigerator who let me use Elora (slutty_songstress)

And @bhaalbaaby who let me use Penelope

Thanks guys, I love love love you all 💕

Zesstra flops onto her bed with her laptop and a giant glass of wine in her hand. Another shitty day at work, but what's new? Being a dancer at the Fae Cabaret wasn't the ideal thing, but fuck, if the money wasn't worth getting her ass slapped for 10$ extra dollars in her tip pile.

Today though, was the last straw. The creepy rich dude who comes by every once in a while came by tonight, and did his same bullshit. She could practically recite his opening line “Hey gorgeous, why the sour face?” followed by a stupid smarmy laugh.

Zesstra smiled, put on the fake giggle, and slapped his shoulder. Next, he buys her the cheapest mixed drink, and of course, he gets himself an expensive glass of whiskey he never finishes.

She tries her hardest not to roll her eyes after he makes some degrading comment about her coworker, grimacing while he rants about some meeting with important people she doesn't give two fucks about.

Whatever, that's all in the past now. Tonight was about Zesstra, of course. It's her blessed time off and she was going to spend it the only way she could truly enjoy it.

Zesstra turned on her computer and went through her socials. The public one for family and close friends, some messages from the girls at work, nothing too exciting.

Then she flips to the slutty socials, the ones where she can post pictures from work. She answers some messages on her pay per post site, adds more lewd photos from her various shopping sprees, and scrolls for a few minutes. Messages pour in offering her the world for a few seconds of her attention, but there's really only one place she wishes to be.

Zesstra thinks back on the one bright spot in her nights. A regular she only knows as “The Lawyer”. He's a good looking elf, perfect silver hair, gorgeous face, dazzling red eyes that lock onto her as she walks the floor of the club.

He usually doesn't say much, but when he does Zesstra swears she’s heard that silky voice somewhere before. She put that thought to the back of her mind. Tonight was about seeking her own pleasure.

Clicking through the streaming sites she visits on nights when the images of him won't leave, she finds that her favorite creator, an asmr streamer called ProfaneDelight, just began his stream. Zesstra clicks on his name and pops her headphones on. She drinks more of the wine, and closes her eyes as his voice begins to fill her ears.

“Good evening, darlings.” She watches as he enters the frame of the video, his tight red shirt and black pants hug his body. The camera is at the most unfortunate angle, since it won't allow her to see his whole face which she assumes matches the delicious sound of his voice.

“Have you been waiting all day for me?” He huffs softly, a small laugh follows, “What a good audience you are…” His breathy tone sends shivers down her spine.

Zesstra kept her eyes on the screen as his hands come up to the desk he stands behind. She notices the black leather gloves with red piping along the edges that cover his hands.

“You know I can't stand to be away from you.”, his voice drips, seductively. “I bet you think of me while you do the most boring things.”

Zesstra can't help keeping her eyes locked on his hands, she tries not to, but her mind starts to imagine The Lawyer’s hands there instead.

“Do you get excited when you see time passing by as I get closer to coming back to you?”

His right hand comes up to the top of his shirt, slowly undoing a couple of buttons. A breathy sigh followed his hand as it lowered itself down his torso. Zesstra bites her lip in anticipation, taking another slow sip from her wine.

Her eyes follow his hand as it comes to a stop at the waistline of his pants. The heat rises to her cheeks when she sees the outline of his cock as the gloved hand cups it.

A strained groan escapes his lips, she can already feel the effects of his seduction working on her body. Her cheeks are heating up just by watching these slow teases.

Zesstra swallows more wine, watching as he opens his shirt more. The pale skin of his core seemed to shine in what appears to be candlelight. The soft yellows of the light bathe his body, the shadows cast highlight the muscles that are slowly exposed.

“Ah ah aaahh” he teases, “if you want more…you know what to do, darlings.”

Zesstra smirks mischievously, the money she earned tonight would be put to great use right now. She types a quick message and before she could type it she hears the ping of a donation from someone called goldengalhal.

goldengalhal sent 20$ “Starting off right, love. There's more where that came from 😘”

Zesstra rolls her eyes and sends her 25$ donation, 5 more than whomever that is. Back on the screen she sees her name and message pop up.

TestyZesty sent 25$ “couldn't wait to come home, looks like I got here just in time…”

He laughs and begins to slide one of the gloves off near the microphone. The soft scratching sound of the fabric rubbing against his pale hand sent more shivers through Zesstra’s skin.

As the glove comes completely off his hand, he taps on the mic, Zesstra sighs contentedly and licks the wine off her lip. She notices his fingers, and does a double take. They look familiar? She pours the last bit of this bottle into her glass and leans back to watch more before jumping to conclusions.

“Looks like we have someone who came by at the right time…little TestyZesty…my dear, what are you so testy about? Anything I can help with?” His lips curl into a little smirk, “I hear I give wonderful stress relief…”

Zesstra shoots up on her bed, her wine swivels in the glass and almost spills due to her abrupt reaction. “No fuckin’ way.” her jaw drops and she begins to type her response. Suddenly, another donation pings, this time from a SeraQueen.

SeraQueen sent 50$ “I had a bad day at work, can I get a little love too 🥺”

“Of course, dear. Hope your day can improve now that you're here, my Queen.” he responds with all the sweet words they all love.

Zesstra scoffs, “Biiiiitttttch, please.” she giggles and sends her message. As soon as it pops up on screen, she hears his melodic voice begin to read it.

“Work, irl shit. Life sucks, then you die. You make it better though.” she sees a small smirk on his lips, Gods, she would kill to suck on those lips. “Oh, don't be so nice to me, Zesty…you make me want to be nice back..” He draws out the last bit of that sentence, making the hairs on her arms stand on end.

The second hand comes up and begins the same languid dance of slipping the matching glove off. Bit by bit he takes the glove off each finger, a soft moan flows out of those pretty pink lips when he finally releases his hand from the offending accessory.

He strokes the microphone with his fingers as more soft, breathy moans leave his lips. “You're all so eager to get me exposed aren't you? All these adorable messages just for me?”

“You have no idea…” Zesstra grabs the second bottle of wine that sat on her nightstand, she unscrews the top and drinks straight from the bottle. More images of her Lawyer pop into her head, but her mind decides to think of the way he ran his hands all over her when she took him into the private rooms at the back of the club a couple of nights ago.

No matter how many times she's been told not to let people touch her, she can't help letting him do it every time they're alone. He was paying for the whole experience, of course, but sometimes she wonders what they would get away with if she were the one paying him.

She snaps out of it the moment she hears another donation ping from an EcoGirl.

EcoGirl sent 150$ “do you like to garden? Because I have a hedge that needs tending 😏”

“Oh no, little love. I can't mess up these immaculate hands…then how would I be able to make these streams?” He giggles a bit and stands to remove his belt. It's like a little game of back and forth comments and donations from different people.

Among the many she notices a comment from a slutty_songstress “how do I get you to sing for me? bet you make wonderful sounds 👀”. He apparently noticed that one as well, he reads it out and huffs into the microphone.

“I don't usually do private performances…most of the time I’m the one getting the dance done for me…” A skewed smirk grows on his face, as if he's trying to play coy.

Zesstra’s mind begins to fire off with unhinged horny thoughts. She would do anything to give this man a dance he would never forget. People do love her aloof drow attitude, who’s to say he wouldn't?

Before she could stop herself, she drops another donation.

TestyZesty sent 100$ “what kind of dancing? Are you going to the ballet or stopping by the Cabaret? maybe I'll see you there? 😘”

Another cheeky comment, sure to get his attention. He laughs again, and bites his lip. “Well, I do enjoy both, but I do hold a special place in my heart for the girls at the Fae…have a few in mind actually.”

Within seconds the chat is flooded with questions on who the girls could be. Zesstra sees a few of her coworker’s names flash up on the screen, most notably, Penelope, the pink tiefling with a huge fan base, and Nym the other drow girl who worked part time at the strip club.

Some even mentioned Nym’s brother Sorm, but he had given up the cabaret after finding himself a job as a model after one of his regulars hit it big during Faerun Fashion Week.

Penelope and Nym are Zesstra’s friends and friendly competition. Most nights where the three of them work, they'll place bets on which one of them will get hit on first (Penelope), which one will get a four figure tip (Nym), and who can get the client the most drunk within 30 minutes (Zesstra).

She giggles as the comments keep flying, eventually, one commenter names her!

“Have you seen Zesstra?? She's kind of a bitch but total dommy mommy energy 🥵”

Zesstra cackles like a banshee, “That's right, babes, fear me!” She takes a long drink from the bottle, amused that someone out there thought of her.

Back on stream, the delightful treat in front of her sucks his lip and releases it with a pop, “Darlings, I will never kiss and tell, but I do know one of my little friends is here right now.”

Zesstra sputters into her wine glass, she cannot believe what she just heard! Is he trying to imply that he's a possible client of the Fae??? There's no way, he's probably talking about the ballet that her cousin Octavia is a part of. But then again, how many of those girls sit in their room after a performance and flick their bean to this shit?

She chuckles the thought out of her head, and focuses her attention on the screen. She starts to type a message when a donation pops up.

goldengalhal sent 200$ “I do ballet, maybe you’ve seen one of our performances? I'm the prima ballerina at the Gate’s Performance Hall.”

“Good for you, goldengal. I do appreciate the arts, and I do love dressing up for the occasion, but….there's just something about the girls at the Fae that gets me going…”

Zesstra’s brain short-circuits. “OH MY FUCKING GODS.” Could he be one of her regulars????

Another donation. EcoGirl sent 50$ “CAN WE GET BACK TO THE MATTERS AT HAND?? our boyfriend is still wearing a shirt. 👀”

Zesstra laughs and sends her donation, TestyZesty sent 69$ “i agree with EcoGirl, can we get back to these pressing matters? In particular, the rest of those buttons 😏” An amused chuckle comes out of his lips, he stands and Zesstra could see him lean in closer to the microphone.

His hand slides down his chest, following along the line of buttons at the front of his shirt. The almost hushed sounds flowed from his lips. A strained groan here and a breathy moan there. Zesstra’s skin prickles under his teases.

His hands linger on the buttons that hold his shirt closed, one by one he begins to slide his fingers over the closures, his pale skin becoming more visible by the second. More soft whines and moans fill Zesstra’s ears, the vibrations pooling down in her core.

He leans over and speaks directly into the camera “I hope you all are pleased with yourselves, I don't usually let you all have this much power over me, but I figured with it being Lover’s Night, I would give my little pets a treat.”

He blows a kiss to the camera and begins running his hand down his neck, slowly trailing his hand down his now exposed chest. A low groan, almost a growly noise flutters out of his throat as he pulls the rest of his shirt open. The red silky looking fabric hung off his shoulders as his hand lingered on his waistband.

“Shall I keep going, lovelies? What do you think?”

The messages fly on the left hand side of Zesstra’s laptop screen. One after the other they compete for his attention until another high donation drops.

Slutty_songstress sent 200$ “off with the shirt, please (respectfully)”

“Well, my songstress, since you asked so politely…” The last word is drawn out, he lets his shirt drop from his shoulders, his hand throws it off and palms his cock again. He sucks his lip into his mouth, Zesstra could see what looked like a fang pop out the right side.

More breathy moans fill her ears as she begins to remember earlier in her night, when her bright spot waltzed into the club. She watched as the Lawyer walked up to the bar, he leaned on the counter and began to text furiously. Zesstra didn't usually feel so flustered because of a client, but the way he looked at her was not usual of the other patrons.

When she walked up to him he looked straight at her eyes and smiled. “Hello, beautiful.” She smiles back and leans over the bar, letting her shoulders drop, pressing her upper arms together to puff out her chest. The little game of playing it cool failed under his gaze.

They talk for a while before she hears her name being called, at the same time he checks his watch and notices the time. “I’m late to a very important meeting. Looks like we have to part ways, gorgeous. Maybe next time, we can have some time together? Perhaps away from these prying eyes?”

Zesstra could never properly hear him, no thanks to the loud ass music Alfira played behind the DJ booth, but she was pretty good at reading lips by now.

He slips her a note and winks as she bends down seductively to shove the little scrap of paper inside her platform boot. The moment ruined by Nym, who comes to pull her up on stage. Soon after she finishes her set, she pulls the little note out and reads it.

Zesstra’s jaw drops and sees that it's a business card for one of the most elite law firms in Faerun. It was a plain white card with his name, Astarion, and number written on it. On the back there was a note that read “I helped you once before, don't hesitate to ask again.”

She had given him her landlord’s number when they were trying to pull some shady shit and not fix her leaky shower. One call from “her lawyer” and it was done.

Seems like this was her chance, and given the amount of alcohol she's drunk so far, Zesstra decides to text the number.

“Hey, Astarion. It's Zesstra. Pretty bold of you to give me a business card.” She hits send and throws her phone on the nightstand. She'll check it later, he was probably busy at that meeting he mentioned.

Back in her room, she snaps back to reality yet again when she hears the sound of hundreds of messages scrolling past. Apparently in the time that she was in her daydream, her streamer had already undone his pants! She scoffs and types out a message.

TestyZesty sent 123$ “Holy shit, I looked away for five seconds and you sluts got his pants open??”

Zesstra hears the sultry voice reading her message out loud with a little wince at the end, “I guess if you were paying attention, you wouldn't be surprised.”

Her throat feels dry, she clenches and swallows. “You're all so sweet, letting me ramble like this…I wish I could see your face when you let me do whatever I want to you.”

Zesstra was already extremely turned on from seeing her crush earlier and the way she could feel his eyes studying her reactions.

“Touch yourself. I know you want to.”

As if she was being compelled to, her hand begins to trail down her center, slipping into her tiny shorts. She feels her wetness coating her fingers, her body opening up under his commands.

“Be good for me, I could be really good for you…” he slips his pants down, and she hears them hit the ground. His hand moves up to his waist, pulling at the fabric of his skin tight boxers, his cock very clearly hardened by this point.

“Oh fuck…” she slips her shorts completely off, spreading her legs on both sides of the laptop sitting on her bed. Her left hand goes back to work herself open while the right is tugging her bra up to play with her nipple.

“Give me what I want and I'll give you what you want, darlings.”

Another flood of donations and messages ring out, Zesstra wishes they would all just shut up and enjoy the show, but it's all part of the game.

EcoGirl sent 100$ “pleeease, I need to see this man cuuuuummmmmmm 🥵”

“As you wish, dear. Any particular way? Or is it the dealer's choice?” his voice drops as a sharp exhale escapes with a pout, his muscles tense and release as he runs his hand over his cock.

“Tell me how you want me to.” a sigh, and a moan, “I really wanna come for you all, you've been so good to me tonight..”

Two donations come in at the same time, each opposes the other.

SeraQueen sent 350$ “love the teasing, keep going, we love anything you give us”

goldengalhal sent 420$ “fuck your hand. Let us see your cock leak.”

“Ooh, the war begins…So direct, goldengal, and sooo generous…thank you, love. I do like what SeraQueen adds though, maybe I can give both of my generous beauties a compromise?’

He runs his left hand down the front of his boxers more, his breath hitches and stutters. His fingers teasing the length of his cock. He pulls the camera and the microphone down a bit and flops into the chair behind him.

TestyZesty sent 422$ “you look comfy, just how I imagined when I think of riding you when I touch myself.”

Zesstra had to take her hand off her tit to type that, but she could tell it had an effect on him. As a stripper, she could pretty much tell when any of the patrons got too excited by the dance. This guy clearly loved the attention he got doing these streams in more ways than one.

He begins to pull his boxers down, teasing them all with how slowly he was inching the fabric off. As soon as his cock is freed, it bounces back, bobbing with a twitch. “Is this what you think about, Zesty?”

TestyZesty sent 100$ “ fuck yes. I want to milk you, you drive me crazy.”

A pleased hum that turns into a moan follows as he runs his hands up his thighs, digging his nails into his skin. Zesstra can see the red scratch marks grow bright against his pale skin. Gods, she would love to bite down and see how pretty he would look bruised with little love bites all over.

He wraps one hand around his cock, the other continues to work his way up his toned chest, tweaking a nipple as he begins to lazily stroke his cock.

TestyZesty sent 100$ “get yourself nice and hard, I wanna have a good image of you underneath me.”

“Let me give you a better image then, darling Zesty…”

Zesstra is rewarded with a louder moan, he strokes himself a little more, grabbing a bottle off camera with his other hand. He flips the top and drizzles what looks like lube all over his cock.

EcoGirl sent 50$ “yesyesyesyes get it nice and slick, daddy. I would suck you all day if you let me.”

SeraQueen sent 240$ “you have the prettiest cock, so thick too”

“Oh EcoGirl, you like it when daddy fucks his hand? Would you like it to be your cunt instead? Maybe you and Sera can share?”

Zesstra clenches around nothing, she can't take it anymore and reaches down to fully indulge in herself. She begins to circle her clit, stroking slowly, trying to imitate the movements of his hand on screen.

His hand now coated in a combination of lube and precum slides up and down his hardened length, the muscles on his thighs flex and he lets out more breathy moans. “Let's see who can get me to come all over their beautiful tits, I do love it when they're covered with my come, bouncing in my face.”

Zesstra strokes down her pussy, her slick entrance is so desperate to be filled by him, to be the only one bringing him pleasure. She lets herself wander to the place in her mind where Astarion is the one making her mewl underneath him.

goldengalhal sent 300$ “faster, I love it when you can tell how desperate you are to come.”

He huffs and does as he's told, his hands find their places on his cock and on his balls, both working in tandem to ruin him for the audience. With one hand he strokes himself more, building up speed. His other cups his balls as his fingers spread, moving down towards his frenulum. He arches his back, thrusting into his hand more desperately.

Zesstra wants him to cry out for her like this, she wants to be the one to make him feel as good as he does for her, all she can bare to think of is his cock sliding inside her, splitting her open and taking what he wanted.

Waves of pleasure crash into Zesstra as she watches him stroking his cock faster, she can see how everyone's words affect him. The way his chest stutters as he's getting closer to his own high. His hips thrust up into his soaked hand, seeking release, his breaths growing more ragged and strained.

Zesstra's fingering herself in time with his thrusts, she lets the images of Astarion flood back into her head, his hands all over her as she grinds herself onto him during her dances. She rubs the heel of her palm into her clit faster as she feels herself getting closer, the moans and breaths in her ears pushing her closer to the edge.

“That's right, come for me…let me fill you with my come, get you nice and full for me. Have my seed drip down your legs as you go about your day…” a stutter followed by a strained groan “fuck yourself faster, I want to feel you come for me.”

Zesstra feels herself winding up more, the tension ready to snap at any moment, when she hears his moans grow louder and more primal. He's desperate to come and she would do anything to get that to happen. She keeps her eyes locked into his hands.

With her free hand she sends the last donation she thinks she can type before the lust fully takes her.

TestyZesty sent 69$ “come for me, gorgeous. Let me see you come and coat your beautiful skin.”

“Yes darling… gods, I'm so close… are you gonna come too, Zesty? Come with me, sweet girl.”

As if on command, Zesstra can feel herself crossing over the precipice, her body writhes and clenches as her cunt squeezes down on her fingers. She rides her orgasm out as she hears him panting and whining.

“Yes yes fuck you're so tight and wet, I can't take it anymore, fuuuuck…” he twists his hand on the rise of his hand, giving the head a bit of a squeeze. He thrusts into his hand with little shallow movements, his fingers from his other hand grip on his balls as he fucks his hand.

His body is clenching, tensing up more and more as he pushes himself over the edge, his cock twitches as he comes. The thick liquid coats his hand as it drips down. His body shudders as he keeps fucking his hand through his climax.

His moans stutter and his hips tremble. His waist and stomach are coated with his come, an obscene display for such a composed subject.

“Looks like I gotta clean up here, darlings.” he pants with a small laugh, his breath shallow and chest heaving. “For my little messenger, I hope you liked it. Expect a response from me soon, pet. Good night, loves.”

The stream ends, Zesstra thinks that little sign off was strange, but everyone has their thing. As she's coming down from one of the best orgasms she's had, she hears her phone ring and notices that Astarion has actually texted back! His meeting must've just ended, perfect timing.

When she opens the message, she nearly dropped her phone from the whiplash from throwing her head back. As plain as her own red eyes could see, was a short text. “You were pretty bold tonight, yourself, testyzesty…” Zesstra gasps, her eyes are as wide as dinner plates. “OH MY FUCKING GODS?!?!”

She immediately feels her hands trembling wildly. All she could think about was him, and it turns out that it was. Zesstra’s brain immediately blanks out when her phone rings again. “Did you mean what you said? Do you really want me like that?”

She quickly types a response and sent it back “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Come now, dear. Don't play coy.” his response reads, “Pretty easy to figure out it was you, not many girls mention seeing me at the Cabaret. Thought you were trying to drop a hint? Figured you recognized my voice from earlier?

Zesstra didn't even think about it, the club is so fucking loud, her mind races at the fact that now she knows that he definitely got off to her watching him. “Did you always know?”

“No.” he replies.

“So then…you meant to give me your phone number tonight?”

“Yes. Let's just say, you intrigued me. Besides, you're not the only one who has a public and private life. I was hoping to let you in on my little secret eventually, but it seems life had other plans for us.”

Zesstra cannot believe what's going on right now, her mind is racing through the hundreds of times he's come through the club. The sudden departures and strange late night meetings, it all makes sense now. There were never any meetings…well, not with other lawyers at least.

“So….what happens now? I know who you are, you know who I am…do we keep going down this path or do we split ways?”

“I think you're a rather curious little kitten, why don't we see how far down the rabbit hole we can go? I'll send you my address. Let me know what you decide on.”

Zesstra bolts out of bed, she puts on the skimpy dress that hangs on the bathroom door. She slips it on and gathers some things before running to the door. As she makes her way down the stairwell of her building, she gets his address. She bites her lip and replies “I’m on my way, see you soon.”

#bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #everyone is out of character #it is what it is #happy valentine's day

[harringtonstilinski]

Fallin' For You - Mitch Rapp

Author: @harringtonstilinski Characters: Mitch Rapp x Reader Word Count: 3127 Warnings: fake dating trope, fluff, squint for angst Requested: “Mitch x Reader where they’re best friends to lovers. Fake dating trope. Mitch is trying to get Katrina back but realizes he’s in love with his best friend 🤭 And use this somewhere in the story 🥺 Omg I’d melt. “Kiss me.” “Wha—“ ” @maddie0101​ A/N: Hi, friends! I hope y'all enjoy this Mitch piece! If you like this please don’t hesitate to reblog, comment, send something into my askbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

“I need you to do me a favor.”

You looked at your best friend, confused look on your face. “I’m sorry?”

Mitch sighed, hanging his head for a moment before looking back at you. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Are you asking or telling?”

Groaned, Mitch tossed his head back. “Please, don’t play this game. It’s important.”

Laughing had the both of you looking to your right, seeing Katrina with her new boyfriend at a table not far from the couch you were occupying. Mitch looked back at you, a smile on his face before you rolled your eyes and looked at him. 

Already knowing where he was going with it, you raised your finger at him while raising your brows to say, “No.”

“Did you just pull a Stanley Tucci from The Devil Wears Prada?” he asked, deadpan expression.

Shrugging, you went back to your laptop. “So what if I did?”

“Dude, please?” Mitch all but begged.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Free tickets to my lacrosse games.” You sighed, typing something on your keyboard. “I’m a student, I get in for free anyways.”

He thought about it for a moment before snapping his fingers. “Free locker room access.”

“My uncle’s the coach. I get free access anyway.”

Mitch groaned again, resting his forehead on your shoulder. “You’re killing me, Smalls.” That earned him a chuckle from you.

“I know,” you said, turning your laptop towards Mitch to show him your screen, a picture of a restaurant you’ve been wanting to try. “I’ll do it and at the end, we’ll have a bestie date here.”

“Deal.” He held his fist out for you to bump with yours. “We’ll need rules.”

You opened a new Google Doc and typed in big letters FAKE DATING RULES. Looking at him, you were ready to type. 

Mitch thought for a moment before he said, “No sex.” Typing it, you said, “Easy. Next.”

“No kissing, and no-”

“No falling in love. Also, let’s limit the PDA to just hand holding and our normal kissing of temples and foreheads. You can put your arm around my shoulders like normal, too.”

“So, we’re just gonna add hand holding to what we already do,” Mitch stated.

“Correct. When does this faking dating shit start?” You looked past him, seeing that Katrina and her new beau were already gone. “ ‘Cause she’s gone.”

Mitch looked over at where Katrina just was, his face falling a little. Turning back to look at your screen, he replied, “Tomorrow morning. First thing after we leave your apartment.”

Sticking your hand out without looking, you felt his hand grab yours, giving you the handshake that solidified your arrangement.

“You’re the best,” Mitch said, giving you a kiss on the cheek before quickly getting up, hearing your laugh and statement of “I know” as he walked away.

He knew this was going to be the best way to get Katrina back… unless another girl came into his life before he could.

~~~

A knock sounded on your apartment door, causing a groan to escape you after you just about jumped out of your own skin. “Coming,” you half groaned, half whined, getting up from your bed.

Walking to the door, you put on your robe that you grabbed while walking out of your room. When you opened the door, you glared at the person on the other side.

“Why aren’t you dressed yet?” Mitch asked, holding two cups of coffee.

“Because it’s six in the freaking morning, and my first class isn’t until eight.” Looking at the cups in his hands, you added, “And one of those better be for me.”

Mitch walked into your apartment, going straight for the kitchen. “I hate to break it to you, but it’s 7:15. I’m always here at this time on the dot.” He turned to face you, still holding one of the cups after taking a sip of each to see which one was yours. “And yes, this one's for you.”

“Bless,” you whispered, walking over to him and taking the cup from his hand. Walking back to your room, you took a sip and let him know that you’d be ready in fifteen minutes.

As he walked around your apartment, he chuckled to himself, thinking you wouldn’t be ready in that amount of time. He went into his bag, bringing out a few pictures of the two of you, putting them in random spots around your living area, kitchen and bedroom once you were clothed.

You watched him set the picture down on your nightstand, a brow raised as you applied your brow gel. “Uhm, did you switch majors to Interior Design?”

“No, why?” he asked, turning to face you, watching as you put your mascara on.

“Because you’re adding picture frames to my room. I have a friend who’s majoring in Interior Design and she rearranges my shit all the time when she comes over.”

Mitch chuckled to himself, scratching at his temple. “Well, I know Katrina comes over sometimes and we need to seem as authentic as possible.”

Sighing in defeat, you remembered your arrangement the two of you set up last night at the library as you replaced the mascara wand back in the tube. You stood and went to look for your bag, your best friend clearing his throat. Turning to face him, Mitch lifted your bag, a smirk on his face.

Grabbing it from him, you sighed out your thanks, his smartass reply of “Anything for my girl” coming from his mouth. You wanted to slap him, but decided against it as you walked out of your room and the front door of your apartment.

Mitch followed behind, closing and locking your door with the spare key he had. Knowing full well he could’ve used the key to open your apartment door, he wanted to see the look on your face when you opened the door since you weren’t a morning person.

As the two of you walked down the walkway to your first classes, you laughed at something stupid Mitch had said, putting your hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. “Hey, Mitch!” you both heard, your heads turning to face the source of the voice.

Noticing Katrina walking your way with a smile on her face, you knew it was go time, voicing at such before lacing your fingers with Mitch’s, a spark crawling up your arm. As he tightened his hold on your hand, he replied to Katrina with, “Oh, hey, Katrina. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to see if–” Her words stopped short when she saw both of your hands clasped together. “Wait,” she said, adjusting her backpack strap on her shoulder. “You two are together now?”

You looked up at Mitch, seeing a smirk on his face as he released your hand to put his arm around your shoulders. “Yup,” he replied. “Been going on - what - three months now?” He looked at you, eyes going a little wide to silently tell you to play along.

The two of you hadn’t discussed the timeline of your fake relationship, so you just had to go with whatever he was saying. You did, however, remember when he told you about them breaking up about four months ago, giving him what he would think to be the perfect amount of time to get over someone.

Nodding your head, you looked from Mitch back to Katrina, wrapping your arm around his back. “Yeah, that’s right. Ya’know, we just realized that because we’ve been best friends since grade school, we’d give it a chance and it’s the best decision. Right, babe?” You looked up at him, a small smile on your face.

Mitch felt something in soul at you calling him babe. He did have a crush on you when you two were in middle school and high school, but he pushed it away with all the boys you ended up being in relationships with.

“That’s right,” he replied, the smirk still on his face. He had placed his lips against your temple, a smile forming on your face.

When you looked back at Katrina, you saw a flash of hurt in her eyes, the emotion showing on her face. “O-oh,” she stuttered. “W-well, I hope you two are happy.”

Scrunching your brows slightly, you felt bad about this arrangement at seeing the hurt on her face. You sighed, ready to tell her the truth, but Mitch’s hand on your shoulder had the words dying in your throat as he said, “We are. Thanks.”

You looked up at him, hurt in your own eyes as Katrina said, “Well, I, uhh, I guess I’ll see you two around.” Turning your attention back to Katrina, you went to say something, but noticed that she was already walking away.

“I feel terrible,” you whispered. “She seemed so sad.”

Mitch sighed, rubbing his hand up and down your upper arm. “Well, she should’ve thought about that before she broke up with me.”

“Mitch,” you said, quietly. Looking up at him through your lashes, your eyes danced between his own. “I get why you’re wanting to do this, but I feel like it’s for the wrong reason. If you wanted her back, you should’ve let her come back to you if she regretted it that much.”

He looked at you, thinking your words over before he sighed. “You’re right, but at the time it seemed like the right thing to do. We’re in this now, so can we just see it to the end?”

Thinking it over for no more than a second, you nodded your head, agreeing. The only thing you wanted was for your best friend to be happy. “Yeah. Just… remember the rules.”

“No sex, no kissing–”

“No falling in love.” You took a deep breath, releasing it while whispering, “Especially that one.” What the two of you didn’t know about each other was that you both were falling hard for the other, and have been since about the tenth grade, with no chances of slowing down.

~~~

Groaning, you fell onto your back on the couch, the back of your head meeting Mitch’s thighs. “How much longer do we have to keep this up? It’s starting to get exhausting.”

Chuckling, Mitch said, “Well, hello to you, too.”

“Hi. Now, answer my question.”

He sighed, turning the page in his book. “Hopefully not too much longer.”

Rolling your eyes, you looked up at him through your lashes, looking at the bottom of his jaw. “You’ve been saying that for three months now.” Your feelings for him grew substantially during the last three months.

Truth be told, Mitch’s feelings for Katrina started to fade while his feelings for you also grew substantially. He couldn’t stop thinking about you; you were his first thought in the mornings, his last thoughts before he fell asleep at night. Some nights, the two of you found yourselves wrapped in each other’s arms after a late night study session.

“And I’m serious this time,” he retorted, looking down at you.

You chuckled, poking at the double that appeared at the angle he was looking down at. “Fatty.”

That caused a soft laugh to come from Mitch’s throat, the All-American lacrosse player poking at your nose. “You eat more than I do, so how am I the fatty?”

“Because you have a double chin and I don’t,” you stated with a smile, poking his chin again. Laughter erupted from your throat as Mitch poked your side, knowing you were extremely ticklish on your ribs. You laughed so hard that tears were forming in your eyes, gasps sounding as you tried to gain control of your breathing. “Okay, okay, okay. I surrender!”

“Ha ha! Score one for Mitch,” he said, drawing an imaginary number one in the air.

“You’re such an ass,” you chuckled, feeling Mitch’s fingers lace with yours, something he started doing more and more.

“But you love this ass.” He had a smile on his face as he looked at you, a spark in his eye that you only saw when he looked at Katrina.

You watched as he looked up from you, hearing a book shut before a chair was slid back under a table. Confused, you picked your head up to see what had gained his attention… or rather, who.

Watching as Katrina walked away, you sighed angrily to yourself, releasing your fingers from Mitch’s to sit up and grab your bag that you dropped before standing to walk away. Feeling as though you were a good distance away from Mitch, you muttered to yourself, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t do what anymore?”

You jumped and turned around, facing Mitch as he had a confused look on his face. Sighing, you said, “Forget it.” Turning back around, you started walking away from him again. Fingers being laced with yours had you jerking your hand back, your palm hitting your thigh as you walked back to your apartment.

Knowing that Mitch was walking behind you, you didn’t care, not wanting to have a conversation with him in front of everyone. Once you made it back to your apartment, you set your bag down on your couch, resting your hands on your hips.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, eyes closing. Tears started to form in your eyes at the thought of telling your best friend how you felt. Even after pretending to be his girlfriend for three months and saying fake confessions in front of everyone, you still felt it. You’d tell everyone that the moment you saw him, you instantly knew that he’d be the one someday, and your friends would ask if that was true and you’d tell them no, which was a lie.

Your friends knew about the arrangement, not wholeheartedly agreeing with the decision, but backing your stories up when they were around. They’d also ask when you fell in love with him, and you’d respond with what you were hoping they thought was a bogus story of a very cliche moment where the two of you were doing homework and you just looked at him, connecting the dots on cheek.

Mitch’s lacrosse buddies would ask similar questions and he would give them similar answers to yours, most of them laughing it off as they knew he still had a thing for Katrina, but what they didn’t know was the whole trying to get Katrina back thing almost worked for about a month, but when he realized his true feelings for you never left since high school, he decided to keep up with the charade for the sake of his friends. 

The moment Mitch realized he was in love with you was the moment he told you about Katrina and his relationship, and seeing how your face fell. He never wanted you to feel that way again, and since then, he’d been in love with you. Mitch didn’t want to act on his feelings towards you because he didn’t know if you felt the same way.

Now, standing in your apartment living room, staring at your back, Mitch just wondered what was going through your mind. “Can’t do what?” he asked, setting his own bag down. Honestly, he just wanted to get to the bottom of it.

“This,” you said, turning to face him. A tear streamed down your cheek as you sucked in a breath. “I can’t play pretend anymore. I can’t pretend to be your girlfriend to make your ex jealous. I can’t pretend to love you because faking it just isn’t cutting it for me anymore.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, silently agreeing with everything you were saying. “Anything else?” Scoffing, you ran a hand through your hair. “I can’t stand the fact that I’m not allowed to have sex with you because, good shit, that’s all I want to do. I can’t stand the fact that I’m not to kiss you because that’s also all I want to do. Falling in love with you? Well, fuck me, I already have. But you’re so fucking strung on Katrina that every time she’s around, you’re all fucking affectionate. Hell, even when she’s not around you’re still affectionate as fuck.”

“Well, I could say the same thing about you,” Mitch retorted. “All I do is think about you. You’re my first and last thoughts of the day. The shit with Katrina worked for the first month, but after I knew she wouldn’t come back, I realized my true feelings for someone else. That someone else being you. I like being affectionate with you because it’s just how we are. Katrina and I were hardly ever affectionate the way we are. I also want sex, to kiss you, to fall even more in love with you. I–” “Kiss me,” you stated. 

“Wha–”

“Mitchell, if you don’t put your lips against mine, I swear to shit, I will kick you out of my apartment and never let you ba–” Your words stopped at the feeling of Mitch’s lips on yours. To be honest, you were a little shocked that he would actually kiss you, even though you both confessed you wanted to kiss each other.

Mitch had cupped your cheeks when stepped closer to kiss you. He pulled back slightly, still able to feel your lips brush his as he said, “Kiss me back or else I’m walking out and never coming ba–”

Grabbing his cheeks, you brought his lips back to yours, relishing in the feeling of your lips moving in sync. Soft moans came from your throat as Mitch asked for entrance into your mouth, your tongues exploring each other’s mouths. 

When your lungs felt like they were on fire, you pulled away from him, feeling his forehead rest on yours as the two of you tried to catch your breaths. “Holy shit,” you breathed.

“Holy shit is right,” he breathed right back.

“Why did we wait to do that again?” 

Mitch chuckled, pecking your lips before opening his eyes to look at you, a smirk on his face. “Because we were young and stupid.” “We’re still young and stupid.”

“Young,” he said, pecking your lips. “Stupid.” Another peck.

“And in love,” you added. Walking away from Mitch, you went to your bag, bringing out your phone and bringing up your music app, Colbie Caillate’s Falling For You playing through the speakers, a laugh coming from Mitch as he took your hands and danced with you, a random thing he started doing with you back in middle school.

Mitch knew that being with you was going to a challenge, but it was a challenge he was willing to face… especially if it meant you two danced to this song at your future wedding reception.

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

A/N 2: hi friends! i hope y’all enjoyed this. pls don’t hesitate to let me know what you thought in the comments, reblogs, or even my askbox.

Additional A/N: part three of wlcfl will be out when i can find a stopping point.

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak

Mitch Rapp Taglist: @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @loveanii​ @good-vibes-and-glitter​

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of the creator of the late author, Vince Flynn.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on October 17, 2023

#mitch rapp x reader #mitch x reader #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan x reader

[vodika-vibes]

A Loving Man pt. II

Summary: Several weeks after Crosshair sent a letter to his brothers, you get a surprise visitor.

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader

Word Count: 2237

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: This idea has been living in my head for several days, and since I decided that today is my "write personal projects rather than requests day" I decided to actually write it.

It’s a lazy summer day, and you’re enjoying your day off. It would be better, arguably, if Crosshair also had the day off, but he doesn’t, which means that instead of going to the lake with him, you’re hanging out at home, sitting on the back porch with a new novel and a glass of lemonade. 

It’s a fine way to relax, even if it’s not what you originally had in mind for the day.

You absently take a sip of your lemonade when you hear the familiar sound of a speeder approaching your home. You set your glass back on the table and place your datapad down beside it, and you get to your feet.

As the speeder comes to a stop in front of your home, you step off the staircase and walk over to the familiar vehicle. “Mister Willis?” You call, “Is everything alright?”

A slightly older man opens the door and steps out, “Hey there, Doc!” He beams at you and walks around to the other side of the speeder, “Was out by my blinds, checking on them for next season, when I stumbled on…well, see for yourself.”

He pulls the door open and stands to the side, allowing a slender, blonde child to step out of the speeder.

“You found a kid? Near your hunting blind” You ask, horrified. The Willis’ hunting blind was close to three hours away from the town, and wasn’t a safe place at any time of year, but especially not during the middle of summer.

“Yes ma’am,” He helps the girl limp around the speeder, “She’s lucky I showed up when I did. She was already getting swarmed. I did what I could, but-”

“But the Hornets aren’t the most forgiving.” You finish, as you hurry over to the girl and kneel in front of her with a soothing smile, “Well, the good thing is that you’re not allergic. But you’re probably in a lot of pain.”

The little girl nods miserably.

“Why bring her here?” You ask, as you look up at Mister Willis, “The clinic’s closer.”

“She has a picture of you and Cross with your address scribbled on the back,” He replies, “Didn’t know you were expecting company, Doc.”

The little girl sniffles, like she’s trying to not cry, and she fishes around in her jacket pocket. And then she hands over a well folded picture. It’s the picture that Crosshair sent to his brothers all those weeks ago.

Well…a copy at least.

“Honestly, we weren’t either.” You reply dryly, before you set a light hand on the girl’s shoulder, “You’re Omega, right? Crosshair’s little sister?”

“Yeah.”

You smile warmly, “Let’s get you inside, and see if I can make some of that pain go away, yeah?” You offer Omega your arm, and she clings to it for support, “Thanks for bringing her here, Mister Willis.”

“No worries, Doc. I wouldn’t leave a kid out there to fend for herself.” He sighs, “I’ll grab my boys, and we’ll tow her ship to the landing pad in a couple of days. Give the hornets time to move on.”

“That sounds like a plan,” You smile at him gratefully, and as he climbs back into his speeder, you carefully help Omega into your home, and guide her to sit on the couch.

Omega is quiet as you check over the welts that come from being swarmed by hornets, “I didn’t mean to rile them up.” She says quietly.

“It’s alright. You couldn’t have known.” Your voice is gentle, “I’m just glad that you were found before the situation grew worse.”

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” You stand and duck into the kitchen for a moment, and you return with an ice pop for Omega, as well as your emergency first aid kit, “Here you go, one ice pop for you to eat while I patch you up.”

“Oh, thank you,” Omega smiles weakly as she accepts the treat, and then she falls silent again.

You treat her injuries, just as quietly, and then you sit back on your heels, “How are you feeling?”

“It hurts a little, but not like it was.”

“Good. Just sit for a little longer, and the pain should fade completely,” You repack your kit, “Alright. While you do that, I’m going to comm Cross. He’s going to have some questions for you, kiddo.”

“Yeah, I know.” Omega’s shoulders hunch slightly, “Thank you for not yelling at me.”

“You might not be thanking me when Cross gets home.” You lightly ruffle her hair, “Fresher is down the hall if you need it, and you can watch whatever you like on the holo. Do you need something to eat or drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Alright, I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.” And then you get to your feet, and you step into the kitchen, pulling your comm out of your pocket as you do so.

You sial the comm code you know by heart, and wait a moment.

“Cyare?” Crosshair’s voice comes across the comm, no video, but that’s more than fine. “Is something wrong?” You can hear the hint of concern in his voice, and you feel bad about it. You never call him during the workday.

“Everything’s alright,” You hasten to reassure, “Just…we have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Crosshair asks, “A patient came to the house? Do you need me to come home to kick them out?”

“Yes, a visitor, and yes, technically she’s a patient. And yes, I do need you to come home, but not to kick her out.” You list, “Cross, it’s Omega.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then you hear the sound of him walking, and then a heavy door opening and shutting, and the next thing you know the comm’s video feed connects, “What?”

“You’re little sister, Omega. She’s currently sitting on our couch. Poor thing was swarmed by hornets. Mister Willis found her by his blind.” You reply.

“What about the others?”

“Just Omega.” You sigh, “If I had to guess, I would say that she decided to come and see you without permission. She has a copy of the picture you sent to your brothers, with our address scribbled on the back.”

He runs his hand through his hair, “You think she ran away?”

“Hm…I don’t think that was her intention, so much as the result of what was her intention.”

He shoots you a puzzled look.

“I think she wanted to see you, Cross.” You clarify, “I don’t have a problem keeping an eye on her, but-”

“But I should probably come home.” He runs his hand through his hair again, and a heavy sigh falls from him, “Alright, I’ll be home in 10.”

“I’ll see you then.” You smile at him, “Love you.”

“Love you more.” And then the comm closes, and you peek into the living room, where Omega is watching a movie, and you turn to busy yourself with making lunch for three.

Sandwiches are easy and quick to put together, so you throw some together. Just as you finish the last sandwich, you hear Crosshair’s speeder come to a stop outside, and he comes in the side door.

He greets you with a faint smile, and he presses a light kiss against your forehead, “You made lunch.”

“Hard conversations are easier over food,” You reply promptly as you reach up and smooth the collar of his jumpsuit, and then you press a quick kiss against his lips, “Do you want to shower?”

He sighs and bumps his forehead against yours, “Better get this over with.” And then he pauses, “What do I say?”

“Why don’t you let her take the lead?” You offer, as you lightly brush your fingers against his cheek, “We can decide what to do after we talk to her, yes?”

“How did I get so lucky to end up with someone so smart?”

“Well, I picked you, for one-” You tease with a grin, and Crosshair laughs. He kisses you quickly, and then reaches around you to set plates on the table.

“Omega,” He calls even as he smiles down at you, “Lunch!”

Omega pokes her head into the room and she nervously looks up at Crosshair, as if expecting to see anger. Though he’s very calm. “You didn’t have to make lunch,” She says to you, “But, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I wasn’t sure what condiments you like, so I left them all out for you.” You reply.

Omega takes a seat at the table, and starts making her sandwich. Almost identical to the way that you make Crosshair’s, and you smother your grin behind your hand. Not quick enough, though, as Crosshair sees it and he lightly pinches your side.

He kisses the side of your head, and takes a seat as well, after he lightly pushes you into your seat. The three of you eat in silence for a moment, and then Crosshair looks at Omega, “So…” He starts slowly, “How did you get here?”

Omega flushes, “I…uhm…borrowed a ship.”

“Borrowed or stole?”

She ducks her head, “Stole…technically.”

“Okay, follow-up question, does Hunter know you’re here?” Crosshair asks.

Omega flushes even more, “Um…well…he doesn’t, no.” Crosshair raises an eyebrow, and Omega hastens to continue, “He got the letter from you and then he hid it from me! And I found it, and I saw that you wrote that we had an open invitation, and Hunter was never going to come and-and-and we’re still family and-!”

“Easy there, kid.” Crosshair interrupts, “I’m not mad that you came to see us.”

“You…you’re not?”

“Nope. I wouldn’t have written the open invitation if I didn’t mean it.” Crosshair continues with a shrug, “I am, however, disappointed that you would run away from Hunter and the others and steal a ship.”

“Oh, come on. Everyone knows that’s worse.” Omega grumbles, and then flushes as Crosshair shoots her a look, “Sorry.”

“Do you have anything you want to add, cyare?” Crosshair asks you.

And you smile at him adoringly, “Just that you’re going to be an amazing dad someday.”

Crosshair falters, and then presses his hand over your eyes, “Eat your sandwich.” He grumbles, his face burning, as he turns back to Omega, “After you finish eating, we’re going to call Hunter.”

“Do we have to?”

“Yes,” You and Crosshair say in unison.

Omega looks from you to Crosshair and then back again. And then she giggles, “You’ve been good for him.”

“I like to think so.” You agree, “He’s not nearly so grumpy now.”

Crosshair sighs, but he doesn’t deny it, “How about we call Hunter now?” He asks as he drops his comm on the table, “Go ahead, Omega.”

Omega hesitates, and then enters a comm code.

The other line rings for a moment, and then connects, revealing Echo on the other end, and Crosshair sighs, “I realize that we all look the same, Omega, but Echo is not Hunter.”

“I know. But Hunter’s going to be angry-”

“Omega? Cross-” Echo sputters, “Hunter’s not the only one angry, Omega! I’m angry too! Where are you?”

“I’m with Crosshair.” Omega says, “Hunter wasn’t going to let me visit him and I decided that I disagree!”

Echo looks bewildered for a moment, “What?”

“Crosshair’s letter,” Omega clarified, “I know I’m the only one who wasn’t allowed to see it-”

“Oh.” Echo sighs, “He wasn’t keeping it from you to hurt you, Omega. He just didn’t want to get your hopes up. We were going to tell you as soon as we decided if we were going to visit.”

“Well,” Omega says, “Now you have to.”

“Oh, you could take the ship you stole back-”

“No, actually, she can’t. The ship needs to be fumigated before it’s allowed anywhere near civilization.” You interrupt, before you look at Crosshair, “The Willis’ are dealing with that and towing the ship to the landing pad when it’s safe to do so.”

“Huh, good for them. They’ll probably need help.”

“Probably,” You agree, “But that’s a problem for later, not now.”

“Right, right.” Crosshair agrees, before he looks at Echo, “The invitation stands, we can find someplace to put you all up for a night or more.”

“And we have space for Omega, until you all can come and get her.” You interrupt.

“That too.”

Echo looks from you to Crosshair, and a small smile crosses his face, “You’ve mellowed out a lot, Cross.” He says quietly.

“Thanks, it’s the therapy.” Crosshair says dryly. “Well, that and the one person who never managed to see anything bad in me.” He motions to you.

“Well then. I look forward to meeting you in person.” Echo’s grin becomes sly, “Don’t worry, I’ll manage to get everyone to agree to come and visit. It won’t even take long.” And then he looks at Omega, “Be good.”

And then the call cuts, and the kitchen falls silent, “Well,” you say after a moment, “Omega needs some proper clothes for the weather here. And we need some additional food-”

“Lunch first, and then shopping. Plus, I need to shower before I go anywhere. I’m covered in motor oil.” Crosshair says, “But I suppose then we can go shopping.”

And with that decided, the conversation becomes much more casual, with Omega grilling you on what you do for a living, and what Crosshair does for a living, and what the planet is like.

#star wars #tbb #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #In my mind #crosshair grew his hair out #and he's got long enough hair to pull in a ponytail #but he's also got an undercut

[ilexdiapason]

(part one here) (part three here)

(CW: character experiences a severe derealization episode)

“D’you want me to order pizza?” Oli asks, somewhat redundantly, because Martyn is twenty-two (according to the police report) and a gamer, of course he’s not gonna turn down free pizza.

“Oh, god, yeah,” says Martyn. And, a second later - “Please.”

He fires up the Domino’s website obediently, pulls up the deals and picks one that’ll leave him some leftovers for when Martyn’s long gone tomorrow. Meateor for himself, as usual, and then he spins the laptop round on his knees to present Martyn with the options. “What are you having?”

Martyn stares at the screen, unblinking, for a few too many seconds.

“... Something wrong?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, no, just. Um. Been a while.”

“D’you just want a margherita, then? Keep it easy?”

“No, I don’t - I was -” he grimaces, shakes his head roughly, and thumbs at the fabric of his shirt where the tea stain sits “- trying to remember what I liked.”

“Vegetarian?”

“No,” Martyn responds immediately.

“Olives? Mushrooms?”

“I’m not picky -”

“Pineapple on pizza?”

Martyn snorts. “Okay, yeah, I don’t much like pineapple on anything, I’ll give you that.”

“But as a concept.”

“No problem with it.”

“Then, Marty, my friend, you’ve lost the plot.”

He sits another moment, deliberating. Then - “Sweetcorn.”

“Yeah?”

“I like sweetcorn on pizza.”

“Alright,” says Oli, and spins the laptop round again to check the options. “Vegi Supreme or Chicken Feast?”

“I’ll take the chicken,” Martyn says, resolute.

Oli sends the order through, with potato wedges on the side, because it’s his money and he’s gonna pick the extra items for the deal. Then, once the little order tracker with the fake AI has popped up and started telling him stupid jokes to amuse him for the next 25 minutes or so, he turns back to look at Martyn. “Can I ask something?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Ask what?”

“And you don’t need to tell me if it’s, like, personal or whatever, just… what were you eating? If you haven’t seen pizza in however long?”

Martyn makes a face. “Whatever, honestly. It wasn’t a big worry for me - I mean, not like I could - yeah, it was just whatever. Not dead yet, so I’m clearly not malnourished.”

Oli cocks his head. “Whatever like whatever you were given, or whatever like you were scavenging?”

“Like - uh - like - I mean, I wouldn’t say scavenging, that’s - like whatever I could find? I know I’m not explaining this very clearly, it’s -”

“No, no, I said you didn’t need to tell me! Don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.” (It’s not like Oli doesn’t want to know, but he doesn’t need to know if it’s going to make Martyn uncomfortable to explain it.)

“Anyway. It wasn’t bad, it was just… y’know how Covid makes it so you can’t taste anything? Little bit like that.”

“Original Covid did. I don’t know about all the new variants.”

“Ah, yeah, heard about those! Did they ever run out of Greek letters?”

“Don’t think so, thank goodness.”

“Yeah,” Martyn nods.

Beside Oli, the little Domino’s robot lets him know that their pizzas are now going in the oven.

It feels odd, to be sitting here on the sofa, taking an extended lunch break with somebody who he’s only known from Minecraft servers and scratchy in-game prox chat. It feels odd to know that he’s doing hospitality for a man six or seven years younger than him, a friend who’s never answered out-of-character about himself before today. It feels odd to know that he’s actually looking at the real Martyn - not some rat, not some pirate, just… some guy.

Oli swallows and steels himself for what he’s about to say. “Erm - again. Don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But… besides this whole Doc thing, what was your life like? Your normal life?”

Martyn’s expression flips into something unreadable for a second, then mellows again into neutrality. “Yeah, uh - nothing special, really. Born and raised in Nottingham, did alright at school, got the grades for uni but I ended up deferring. I was trying to get a job in my gap year but I didn’t really wanna end up behind the counter at GAME or McDonald’s or anything, and nowhere else ever got back to my applications, so… spent a lot of time at home, playing video games. No girlfriend, no mates who really stuck after college; not much worth writing home about. I wasn’t much of anything, really, not then.”

Oli is, he decides, going to ignore the implications of that comment. “Family?”

“Mum, dad, sister who’s been moved out for a few years. Dog. Oh, I hope he’s still alive, that’d suck if I never see my dog again.”

“Fingers crossed,” says Oli.

“What about you? What’s the home life of OrionSound like, when he’s not at the computer?”

“Oh, Marty, my entire life is at the computer,” he quips. “I work in software development. I actually did my degree in psychology, but you’d be surprised, there’s not a lot of room in the market unless you’ve done a load of other certifications as well. I guess I could have got a therapy licence, but as it turned out, I’d spent enough time in first year making terrible visual novels that by the time I got into the workforce I technically knew how to code. AI snapping at our heels now, of course, but it’s probably gonna eat itself by Christmas, so I’m not too worried about that.”

“I dunno,” says Martyn, “I’ve seen some pretty advanced AI.”

“So, yeah. I spent a few years freelancing, contracting for one place or another - I’m quick, which people seem to like, although that’s mostly so I can get back to gaming as soon as possible. And then… like two and a bit years ago? Yeah, would’ve been two years this past July… then I got a really nice position at CHESTCorp, it’s mostly remote work, I drive down to London every few months so they can “review my performance in a controlled environment”, whatever that means, and they pay well enough that I can afford this place on my own, which is -”

Oli stops talking when he notices Martyn’s face has gone white as a sheet.

“What’s wrong?”

“I knew it,” Martyn murmurs.

“What?”

“I knew it,” he says again, stronger, “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you, I knew you - I thought - he told me this would happen, I’ve seen it happen, I should’ve just learned from my mistakes the fucking first time, but clearly I’m stupid.”

“Marty, what are you -”

“Didn’t wanna believe this shit could follow me out here, but evidently it - oh. Oh, no, no, you fucking - it’s not over, is it? I’m still - that’s why nobody picked up the phone, it wasn’t real, you couldn’t synthesise my mother’s voice, I’d know! You’re CHEST, of course you’re CHEST, the one person I thought - I mean, I hoped - you’re fucking cruel, is what this is, it’s cruel, and you’re not fooling me twice. Don’t know how you got the food this realistic, but -”

“Martyn,” Oli tries to interrupt, “are you okay?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Martyn says through gritted teeth. “You’ve given the game away now, CHEST agent. Should’ve known it wasn’t real. Should’ve known I couldn’t get out that easy. Or you caught up before I got out, one of you fuckers, planted something, or - I don’t know, made me think I was finally out of this stupid place. Made me think it was fine so I’d start giving up secrets. Well, you’re not getting another word out of me, you fucking idiot. Some interrogation room you’ve got here, huh? This your best simulation? Get a better model for your TV, I’ll tell you that for free, the reflection’s too smooth.”

Well. Er. “Martyn,” he tries again, “I think you might be having a flashback?”

“Nothing back about it, you bastard. Giving me false hope like that. Thank god I don’t actually know Doc’s name, or you’d have been able to track him too, wouldn’t you? Fuck you. Don’t ever bring my family into this again, any of you.”

“Okay,” Oli says slowly, rifling through his psychology knowledge for grounding techniques, “you think this isn’t real, right now?”

“I know it isn’t real,” Martyn spits, “and it’s getting worse the more I’m poking at it. See, look -” he stomps a foot at the floor “- you’re losing resolution trying to keep it running.”

The carpet, which has not changed and is certainly not lower resolution than it was when they got here, endures being scuffed at. Oli doesn’t want to actually lay a hand on Martyn right now, though; he’s got a bad feeling that’ll end in something much worse than being kicked. Instead he dips into the kitchen across the room, pops an ice cube out of the tray faster than he’s ever needed to, and brings it back over to the sofa. “Here,” he says, chucking it at Martyn’s lap, “that real enough for you?”

Martyn catches the projectile reflexively. He stills, silent, both hands cupped around the ice cube, staying in the air.

Then, gradually, his eyes unfocused… his arms lower.

He opens them and stares down at the piece of ice in his palm, and, slowly and almost imperceptibly, begins to rock forward.

The Domino’s tracker chimes again. Their food has finished cooking, and it’s being delivered by Amal. Oli almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Whatever Martyn’s running from, it must go a lot deeper than he thought.

(part five here)

#reverse isekai au #itlwlore #martyn itlw #oli theorionsound #pirates smp #scurvyblr #vtuber martyn #ilexworks #cw derealization

[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 7

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn-ish

cw ; none

notes ; happy new year!! it’s story quest time which meaaans- its teucer town. a lot of the reader and teucer being besties and *some* tiny particles of romantic feelings (if u catch them). also just a really lighthearted and humorous chapter :3

previous | next | masterlist

three knocks.

“sergeant?”

“hm? yes, ekaterina? come in.”

the secretary steps up to your desk, where you sit pitifully, head resting on your hands. it’s been some months since osial’s attack and you’ve mysteriously remained stationed at liyue, not that you mind, of course. the traveler and paimon have long since been on their way to inazuma and, according to news you heard from all around, seem like they successfully solved the crises surrounding the electro archon and the vision hunt decree. not only has there been word on the streets of their feats but you’ve also noticed a noticeable increase in inazuman immigrants by the harbor.

but- back to the matter at hand, today you find yourself incredibly more fatigued than usual, perhaps due to your struggles with getting even a good wink of sleep the night before. the sunlight creeping through the windows seems to sting your eyes harsher than normal for early morning but you still try your best to open them and read the letter ekaterina has just placed in front of you.

noticing the strain in your efforts to, well, be awake at the moment, ekaterina clears her throat.

“it’s a mandate from the doctor himself.”

now that gets you up, though not in a good way. the sheer reminder of that man’s existence is enough to shoot an icy burn into your spine, one that makes you flinch into full consciousness.

skimming more effectively through the lines, you find that the mandate talks about a ruin guard research lab here in liyue under his guise, obviously, that he is requiring you to briefly oversee in his absence. not as bad as you thought but also not entirely good. the doctor has never presently explained his affinity for ruin guard robotics to you- because truly, why would he? but it’s no less than apparent how big his interest in them is, in your experience.

with a long, heavy sigh, you nod.

“i see. thank you, ekaterina, you may go.”

she bows politely and turns to leave while you reread the letter to gather the full details of the research lab. once ekaterina is by the door to your office, you take note of the sound of as her heels stop abruptly as she yelps in surprise, muttering a small ‘hello, master childe’ and carrying on her way. the next moment, they very devil she spoke of is bursting into the room.

“good morning, doc!” he chirps with surprising energy for how early it is and places a closed cup on your desk.

“here! i got you some coffee, thought it might help wake you up.”

“thanks a lot… wait, how did you know i was tired-“

“and with that act of courtesy, i would like to propose my own favor to be granted by yours truly. and that is for us to sp-“

“childe, i cannot spar with you today.”

with that, the harbinger slumps into himself like a fussing child, ironic, and groans softly. he’s about to try his very persuasive best to convince you anyway when he spots the letter in your hands and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“what’s that?”

you sigh again, pinching the bridge of your nose. “a mandate from dottore asking me to check up on one of his ruin guard research facilities, here in liyue.”

childe seems to empathize with your disdain for the request and scoffs, mumbling about ‘that lunatic and his little toy robots…’.

“hm, well i wish you luck with that. i’ve also got myself some less than stellar debts to collect today, might as well busy myself somehow even if ekaterina thinks i shouldn’t.”

“good luck with that too.”

childe turns to leave, slightly less chipper than he was when he walked in, until he stops by the door to turn around. “you’re still owing me a spar for that coffee!”

“whatever!”

grassy mountains, building ruins, ginkgo trees- minlin was just like any other area of liyue, though you’d never steal any merit from the relaxing scenery of the entire region. every new place you visited took your breath away with its beauty all the same.

it’s become an unspoken habit to deal with ruin guards at this point and you knew their patterned behaviors and limits like no other, maybe only the doctor himself. several of them sat inactivated in the ruins around you, as expected, and you took note of each one for your report diligently. as you’re approaching the entrance of the lab itself, you spot another ruin guard sat against a crumbled tower- except it was not the only thing there, there were people too. it’s not hard to decipher that it turns out to be the traveler and paimon and… someone else.

wait… surely it’s not him.

“teucer?”

all three of them immediately turn around, except teucer lights up at the sight of you and jumps from his crouching position to run at you with full speed. despite being perplexed at his presence, you still kneel to welcome him with open arms.

“big sibling y/n!! you’re here!!” he yells out, elated.

you chuckle fondly and stand up with teucer clung onto your torso.

“it’s good to see you too, teuce’, but… what in the heavens are you doing all the way here?”

looking over teucer’s shoulder, you turn to the other two, who look just as confused about the entire situation as you do.

“and you two as well, weren’t you supposed to be in inazuma still?”

“mm-yeah, we were taking a bit of a break! we’re on our way to sumeru next and liyue’s the shortest way there so… might as well take some leisurely time off.”

paimon elaborates, until she and the traveler share a look and the two of them sigh.

“unfortunately, the millelith asked us to check out these rui- ahem, i mean mr. cyclops showing up around this area. and as we were doing that, we ran into teucer over here!”

you breathe out a laugh, pitying the pair’s lack of… well- time to take a break without any tasks given to them. ‘talk about leisurely…’ you mutter, quiet enough so teucer doesn’t hear. speaking of him…

“that still doesn’t explain how you were here at all, mister.” you poke the boy’s side with the hand that isn’t holding him up against you and he giggles uncontrollably, attempting to dodge your finger.

“ahahahahah! s-stop! hahah… i’m here to see big brother at the institute for toy research! you work there too, right?”

what.

oh- is that what he thinks childe does? dear gods, that’s too funny. however you do understand why childe would lie about your jobs, you think you’d do much the same. still it takes everything within you to not burst out laughing at the revelation, even the traveler seems to notice so, somewhat understanding the reason but also somewhat not. you huff out a breath to calm the urge to cackle and turn to the two once again.

“listen, you guys don’t need to worry about this one anymore, i’ll take care of him. oh! and don’t worry about the- err, mr cyclops replicas, i’ll sort them out too. go take your break, you deserve it.”

“but- they’re my friends! they like toys like i do! a-and they made the pinky promise!” teucer retaliates.

gods damn the snezhnayan pinky swear.

“plus, he did give us this big bag of mora to take care of him…” paimon eyes the traveler, who returns the glance with a nod as if they’re silently communicating.

“and yeah- we’d much rather go see this ‘toy institute’ than deal with mr. cyclops right now.”

you nod in agreement and gesture for all of you to head back to the harbor, partially to avoid seeing the millelith soldiers patrolling the area.

“so- just out of curiosity, teuce’, what exactly did your brother say about me working with toys?”

“he said you’re a toy doctor! you take care of the toys who get hurt or sick.”

“yeah, that checks out.”

—

arriving back at northland bank, the first thing you spot is childe and ekaterina discussing something at the center of the room, oblivious to your presence for the moment. that is, until teucer bursts from your tired arms to run to his older brother.

paimon, somehow, remains oblivious enough to what is right in front of her enough to whisper. “huh? what’s he doing here…”

“yay, my brother! i found you!” exclaims teucer and childe immediately perks up, ceasing any doubts that paimon might’ve had.

“i know that voice… why, if it isn’t my little brother teucer! my goodness!”

the harbinger takes his younger brother into his arms, much like you did before, except he wraps him in a nearly bone crushing hug before setting him back down.

“haha.. what a nice surprise, teucer! i thought i would have to wait till i return home before seeing you again. how are the others, tonia and anthon? is everybody keeping well?”

“they miss you a lot! tonia prays for you every day at dinner.” it seems that only after teucer’s response is when the realization of the sheer absurdity that is teucer’s presence sets within childe, his face morphing into confusion.

“wait a second… what are you doing here in liyue, teucer? how have i not heard anything about this?”

that entire interaction, you remained merely watching from behind with an irrepressible fond smile on your face- you were so lost in their reunion that you almost miss the incredulous glare childe throws to you, like he’s silently asking if you had anything to do with this. you jump slightly once noticing it and quickly shrug, shaking your head to signify that you’re just as clueless as him.

“well, what happened was- i saw a boat that looked like it was selling toys, so obviously i thought you were on board. and then when i got off i just kept walking and walking… and then, i found a mr. cyclops!”

unbelievable.

“mr cyclops scared off a bad guy, and then i found this nice lady and-and then y/n found us! so we came looking for you.”

childe seems to have another moment of realization, where another fleeting glance comes your way and he sighs, facing off to the side to mouth to himself ‘of course, the research lab…’.

“teucer…” he starts off and you seem to understand what he’s about to say right away, leaving teucer’s side to be right in front of him, beside childe. you kneel to teucer’s height and hold out your hands for him to hold, to make him feel less like he’s being scolded. his tiny hands are dwarfed by yours in a way that makes your heart swell.

“…teuce’, what you did was really dangerous. we’re both happy to see you, really, but please promise you won’t do anything like this ever again.”

childe nods in agreement and teucer sighs, letting go of your hands to put them behind his back sheepishly.

“okay, i promise… please don’t be mad at me.”

“we’re not mad at you. we just care about your safety, that’s all.” childe reassures.

“if you hadn’t met these nice people, and even more if y/n hadn’t found you, things could’ve been a lot more dangerous for you, teucer. i hope you said a big thank-you to all of them?”

“yep! i always remember my please’s and thank-you’s!

“oohh so you did notice we were here… you were just ignoring us, gotcha.” paimon adds sarcastically as she and the traveler look at childe through a sassy glare.

“haha… forgive me, it’s always family first where i’m from. don’t take it personally. i know we’ve had our differences up to now but.. a few minor quibbles aside, we get on quite well, don’t you think?”

the traveler’s incredulous reaction tells you that perhaps teucer shouldn’t listen to the conversation while they sort out their, erm, quibbles- so you gently take him by the hand and lead him off ever so slightly to the side, where you know he’ll be at least distracted enough to not listen. kneeling down, you once again take his impossibly adorable hands into yours and fiddle with them playfully, he only grins in oblivious amusement.

“so, teuce’, tell me more- how’re things back home? you’re not too bored without us there, are you?”

“mm-no, i’m just fine! anthon still plays with me a bunch and tonia always reads me the letters big brother sends us, she always tells such cool stories!”

“yeah? like what?”

the young boy thinks for a moment, rubbing his chin like he’s mentally paging through the deepest, most riveting tales he can recall.

“hmm.. oh! one time she told me the story of how big brother discovered a new version of mr. cyclops! he’s bigger and.. and stronger and he’s got huge horns, like a deer! he’s like mr. cyclops' big brother.”

well, at least childe is keeping his lies somewhat accurate. but the way teucer beams and hops excitedly as he talks about the bigger mr. cyclops, or a ruin grader as you know it, seems to justify keeping him in the dark. the way his big blue eyes shine with wonder is in itself a treasure worth protecting. you’ve practically long forgotten that you’re supposed to be stalling out a conversation to distract him.

“that’s so awesome, teucer!” you grin back at him. “what other stories does your brother tell?”

“hm..- oh yeah! he also talks about you in his letters.”

oh?

“does he?” you’re unsure if you should feel good or bad about the revelation, gods know what childe says to his siblings about you.

“yeah he does! he talks about how you take such good care of the toys when they get hurt and how smart you are and how…”

suddenly, teucer trails off as he turns to the trio still conversing near you, like he’s heard something that’s caught his attention. he entirely abandons the sentence he’d left unfinished to join their side again and you find yourself feeling the smidgenmost bit disappointed that he didn’t finish speaking. you only sigh to yourself and smooth your clothes down from the crouching position you were in, joining back in as well.

“that’s right, my brother’s the greatest! he’s mr. cyclops’ bestest friend!”

childe chuckles in somewhat faux delight, to satisfy teucer and make it seem like he approves of his brother’s message, before leaning over to the traveler and whisper, as you hear it,- ‘just humor me in front of teucer, if you’d be so kind…’

“ahem- ah yes! ekaterina, i will deal with the issue of the outstanding payment right away.”

“hey! slinking off, are we?” paimon accuses.

“but, master childe, would it not be improper to ask you to deal with… debt collection?”

“a bet is a bet, isn’t it? and if you lose a bet with an agent.. well, you might as well get some exercise out of it.”

“are you going off to sell toys now?” teucer interjects, partially with admiration for his brother and partially with disappointment that he has to leave.

“that’s right. as much as i’d like to catch up a little longer, teucer, duty calls! i’m sure y/n and ms. nice lady will keep you company while i’m out, though.”

childe implies with a pleading glance thrown to you and the traveler. you nod gladly while the traveler puts her hand to her forehead momentarily and paimon mumbles a complaint about having to babysit for childe.

“sure!” teucer confirms as well. “i really like y/n and this lady already! and anyway, the nice lady made a pinky promise to take good care of me.”

the harbinger ends up leaving the four of you with a hefty bag of mora to spend out in the city while he’s working and you firstly decide to take him to an elderly lady’s kite shop. she patiently explains how to use the kites and teucer asks for a mr. cyclops shaped kite, because why wouldn’t he- you manage to convince the lady to make a custom build for it with a shining pile of mora. next, you take him to wanmin restaurant, where chef mao graciously offers to make a special dish for teucer, who can’t eat spicy food. you don’t blame him, personally- snezhnayan dishes tend to steer away from spice specifically and lean more towards warm, filling meals to endure the cold temperatures. however, the food teucer asks for turns out sickeningly sweet and even paimon, the awarded food enthusiast, feels nauseated at the end. finally, he asks you to give the wharf a better look than when he was stepping off his boat. paimon proceeds to give a mouthful of an explanation about liyue’s trade port, which ends up too confusing for teucer to even care. instead, his attention is caught by a ship anchor left in the wharf.

“teucer, don’t run off!” you urge as he takes off to see the anchor.

“that metal hook is huge! and it gets bigger the closer we get!”

“this is an anchor. docked ships use it to hold themselves in position, to stop wind and waves from blowing them away.” paimon explains.

“hmm, an anchor… got it. but i think i might get it mixed up with commodore hook.”

“commodore hook..? is that another one of your weird toy names?”

“my brother always sends me a really big toy for my birthday- commodore hook, blacksteel jack, iron tony… we keep them all in your backyard!”

“are they as big as the anchor?” the traveler asks.

“yeah, and that’s why i can’t bring them with me all the time. it’s a shame…”

you choke on your breath at a realization. “i-is that what your father was keeping under a tarp in the backyard..?”

teucer nods cluelessly. you��ve seen tarped objects behind childe’s family house that had some absurd silhouettes hidden by the protective fabric and the snow, but you’ve only ever assumed they were left over building materials- not gigantic fucking robots because why would you ever assume that’s what he’d send a child for his birthday. you’ll have to have a talk with him about gift giving at a later time.

“but my favorite is mr. cyclops. even though i mostly came here to see my brother, the other big thing i wanted to do was play with mr. cyclops! oh- are they selling fish over there, let’s have a look!”

and just like that, teucer is gone again. paimon stomps her foot in the air as she heaves frustratedly.

“quit! running! off!”

you briefly go to see the fish on display as teucer tells you of the time when childe caught him an impossibly large fish just because he asked for it. somewhere in the back of your head, you find it endearing that childe has kept up the habit of fishing just like when his father would take you on his trips to ice fish as well. maybe you could get him to go fishing in liyue, just the two of you when you have some free ti- wait, what are you saying? you’re supposed to be watching out for teucer, who conveniently has gone off to see the boats and seems to have his entire good mood flipped around.

“teuce’, you look upset, what’s wrong? are you tired?” you coo.

he sighs melancholically and covers his face behind his hands. “i miss my brother…”

“what? but we were just with him!” argues paimon.

“yea, but for such a short time that it doesn’t even count! take me to see my brother, i don’t wanna play anymore!”

you sigh and look to the other designated babysitters. they look back with defeated shrugs- seems like you’ve done what you can to entertain him for the moment. turning back to teucer, you offer to carry him in your hold as you leave for qingxu pool, where childe said he would be, and he gladly accepts. from behind you, a low gurgle can be heard.

“urgh… paimon may never recover from that dish.”

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap

#childe genshin x reader #childe imagines #childe x reader #childe x y/n #childe x you #genshin impact #genshin impact fic #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #tartaglia x y/n #tartaglia x you #tartaglia x reader #childe tartaglia ajax #tartagalia genshin impact #childe fic #childe tartaglia #childe genshin #childe genshin impact

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Pre-season 2 OFMD fic list

It's less than two weeks till we get our ships wrecked, so here's my (presumably) final pre-season 2 fic list. Have a read if you wanna pass the improbably long days before the season premieres!

This list got out of control so I added some handy symbols: 🎧 = podfic available 💜 = personal favourite ⭐ = fics you may have heard about? I don’t know, I don’t have a sense for this stuff.

Cool collaboration(s) you should read immediately:

🎧💜Work Experience: what if Ed went to meet Stede when the Revenge ran aground? And what if Ed became a member of Stede’s crew? And what if things kept escalating and… Canon AU. Mature. Co-written with Shearwater.

Really no excuse for how stupid these ones are:

Watch Out, Here I Come: what if Stede had been intentionally seducing Ed? Teen

Once More, With Feeling: what if Frenchie just fixed the season 1 finale fiasco because he’s the most capable guy on the ship? Teen

Talent Show: what if Ed was crass about his sexual preferences? Explicit

Capsize on Your Thighs: what if Ed rebounded onto Calico Jack at the end of season 1? Ed/CJ and Ed/Stede (but Ed/Stede is endgame, natch). Explicit

🎧💜Your Feedback is Important to Us: what if Stede started holding open cabin hours to allow the crew to air their grievances (but was also very repressed and horny over Ed)? Explicit

Oh no Ed’s working through gender/class stuff (but make it funny):

Finery: Ed gets to wear a dress, Stede spontaneously combusts. Explicit

Tell More Tales: Stede isn’t the only writer aboard the Revenge. Explicit

🎧💜Lovers and Madmen: Ed is hellbent on marrying Stede. Explici

🎧 Save the Date: Ed 'attends' a wedding. Unfortunately, so does Stede. Short S2 alternative reunion fic. Teen

AUs no-one asked for:

Novel/novella length

🎧💜Restructuring: modern AU where Stede loses his fortune before meeting Ed, but Ed’s still got more money than you can shake a fucking stick at. Only problem is, Stede lies and says he’s wealthy and Ed lies and says he isn’t. Like the show, it’s a romcom about trauma. Explicit

🎧💜⭐Baddy Zaddy: Bridget Jones’s Diary style, former porn star turned sex shop owner!Ed/still unfortunately landed gentry!Stede. Novel length modern AU. Explicit

💜⭐Prize Every Time: You’ve Got Mail-y secret pen pals but also business rivals. Novel length modern AU. Explicit

Conflict of Interest: lawyer!Stede/businessman!Ed (read: gangster). Modern AU. Explicit

Shorter uns

Intergalactic Tango: Space Waltz AU. Mature

🎧💜Trade Descriptions Act: bailiff!Ed/estate agent!Stede. Identity theft but make it meet cute. Modern AU. Teen

Your Favourite Song: locksmith!Ed/museum curator!Stede. Kinktober fill that somehow isn’t E rated. Modern AU. Teen

⭐Draft Letter to Restaurant Downstairs: Google Docs AU with a (slightly) interactive element. Modern SMAU. Teen

Blind Date: Stede and Jeffrey Fettering go on a blind date at Ed’s restaurant. I think you know where this is going. Modern AU. Explicit

Different Dimension: ficlet that crams four and a bit AUs into 850 words. Modern AU. Teen

Stuck Still: British holiday resort AU feat. events manager!Stede and bartender turned fairy!Ed (it makes sense in the story I swear). Modern AU. Explicit

💜On the Job: “kidnapping” meet cute (but not actually. Again, I swear it makes sense in the story I swear). Modern AU. Explicit

Starring Jason Statham: another weird meet cute, courtesy of Jack and the Fast and Furious franchise. Stede/Jack, Ed/Jack and Ed/Stede (Ed/Stede is once again end game). Modern AU. Teen

West Ham Is for Lovers: Lucius has a new job. It’s going fine. Completely, totally fine. A meet cute fic about meet cutes. Ed/Stede but also Lucius/Pete, Lucius/Fang, Lucius/Izzy and Lucius/Olu/Jim. Modern AU. Teen

💜Conventional: back in the 00s, Ed was in a very famous movie franchise. Nowadays, he does the convention circuit. Modern AU. Explicit

🎧💜Proud: Ed attends Pride to get free mum hugs, Stede attends Pride to give free dad hugs. Modern AU. Teen

KrakenAir: Stede and the crew are heading to Benidorm to celebrate Stede coming out. That is, if Stede’s all expenses spared KrakenAir flight ever departs. Modern SMAU. Teen

Very Poor, Becoming Good: aspiring Gentleman Backpacker Stede Bonnet is adventure bound when he meets fellow traveller Ed Teach at an empty hostel. Now if they could just find the owner… Modern AU. Explicit

💜Stolen by the Gentleman Thief: Ed is a lonely gay guy in his late forties whose favourite book is historical softcore porn. Luckily, there’s a weird meet cute about to happen. Modern AU. Explicit

Live Sex Show: Columnist Ed Teach recommends that Stede Bonnet shake up his monotonous life by doing something weird. Modern AU. Teen

💜Continue Making Progress: Kraken Driving School has a terrible new student. Luckily, Ed and Stede both have a lot to offer one another. Modern AU. Explicit

Oh no there’s been a containment breach (aka non-Blackbonnet fics):

💜We Do What We Like (and We Like What We Do): a brief history of Ed and Jack. Explicit (Ed/CJ)

Fealty: Stede and Izzy make one another even more miserable. Mature (Stede/Izzy)

💜Contra Proferentem: Ed is a high powered lawyer and Professor of Law at the University of Cambridge. Lucius is not a high powered lawyer but he is a lecturer of English Lit at the University of Cambridge. Stede own a very nice cafe. Explicit (platonic Ed/Lucius, Ed/Stede, no cheating involved)

#ofmd #ofmd fanfic #gentlebeard #gentlebeard fanfic #ed/stede #ed/stede fanfic #blackbonnet #blackbonnet fanfic #I just guess these tags genuinely no idea which people use

[spacerangersam]

Tell me more about your BBC Ghosts character roleswap please? (Characters including: Mike, Alison, Kitty, Pat, Captain, Humphrey, the Plague Ghosts, Jemima, Annie)

I will tell you more than you probably ever wanted to know asdfgh

Mike’s much the same as in canon, he just happens to be the one who briefly died and can see the ghosts. I guess in this AU Fanny did it? Or maybe Julian still did - his head can be seen by people, so maybe he appeared to Mike, trying to scare him, and it ended with Mike falling out the window. Julian swears it’s an accident, but the jury is not convinced. 

Unlike Alison, I think he would love it from the get-go and be so excited about all his new ghost friends, even the weird ones that hang around in the basement and never come up. They do help him with the boiler, after all. I mean, my man tried to make a potion just to see them, he would be over the moon with it, and I think the contrast of having him so excited while Alison is still reeling from his death + the realisation that ghosts are real and haunting their house is kind of funny. 

I think he’d be close to Pat, if only because Pat is the unofficial leader of the group and can (usually) make them listen, very nervous around Fanny (he always feels like he’s about to be told off when he’s around her) and morbidly fascinated with Julian. It’s a very ‘I can fix him :)’ dynamic, with the added bonus of everyone around Mike saying ‘yeah, no you can’t’. he does though, through the power of friendship and threatening to give up Julian's TV slots unless he plays nice.

Alison is still the one with Button ties and she’s very weary of the ghosts to begin with - they did kill Mike, and no matter what he insisted she knows one of them did it, and she doesn’t like not being able to see them - but eventually comes around to them. She still thinks it’s weird and doesn’t get why Mike’s so pumped but sure, whatever keeps him happy. While she can’t communicate with all the ghosts, she can with Kitty (prior to Kitty’s death, she was fogging up the windows with her breathe and writing/drawings on it) and the two still manage to have a sister-ish dynamic, and Fanny who, armed with Julian’s powers, can bother her on google docs/send her emails (mostly to ask if she’s registered to vote)

Pat is a Home Guard captain during WW2, who moved out of Yorkshire during the war to escape the bombing. He wasn’t fit enough to fight (and probably wouldn’t have wanted to even if he was), so joined the Home Guard, stationed at Button Manor. No one in the village had ever fought in a war and his position as a scoutmaster made him the closest thing to a captain around, so he was handed the role. For my own peace of mind, he found out about Carol and Morris before he died through letters they’d been exchanging, but he never actually confronted her about it. At least because he refused to admit it, and then because he didn’t want to upset an already fairly traumatised Daley with tensions at home. But, he did decide that if Carol was going to go behind his back with other men, fuck it, so was he. I just think Pat deserves a chance to have some fun of his own, though he near got serious with anyone. [despite only flirting around in the safety of the manor though, Duke misses all of this and is still shocked when Pat mentions liking men]

Regardless, his story ends vaguely as it did in canon - he was shot by Keith, just by an adult Keith and with a bullet rather than an arrow. I kinda think it would be sweet/sad if the other guards, both to give Pat’s death a bit more dignity and to make sure Keith didn’t get blamed for the accidental death, made up a whole lie about Pat dying in a stand-off with an enemy spy where he definitely fatally injured the spy, just don’t ask where that guy is, it doesn’t matter. I think Pat would be torn between appreciating the gesture and being a bit miffed because Keith killed him and got away with it.

He tries to be optimistic and cheerful, but at the same time, he’s more jaded than canon Pat (he did live through 2 wars, after all), a bit more bitchy from the get-go, and indulges a bit more in some gallows humour. 

Captain, or the Duke of Surrey / Kently (Surrey is where the real Manor used for ghosts is, but Kently is the made-up town I tend to use) aka just ‘Duke’, is the regency poet, a man who came from a long line of army captains and generals who never made it into the army himself. He wanted to, but was a sickly kid, constantly bedridden because of this and that. To entertain himself while ill, he got into poetry and soon began writing it himself. 

He met Havers at a party, and for the two months Havers stayed in the village, the two got very close. But then Havers was sent off to the front lines and Duke stayed at home, getting sicker and sicker while writing more and more. Eventually, like in canon, Duke snuck into Button Manor to see Havers one last time (though he didn’t nick a Captain’s uniform, being way too sick and delirious to even think of something like that) and died of consumption (aka tuberculous) in the middle of the ballroom, holding Havers’ hand.

Post-death, and unbeknownst to Duke, Havers found some of the poems Duke wrote about him, and after changing the pronouns to protect Duke’s legacy, got them published. Duke was never Byron levels of well-known, but he still became a well-respected writer and is very touched by the gesture once he learns of it. [he also has one poem he wrote for havers he likes to repeat, and over time, the line about brown eyes changes to being about blue yes...]

Like canon Captain, Duke is still quite distant and militaristic at first (habits learned off his father, and not helped by Duke being isolated for most of his childhood) but does have a deep love of poetry. He doesn’t have personal beef with Byron though, and has no idea why Thomas does. Duke is also a lot more lethargic than Captain in canon, the effects of his illness lingering on, and walks with a cane (Haver’s cane) to keep himself steady.

Also, in a very dad move, after Kitty dies he asks her all about the modern technology in her home, and that doesn’t stop even as more modern ghosts show up. As the decades go on she has even less clue what’s what, but that doesn’t stop her from making up answers.

Humphrey’s from the Stuart era, an unmarried Lord, and there kind of two ways my mind goes with his story. One is the straightforward way that mirrors his canon death, like in this fic, where Sophie is accused of witchcraft so Humphrey takes the blame and hangs in her place.

Or there’s my slightly more convoluted backstory where Sophie is married off to a different lord, and even more unhappy with the arrangement, and while hiding away from her husband, Humphrey. The two strike up a friendship - they’re not married so Sophie doesn’t resent him for her situation and is willing to talk to him - bordering on something more, but Sophie’s husband catches wind. Either, it follows the previous options where he accuses Sophie of witchcraft and Humphrey takes the blame, or he just straight-up accuses Humphrey. In the latter, I like to imagine Sophie tried to stop her husband but was locked up in their manor. She managed to escape and arrive on Button grounds just in time for Humphrey to be hanged. She can’t save him, but she can take revenge, so accuses her husband not of witchcraft, but of plotting against the king, forging letters proving so. Maybe she even tries to claim that Humphrey knew this and that’s why her husband hanged him, so Humphrey still goes down in history as being a part of something he wasn’t. 

In death, he still has the noose around his neck and though he can loosen it a bit, he still gets breathless very quickly.

I just realised there are a lot of people in this au who can’t run for shit: Captain can’t because of his illness, Humphrey can’t because of the hanging, I imagine Mary wouldn’t have great lungs from asphyxiation, Pat has asthma, and Fanny has some proper heels slowing her down. This is the AU where nobody runs, they all do a slow jog at most asdfgh

He also, understandably, has quite a sore neck, and like how in canon Pat massages Julian’s finger after use (possibly the weirdest sentence I’ve written for this au, but that is a thing that happens in canon) he does the same for Humphrey with his neck. 

He’s obviously not in pieces like in canon so gets involved with the gang more, but he still drifts off on his own sometimes to sit by the lake where he first met Sophie and just mope. Thomas also likes to mope around and in the lake though, so sometimes they just sit there awkwardly, moping together

The Plague Ghosts are Puritans who weren’t all that hung up on being pure and died of some illness that Mick brought to the town - pneumonia maybe. They still hang out in the basement and are basically the same except I guess they look a little less horrifying. 

Jemima is another Puritan-era ghost who maybe died a bit before or a bit after the plagues, but still from pneumonia. She spends a bit more time upstairs with the other ghosts and bonds with them, encouraged to do so by MIke. He is very scared of the creepy child who hangs around in his pantry, but that’s still a child and she should probably not spend all of her time in the pantry. He eventually gets used to her ominously appearing around corners and singing at random hours in the night, especially after he introduces her to some more modern music - it’s a bit less bone-chilling when the ghost girl is signing Reach for the Stars by Club 7

Annie’s era is switched with the plagues so she’d from the () ages, but she doesn’t die of the plague. She somehow avoided that, despite pretty much everyone else in the village dying from it, but like in canon, kicks it choking on bread. She’s a bit miffed, but kind of glad she died from that rather than the plague. 

In order to meet Mary, she has to stay around for much longer and therefore has a bit more history with the other ghosts (ie, she bullied most of them for longer), and is quite protective over Kitty / develops a close friendship with the Captain. She still made fun of him, of course, but they were judgey and mean together, you know? Kind of like Fanny and Cap. And if Annie does stay around unlike canon, or stayed for a little longer after meeting Mary at least, I think her and Fanny could kick it together. Maybe all three of them could, just a weird little trio of women who will insult you to your face.

Before that though, when Mary first shows up, Annie is just fascinated by her. Mary’s a modern woman, she talks about strange machines and devices and people, (some sort of device), she knows how to shoot an arrow and how to read and write, she can manage her finances on her own - Annie thinks she’s a marvel. She doesn’t understand how Mary doesn’t see that and is still so anxious and quiet, and pools all her effort into helping Mary be more confident. 

i hope you wanted a lot because a lot was what you got asdfh

#roleswap au

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Hello!! I absolutely adore your Dear John series. John Egan deserves all the love and letters, and I can’t wait for more of him and ACORN.

Would you ever write anymore fic for Gale Cleven? I loved your one shot, so just wanted to ask. Thanks for sharing your writing!

Thank you, my sweets!!! I can’t wait to keep unfolding their story, I’m winging it as I go and feel so excited myself with each new development plotted out.

As for Gale- I am! I’m about ready to publish a request for Gale x Nurse that I’ve turned full Pacific AU. I think I might just make a whole anthology series of it, different scenarios in different times, I’m enjoying giving everybody different roles so much.

But, that said I love Major Cleven and I am so down for prompts or other requests for him. I’m glad you enjoined for the Hope of it All.

Here’s a little teaser excerpt of the upcoming Friends in the Crucible:

Brady came back out with a funny look on his face- “Benny says he needs a pan.”

“What the hell for?” Egan balked.

“Or a condom.” Brady dutifully amended the petition.

“I repeat -what the hell for?”

“They’ve drank a lotta coffee sir.”

“Any of you fellas got condoms?” Doc Egan asked his patients with a laugh and got a series of predictable replies. “Gale Cleven sure as hell don’t.”

There were light hearted moments like that, many of them in fact, but six hours of flying with wounds as bad as the ones they were tending was no joke, there were bits of laughter and there were times of quiet and there were restless sleepers whose terrors not even morphine could dim.

“Forty minutes out.” Major Cleven had gone quiet over the coms for so long it was like hearing from God again when he came on, gentle and steady.

#sneak peek #gale cleven #mota fanfic #friends in the crucible

[animation-is-my-jam]

hi!!! I recently got into wordgirl in the year of our lord 2023 and I'm glad to find an active wg account pls never stop posting 🙏 anyway, i have a question, are there any good tobecky fics you'd recommend? i've read some already but I'm always open to new suggestions! tobecky is one of my fav ships rn

Hey thanks for the ask! And that's the true spirit of being a Wordgirl fan. Also don't worry on the posting thing, I sometimes take long breaks or forget to actually use Tumblr but I always come back and I'm still somehow fixated on this show lol.

As for Tobecky fic recommendations...ough that's a tough one. I actually started a Google doc guide (like what their called, the author, how to read them, ECT.) about my favorite tobecky fics (giving my personal reviews and overview, no spoilers). But that's unfortunately been put on hold because I got self-conscious about it, and that I can't focus on two projects at the same time (my other one actually being a tobecky fic I'm currently writing, which hasn't been officially published yet, not a self-promote I think). But I do have all the overall names of the fics from the Doc so I'll paste them here, in no particular order.

As of September 2023, Jam's Tobecky fic list recommendations:

- Something Hidden (multi-chapter) (status: complete) (on FF.net)

- The Saving Tobey Series (aka: Saving Tobey, Time to go Home, and 26 letters) (all multi-chapter) (status: Semi-complete) (All On FF.net or AO3)

- Old Wounds Heal (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3 or FF.net)

- The Jealousy verse (series) (aka: Jealousy Jealousy, Who am I?, The scientific method, the sordid confessions of a teenage boy (and other extraterrestrial anomalies) (multi-chapter/one-shots) (status: Semi-complete) (All On AO3)

- Meet me on memory lane (multi-chapter) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- A Big mistake (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- (Mamma Mia) Here we go again! (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Honey, Honey how he thrills me (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Slipping through my fingers (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Lay all your love on me (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Turning Saints into the Sea (multi-chapter) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- A Mistletoe Prince 2: 2 mistletoe 2 Prince (One shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Space age love song (multi-chapter) (status: ongoing) (On AO3)

- First comes Friendship (multi-chapter) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Tiny plastic polygons (multi-chapter) (status: ongoing/unknown) (On AO3)

- [Insert dumb robot pun] maybe It'll lighten the mood (multi-chapter) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Intermissions (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- word up, it's wordgirl (and she wouldn't want me using lowercase letters) collection series (one-shots/multi-chapter) (status: Semi-complete) (All on AO3)

- School isn't big enough for two losers to sit alone (multi-chapter) (status: :( Orphaned/abandoned) (On AO3)

- Adventures of Wordwoman Project B (multi-chapter) (status: ongoing) (On AO3 or FF.net)

- Two lovers intertwined (multi-chapter) (status: ongoing) (On AO3)

- She's giving me the evil eye (a poisonous smile) (One-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- El Tango De Becky (the tragedy of tobeybot) (multi-chapter) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Sleight of hand (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Tuesdays with Tobey (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Don't cry Snowman, it's Christmas, baby (One-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Just friends (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Spell it out (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- This could be the start of something new (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Dumbfounded (One-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Tobecky Week 2022 (multi-chapter) (status: Complete) (On AO3)

- Robots and knights the kiss scene (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- McCallister cat: Tobey gets a cat (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- I Realize Now (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Falling for you (literally) (One-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- meteor shower, quick take cover (but the hues in our hair compliment one another) (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Love and the perils of outer space - A counterproductive guide (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Dumbfounded (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Two sides of the same heart (multi-chapter) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Merry Christmas (unless aliens don’t celebrate, wouldn’t want to be offensive) (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- The Same Sparkling Smile (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- Feverish (one-shot) (status: complete) (On AO3)

- New and Subtle shades (one-shot) (status: complete) (On FF.net)

- Through the eyes of his mother (one-shot) (status: complete) (On Tumblr)

- Tis the season (one-shot) (status: complete) (On FF.net)

- Your name was written in the stars (multi-chapter) (status: complete) (On FF.net)

[Phew that's what I got so far, obviously there's probably some I wanted to add and mind you this isn't best to worst or like some elitists list of the best tobecky fics (I mean the first Saving Tobey fic is on here and have my gripes with it lol/lhj), it's just the ones I've read and remembered. But I do think they're great and wahoo some of my friends wrote these(⁠^⁠^⁠) ]

#wordgirl #tobecky #tobey mccallister #becky botsford #wordgirl fandom #Wordgirl fanfiction

[andydrysdalerogers]

Sliding Into Home ~ The One with the World Series

Pairing: MLB!Frank Adler x Abigail Hernandez (OFC)

Synopsis:

After a trade from Boston to Los Angeles, first baseman Frank Adler would seem to have it all. Money, women, an amazing niece, yes Frank should have it all. Except for one thing. One thing that left after a mistake five years ago. Los Angeles should be the chance to start over. Except she is supposed to be in Boston. Not his new medical director.

* A Frank Adler AU x Major League Baseball Story**

Warning: ANGST (i can't stress this enough), second chances, cheating, S~M~U~T!!, slow burn, drug use, abandonment issues, betrayal, domestic violence (i may have missed some), flashbacks

Dividers by me

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Trial by Fire

Sliding Into Home Master List Main Masterlist

Two weeks later... 

“I want to know.”  

“So do I.” 

“So why can’t we?” 

“Because It’s too early for it to show up.”  

“That seems stupid. Why are we here? You’re perfect.”  

“I’m a mess.”  

A chuckle. “But you’re my mess.” 

“Thanks, I think.”  

Frank kissed the top of Abby’s head. “You’re beautiful Cricket.”  

“I don’t feel like it.”  

“You’re twelve weeks pregnant, Cricket.” Frank took her hand. “You’ve been nauseous every day for the last two weeks. Plus, the stress from the hearing wasn’t helping.”  

“And you’re leaving,” she mumbled.  

“Sweetheart, you know I don’t want to leave you. I have to go to work.”  

“Stupid playoffs.”  

Frank chuckled. Abby had always hated when the playoffs started because he would have to be on the road for five days at any time during the current series. They were starting in LA, the Dodgers having the best record in the West, facing off against Arizona. “Cricket, it’s gonna be fine. Marco and Scott will be home to help. Please, just take it easy, ok?” 

Abby sighed. She knew this but it didn’t stop her anxiety. She thought back on the last couple of weeks.  

Mike had been officially charged with kidnapping and endangerment since there were drugs found in his house.  He was fighting it, of course, but now Frank and Abby had a protection order against him.  He went back to Boston in custody, his bail revoked.  

Diane pled no contest to her charges of assault and battery. The deal she made was to allow her to stay in treatment in Boston as long as she had no contact with Abby or Mike. She asked for a letter to be delivered before she accepted.  Abby read the letter, Diane’s apologies all over it. Abby closed that chapter in her heart, grateful her friend had found peace and recovery.  

Bobby Fuller was suspended pending a full investigation for his involvement with Frank’s incident in Vegas as well as helping Mike with the kidnapping.  He made a statement, saying he was not going to fight any charges or decisions made by the league.  He had earned what would happen to him after everything had concluded and offered his apologies to the Adler family. 

Now, she was dealing with the playoffs and the push for Los Angeles to make it to the World Series once again. She came out of her thoughts as her doctor entered the room. “Hello Dr. Adler.”  

“Hey Dr. Montgomery.”  

“Mr. Adler,” she shook Frank’s hand. “Ready to start the playoffs? 

“Absolutely Doc.” Frank flashed her a smile. “Game one tomorrow.”  

“You better bring that trophy home,” she replied.  “Now Abby, how are you feeling?” 

“Nauseous and thirsty at the same time.  Kinda weird.”  

“Yeah, that happens. Any drowsiness, bloating, cravings?” 

“A little bit of everything.” Abby smiled. “Just generally tired. Had back to back surgeries yesterday and then Mary decided it was time to learn a new hobby.” She gave Frank a pointed look. 

“How did I know she wanted to learn the drums? She said she wanted to play an instrument.” Frank shrugged and gave his best boyish grin.  

Dr. Montgomery chuckled. “Yeah, I can understand that. Well, your blood work came back great, your weight is on track for twelve weeks.”  

“When will I pop?” Abby placed a hand over her belly. “Right now, I just feel big but Frank says I look the same.” 

“No, I said you look beautiful,” Frank argued.  

“Whatever.”  

“Usually, moms pop their bellies closer to 15 or 16 weeks. Like I mentioned, your weight is great for twelve weeks. Now, are we ready to see baby?” Abby nodded.  “Ok, scoot down, shirt under your breast and pants down a little.  Sorry, this is a little cold.”  She squirted gel onto Abby, grabbed the wand and rolled over her skin.  Frank and Abby stared at the screen, just a mix of black, white and gray, until... 

“There it is.” A little peanut shaped blob appeared. It was different from the first scan where it was just a blip of something.  This time, a head was clearly taking shape. “That’s your baby.”  

“It’s like a little peanut alien,” Frank said. 

“Frankie,” Abby whined.  

“What? Cricket, it’s a peanut. It's our...” he stopped as Dr. Montgomery turned on the sound and a rapid noise echoed in the room. “Is that...” 

“Baby’s heartbeat. Its nice and strong, about 150 beats per minute, which is perfect.”  

“They are perfect,” Abby breathed. A tear ran down her face.  

“Cricket, what’s wrong?” 

“I just thought with the stress, that I did something to the baby.” 

Dr. Montgomery cleaned Abby up. “Abby, you are doing everything right. I know that the hearing was stressful, but everything is perfect. I don’t think you need an amniocentesis, so I would relax and enjoy.”  

Abby nodded as Frank said, “thanks Doc.”  

“Pictures will be up front, and I want to see you in four weeks. Good luck, Frank.”  

As Abby and Frank made their way up, they started to talk about baby names. “I like Emily for a girl or Steven for a boy,” Abby said.  

“I’m ok with Emily but Steven? Steve Adler?” Frank twisted his mouth in disgust. 

“It sounds good.”  

“No Cricket it doesn’t. How about Daniel?” 

“Dan Adler? I mean, its ok.”  

Frank sighed.  “We have time right?” 

“Yes, we do.” Abby leaned into him. “When are we going to announce this?” 

“Let’s do it after the playoffs. You won’t be showing for a few more weeks, and we have the box, so you’ll be hidden.”  

“Ok, now if we can only guarantee that Mary will keep her mouth shut,” Abby muses.  

“That’s like asking Johnny not to call himself the ‘Human Torch’. Just impossible,” Frank smiled and kissed her head. “But keep dreaming.”  

The Dodgers make it through the Wild Card and Division series, defeating The San Diego Padres and the Chicago Cub, respectively. Johnny had pitched a no hitter in the first game against the New York Mets, but a rouge bounce made Frank miss a ground ball in game two, letting the Mets win that game. Fortunately, the Dodgers held themselves together for games three and four and were sitting on the verge of their 13th World Series appearance.  

Frank was pumped. He was already a two time World Series winner with Boston and he wanted to make his new team proud. They were away in New York, but it was Saturday, so his family and Abby’s parents were able to make the game.  

Abby: No matter what, Mary, peanut and I love you so much Frankie. Good luck baby! 

Frank smiled as he finished dressing.  Johnny was also looking at his phone, smiling like a goofball.  “What has gotten into you? Or should I say who?” 

Johnny dropped his phone.  He scrambled to pick it up. “Nothing, no one, what, wait, huh?” 

Frank grabbed his chest and laughed so hard it brought attention from the entire team.  “What is so funny Adler?” Mookie Betts asked.  

“Johnny Storm, our own Human Torch, has a girl!” Frank said through gasps of air.  “Pay up losers!” 

Over half the team grumbled as they pulled out their wallets with Frank and a couple of others holding out their hands. “What the actual fuck is going on?” Johnny asked.  

“I told the guys you were going to be infatuated with a girl.  Thanks for this,” Frank holds up his hand holding up a few bills.  

“You bet on me meeting a girl?” 

“No, that’s a stupid bet. I bet you would fall for a girl. Told them I introduced you to one and said I think this is the one for him and Betts said there wasn’t a chance in hell and others agreed so we made a small yet rather fruitful wager.”  

“You couldn’t have waited until the end of the season, could your Torch?” Betts slapped his back.  

Johnny tried to be angry but instead smiled. “Hell no. Have you see her?” He showed off a picture of him and Katie together by the beach.  “She is smart, gorgeous...” 

“And should have no business with you,” Kershaw said. “She is smoking.”  

“She likes baseball, hangs out with Mary and likes it and she...” he stopped himself. “Never mind. All I’m saying is that I hit the jackpot with my girl so you all can fuck off now.”  He turned back to his locker to finish getting ready.  

“$100 says he’s engaged if we win the World Series,” Kershaw says.  

“No bet. I think he’ll do it at Christmas.  More romantic,” Frank says. Johnny just flips them the bird and the team laughs.  

The game is tense, but Johnny manages to throw only one hit the entire game.  Mookie hits a grand slam and seals the Dodgers fate to another World Series. After the celebration in the locker room, Frank showers and heads out. He sees his wife, daughter and best friend in the family room, Mary asleep in her grandfather’s arms, Abby leaning against Scott and Susie in Marco’s lap. Johnny walked in right after and saw his sister. Before Johnny could say anything, Frank covered his mouth. “Shut up,” he whispered.  

“That’s my sister,” Johnny pointed.  

“Have you not noticed she been dating my brother in law?” Frank hissed. “Since the All Star game.” 

“Seriously? I thought she was with that nerd Reed.” 

Frank sighed and ran a hand over his face. “According to Abby, Reed said he didn’t have time to date because of some crap project about a cloud in space, who the fuck knows. Anyway, when everyone was trying to find Mary, I guess Susie broke down in the backyard and Marco comforted her. One thing led to another, and they started seeing each other in LA.”  

Johnny looked at his sister.  “Why didn’t she tell me?” 

“Geez, I wonder,” Frank deadpanned.  

“Yeah, alright, you don’t have to be a dick about it. Let’s take them to the hotel and get some sleep before we fly home.” He took another look at his sister. “She’s happy, and he’s a good guy?” 

“I couldn’t trust anyone better to protect this family.”  

The Dodger has two days off before they have to start their series with Boston. The irony was not lost on Frank. Playing the team that had traded him after missing the playoffs last year would either be glorious or gut-wrenching. They are starting on the road this time and Frank is nervous.  Not for the game, but for the fact that Abby had now been dealing with a streak of morning sickness that left her pale, dehydrated and bedridden.  

“Cricket, maybe I can miss the first game? Just until I know you are better.” He smoothed her hair away from her clammy forehead.  

“Frankie, you can’t miss. Susie said she would stay with me and Nugget and Marco. Scottie and Steve are going to go and support. If I feel better, I’ll fly out with Mary for game two.”  

“But...” 

“No, Frank, this is your job.  Win this, babe, and come home and finish it for me here in LA. I promise, if something is wrong, we will call. Your baby just likes to test me is all.”  

Frank ran a hand through his hair.  “The minute something is wrong?” 

“You’ll be the first call, ok? I love you.”  

He knelt next to the side of the bed. “I love you Peanut. Be nice to momma, ok?” He kissed her stomach and then kissed her forehead. “I love you, Cricket. So very much.”  One last kiss, he grabbed his suitcase and was out the door.  

Mary, Susie and Abby watched their boys play in Boston. They took game one with ease, Frank making a spectacular dive in the fourth for a double play.  Johnny hit two homers in the ninth securing the win.  Game two was a different story.  Boston came to play, outscoring Los Angeles by ten.  Abby flipped off the TV at the end of the game, tugging on Mary’s ponytail. “At least Frank hit it.”  

“But they lost.”  

“I know, but you have to look at the positives, Nugget. I’m sure Dad would appreciate it if we kept to the positives.  It’ll make flying home easier.”  

“I guess.” Mary shrugged. “I don’t remember Boston being that good.”  

“Me neither.”  

Frank and the rest of the team came home in a dejected state. Losing that hard took its toll but it just made the Dodgers want to work that much harder.  He hadn’t mentioned it to Abby, but a couple of the Boston guys jeered at him when his was on base.  Fans did too, during game two. It had messed with his head a little bit. Johnny had heard it and reminded Frank that he hadn’t chosen to leave Boston. It still stung.  

The next three games were at home and the Dodgers took the lead after five, with spectacular performances from Kershaw and Storm. Betts hit homers in every game and Frank had two RBIs. Abby had been feeling better to attend the games, making Frank feel better knowing his girl was at the stadium with him.  

Game six and the teams were back in Boston.  It had been a close game, but Frank fouled up in the ninth allowing the winning run on base. But former Dodger Justin Turner would not be denied. He had come over during Frank’s trade and had something to prove.  He launched a walk off rocket off a fast ball from Joe Kelly that went right over the famous Green Monster wall. Joe and the rest of the team walked off of the field with the crowd going absolutely wild in the background.  

As Frank woke up on the day of game seven, he stared at the ceiling. This was the last day to prove to everyone that, despite the year of chaos he had, he was still the best at this game. He turned and looked at his beautiful wife. Abby’s hair cascaded down her naked back, finding comfort of no clothes during her fourteenth week of pregnancy.  Frank moved a piece of hair that had fallen over her face back. Winning her back, completing his mission to marry the love of his life, he knew he had already won the year.  

Abby curled more into his side and Frank wrapped his arm firmly around her. He could snooze for a few more before the chaos of the day began.  

The game was tight and scoreless. Both teams were playing with no errors. It was the top of the ninth and Frank was on second, having a lucky bounce allowing him to get the double.  Johnny was now at bat and had a two count. Frank took a small lead of the base and could see a fastball would be delivered. Johnny read it perfectly and it bounced in left field. Frank ran for third and the third base coach waved him through to home. Frank slid and beat the throw home.  

Dodgers –1 – Boston – 0.  

The next batter strikes out, but the damage has been done.  It's up to the defense to hold off Boston for the next half of the inning.  Johnny came in as relief to Kershaw and has been on his game all night. He quickly dispatches a batter but walked the next and now it's do or die for Boston.  And Justin Turner is at bat.  

Johnny settles, a shake of his head, then a nod, and let go of his patented fast ball. Strike.  He gets the ball back and takes a breath.  He looks at Frank, who gives him a reassuring nod and he turns back.  Another nod and Johnny threw his change-up, leaving Turner swinging.  

One more.  

Johnny sets, rears back and lets go of the ball.  

It's perfect.  

Until the crack of the bat sounds.  

And Frank watches as it sails over the right field wall. 

Boston has won the World Series. 

I'm sorry, don't kill me...

NEXT

Taglist

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@before-we-get-started

@tinkerbelle67

@bunnyforhim

@peaceinourtime82

#andy's hea #andy's shenanigans #chris evans fanfiction #frank adler #frank adler au #mlb au #dodger au #ofc abigail hernandez #sliding into home #chris evans #mike weiss #johnny storm #baseball au #frank adler smut #slow burn #chris evans au #cliffhanger queen

[peachyyykid]

Deceivers Ch. 23 - Travels

word count: 2778

Chapter 22 - Plans

Two days ago, on an unknown island in the New World

After the long talk with Frewin, the two of you had come to a decision. The plan was genius, and you were in luck that it was so convenient.

Instead of having to go back to sea, potentially dying, Cawrolin would take you to the island where Jeany lived.

When Frewin first proposed the idea, you couldn't believe how that was supposed to work, but it would go like this: Cawrolin would wait for a newspaper bird and blackmail it, forcing it to take a letter to the Victoria Punk. In case that it would fall in the wrong hands, you couldn't use any names, locations or general remarks that could benefit the wrong people.

Then came the trickiest part: If Kid and the crew even wanted to come and help you, they would roughly have to arrive at the same time as you. Also, they couldn't answer your letter, so you just had to hope and see.

In two days' time, you would already sit on Cawrolin's back, hopefully not falling to your death in the process.

Right now, you sat at the table writing, sipping another glass of Frewin's self-made lemonade. The pen glided over the rough paper and your thoughts travelled onto it.

Hey you guys,

You're probably wondering how the fuck I sent you this letter. Long story short: My new friends and I threatened and blackmailed the newspaper bird. I can't wait to tell you, it was an experience. Good news is, I am safe and not alone. I have help.

I'm so sorry for leaving. I really am! It was stupid, I didn't think it through, and I foolishly thought I could handle it alone. I was too chicken to ask for your help. I thought maybe you wouldn't want to help me. I realised too late that that's not the case at all. You guys (all of you!) are the closest thing I had to a family in months. But I will tell you all that to your faces when we see each other again, because that's what you deserve, and I don't have much time.

They have J and my brother. And by they I mean everyone we don't like. Captain was right, something was fishy. Remember J? You should know where she lives. I will be heading there tomorrow. Might take me a day or two to get there, depending. I have a ride, but unfortunately, it's not durable enough to drop me off with you.

I don't expect you to be there for me after I drugged our night watch and the captain and fled, but I wanted to let you know that I'm safe. The sea didn't get me.

I WILL NOT do anything stupid, I promise. No confrontation and such. I just want to do everything I can to help my brother and my best friend. My new friends can't come with me, so I'm on my own.

I miss you. Please wish me luck.

The next paragraph is just for our captain. Seriously, hand the letter to him now. I mean it. I know that F and J are still reading it at this point. Hand it over or I WILL cut of your fingers one by one with a rusty butter knife.

Hey you,

I am sorry, from the bottom of my heart. I broke my promise. If you are willing to give me another chance at being your... doctor, I will gladly take it and not mess up. I will make up for everything, no matter how and how long it takes. You're confusing me most of the time, but right now I'm sure that I'd rather be where you are than anywhere else.

Love,

Doc

You held the letter in your hands and read it again. You really couldn't afford any slip ups, but it seemed very vague for strangers and specific to your friends.

Cawrolin cawed and you looked at her. The newspaper bird stood next to her, looking absolutely miserable. Neither Frewin nor you knew what she had blackmailed him with (and how...), but it seemed to be successful.

Carefully, you read the letter one last time, chuckling at the warning for Flipper and Jonah. Anyone other than Kid reading the last part would be kind of embarrassing.

"Alright!", you exclaimed, before putting the letter into an unmarked envelope.

"Don't worry, they won't leave you hanging", Frewin said.

"I'm not worried!" Your voice sounded fake.

Of course, you were a little worried. You abandoned them after all. Maybe this was the last chance you had with them, especially with Kid.

"Of course not!", Frewin grinned, "are you all packed though? Food, water, maps, log pose just in case? Your knives?"

"Yes, to all of that", you answered dutifully.

"They're gonna be there, (y/n)", Frewin said, his voice now without humour. He sounded like he genuinely believed it.

You nodded.

"You told me your story and from what it sounded like I can tell that you're important to them."

"Most important is that they’re important to me, just like Jeany and my brother. So, I'll have to be there either way! That's good enough for me."

"Very well. Do you have a plan for when you get there?", Frewin asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

You scoffed amusedly, "I'll wing it."

That was the truth. You didn't have a plan, you just knew that you would avoid confrontation, and that you knew the town where they held Jeany well enough to be sneaky.

Frewin raised his brows.

"Honestly. I'm strangely optimistic about this."

That was also true.

"If you say so, I believe you", Frewin smiled.

- - -

Today on the Victoria Punk

"I know it's gonna be hard for you, but I cannot stress this enough, don't damage their ship", Killer yelled at the crew, who were more than ready to attack the marines.

General murmuring filled the deck, all agreeing that that wouldn't even be necessary.

They were in luck. The ship was relatively small for a marine ship, with only a crew of little fish on board.

"Light work", Kid chuckled.

"Wanna bet how long it takes?", Killer asked from his Captain's side.

Kid's mood had improved drastically after not only receiving your letter, but also being handed the perfect opportunity to let off steam and get a ride through the calm belt.

"Two minutes", Kid pressed out through gritted teeth, "if I win, you'll cook me a personal lunch every day for a week."

Killer stared at him through his mask with his arms crossed, fingers tapping on his biceps.

"I already do that."

Kid furrowed his brows. Right.

"Anyways. I'll say three", the masked man decided, and turned around to Flipper, who was sitting in a sniper spot in the crow's nest, "Flipper, do me a favour and have a look at your watch!"

"Gotcha!", a faint, faceless voice came back from above.

"When I win, you'll play dress up as a marine after we got their ship", Killer said, almost snickering at the thought.

"I'd rather die", the redhead spat.

"Sore looser", Killer commented.

"Concentrate."

"Okay."

Killer turned his face forward, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The marines didn't even fathom what hit them when the Victoria Punk used its quick manoeuvrability to its advantage, so the crew could jump on their deck.

Swords and various parts of metal clashed, and when the marines tried firing a cannon at the Kid Pirate's ship, their captain stopped it masterly.

Insults were yelled at the opposing crew from both sides as blood splattered and seeped into the wooden planks.

Flipper took a good portion of them out with his sniper skills and the Kid Pirates didn't even break out into sweat.

Some light damage of the ship couldn't be avoided, but it was merely scratches in comparison to what havoc Kid and his crew normally left behind.

Most of them were still in fight mode and not yet satisfied, when the hordes of attacking marines died down until it eventually stopped.

Kid stood on their deck in puddles of blood, letting his gaze wander over the ship with a wicked grin on his face.

"Whoo! Two minutes and forty-seven seconds!", Flipper yelled from the crow's nest and Kid growled.

"Time for Lieutenant Commander Kid to make an appearance", Killer whispered from the side.

"I will kill you in your sleep", the captain snarled.

Jonah came towards them from a corner behind the galley, with an injured man in his grip, struggling to keep up.

"Captain, I found a navigator. Do we need him?"

Kid pondered, looking the whimpering marine up and down.

"Can't hurt having him around", he then said, and the man sighed.

"You're Eustass Kid...", he slurred, "what do you want from us?"

"Your ship. You will take us through the calm belt", Kid commanded nonchalantly.

The marine's eyes widened, and his head shook violently.

"I can't! That's treason!"

Kid chuckled and looked around, scanning his crew's faces while they started laughing manically.

"Treason?", he grinned, "I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation you're in. Your dead colleagues are the lucky ones, you got me?

The marine opened his mouth in silence and looked around on the deck, taking in the sight of half of his crew laying on it motionless, the rest trying to crawl to non-existent safety despite their grave injuries.

"If you don't help me find what I'm looking for, I will cut you open and use the time while you're balancing between life and death to take out your intestines to strangle you with them."

Kid looked down on him with a vicious grin, and he realised that it had been a long time since he last did what they did today.

The marine gulped.

"Did the message arrive?"

A harsh nod was the only answer he got.

"The nice man helping you stand up straight is Jonah. He will accompany you to your workplace."

Jonah pushed the man towards the galley and Kid took a deep breath.

"Alright, throw the bodies overboard, alive or dead. Half of you will take the Victoria Punk straight to the closest island without any incidents to wait for us."

The men started rummaging around on deck, collecting bodies, and throwing them over the railing. Some marines pleaded for their lives, but it fell on deaf ears.

"Wire and Heat, I'll assign the command over the Victoria Punk and the crew to you for the time being. Moku and the recruits will stay with you. Killer, Flipper, Jonah, Mammo and Shiki will come with me, along with twenty other sailors. Volunteers!"

Twenty sailors were found quickly, and the crew split up according to Kid's plan.

The two ships parted ways and Heat, Wire, Killer, and Kid saluted each other before the Victoria Punk was out of reach.

"Remember our bet?", Killer said now, and nudged Kid in the shoulder.

Kid let out a gruff sigh.

"I have a better idea. Our bet made me think."

"Interesting, I'm listening."

"All of us will dress up as marines to disguise ourselves", Kid grinned brightly.

"Kid, come on", Killer scoffed, "you're just saying that because you're pissed off that you lost and now you don't want to be the only stupid looking one."

"Or it’s just clever to blend in. I guess we'll never know", he said to Killer, before calling out to the rest of the crew, who all assembled on deck.

"Listen you slags, everyone grab a marine uniform from the quarters and put it on!"

They all looked at him with empty eyes, unsure about whether the command was a joke or not. Kid groaned in frustration.

"We can't afford losing any more time and I'll be damned if we end up in an inconvenient situation because we're pirates on a marine ship in the calm belt. Move your lazy asses!"

Killer was pleasantly surprised by how Kid's head was obviously thinking straight and logical, and wondered if the chance of seeing you again played a part in that.

Reluctantly, the crew moved towards the quarters to rummage around in the marines’ belongings. Kid and Killer joined them, looking for uniforms for higher ranks.

"If I was in this line of work, I'd wear an admirals uniform", Kid huffed and threw various pieces of clothing over his shoulder.

They were successful in the second room they searched, and ten minutes later, the entire crew was sporting white and blue uniforms.

"This is wrong", Flipper complained while trying to button up the buttons over his chest.

"It's disgusting", Mammo added dramatically.

From afar, they might fool curious people, but up close it was clear who they were, especially since nobody had the heart to separate from their trademark.

Kid with his coat and goggles, Killer with his mask, Flipper with his absolutely outdated rifle and the others with all their small peculiarities.

"Where's our navigator intern, Jonah?", Killer asked.

"Chained and bound to a chair, I'll join him now so we can start our journey."

"Perfect", Kid grinned.

While the marine ship turned towards its destination and sailed into the night, you sat down in a straw basket way too small, with Frewin and Cawrolin observing you, many many miles away from the pirates.

"Like this?", you asked the man, and he nodded.

"It's small, but it has to be, otherwise Cawrolin couldn't carry you."

He gently placed a large bottle of water, food, and all your belongings in your lap.

"Your legs will be very uncomfortable, but don't move too much. Tell Cawrolin to take breaks if you feel like either of you has to", Frewin advised you.

"I'll try to just pull through", you smiled.

Of course you wanted Cawrolin to get back to Frewin in one piece. They were doing you such a huge favour after all.

You felt a little sentimental. The two of you (sometimes three when Cawrolin participated) had a lot of good talks in the last two days, and you learned a lot about life.

"Uhm, Frewin?", you said hesitantly, and he hummed in response, "thank you for everything. You're really someone to be remembered, and I hope we see each other again."

"We will. And if you wanna talk, I'm just a snail call away."

He patted your head.

You watched him curiously as he tied two buckles around Cawrolins legs, right above her claws. Each of the buckles were connected with two ropes, which ended on each corner of the basket you sat in.

"The start will be a bit rocky", Frewin said while testing the security of each rope, and you nodded.

"Good luck, (y/n)", he smiled.

"Thank you. So much, really."

The bird let out a loud caw, and a strong wind tugged at your hair when she spread her wings, flapping them twice before her feet left the ground.

You looked at Cawrolin in awe, because this was the first time you saw her spread her wings. They were massive and seemed way too big for her body.

Cawrolin was in the air first, and then the basket slowly lifted, shaking left and right before going steady.

Frewin waved at you from below, and you did your best to wave back without moving too much, although Cawrolin seemed secure.

The old man got smaller and smaller, and soon you had to look back up to avoid feeling nauseated.

You observed how the large, white wings swallowed the moonlight shining on your face with each flap outward, and how they blocked your view at the stars.

"You're really the strongest bird I know", you chuckled up at her, and she cawed quietly.

Over the past days you had gotten used to talking to a bird like you would talk to a person, talking like to a child possibly came closest.

As Frewin had foreshadowed, your legs got stiff soon, but you just clenched your teeth and tried ignoring it.

Instead, you narrowed your eyes to see what was around you. You could faintly make out the dark sea below, and some islands in the distance.

The sky was clear, no clouds in sight. After your unfortunate journey to Frewin's island, you knew that storms could brew any minute, so you tried your best to observe any changes around you. In case of a storm, Cawrolin would have to land somewhere.

You felt peace. Flying was peaceful.

Although your legs felt weird, you felt like nothing bad could touch you up here.

You thought about your brother, desperate to know what happened.

He was at Jeany's pub, with her, his crew, and the world nobles. You wondered how they got him to lure you into a trap. Most probably threats of physical harm.

How would all this end? Would it even end at all?

Nobody could possibly know, you could just hope for a happy one.

The wind up here was mild, and very calming. The even flaps of Cawrolins wings hypnotised you and aided by the darkness you slowly slipped into a deep slumber, finally free of worries about marines, nobles, and pirates. 

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #kidd #fanfiction #killer #kid pirates #eustass kid #eustass x reader #x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass kidd x reader #reader insert #female reader #kidd x reader #eustass kidd fanfiction #eustass kidd

[kingsofeverything]

Annual* Writing Self-Evaluation

Last year, everyone was doing this as I was rushing to write one last fic before the new year. I’m not currently writing anything, so I figured I’d go ahead.

1. List of works published this year:

Ahead in the Count

Rode Hard and Put Away Wet

Truth or Drink

U-Pop Truck Stop

Ride My Sleigh Tonight

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

Ride My Sleigh Tonight

Once I got past the feeling of omgggg this is terrible why did I ever think I could write anything, I felt like my normal writing self while working on it , and it was reassuring because writing has been nearly impossible this year

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

Rode Hard and Put Away Wet

Idk why exactly but it’s definitely not my favorite. No offense if you love it 😘

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

I’m terrible at picking favorites of anything, but the last line here was the one I built U-Pop Truck Stop around:

“Harry, get a load of the sign in the shower,” Niall says with a loud chuckle that echoes off the tiled walls and floor. He pushes the shower room door open before it can shut all the way, and points at the black rectangle hanging on the shower wall, its white block letters spelling out:

ONLY ONE TRUCK DRIVER PER SHOWER

—MANAGEMENT

“See it?” Niall asks, still laughing.

“See it?” Harry grins, thinking back to that fateful night, and says, “I’m the reason they hung it up!”

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

Maggie @disgruntledkittenface and Molly @becomeawendybird both sent me voice messages about Ride My Sleigh Tonight and those are the top of the list for me 🩷

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

Literally every single minute of 2023

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

All of Truth or Drink because I had the questions, but I didn’t have their backstory planned. It all just came out as I was writing and I really love that H and L

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I had to learn to let go of writing long fics and try to be satisfied with shorter stories. Idk if that’s growth though because tbh I’m not satisfied lol and I miss it so much

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

Next year I really hope to learn how to write in a way that satisfies my creative side, that produces longer works, but that takes more time. I need to figure out a way to write the length of fic I want to write, but spread it out and still keep that focus and inspiration going

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

It’s literally always Nic @louandhazaf because without him, I’d never have written a word, and without him, I still wouldn’t write. He’s the backbone of my writing and the best friend and beta I could ever hope for

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

I’m absolutely shocked to answer no to this because bits of my real life have always wormed their way into my fics, but I guess it’s because all my fics this year have been so short?

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Other than JUST WRITE and listen to @roseanddaggerpodcast I highly recommend titling your wip WORST VERSION OF whatever your title is because that helped me soooo much on Ride My Sleigh Tonight when I was struggling at the start. As soon as I put that in the doc title it was like magic. Every time I’d get in my head and think “oh this is horrible” or whatever or start thinking that my writing sucked or something, I’d see that title and think I CAN FIX IT LATER

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I actually have a wip where L and H got married really young and divorced really young (no kids or anything) but I’ve sort of abandoned it. Idk if I’ll get back to it.

I did have an idea for a xmas fic lol and if I do write it, I’m thinking of posting it like an advent fic but in July. So like xmas in July 🎄

In reality, I’m going to be so busy idk if I’ll be able to write at all, but I really just want to be inspired by an idea that won’t let go

14. Tag three writers whose answers you’d like to read. ;)

@disgruntledkittenface @louandhazaf @allwaswell16

*All answers should be about works published in 2023

[ashes-writing]

all or nothing | stranger things ; b.hargrove

A/N ; So I've been dying to try writing for Billy Hargrove because his character is one of those polarizing ones. People who like him love him and people who hate him, whew.. They hate him. There was a lot of potential for him to change, to grow as a person and like I just... I really wanted to play around with that so... I will be trying my best to do that with him here... I think this will have a few parts to it, depends on what happens with my muse, I guess.

Anyway, here I go again.. Writing stuff. Doing things. Enjoy, hopefully? Also, fun fact. The name is from a theory of a deadman song.

Pairing ; Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Timeline / Other Stuff to Note ; Like with my Eddie Munson reader fic, the Upside Down and all it's unholy terrors WILL BE LEFT OUT of this. This is yet another 'slice of life / teen rom com with a heap of angst' things. This takes place roughly a few weeks after Billy and Max's arrival to Hawkins.

Tag List ; @musichealsscars is the only person on my tag list for Stranger Things buuut... i'll throw a tag out to @rampagewriting -- feel free to ignore if you wanna bb!!. if you'd like to be added to my taglists for anything including Stranger Things, please let me know or add yourself -> here.

Warnings ; Billy being a bit of an antagonistic asshole who takes attention when he wants it, a hint of angst, take no shit reader, mentions of a poker game, mentions of a fight, billy kissing reader to shut her up / calm her down bc hot temper af. Also, also.. there are hints here that maybe reader has been disappointed / hurt / betrayed in the not so distant past...This one is kind of like... weird? I tried to write something soft and fluffy, okay? I triiiied. This is what came. So, I'm just gonna buckle in and see where it goes.

Other Stuff ; tag list doc || my rules - fandoms and some characters I write for || requests are open (pls.. pls... send me things) but they're limited to headcanon asks + filth/fluff alphabet letters and I'm not accepting wrestling / wrestlers in my ask box. Any other fandom/character but wrestling that I happen to write for is fine and I beg of you -> send me things.

I do not consent to my work being reposted elsewhere or copied/reworked/rewritten and reposted here or elsewhere. You don't own this, I do. So like... don't steal my shit.

“What do you want, Hargrove?” you intone, not bothering to glance up from the cards in your hand. Billy lingers, gazing at your hand in the game.

You feel him staring and with quickness, you lower the cards out of sight. He smirks to himself and leans down, whispering loud enough that the guys gathered around the folding table in the back room of the arcade all can hear him, “I hope you plan on foldin’, darling. That’s a shit hand.”

You tense up and your jaw clenches tight.

“Fold.” any spunk you had previously was gone, the word was spat out flat. You were irritated. Billy was gone, leaving only a swinging blue door in his wake.

When you stand up from the table with enough force to send the chair toppling over, Keith and the three others involved in the low stakes poker game that was your weekly ritual all shared a look. It was Keith that jumped out of his chair and rushed out after you, determined to stop you before you did or said anything in the heat of the moment that might anger the notoriously hot-headed new king of Hawkins High.

But he didn’t quite make it in time.

When he walked out into the main area of the arcade he heard the shouting before he actually got to bear witness to the scene unfolding. As soon as he rounded the corner by the Pac Man machine and the row of Dig Dug machines, he got a real up close and personal view.

“Shit.” he rubbed his hand over his face.

You had Billy against the wall, your hand gripping at the collar of his shirt as you read him for filth in front of an entire room filled with the preteen set that frequented the place and you were furious. Livid. You were so angry about what he’d done that you were shaking.

Over by the pinball machine, Max Mayfield stood gaping.

Billy had been talking about you for weeks. Bitching, mostly. You were apparently the one girl who didn’t fall on her knees and worship him daily like he craved. And now, apparently, her older stepbrother had gone too damn far. 

She grinned just a little.

It felt good to see someone give Billy a dose of his own medicine.

But when she caught a glimpse of Billy’s face, she was shocked to find that he wasn’t about to boil over and explode in rage like he’d normally do. No, he was taking it. Smirking, even.

He had mentioned at breakfast that he’d figured you out and he had a plan.

“All goddamn day, Hargrove. You’ve been popping up like a bad fuckin STD. Look, I dunno what the hell you’re on, buddy, but if you don’t fucking leave me alone, I’ll–” you grumble in exasperation because nothing you’re saying is getting through to the idiot. He's just standing there with that smug smirk on his stupid pretty lips and those baby blue eyes are fixed on you, sparkling with amusement.

“What the fuck do you want, huh? Why do you keep finding me? Look, you’ve got a fan club! Aren’t they enough?” your grip on his shirt is loosening and you step back and away from him, taking a few long and deep breaths as you pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation. You’re just done with this whole bizarre fever dream of a day at this point.

“I don’t know what kind of sick joke you’re on, asshole, but it ends now. I’m not gonna crawl into your stupid fucking backseat just because you happened to make a lucky guess and gave me a sunflower this morning at school. I was an idiot one time, buddy. It’s not happening again.” you finish your rant and your chest is heaving as you work to catch your breath.

When it happens, Max is left gaping. Keith can only rub his temples because he can practically hear the unfiltered angry rant he’s going to have to endure as you and the boys get ready to close down the place for another night because every since the arrival of Billy Hargrove, all you’ve done is antagonize the guy and do everything you can to attempt making a dent in what Keith personally feels is an ego too large for this world.

Maybe even this galaxy.

Oh, it’s a running joke among Keith and the boys at this point. You want Billy and any day now, the truth is going to come spewing forth out of you in all its venom laced glory.

Keith just didn’t give Billy enough credit, of course, because he never saw this twist coming.

Billy’s big and rough hands settle on your hips and he pulls you against him completely. His lips latch against yours in a frenzy as one of his hands settles on your ass. And he smirks into the kiss when he squeezes your ass where he’s gripping it and uses that to rock you right up against him. Your hand starts out palm down against his shirt as if to shove him away but somewhere in between the time it takes him to trace the outline of lips he’s been dying to kiss for weeks now and the time it takes you to stop and give thought to shoving him away like you planned, your mouth falls open willingly. His tongue collides with yours and your palm down hand fists at the soft fabric of his white tee shirt.

“I can’t fucking believe this. Holy shit.” Keith laughs to himself. “I fucking called it.”

“Why isn’t she slapping the taste out of his mouth yet, c’monnn.” Max mumbles to herself but secretly, deep down inside, she’s a little too happy for her older stepbrother.

Because the past few weeks he’s been fixated on you -and why you don’t worship him like all the other girls, he’s seemed more alive. He’s fighting for something for once. His mood hasn’t really improved, but… He actually came into her room on more than one occasion. During which, he discussed the whole dilemma with her, at length.

It felt like he really tried to let her in the two times that happened. And if you brought that out in her older stepbrother then yes… she was happy he was finally going for it -and alternately, that you hadn’t slapped the taste out of his mouth yet.

Billy’s other hand tangled up in the way you’ve got your hair piled in a messy heap low on the back of your head and your hair tumbles free, his fingers catching in and tugging at soft strands. You whimper quietly and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard in his whole life.

He wants to cause you to make it over and over again. As much as he can for as long as he’s alive and breathing. Your tongue starts to take control and you start to respond to the kiss a lot more, coming alive while he’s got you crushed against him. Your hand catches in his hair and your fingers drag over his scalp as you tug at curls. You deepen the kiss after biting his bottom lip until he can feel the bruise he’s going to have there when the kiss breaks. A bruise that’s so deep it’ll probably still stain his lips tomorrow. Your body melts against his and the kiss grows more gentle. Slower. When you whimper a second time, he can’t resist the smirk that comes as the sound is swallowed whole by the way your mouths keep meeting. Passionate. He’s surprised when the multitude of feelings you’ve managed to bring out in him aren’t gone because he’s finally won, he’s gotten you firmly backed into a corner. No, he’s shocked to discover that he wants more. He needs it. He needs you. Somehow, the focus he’s fixed on you for the past few weeks have been the bright spot in his normally shitty life. It’s given him something else to think about.

He wants you. All to himself. The kiss he just gave you only added fuel to the fire he intended to put out by doing what he’s just done.

For the first time ever, Billy Hargrove has fallen victim to his own stupidity.

The thought is so overwhelming to the surly blond that he breaks the kiss and you pull apart to breathe.

You’re breathing heavily again but now, it’s for a different reason.  Your lips are nice and swollen, bruising a little.

You wipe the back of your hand across your lips and Billy’s hand raises as if he wants to pull your hand out of the way because he wants to admire his handiwork. You swat his hand down with a scolding look and a shake of your head No.

“You fucking asshole. Ugh. Just like…You got what you wanted, okay? Fuck off already.” you grumble out the words more quietly. You step away again but you turn back to stare at him for a second or two, lost in the way blue eyes are practically glowing with smug pride.

“You’re lucky you’re like a fucking Adonis, dipshit, otherwise I would’ve ripped your dick off and strangled you with it for the shit you pulled in the blue room.” you say it simply, with the most casual of shrugs before slinking out of the arcade and into the night air. Around to the alley between the arcade and the department store right beside it where you lean against the wall and just laugh until you almost can’t anymore and you’re doubled over, clutching your sides.

All you can do about what just happened is laugh about it. And be secure in the knowledge that maybe now he’ll stop popping up all the damn time. Maybe he’ll leave you alone because you gave him something. He won and this doesn’t sit well with you at all.

But damn it, if you had a choice, you’d march back into that arcade and you’d do it again happily. Because the shocking part in all this is the simple fact that you enjoy the way he’s spent the past few weeks trying to antagonize and goad you into doing something. You frown a little because that little kiss in the arcade was probably his entire game coming to a close.

Billy’s throat clears from the top of the alley. You can see the way he’s leaned against the brick wall of the building. Arms folded over his chest. Staring at you intently in the dark.

You roll your eyes. “Look, take your one win and go, Mr. Popular. That’s what guys like you do, right?.” you call out as you do your best to pull yourself together again and dig around in search of your Zippo and the half crushed pack of Marlboro Reds you could’ve sworn you put in the hip pocket of your favorite leather jacket.

Billy makes his way down the alley, stopping in front of you. He takes out his own pack of cigarettes and holds it out to you. You glance at it -and him, warily.

He offers again, wordlessly.

You let him place the cigarette between your lips and light it. After a few long seconds, he speaks up quietly. 

“I don’t wanna win. You’re not a prize, alright.” 

You tilt your head, blowing out a ring of smoke as you tap your boot against cracked pavement. “Right. I bet you say that to all the girls, buddy.”

“It’s Billy.”

“Buddy, Billy, tomato, tomahto.” you drag your fingers through your hair and take another puff. “You jerks are all the same.”

“Is this about that idiot Oliver?” Billy questioned, tensing up as he said the name. 

You tense up. “You heard, huh?”

“Mhm.” -what he doesn’t say is that Oliver is the reason for his first detention, the one he got last week. Because when he heard what the shithead had done, he’d caught him in the locker room and given him a little something to think about. Can’t run your mouth when it hurts to move your jaws, Billy figured. 

“I hope you beat the living shit out of him when you two got into it in the locker room last week.” you mutter quietly. Billy chuckles. “You heard, huh?”

“It’s a small town. News travels, sir.”

When you call him sir, he steps closer to you. You’re hugging yourself against the breeze in the air. Teeth chattering.

“Cold, darling?”

“I’m good.” you insist. Billy sheds the denim jacket and holds it out to you. Again, you glance from jacket to jacket’s owner with a wary look before a stronger gust of cold air blows and you reach out, taking it. Huddling into it, breathing in cigarette smoke, cologne and something that kind of faintly reminds you of the summer your mom took you down to Atlantic City, to see the cousins and your aunt and uncle.

“A thank you is nice.” Billy mumbles and you shrug. “Thank you.” you respond, blowing another hazy smoke ring up into the night air. “I can’t fucking believe you cost me fifty bucks.”

“You called me Adonis though. Kind of worth it.”

You laugh to yourself and glance over at him, studying him under the hazy moonlight. The shadows it casts on his face almost seem ethereal and for a second or two, all you can do is stare. 

“I had to do something to get your attention.” he says it with a shrug and a smirk as he blows smoke into the air. “Everything else wasn’t workin. Ya know, most girls fall at my feet. Not you, though.”

You laugh. “Yeah, well.. I was dumb once. Now everybody in Hawkins thinks I’m an easy lay.”

He tenses again and you laugh softly. “Sure you want it getting out you sat in an alley with little ol’ me all alone after dark? You are the king, after all.” you roll your eyes dismissively at the title.

“Fuck ‘em.” Billy mumbles. “I do what I want.”

You lean your head back against the cold brick of the building. After a few seconds, he speaks up again. Chuckling. “I knew it. You like sunflowers. Kind of like.. Nevermind.” he frowns and you study him intently. “Like who?”

“Nobody important.” Billy says it through a jaw tightly clenched.

You don’t repeat the question. One, it’s not your business and two, seeing the pained look that lingered in baby blue eyes briefly really bothered you. A lot more than it should, truth be told.

You just want to see him smile. To be happy and really mean it. That’s another reason you’ve held back, you’ve met all of his attempts to get your attention with venom and vinegar. Because he’s being more real right now than he’s probably been in the entire short time he’s come in and taken Hawkins High by storm.

“I gotta get going. Gotta get my stepsister home.”

“I should uh.. Probably get back inside. Gotta start getting ready to close down for the night.” you shrug.

Billy’s hand settles on your hip to keep you standing there before you can walk off. “I”ll pick you up tomorrow.”

Your blank look makes him chuckle quietly. “For school.”

You nod. “I’ll believe it when it happens, Hargrove.”

He walks over to his Camaro and you make your way back inside. Keith and the boys who work with both of you are non stop giving you shit for the rest of the night.

“I should’ve taken a picture. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen you speechless.”

“I called it.” Keith smirks.

“You called nothing, dumbass.” you assert.

“Yeah? You looked like you were kissing back, heathen.” Keith asserts, smirking when all you can do is flip him off and storm away irritated.

“So, did you two have fun sucking face in the alley?” one of the other guys asks as you’re counting out the register.

“Fuck off, oh my god. That did not happen.”

“You were out there for a whole twenty five minutes.”

“And? That doesn’t mean I was sucking face.” you glare.

“You know he’s probably just gonna do what Oliver did, right?” your co worker asks, gazing at you as he shakes his head. Like he's already prepared to call you stupid when whatever just happens comes back to bite you right in the ass.

You flinch a little. For some reason, you start to argue that he’s wrong and Billy won’t, but you stop yourself.

How do you really know he won’t?

“Asshole.” you mumble, shaking your head. He just had to go and ruin the little bit of happiness you did feel.

“He’s one of them. You’re not. That’s how it works, sweets.”

You don’t argue because again, he’s not wrong. And he’s just trying to watch your back.

Remind you that you barely know Billy. And you’ve already been dumb once.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove fanfic #i... have no clue where this is going so i'm just gonna buckle in and see where it takes me i suppose. #there will probably be a lot of angst + bickering as a love languate + just like.. really getting in deep I think? idk.