#And that kids is what we call a cliffhanger

[thisreadswhatever]

Only Mine: Part Two

find part one here

[description]: jax teller x fem!reader

[wordcount]: 2.2k

[cw]: 18+ only, smut, smut and more smut. unprotected p in v sex, oral m receiving, some almost getting caught tropes (kinda) and just jax having his way with you

[authors note]: so I wasn’t planning on making this a two part series but here we are! this is basically just pure smut but I owed it to you guys after that cliffhanger. thank you again to THAT anon for the fantasy that inspired this second part! it was too good not to write.

Your hands dug into the front of his leather cutte, weaving your fingers in between the cotton of his shirt. The only sound was the roaring of the bike beneath you, and the wind as it thrashed your hair into chaos against your helmet. You weren’t sure where you were going, but at this point you didn’t care. You squeezed your arms as they wrapped snug around him, tightening as he sped faster into the unknown.

Chibs followed just behind. They had been on their way to a Mayan warehouse earlier that night, before Jax decided to make a detour when he saw your car parked at the bar. When it was clear they had to go, you had begged Jax to bring you along. To your surprise, you had somehow convinced him. His dick was clouding his judgement, but you were both desperate to find an end to what you had started in the backseat of your car.

They parked the bikes in the back of a desolate warehouse, alongside a large empty truck. The building was fenced in with metal chain links and surrounded by broken security lights. From what you could see through the darkness, it was completely deserted.

Jax approached Chib as he rocked the kickstand on his bike as you waited patiently alongside his.

“Bobby and Juice on their way to the Clubhouse?”

Chib’s placed his helmet on the bike, “aye. Everything according to plan.”

“Alright, let’s get this done.”

Chibs placed his hand on Jax’s chest, “ye sure about bringing her? Could be here awhile pal.”

He knew he was right, bringing you with them wasn’t the smartest decision Jax had made tonight. He lit a cigarette between his lips as he walked back to you, “Just a straight forward drop off, Chibs. Stash the shit and get in the truck.”

Jax pulled you into him by the waist as you fumbled to undo the clasp of your helmet. His mouth pressed firmly against you, kissing you intently as his hands held your face to his. He watched you for a brief moment under him, your eyes staring up at him as he held your lip between his teeth. He broke only to smile widely down at you as he spoke, “c’mon, I got an idea.”

“We’ll be inside.” he called out, collecting a black satchel from the back of his bike. Chibs didn’t respond, only chuckling to himself as he watched Jax lead you away. “Kids.”

He pulled you through the warehouse by hand, obviously familiar with the surroundings. The building was dimly lit by a single light that shined from the entrance, just enough that you could see your feet beneath you as you walked.

You didn’t ask questions, just followed as he weaved his way through a thick maze of tall empty shelving units. He gripped your hand tighter as he pulled you into a small room cordoned off in the back of the building, housing the now derelict security unit and remnants of old office supplies.

There was a large display window that overlooked the majority of the warehouse, which would’ve been used to watch the ongoings of the building when it was up and running.

“Wait here.”

You obeyed his order, sitting on an old computer console that towered from the floor. It was just large enough that you could sit with your legs bent alongside it, straddling it beneath you.

The distant light was too far to aid in your sight as you attempted to watch him through the display window. Jax disappeared into the darkness of the warehouse. You could hear the sound of a door opening and closing from the opposite end of the building.

It felt like he was gone for eternity as you sat in silence, waiting for his return.

Suddenly an external door into the office opened, making you jump, and Jax re-entered, this time empty handed as the satchel he carried in with him was gone. He locked the door behind him. He moved toward you, now standing with his waistline parallel to your face. He was looking out into the warehouse from the side of the display window. “Just gotta wait for the pick up and then we’re out of here.”

“How long will we be? This place gives me the creeps.”

“Shouldn’t be long. Then I’m taking you home. We got unfinished buisness of our own, darlin’.”

Jax laid his hands to your cheeks, cupping your face upward to look at him. His thumb stroked your skin gently, as he peered down at you with hungry, desperate eyes.

“How ‘bout you just swallow my cock now to pass the time.”

You chuckled at his adavance, raising your eyebrows at the suggestion. “Here? What if someone comes in?”

Jax lowered himself down, forcing your head to turn on its side, as his lips pressed to your ear. He spoke slowly, unravelling you with every word. “Let them watch. I don’t give a shit. Your instructions earlier were very clear darlin’, you told me to take what’s mine. I’m going to take you, here and now. I’m going to have you where I want you, when I want you. You are mine to take, however the fuck I want.”

You nodded as he turned your face to his, your eyelids batting against your cheeks that were smushed beneath his hands. His thumb found entry between your lips and you instinctively opened your mouth wide for him. He smiled contently at how quickly you obeyed his silent demand. You held your tongue out, and he grasped at your jaw in response, turning your head side to side as he observed every inch of your face. “You are so fucking perfect. So fucking mine.”

You had never wanted him more than you did in this moment. You were prepared to beg and plead on your knees for his cock, you would do anything for it, and he knew it.

“Fill my mouth, Jax. Please.”

He leaned down to you as he unclamped the buckle to his belt, smirking against your lips as he placed them on yours.

He released his long length against your face, and you immediately took it into your hands. His head fell back as you stroked him intently, pressing the tip of his cock against your lips. You planted small, wet kisses against his shaft, as your hands caressed his erection. Once you’d kissed every inch, you took him into your mouth, forcing him in deeper as you pulled him in you by his unbuttoned jeans.

He groaned at the sensation of your wet tongue, circling his length before you choked at the fullness of him inside your mouth. There was nothing quite like gagging on Jax’s cock.

“Look at me when you take me”, he demanded. Your eyes trailed up to him as you swallowed his cock, drool dripping from your chin and down your neck. Moans escaped his gritted teeth and his hands entangled in your hair, collecting the strands into a ponytail behind your head. He tugged at the root to push you in closer, as he used your mouth over and over again.

“Get on the floor.”

You knew better than to question the order. You did exactly what he said, laying against the cold concrete floor that laid beneath you. He stroked his length as he stood above you, instructing you on every move to make.

“Take off your shirt and lay down.”

Once you were half naked on the floor, Jax lowered himself into you. His cock pressed against your waist, as he pulled down your jeans and panties.

“Spread your legs wide for me.”

Jax didn’t wait any longer. He encapsulated himself into your mound, opening your wet folds as he thrusted into you. A gasp escaped your throat as he entered, relief filtering through every inch of your core.

“Oh you’re still fucking soaked for me, babe.”

You couldn’t help but whine at the immediate pressure building between your thighs, desperately trying to hush your voice. It was near impossible to keep from screaming as the heat from your groin was burning to be released. You’d waited for what felt like forever since Jax had you in the same position in the backseat of your car, and the anticipation of being relieved was a feeling you revelled in. He grabbed your throat with his hand as you laid beneath him, your ass crushing repeatedly into the cold tile as he pounded into you.

“Remember what I told you earlier? While my face was covered in this perfect pussy?”

You couldn’t respond, let alone think of anything that happened earlier tonight. You groaned out as the length of his cock engulfed your insides, and hearing him talk this way was sending you over the edge. How the hell were you supposed to think?

“What’s wrong, darlin’? Can’t remember?”

“I can’t think straight- like t-this, Jax,” you admitted. You were staring into his eyes as he pounded into you, fighting the need for yours to roll in the back of your head.

“Let me help you.”

He sat you upright, his dick still embedded in your mound, as he lifted your legs, bending them against him. He pulled at your ass, bringing himself even further inside, the feeling of fullness overwhelming you. Your back was now arched against him, giving him full access to your clit.

“Fuck- not helping-“, you cried.

His hands travelled from your ass to your cunt, circling his fingers over the swollen nub, while he fucked you into oblivion.

“Jax- oh my go-“

He smiled as he watched you lose yourself in your climax, succumbing to his cock. His head fell back in pure bliss as he felt your orgasm squeezing him.

“I told you, you’re mine.” His cock pushed further into you as his hand tightening around your neck, the skin turning a shade of red at the force.

Your head nodded violently, “I’m yours-“ you somehow managed to muster out, your voice cracking under the pressure of your orgasm and his hand around your throat.

Just as Jax was going to unravel with you, you were interrupted by the sound of the main entrance door opening, followed by footsteps. “Did you hear that?”, you whispered.

Jax leant backward enough for him to peer over the display window. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness to realise who the intruders were. It was Bobby and Juice.

“Is it Chibs? Do we need to go?”

Jax looked back down at you, sprawled half naked against the floor and completely, totally his. Seeing you this way, he couldn’t of cared who entered the warehouse, he was going to finish claiming you no matter who watched. He gleamed at the sight of your flushed pink cheeks and hair utterly strung awry, all the result of his doing. “Oh no, darlin’. I’m not finished with you yet.”

His cock found your entrance again, sliding into your dripping mound as he bit back a groan. “You feel so fucking good- taking me so well-“

You tried desperately to suppress your scream, failing as a squeal slipped through your lips.

Jax quickly placed his hand over your mouth, and you were thankful for the aid in silencing your whimpers. He roamed over your body and face, watching as pleas left your eyes, begging in desperation for another release. His lips pulled into a devilish smirk as he lowered himself completely into you, forcing his cock to push even deeper into your mound.

You groaned into his hand, his hips finding a way to submerge even further into your core. Jax was enjoying every moment of this, watching as your composure expired around his cock, while he never wavered, just holding himself there within you.

“You gotta be quiet for me now, darlin’,” he murmured slowly into your ear. “Can you do that for me?”

You nodded at his request, struggling to move from the weight of his body pressing against you. His hand tightened around your mouth as tears began to stream from your eyes, overwhelmed by the urge to stay silent against the extreme fullness you were enduring.

The footsteps grew closer, as Jax pushed deeper and deeper into you with each thrust.

You could hear Bobby lowly calling out, “Jax, where you at?”

He ignored his calls, focused entirely on you beneath him. Nothing else mattered to him but the way you felt wrapped around his cock.

He was relentless, repeatedly finding a new depth with each thrust into you. His hand stayed out against your mouth, and you bit at the skin to suppress the groans that couldn’t be muffled. He quickened his pace, and your fingers squeezed at the leather of his cutte as you found your final climax. Jax hunched his back, bringing his face to yours as he found his release with you, filling your aching cunt with his seed.

When he recovered from his end, he began to trail plentiful kisses from your chest, and up your neck. He paused at your jawline as he pressed a tight smile against your skin, nibbling at the flesh.

“You’re only mine.”

find my masterlist here

#jax teller #jax teller x reader #jax teller x you #jax teller fiction #jax teller smut #reads writes #sons of anarchy #soa #sons of anarchy x reader #sons of anarchy imagine #jax teller morrow #jax teller fic #jax teller boyfriend #jax x reader #jax teller imagine #jax teller dom #sons of anarchy smut #sons of anarchy one shot

[classicpalladium]

my favorite show? yeahhhh it’s this show called hannibal? no it’s not on any streaming service. what’s it about? okay so there’s this guy called will graham (we love him, btw) and he has a lot of dogs and superpowers basically- yes it’s a cop show. doesn’t matter. anyway he meets this psychiatrist called hannibal lecter- yes THAT hannibal lecter. but he’s younger he looks really hot and wears ugly suits. okay so hannibal is like obsessed with him and starts feeding him people- no it’s not disgusting, why? actually the cooking sequences are the best part of the show. and hannibal is gay for will but he frames him for murder a little bit but first they kinda adopt a daughter together because will killed her father. no it’s really cute I swear they’re kind of adorable. no they don’t eat the daughter- actually yes, will does, but only a little bit, only her ear and hannibal didn’t really have a choice you know, because of the whole framing thing. what genre? well I wanna say a thriller/crime/drama but you should watch it as a rom-com. it’s a rom-com who am I kidding. did I convince you. come back. hello. no I promise it’s fun. it’s not even that disgusting. mostly. does it end with a cliffhanger? uhhhhhhhhh well not a HANGER per se

#guys I love you and I’ve been made aware that it’s on Hulu #but nobody has a fucking hulu account in Germany. please #hannibal #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal humour #will graham #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy

[haunted-headset]

💜 Oh, Distant You. 💜

Summary: Tommy asked what happened between you two.

a/n: hello! i was in the mood to make a short angsty fic, so i present this to all of you! this was (obviously) based on "Oh Distant You"

contains: angst, a break-up with you & Wilbur, crying, flashbacks, cursing, a cliffhanger ending, mentions of presumed death, the reader is said to have had mental health issues in the past, & mentions of suicide.

words: 651

tags:@zuuriell @somebody-v @vibestillaxxx @ax-y10 @joviepog@themonsterunderurmom @ogelizasoot @wilburstan@smolsleepykitten@funnyreally2009@crows-death@dykepunz@aresriiots@0miamor0@defonotval@chipch0p@mazzistar16@unmellowyellowfellow@thosecolorfulsheets@vopix@aine-lasagna@merianakross@veeislost@urfav-sapphic-siren@shazbaz58-blog @wifiatthetrainstation@mcr-pr-fob@shd454@rqvii@idioticion@m0thza@artistphantom @lexx-the-gay-rubber-ducky @finleyforevermore @poraphia @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @mysticalsoot @21-cats-in-a-trenchcoat @strangleetomz (let me know if u don't or do wanna be tagged)

[Wilbur's {3rd person} POV]

Tommy had invited Wilbur to his house for an "intervention". He'd been locking himself in his apartment for days without messaging or calling anybody, streaming, or going to the studio. The Lovejoy members called him & messaged him uncountable times, but he never responded. Some of his friends thought he had killed himself. Nobody had heard from Y/N, either; they were an active streamer, usually streaming twice or thrice a week, but they hadn't streamed for two weeks. Y/N wasn't on tour with their band, either, & hadn't announced a break, so it worried Y/N's followers & fans.

"What's going on with you?" Tommy asked him. "Nobody's heard from you or Y/N in a few weeks. Did you two have a secret wedding & a honeymoon without telling anybody?" While the light-hearted joke was obviously intended to make Wilbur feel better, it just made him feel worse.

"We broke up, Tommy," he murmured, covering his eyes with his hand.

"You what?" Tommy raised his brow, not hearing Wilbur correctly.

"We broke up, Tommy," Wilbur repeated, louder this time.

Tommy was shocked. "I thought everything was good between you two! Why did they dump you?"

"I dumped them, Tommy," Wilbur said shakily, holding back tears.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" Tommy asked.

"Because I'm an idiot, Tommy, that's why!" Wilbur shouted, removing his hand away from his now red & glossy eyes. "Because I'm an idiot who thought prioritizing my music & my career over them was the better option! & they could be dead right now, for all I know! Their mental state was terrible when I broke up with them, so for all I know, they could be hanging from a noose right now, dead as a motherfucking doorknob."

"Woah, woah, woah, Wil, take a breath," Tommy said, his eyes wide from how Wilbur reacted. "Tell me what happened."

"I just--I got in over my head & started panicking & being an anxious idiot like how I was when I was a kid & I thought that my career & my band needed to be prioritized over them," Wilbur explained shakily.

"Why did you think that?" Tommy asked.

"Because I thought my career was better than them," he said softly.

"Is your career better than being with them?" Tommy asked, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"God, no, Tommy," Wilbur said with a catch in his throat. "I hate the way I talk when I'm trying to compliment or praise them because it'll never give off the praised esteem they have. They're two stars from grace & I'm convinced that this world turns for them & nobody else." He paused. "No offense, Tommy."

"Were you looking for somebody better or--" Tommy started.

"If the Lord or the universe or whoever fucking controls everything were to whip up a clone of them," said Wilbur, "I wouldn't even glance at it, so, no, Tommy. & if I did date that clone, I'd have to take a month off work & everything to sit down in the kitchen, & explain all our in-jokes, & cry with them to Wall-E, & still, I'd fuckin' miss Y/N."

"So you regret it all?" Tommy asked.

"Of course I do!" he exclaimed. "I thought I was creating the solution to their problems, that I was being the fix-all, but I was just the villain. & every single modicum of energy that I gave to all the little things compounded all my placidity, & I drove out all the good things & made life so fuckin' heavy, & now I can't wake up & talk to them." He was crying at this point, having to pause a few times to calm himself down.

Tommy held his phone up & pointed at the screen. He was on a call. He was on call with Y/N. He had been this whole time.

"Hi, Wilbur."

reblogs > likes

#wilbur soot #wilbursoot #wilbur #wilbur soot imagine #fanfic #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot fic #wilbur soot headcanons #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x reader fluff #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #cliffhanger #angst fic #angst #my story #my writing #my work #wilbur x reader #x reader #wilbur x you #x you #x you angst #reader insert

[kaicubus]

Stains We Can’t Remove | Wayne M.

₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊ ───────────── ₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊ ─────────────── ₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊

warnings ✩° : angst no happy ending, cursing, angry wayne, trauma responses, hurt/no comfort, wayne not listening to reader, wayne’s mommy issues, spoilers kinda for the series, wayne WANTS to go after reader but doesn’t.

pairing ✩° : wayne mccullough x fem!reader

premise ✩° : wayne’s mom isn’t a perfect person, that’s pretty obvious to you and everyone around you. everyone but wayne, who gets defensive when you start to question his true place in her life after talking with her.

word count ✩° : 3.3k

authors note ✩° : this may get a part 2 but i had to leave it on a cliffhanger you know me teheh...anyways this uhm this really hurt my soul but i like doing angst no comfort until you guys come at me with knives demanding a part 2. so until then!

────────────────────────────────────────────

Maureen smelt like cigarettes.

Usually, people make an effort to mask the scent when they come back in for a short smoke break, knowing how most people find the smell revolting, dousing themselves in cheap perfume or body spray or even take off the clothes they were wearing that the smoke latched onto. But Maureen didn’t care. She didn’t even acknowledge it.

That’s just the kind of person Maureen McNulty was.

You had to admit, it bothered you seeing Wayne so attached to a mother who clearly didn’t give a damn about her son, in fact you’ve never seen anything like it before. In the short amount of time you’ve known her, you’ve seen Wayne’s mom force a smile and laugh with him like it’d been her dream to see Wayne after so long, out of the blue despite being the one to leave him since all these years. And seeing a look of hopefulness on your boyfriends face when she told him how much she missed him made something inside of you bubble with anger, knowing that all Wayne was to her was that certain stench of smoke she couldn’t be bothered getting rid of or even spare a passing glance.

Of course, you didn’t want to break Wayne’s spirits. After all, it was the first time in a long time Wayne had something else besides you to live for. He had his friend Orlando, sure, but Orlando wasn’t considered family. He was just someone Wayne bad to protect.

You fall under that category as well, but on a more intimate level. This was the first time though, that Wayne could be protected—comforted—by someone else. He could finally take shelter and relax in the arms of his mother, family he had been deprived of for so long.

But how could you relax seeing all the false, squinted smiles that told lies of ‘i love you’ and ‘i want you to stay here forever’, even taking it as far as showing him baby pictures of himself that Maureen had conveniently kept but ‘accidentally’ hidden away.

It didn’t help that you had overheard Maureen one day talking to her husband, who seemed to be frustrated with the sudden two additions in his household. You could hear the way his loud, angry voice, echoed throughout the halls and since it was only you three home and Wayne and Reggie were out ‘bonding’, you heard everything very clearly.

You almost wish you didn’t.

“Ok! Fine! You know what! Yeah, he’s a little annoying and clingy and following me around everywhere, but he was like that when he was a kid! Give him a damn break!” You heard her say, followed by a large clattering noise from her husband knocking his fist into the wall causing a painting to tumble down.

“I don’t care if you think he’s your little fuckin’ baby, Maureen! He’s not my son and I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea! I want him out of my house as soon as possible, otherwise I’m just going to throw him on the street along with his skanky girlfriend too!”

“Don’t you call my son’s girlfriend a skank!” You liked that she defended you, “But, you’re right. I can’t have my past follow me around like some puppy dog. It’s not right. I just…give me time to break the news to him gently. I’ll tell him to back his bags. He’ll be gone real soon, babe.”

And that was it. Then Wayne and Reggie came home and Maureen pretended to act normal again, flying above Wayne’s radar and tricking him into thinking he can stay with his mom. It didn’t even matter if Maureen opened her arms to both you and Wayne and let you both inside of her home, because to you, it didn’t matter at all if all she was going to do was go back on her word and make you guys leave, breaking Wayne’s heart all over again. What also hurt was that Maureen was nothing like Wayne; She was actually fun, well spirited, unlike Wayne who barley spoke two words to her when he saw her again, while she spoke novels. It was interesting seeing the two interact, but it didn’t change the fact that none of it was real.

You just had to tell him what he failed to see. And you were going to do it tonight.

When the time came, you could hardly ignore the rapid beating pounding inside of your chest. The whole time you stood there, waiting for everyone to go outside or leave the house was spent pondering over every single thought in your head, debating on if this was truly a good idea and rehearsing what you wanted to say to him. Telling Wayne straight up that his mom didn’t love him and actually just wanted him out was completely out of the picture, so you had to lay it down slowly and sugar coat the hell out of it and pray he’d understand.

When everyone finally leaves, Maureen’s husband outside in their garage, Reggie out with friends, and Maureen smoking a pack outside by a bonfire, you tug your boyfriend back into the dining room and sit him down across from you. Wayne, who appears to be already over the moon from having a private conversation with you, smiles curiously at what you have to say, batting his eyes at you curiously when you just stare at him saying nothing.

“Wayne I have to tell you something.” You start off easy, folding your hands onto the table and looking anywhere but his eyes, “It’s...it’s kind of hard for me to do this, but. I think I should really tell you.”

Wayne’s eyes don’t leave yours for a second, giving you his full attention with that same hopeful smile he’s had all week. That only makes it harder for you to get your words out, and unfortunately, they do.

“Wayne, I don’t think your mom is who she says she is.” You hold onto your thighs and look up at your boyfriend through your lashes.

It takes a moment for him to process the statement in his head, but it doesn’t register. He looks up with a confused expression, with one of his eyebrows arched and squinted eyes, “She’s not my mom?”

“No, Wayne, she is your mom,” You laugh a bit, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders with his innocent question, “But I don’t think she’s as…perfect, or even motherly like you think she is. I mean, you’ve seen how she raised Reggie.”

“Reggie has a shit father, Y/n, I’d blame that more on him than my mom.” Wayne points out, “And yeah, my mom’s not going to be perfect, no moms are. But, she’s trying her hardest, and I got to see her, so I think that’s good.”

He wasn’t getting it.

You let out a short sigh and scoot closer to him, gently moving your hand to the center of the table where you could comfortably meet halfway and hold his hands. “Wayne, It’s not about her being a good mom or not.” You say gently, “It’s more about her not...wanting to be a mom to you.”

“That’s crazy, Y/n. I’m her son. I was here first. That don’t make no sense.” Wayne shakes his head and laughs under his breath.

“I know, I know baby. But I heard her talking, when you and Reggie were out. She was in the other room, and well,” Your shoulders fall, “She said she didn’t...she didn’t think it was a wise decision to keep past...personal assets in her...new life...” That was the best way you could put such horrible news. In a way, you understood the feelings Wayne must be going through; No child would want to be told from someone that their mom was talking shit behind their back, especially when that mom left them when they were just a kid and left no explanation saying why or even bothering to leave behind some lame excuse. To your knowledge, Maureen never told Wayne she was going to grab some milk and be right back, instead she just left one day and never returned.

The more you tried to spell it out for him though, the more confused he got. You were already dancing around the issue and trying to sugar coat it as best as you could, but his expression tells it all: he has no clue of what you’re trying to say. Wayne wrinkles his brows in utter confusion and stares at you, his smile fading away the more you stammer on.

“Look, Wayne. When you were gone, I heard her talking to her husband, he was all mad and whatever that we were staying here.”

“So? We’ll just move near by, my mom probably knows a place we can crash and we’d be out of his hair.”

Your back stiffens, “N-No, Wayne, he doesn’t want us—you—here, period. I’m not family, and I’ll have to go back some time. He knows that, and so do you. But I’m talking about you and your mom.”

Wayne re-positions his hands separately from yours and clasps them together tightly, rubbing his calloused thumbs over each other in thought. “What, uh. What else did he say?” His watchful eyes crawl back up to yours.

“He said that you’re not his son, and your mom agreed, and therefore he doesn’t want you in his house.” You look down nervously. If there was one thing you knew about Wayne, it would be that he talks a lot, just not in words. When Wayne holds a conversation, he doesn’t speak all too much, instead he pays attention to the person talking, mimicking their movements, and using body language to talk—hands to express his levels of comfort, eye contact to silently communicate, and his posture to dictate his attention—you can tell what he’s thinking just by looking at him. The body tells a lot of secrets the mouth won’t, but it was no secret that Wayne hated this conversation.

He hated everything about thinking his mom isn’t who she says she is or how his 5-year old mind remembers her. Instead of the woman who brought him toys and taught him how to read and decipher shapes, who cooked him and his father meals especially warm tomato soup on rainy days, your words were practically shredding that woman down to someone who doesn’t care one bit about him, who would and did leave him because she couldn’t care less. But Wayne tries his best not to show it all too much.

“What else?” He drums his fingers on top of the table and glances down too.

“She told him, she doesn’t want her past following her around like some...” Your lip curls, knowing what’s coming next would utterly destroy him, “...some sad puppy dog.” and it does.

Wayne feels your shoe turn and nudge him when he goes silent for too long, his body voided of any kind of language and instead replaced by nothing at all, but he doesn’t react. How could his own mother, he thought, think of him as some helpless dog when he did everything to hell and back to try and find something so dear to him? He rolls his head forward and allows the shadows of the flickering light above trace over his nose and forehead.

“Wayne..?” You say softly, softer than you ever have before. You fear that the slightest bit of volume could send him destroying everything around him, knowing that’s all he wants to do right now. The static in Wayne’s mind suddenly starts to fizz, jumping from a background noise right to all he can hear. The sound fills his ears and it fills his ears fast, leaving him no time to think.

“No.” Wayne shakes his head, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/n. My mom wouldn’t do that to me, she wouldn’t say that to nobody. Not her kid, especially not me. She wouldn’t compare me to no dog. Why’d you say that..?”

Suddenly, your words were stolen from you. Was he really shifting the blame onto you? There was some misunderstanding. “No, that’s not it,” You lurch forward and try to catch his wrists to assure him you’re telling the truth, but he rips them away from you before you get the chance, “Wayne, I’m not lying to you. I heard how she talked about you.”

“Yeah, well clearly you didn’t hear right!” Wayne shouts. His abrupt change in tone makes you jump right back into your seat, eyes wide from how easy it was to yell at you, and it even shakes the table. Or maybe that was because of how hard he was gripping it in that moment. Still, you look at Wayne in shock, fear, and some lingering taste in the back of your tongue of anger.

“What are you talking about?! Wayne, I heard her say that shit! Why would I fucking lie about that?”

Wayne shrugs harshly, “I dunno, maybe you wanna like, split us up or somethin’? I don’t know! I do know that my mom wouldn’t call me a damn dog, following her around.”

“You might not want to believe it, but that’s what she said. I’m saving you from a whole world of pain, Wayne. Imagine if she was the one to tell you? You’d believe her since it was coming out of her mouth, so why is it so different when I tell you out of mine?!” His words hit you like a truck right into your chest. You wanted to defend yourself and explain to him that the truth was evident, but Wayne just keeps shoving.

“You don’t know my mom, ok?”

“And you do?! You didn’t even know why she left you until she came up with some lame excuse so you wouldn’t keep pressing her for answers!”

Wayne stands up and balls his fists tightly. If there was anything distracting himself from the pain splitting his heart in two, it was the biting sensation of his nails digging crescents into his already scarred palm. “What? You think you know her just by lookin’ at her? You’ve only known her for a couple days, but I’ve been here with her, in a photo album or a wallet—she knows about me! She understands me, and I’m happy to be here with her. Why is that so hard for you to understand, Y/n?”

There’s a pause, a moments of hesitation, before you speak. In that moment, you stare at the way Wayne’s chest falls heavily, heaving with guilt and burden, knowing as much as his anger consumes him, the last thing he wants to do is yell at you. Your eyes flicker away from his for a second, catching a glimpse of all the photos and picture frames hanging on the walls of Maureen, her husband, and Reggie. Reggie’s baby pictures, her and her husband out on an anniversary date wrangling gators, Reggie grinning ear to ear holding up a gold club and soon after, a beer. Your eyes scan over all the memories this family has where they seem so well put together, one would even say, happy and loving.

Maureen was there, sure, displaying her crafts and small businesses she’s worked on over the years, and her husband was always in a picture with his eyes red because of the flash and holding something up to show, and then there was Reggie. There was nothing of Wayne. Not even a small picture on the fridge.

Wayne said that his photos were locked away, secret, but all that told you was that Maureen was ashamed of her past, and even more ashamed of him. If Wayne failed to see that, there was nothing more you could do. You had already lost to her.

Maybe you’d wish you hadn’t brought it up, or somehow made Maureen tell him himself so this didn’t make you seem like a liar trying to tear Wayne apart from his mom. You only wanted to let him know. Your eyes return back to him, and shamefully, you give him a half-hearted smile. “What I understand, Wayne, is that she’s not ready to be your mother. And frankly, I don’t think she ever was, and that’s why she left you. You’re holding onto something that doesn’t want to be held onto.”

Wayne falls silent. “Then I don’t think I want to be the one to hold onto you anymore.”

Your head flips back up, your brows furrowing. Now more than ever, it felt like your world seemed to shatter right beneath your feet. Those few words stung like burning needles stabbing right into your gut as the wind in your lungs struggles to escape, leaving your chest constricted and heart fully broken beyond repair.

You wanted to have misheard. You wanted him to regret what he said and quickly apologize. Like he always does, he always fixes it. But this time, Wayne doesn’t even turn his head up to look at you. Instead he keeps his eyes fixated on his hands, mindlessly picking at the skin around his nails.

You swallow, hard, and attempt to speak, but nothing comes out. You try to open your mouth more, but it snaps shut. There’s nothing you can say or do that will change his mind, so what was even worth defending? Your dignity was long gone when you first sat down with him, and it feels like there’s no love for you inside of Wayne’s heart, but you still hold on the best you can.

Even your strength can’t hold back the tears that eventually spill from your eyes though, and soon enough, streams of hot tears come barreling down the sides of your face, seemingly endlessly. You bring your sleeve up to your face and start hastily dabbing away your tears, blotting softly at first but quickly bashing your fists into your eyes to get them to stop.

Wayne’s ears perk up when he hears you sniffle, but he doesn’t look over. Even when he doesn’t speak, he still says a lot, and his silence was all you needed to realize that Wayne McCullough had chosen who he wants to be around and to spend his time with, and that person was not you.

Even if it meant leaving you behind, Wayne’s mind was set. He couldn’t change the past, but he was hopeful for the future, and if there was any ounce of changing that, then Wayne held on. It just meant that you were something that he couldn’t keep as well.

Despite everything, Wayne doesn’t bother looking up, he doesn’t even spare a passing glance. He ignores you. He ignores the tears now rushing from your eyes and spilling onto the only clothes you had on your back. He ignores all of those times where you’d saved him and he’d saved you, running from the cops and any authoritative figure to escape into a fleeting feeling of freedom. He doesn’t even acknowledge it.

He doesn’t have to tell you what to do next. Him not looking at you was more than he needed to say, and before you knew it, your bag filled with missing things was over your shoulder, and you, halfway out the door. Wayne still remains in the same position, back turned to where you had left him, only now he was facing you as you left. Dark eyes stick onto your teary-eyed expression like magnets stuck to their piece, but no words are exchanged.

For a moment, you see his hands twitch from his sides, but he stops moving all together. Now you were certain. If you left or not, Wayne would still go back to his mom. Even if she had left him all those years ago, she was stuck to him and he didn’t want to get rid of her or even see how much she’s hurting him.

In the end, you couldn’t change his mind after all. 

#kaicubus #kaicubus requests #wayne #wayne series #wayne x reader #wayne mccullough #wayne imagines #wayne mccullough imagine #wayne mccullough x reader #wayne mccullough x y/n #wayne mccullough fanfiction #wayne mccullough x you #wayne fanfiction #wayne fic #fanfiction #angst #wayne mccullough fanfic #wayne angst #angst no happy ending #angst no comfort

[zepskies]

Being Human - Part 3

Pairing: Alec McDowell x F. Reader

Summary: Your life made sense before Alec slipped his way in. He unravels your threads without even trying. He frustrates you as easily as he weasels back into your good graces. But you soon realize that this man is worth the challenge.

AN: Remember that in this point in the season, we're in the year 2020 (DA season 2 was released in 2001). And we're about to dive into some rocky waters...

Chapter Summary: The weight of Alec’s secret is starting to create fractures. Because now, you have a secret of your own.

Song Inspo: “Attention” by Avant (ft. Snoop Dog)

Word Count: 4,400

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! For smut, elements of mate claiming, fluff, angst, perilous situations, and a cliffhanger...

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 3: Complications

These are the nights you live for.

The gang’s all here at Crash. You’re accompanied by Max, Logan, Original Cindy, and a fruity cocktail Alec got for you. Though you roll your eyes at the way your boyfriend is trying to hook people into playing a game of pool with him, clearly so he can hustle them. The man has freakish skills.

He’s already won two or three paychecks’ worth off Sketchy, who bows out by necessity.

“Come on. Anyone, anyone! Step right up and test your skills!” Alec calls throughout the back of the bar.

“Babe, would you give it up?” you say, even though you’re smiling. “No one wants to get swindled.”

He turns to you, zeroing in with a flirtatious grin.

“Want to try your hand, sweetheart?” he asks.

You snort. “I think not.”

“Aw, come on. We don’t even have to play for cash. How about sexual favors?” he offers. The more he thinks about it, the more he likes that idea, with a growing smile. His gaze locks on yours. 

“I wouldn’t even mind losing,” he says, giving you a cocky wink. 

You smile, fighting a blush. Max and Cindy roll their eyes. Logan ducks his head in amusement.  

“That white boy nonsense actually works on you?” Cindy asks.

You take a decided sip of your cocktail in lieu of answering.

In the end, Logan steps up to the plate, to much cajoling. When he actually wins, Alec is forced to accept a bruised ago as he forks over $50.

You beckon him over and he joins your half-booth table. You lean against him after he slides in behind you, his arm wrapping around your waist. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, and you know he doesn’t care all that much about the game.

You all cut up as usual for a while, laughing and telling stories from the day of package slinging. Logan patiently listens to all of you Jam Pony alumni commiserating over how each of you would choose to prank Normal (if there were no repercussions). Sketchy ends up with the best idea: putting super glue in the glue stick the man uses on his hair.

When the laughter dies down, Alec offers to buy the next round of beer. He often does, you’ve noticed; he’s a generous person, whether he thinks of himself that way or not. Logan gets up to join him at the bar, wanting to chip in for the pitcher with his “new winnings.”

You shake your head at that. Alec’s pride probably won’t allow competition from Logan for a second time tonight.

“We’re about to be short-staffed again,” says Cindy, earning your attention. “Jenny got knocked up.”

Max’s brows raise, while you give a happy clap and a sound of excitement.

“Oh, good for her! She and Carlos have been trying for months.”

“Hmph. That is one thing I’m not envious of,” Cindy says.

“No kids on your wishlist?” you ask.

“Not a chance, boo,” she replies.

You turn to Max next. “Are you in Miss Anti-Family’s camp too?”

“Hey, ain’t nobody said I’m anti-family,” Cindy cut in. “I believe it comes in all shapes and sizes, and they don’t gotta be your blood.”

You take a moment to think about what she’s saying, and you conceded with a nod and a smile.

“Fair enough, OC. You’ve got it right,” you gestured at her with the hand that held your drink. She clinks her half-empty beer with your glass. Both of you then turn to Max with expectant gazes, still waiting on her answer.

“I’m not into all that domestic stuff, really,” she says. Though her gaze drifts toward Logan, who’s still arguing with Alec at the bar. “My life’s complicated enough.”

Cindy snorts into her glass. You don’t quite get it; maybe because you don’t really know Max all that well, for how often you guys hang out. It’s like she keeps you at an arm’s length. It hurts you sometimes, when you see how close she is with Cindy, but you suppose it’s her right to keep her circle small.

The world’s become a lot tougher after the Pulse. The more people know about you, the more they can use it against you. That’s why finding people you can trust, and even love, is all the more precious.

You glance over at the bar again, where Logan and Alec have seemed to come to a consensus. (Logan’s bowed out of paying for beer.) Alec has a victorious little smile on his face. He looks over, as if sensing your gaze, and he shoots you a wink. Your smile grows.

Meanwhile, Max and Cindy watch you with twin looks of wry amusement.

“So you want the family package, huh?” Cindy asks.

You twirl your straw around your glass.

“I haven’t thought all that hard about it, but…I wouldn’t mind, with the right person.”

Max chortles, pointing a finger towards the bar. “You think that’s Alec?”

Cindy’s brows furrow slightly as she shoots her friend a warning look. You bite your lip and look down at your drink. 

“Now’s not the right time but, maybe someday,” you reply.

Later that night, you treat yourself to a bath in Alec’s apartment. The heater here is amazing. His place is so spacious, with a huge TV in the living room worthy of his obsession with cartoons and soap operas. 

He has another one in the bedroom, where he’s made himself comfortable watching some old sitcom. 

When you eventually get out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around you, Alec is predictably glued to the TV. You don’t even think he’s noticed you when you walk by him to grab the change of clothes from your overnight bag, but he pulls you into his lap before you can get dressed. 

“Why the hell do you need clothes?” he says, stealing a kiss. “Those cumbersome things.”

You giggle, and he smiles against your lips. He rolls you underneath him on the bed and you help divest him of his clothes, down to his boxer briefs. He’s in a good mood tonight, you can tell.

He takes one corner of your towel and peels it off you slowly, until your body is bare for his gaze. His eyes take in every inch of you before they make it back to your lightly blushing face.

He smiles, and he takes down the messy bun from your head to have your hair fanning wildly across his pillows. Your hands move across his chest and further down, but he puts a stop to your exploration. He grasps your wrists and pins them down to the bed with a strength you can’t escape.

You raise your brows. “Alec?”

“Trust me,” he says, dipping down to kiss your neck. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

You suck in a breath. Far be it from you to argue with that.

“Is this one of those sexual favors?” you tease.

He laughs against your skin. “You’re about to find out.”

Then his mouth drifts away from your neck, burning a hot, wet trail across your dewy skin. He finds his way between your breasts, before he lavishes attention to each one. While his tongue swirls around one pert bud, he rolls the other under his thumb and pinches just hard enough to elicit a gasp from you.

Your back arches off the bed a bit; your fingers rake through his sandy hair, clenching whenever he finds a sensitive spot. Both your grip and your voice spur him on, letting him know he’s in the right direction.

You don’t know this, of course, but before a few months ago, he wasn’t so well-versed in this arena. He’s learned his way down a woman’s body with much practice. And he’s come to find that every one of them is different, each with their own set of tells, as he likes to call them.

For example, he knows that even you don’t mind it fast and rough, you prefer it slow, like this. You like a full work up, with his lips dragging down below your navel and his thumbs guiding your knees open, so he can slot himself between your legs.

Already you’re breathing deeper as he makes his way down, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the inside of your left thigh. His tongue licks a languid stripe up the seam of your pussy.

“Alec,” you whine, like you want him to speed up the pace. Maybe you do, but all he gives you is a smirk from between your legs.

“Patience is a virtue,” he teases.

You huff and will yourself to be virtuous, closing your eyes with deep breaths. “Please…”

He chuckles. “I gotcha, baby. Don’t worry.”

His hand slides up your lower belly, both to comfort you and to hold you down. You cover his hand with yours, but your nails soon dig into his skin as his fingers deftly slip past your folds and find your entrance.    

“Already drenched for me, I see,” he remarks approvingly. He gathers some wetness and finds your clit, circling with the pads of his fingers. He searches for the right angle, using the sound of your voice to guide him.

When you suck in a gasp and shudder, he knows he’s found the right spot. He replaces his hand with his tongue, while he slips two fingers deep inside you. As he works you over, unrelenting when your hips threaten to raise off the bed, he holds you down with a firm hand. Your hands fist in his hair as your eyes close and your mouth drops open with your moans.

Finally, you buck against his chin and let out a wordless cry. He feels your wetness coat his tongue and knows he’s making you come. Your inner walls are still quivering around his fingers when he slips them out of you. He actually licks them clean, making you shiver again at the sight.

Alec crawls back up the length of your body while you catch your breath. He smiles down on you and brushes your cheek with the back of his hand.

“Not about to pass out on me, are you?” he asks. A teasing gleam is in his eyes. “I think I can resuscitate you.”

You laugh breathily in response and pull him down to you, crashing his lips to yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, which isn’t unpleasant. Your nails drag down the back of his neck. Alec groans into your mouth and sinks his fingers into your hair.

Now he’s more on your wavelength as you reach for the waistband of his boxer brief and quickly roll them down. He helps you by kicking them the rest of the way off, allowing you to wrap your thighs around his hips tightly.

“Hey, wait a second,” he says, laughing with his forehead pressed to yours. He grabs your hips and angles you a bit higher, then he reaches between your bodies and holds the painfully hard, weeping head of his cock at your entrance.

He meets your eyes, and you smile and squeeze the back of his neck in encouragement.

As slowly as he can manage, he pushes inside you. He stretches open your inner walls inch by inch. Both of you take in deep breaths and utter mingled moans as he continues to push inside, until the head of his cock reaches the very depths of you.

You toss your head back against the pillow with a heavy breath.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod, licking your lips. “Just move, baby, please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He likes when you call his name, but he thinks he likes even more when you call him baby. He knows that you mean it, unlike women he’s had to pay for.

But he doesn’t want to think about any of those exploits when he’s with you—there’s no comparison. He slides out almost the full length of his cock, before he pushes back in. He builds a slow, sensuous, steady rhythm that serves both of you well.

He actually works up a sweat, and you help him by meeting his thrusts, encouraging him whenever you give him your voice, your instructions and praises, your hands attempting to squeeze the circulation out of his arms.

He's so focused on rocking your world (and his own) that he doesn’t realize what you’re about to do.

He’s deep inside you when you brush your hand along his jaw and utter the truth.

“I love you,” you whisper. 

Alec pauses. 

Both of you are breathing hard, but the fact that he doesn’t say anything makes you freeze. Neither of you have said that before. You hold in your breath. 

Alec’s pupils are blown wide as he dips down, nosing along your throat before he begins to move inside you again. You moan in response as your legs squeeze his hips. He sinks his teeth just above where your neck meets your shoulder, making you gasp and arch against him, gripping his hair tight. 

The way you’re squeezing him so tightly, from the inside out, means he reaches his shuddering end before you do, but he still makes sure you get there for a second time. His fingers reach between you to press and circle around your clit before his last few hard thrusts. It has you coiled tight, before you gasp and moan your release. 

He licks a long stripe along your neck. You hiss in pain when he laps over tender flesh. 

“Sorry,” he pants. 

“You got me good, Count Dracula,” you quip. 

Alec breathes warmly against your ear. He pulls back and examines the bite mark on your neck. He barely remembers doing it.

It’s like…some kind of claim.

Like an animal, he thinks wryly. For the first time, he wonders just what the hell they put into his cocktail at Manticore. 

He clears his throat. 

“Uh, I’m sorry,” he says, contritely. “Didn’t mean to…”

You slide your hands up his arms and catch his gaze. You smile in amusement, even though you’re blushing.

“Didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

The two of you don’t talk about what you said.

Or what he didn’t say.  

You don’t know what’s happening, but you think it stems from that night.

Alec begins to pull away from you. 

Dinner plans get “rain checked.” Trips to the farmer’s market, to the park, to Pike Place get cancelled. 

For the next few weeks, the only time you see him is at work or at Crash, or occasionally in the line for boxed and canned goods in Sector 2. 

Max can’t give you a straight answer on what’s going on with him (and really, you should be able to figure out your own boyfriend without her help). So you finally have to put your foot down.

You try to pull him aside at work, in front of the Jam Pony building. He’s on his way in, while you’d been on your way out. 

“Alec, can I talk to you?” you ask. He gives you a strained, apologetic look. 

“I’ve gotta pick up my next deliveries.”

“Alec, please,” you implore. You squeeze his arm enough to hold his attention. “I feel like…like you’re avoiding me. Is there something going on?”

His expression dims further. “I’ve just been really busy.”

“We’re always busy. That’s not it.” You frown, and your body tenses. “Is there…someone else?”

Alec briefly closes his eyes, emitting a short sigh. “No. Nothing like that.”

You let out a subtle breath of relief, because you do believe him this time. But that just makes your next question even more difficult. Your arms cross, to disguise the way you’re bracing for a figurative blow. 

“Then…have I done something wrong?” you ask. 

That hurts Alec even more. Though his training, so deeply ingrained, allows him not to show it. 

“No. No, it’s not you,” he says, wiping a hand over his mouth. “It’s… Listen, I just think we needa slow down a bit, you know?”

“Slow down?” you ask. A trill of panic laces down your spine. “Is it about…what I said?”

Alec doesn’t want to answer, but you both know then that you’ve hit the nail on the head. 

“I just need some space,” he says. “I think it’ll be better for both of us.”

“Really?” you ask. Your voice flattens, and hot tears well up in your eyes.

It threatens to undo him. Somehow, he’s able to hold firm in what he believes he has to do, in order to protect you. Even from himself.

Alec reaches for your cheek. He hesitates just slightly, but he drops a kiss on your forehead.

You don’t want to let him. You can’t help it though; you savor his touch. You feel his warm lips on your skin, and then he’s gone by the time you open your eyes.  

A few days later, you still feel like hell. You manage to reach your locker and you lean against it. Your stomach churns with nausea—the constant sign of your stress as you try to get through your morning.  

On the TV, some government agent is exposing a genetics company called Manticore. That it created “transgenic” subjects as genetically engineered soldiers, often using animal DNA. They escaped almost a year ago now.

They’re not human. They’re living among you. They’re dangerous, and you have a right to be scared.

You’re only half-listening, because the truth is, this sounds like a bunch of fearmongering bullshit, and you’re too tired to be all that alarmed. Humans are dangerous enough, as far as you’re concerned.

The government is probably trying to cover up something even more heinous by concocting this ridiculous story.

You rest your cheek against the cool metal of your locker and just stand there for a while in time in space. You don’t care much about the world around you, until Max comes into your line of vision. She touches your arm.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine.” A vast overstatement, though you know that you aren’t convincing anyone.

You look up just in time to see Alec standing at his own locker. He’d been glancing at you and Max, but being caught by your gaze makes him turn away, closing his locker as he leaves.

Max’s lips press together. She returns her attention to you in thinly veiled concern.

“What happened exactly?” she asks.

“Max, I don’t know,” you confess. “Things were fine. They were good.” 

You let out a deep, exhausted breath.

Oh yeah, you haven’t been sleeping much lately either. 

“Deep in my gut, I have this feeling. Like he’s going through something,” you say. “Or he’s hiding something from me. He just won’t talk to me. Every time it feels like we’re headed somewhere good, solid, he pulls away. I can’t fucking do it anymore, Max. I just can’t take it.”

You slam your locker closed and try to get on with your day before your tears fall. Max sighs and watches you go.

She doesn’t know that you head to the bathroom and heave your breakfast into the toilet bowl, spilling what little you could keep down this morning.

You haven’t been sighted at Crash in weeks, but Alec comes here every night, Max notices. He drinks alone tonight, once again looking more woe is me than ever.

It boils her blood.

She takes a seat next to him and punches his arm with a heavy dose of her transgenic strength. Alec flinches with a cry of protest, but she just glares at him.

“Why are you doing this to her? To yourself?” she demands. 

Alec wants to glare at her, but he doesn’t have it in him. He just quirks his head and sips his drink. He doesn’t even know what kind of liquor this is, but the bartender promised it’s the strongest thing he has back there.

“Leave it alone, Maxie,” Alec says, as he takes a sip. Though strongest be damned, he’s slammed down four of these and he’s still not drunk. Ain’t that a bitch.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“I don’t?” Max raises her brows. “You’re fucking with her head and her heart. And for what? So you can have a little pity party?”

Alec does glare at her this time. “You know what, why don’t you just leave me the fuck alone?”

“Not until you tell me,” she demands. “Why’re you pushing away someone who clearly cares about you? Not that I get why. If this selfish, pigheaded, asshole behavior is supposed to be charming, then maybe she’s better off without you.”

He slams down his glass hard enough for liquor to slosh out over his hand. 

“Don’t you get it?! That’s exactly it,” he hisses, low enough that only the two of them can hear. “When are you going to understand that we’re a threat to them? We’re being hunted every damn day. You think Ames White and his cult cronies’ll think twice about a little collateral damage?”

“Alec—”

“You think you and Logan are any different?” he adds. “Let me remind you, you were a danger to him even before a genetically engineered virus came into the picture.”

She’s angry, but he knows she can’t argue with logic. They both know that Alec is speaking from a place of experience. 

“So you’re just gonna break her heart?” she asks. “Again?”

Alec shakes his head and casts his gaze down into brown liquor. Max leans toward him with a steely glower. 

“You’re a coward,” she says, before she slips away. 

Alec wipes his wet hand on his jeans.

…Maybe she’s right, he thinks. You’ll probably end up regretting the day you ever met him, but at least you’ll be alive to hate him.

“Oh God,” you utter, a hand covering your mouth. 

You haven’t been to the doctor in several years, but you managed to scrape enough money together to afford this little test. It gave you a more definitive answer on why you’ve spent the last few weeks fighting sickness and fatigue in equal measure. 

How could this have happened? You were on birth control. What could possibly have…

You don’t know what possesses you to go hunting for the little round packet in the medicine cabinet. You examine its contents and confirm that you haven’t missed even one pill of your pharmacy-issued birth control.

On the bottom of the packet, however, you spy something small in the fine print: EXP – 02/2017.

Expired…THREE YEARS AGO?!  

Apparently, you can’t put it past pharmacies to sell outdated meds now.

You sit alone on your couch in silence for nearly an hour. You run down every scenario, every path you could possibly take and try to consider its most likely outcome.

Medical care is a joke nowadays, unless you're still part of the wealthy 1%. That also includes...termination.

Even you did try to find a way to do it, somehow scrounging up the money to end this, the thought alone makes your heart ache.

Alec is young, and so are you. You two had barely been together for six months before he basically broke up with you, and you're not even sure how he'll react when you tell him. (At this point, you don't have high hopes.)

And yet, it hurts. What you'd told Original Cindy was the truth; you want a family. You're tired of being alone, even though the two options laid out before you scare you in equal measure.

A thousand thoughts are still running through your mind, contradicting each other with brutal logic, versus what your heart tells you. But one decision is certain...

You need to talk to Alec first.

You wait until the morning at Jam Pony HQ, when you’ve settled your nerves enough to see Alec. 

He never shows up for work, even an hour into shift. Damn it.

Okay, you suppose you’ll have to do this another way. You grab your phone, and you call him. 

Thankfully, he picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply, a bit awkwardly. The two of you haven’t spoken in nearly a month. 

“What’s up?” He doesn’t sound like himself. He sounds guarded, almost hesitant.

“We need to talk, Alec.”

He blows out a sigh. “Look, I haven’t changed my mind.”

You swallow past the pain.

“I know," you dully reply. "It’s not about that, but this isn’t a conversation I want to have digitally.”

“...Okay,” he relents, with another sigh. He sounds a bit distracted. “Uh, I’m taking care of something right now, but I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you stop by my place after work?”

You nod. “Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

Of course, it’s hard to focus on your work after that. You wonder how many months you have until you can’t work anymore. Until you’ll have to fend for yourself…and for your child. 

With or without Alec, you plan to do whatever it takes.

So you do your best, as you always do, to get through your day. You fight exhaustion and nausea and anxiety with every delivery, but at the end of the day, you have a clipboard full of signatures and a clean docket.

You leave right at 7:00 p.m. to head over to Alec’s apartment. You use your spare key to unlock the door and find the apartment shrouded in darkness. You flip on the closest light switch before you turn to shut and lock the door behind you. 

The door pushes open abruptly. 

It knocks straight into you and throws you off your feet. You crash with a pained cry into a wooden table, knocking off a half-empty glass of whiskey that cuts into your arm when it breaks. 

A pair of strong hands take hold of you and haul you up, spinning you around. You stare up with wide eyes into the face of a man you think you’ve actually seen before. He’s tall, white, dark hair, piercing eyes.

On the news, you realize. You saw him on the news.

“Where is 494?” he demands to know.

You blink in confusion and fear. “What?”

The man rolls his eyes.

“Alec McDowell,” he says.

Your breath stills in your lungs.

“Why’re you looking for him?” you ask. “You…you work for the government.”

“That’s right.” His smile is thin. “It’s a federal matter. And I suggest you tell me what I want to know.”

His grip on your arm tightens enough to make you whimper.

“I don’t know where he is,” you blurt out. Mostly because it’s the truth.

He raises a brow. “He lives here, doesn’t he?” 

You refuse to answer, but the man lowers his gun and seats you forcefully on the couch. 

“Then we’ll wait.”

Minutes turn to an hour. Alec’s late—a fact you’re half relieved about, and half cursing him for. You turn to the man who holds you at gunpoint without even looking at you. Though you instinctively know that any attempts to run will be short-lived. 

His men wait by the door with guns at the ready. 

“Who are you?” you ask. 

The man turns his head and gives you a cold smile. “Agent White, at your service.”

“Okay, Agent White. Why are you after Alec?”

“Oh, I’ve been looking for him for a long time,” he says. 

You frown, with pursed lips. “Why? What do you think he’s done?”

“It’s not what he’s done. It’s what he is,” White says. “Him, and everyone like him.”

“What the fuck are you on about?” you snap.

White rolls his eyes. He lets out a sharp sigh before he stands. He grabs you up along with him. Fear churns inside you, tightening in your throat. 

“I have a better idea,” White says. “Instead of using you as leverage to make him come quietly, I think I’ll just let him walk in, nice and easy. He’ll find you gutted. On the floor. And then I’ll do the same to him.”

Frightened tears well up in your eyes when his grip moves and tightens on your jaw, like he’s thinking about breaking your neck. 

“Wait, please!” you plead. “I’m pregnant!”

White actually pauses, tilting his head. He smiles.

“Interesting.”

AN: Ames White has entered the chat...

EDIT (2-05-24): I made some edits here on the reader's thoughts of what she should do after her discovery. In hindsight, I realized I'd left out some aspects of the world. Specifically how access to medical care would influence her decision vs. what this particular character wants for herself.

Next Time:

“Hello, 494.” A man’s voice—one that Alec would know anywhere. It prickles his skin with unease and makes his blood boil all at once.

“Ames White.” Alec’s teeth grind. “What game are you playing now?”

“This isn’t a game. It’s business,” White claims. “I have something you want. How much are you willing to pay to make sure she stays alive?”

Alec forces himself to calm down, even though his pulse is racing.

“What do you want?”

“You. And 452. With no bullshit on your end,” the agent replies. “Or this girl is going to pay that price for you.”

Keep Reading: Part 4 (Finale!)

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#Complications #Being Human #Part 3 #alec mcdowell #alec mcdowell x reader #alec mcdowell x you #alec mcdowell x female reader #smut #logan x max #alec mcdowell smut #max guevara #original cindy #logan cale #ames white #Dark Angel #Jensen Ackles characters #Jensen Ackles #zepskies writes

[bibibbon]

MHA chapter 419 rant

What the actual hell is this chapter ?!?!?!? What is going on horikoshi?!?!??

So suprise AFO IS BACK👎👎👎 seriously what the hell I knew he was gonna come back but he is so boring and I hate him as a villain like wdym you only pulling up with a plan that failed multiple times cos you have thing for your brother like!?!? The doctor and the hero comission could of been better villains. My point still stands AFO being the main bad guy even though this mf was killed and injured by everyone is lame and stupid 😭. Like can AFO just disappear out of existence already like?!?! Also I really doubt that dfo is true considering this guy just loves to act like a season 1 bakugo and call Izuku useless every breathing moment he gets. Also at this point afo out here using shigaraki like a wet human suit thing and that's it

Shigaraki is dead?!?!!!? Vile. Y'all telling me that shigaraki is basically dead this guy basically killed himself after a little fight (it wasn't little that's a hyperbole it was huge he deserves better than this disservice) sigh so shigaraki died with all his memories and the truth of his own origin which is completely sad and wow the amount of retconning for this is insane. Wdym to tell me that AFO needed someone emotionally weak to take advantage of so he chose kotaro, befriended the guy and manipulated him into having Tenko and then used Tenko as his little thing to make the perfect vessel!?!???!? DAM SHIGARAKI IAM SORRRY HORI DID YOU LIKE THIS

Izuku lost two arms and is getting the worst end of the stick as always. As an izuku Stan this isn't it for me like what are you telling me that HE LOST TWO ARMS AND THEN PEOPLE DO COME BUT I AINT SEEING NONE TRYNA HELP THIS GUY. ALSO IZUKU IS NOW ARMLESS AND QUIRKLESS WHATS GOOD ON HERE??!?????!?!? Also looks like izuku out here being the only one who doesn't actually get a full heart to heart with their villain at least ochako and toga were treated better and got that little sob scene where they called eachothers names out and what not but izuku and shigaraki gotta be sentenced to pure suffering for no reason 🤦‍♀️. Also the whole page is Hella and I mean Hella creepy and off like wth is this it's too gory (I know that's not valid criticism but this is my opinion) Izuku out here being the only one who can't be a proper hero like the guy couldn't even stand up to AFO unlike bk this is just mountains and mountains of disrespect and disservice . SOMEONE CHECK UP ON POOR INKO AND IZUKU

The quirks the backstory the things?!?!. So basically overhaul had the oh quirk or whoever the guy in the picture manga panel thingy which looks like OVERHAUL. This guy had an op quirk like he had the power of destruction and reconstruction but then afo takes that away and then has the doctor somehow somehow genetically modify it ( istg i still dont know how that works or how he could do that) and then TOOK SHIGARAKIS OG QUIRK WHICH (what was his og quirk we arent ever told) and then proceedes to set this child who wanted to be a hero for pure failure. Also what is going on with AFO and kotaros relationship and why does the description of kotaro being mentally/emotionally weak heavily remind me of inko midoriya. Also the RETCON LIKE OH AFO IS LIKE HAVE A KID FOR ME OR SOME BS AND HE HAS A KID AND THEN KOTARO APPARENTLY FULLY LOVES HIS FAMILY HOWEVER IT LOOKS LIKE KOTARO LOVES AFO More THAN HIS FAMILY

Eraserhead making a comeback and finally apologising (or not). I mean at least Eraserhead is back and apologising to his student for failing to be a teacher to him which ok cool cliffhanger I guess. Also where is mic I don't think I can take it if mic is secretly off screened especially cos Eraserhead is crying why is the guy crying like is he crying for izuku which dam as he should your student is dying but he was legit shouting left and right for bakugo 🤷‍♀️. Also Eraserhead has a lot of apologies for izuku considering how he treated the poor dude. ALSO DOES THIS MEAN OBORO IS BACK TO THE PLOT SOMEHOW ( I love oboro) but how does this work how did it happen how did he break free Iam so confused did much due for oboro or something.

Sato, ojirou and sero out here coming in clutch. but none y'all running to see if izuku ain't gonna die from blood loss or something. Cool entry I guess everyone can take a good fight with AFO but Izuku because hori doesn't like izuku and izuku just sucks!!!. I get it 1A is too big so hori out here needing to give everyone their little moments but like?!?! This just makes afo seem so weak it first went from only all might being the one to even fouch and defeat afo and now its everyone thats not the ofa users which great (sarcasm if you couldn't tell). ALSO THIS MOMENT DONT WORK BECAUSE IZUKU LACKS DEVELOPMENT AND SO DOES 1A and their whole dynamic?!?!?!!!!!???!

I Have ALREADY SEEN THE SHIGARAKI MIGHT COMEBEACK COS AFO CAN HEAR HIS ECHO BUT I DONT WANT HIM BACK AND IF HE DOES HE SHOULD DIE WITH IZUKU COS I GENUINELY GIVE UP

In conclusion, I hope both izuku and shigaraki die and izuku to be remembered as the greatest hero and that's it honestly!!

#mha 419 #mha critical #bnha critical #mha #hori is a bad writer #horikoshi critical #izuku deserves better #bhna critical #bnha #shigaraki deserves better #what the hell

[chronically-ghosted]

you got your claws in me honey, like a tiger in love

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 8K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: you arrive at your estranged uncle's door. what else is there to do but catch up over grilled cheese? well, if you have anything to say about it, you might end up doing a bit more.

warnings: dbf!dieter, grilled cheese as a way to guilt trip your dad's best friend/uncle into fucking you, drug use (weed), raising arizona that comes with its own warning, flirting with someone twice your age, no smut — that’s what part 2 is for, reminiscing, a cliffhanger? 👀

a/n: the original fic came out MONTHS before the mcu rumors, so either i have precognition, or the apocalypse is becoming predicable. happy valentine's day you filthy animals because nothing says romance like porking your dad's best friend

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From the voicemail of Mr. Paul Landeau, official Hollywood talent manager and agent to one Mr. Dieter Bravo . . .

Tuesday, 6:43PM

No, I’m not doing it. I’m not. 

There has to be something else out there. Look, I know Fire Monsters: A Cliff Beasts story didn’t do as well as we hoped, but Reddit says it could be a cult classic so why don’t you focus on making that happen, okay? Instead of giving me shit roles like this. I’m not doing it. 

– the sound of a door opening and the phone being shuffled – – a zipper rips –  – liquid pouring –

We fucking talked about this, man. I told you I needed something different, something new. Tiktok is just reels of me screaming and dying – it’s fucking bullshit – 

– more liquid –

I’m done playing the fucking bad guy. I’m not signing any more headless action figures for those little snot-nosed, little fuckers in line. I’m not asking to sign their moms’ tits, either – okay, maybe – but Jesus Christ, Paul, what you sent over is, like, the opposite of where I need to be. It’s for little teeny boppers with one or two B horror movies under their belt to finally break out into the mainstream – or where actors over forty go to cash in an easy paycheck. And yes, I fucking know we need something, but fuck – is this really all there is?

– liquid stops pouring – – zipper rips – – the sound of a toilet flushing –

Don’t fucking call me back, Paul, unless you’ve got something. Something real.

Tuesday, 8:23PM

OW! Motherf–

– a skillet clattering – 

Okay – fuck, that hurts – okay, Paul, what about this? It came to me in the bathroom. Remember Jack from the Christmas party at the studio’s place? So, he’s got those two Sundance films, right, but they’re in Spanish, so not appealing to an American audience. Nicki told me that he’s thinking about doing another project, one with a wider appeal, and I’m thinking I should totally give him a call. I think we could vibe. I really liked his stuff – reminded me of my old small town, fucking around with the neighbor kids, you know? Kinda hometown hero sort of thing. 

– sharp inhale then a cough – 

It’s not my usual thing, but I think we should give it a try. Gimme a call. 

Oh, do you know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich? Been craving one but I think I might burn down my house if I try again and UberEats doesn’t reach the good places further south. Oh, fuck, wait – 

Hey Google, how do you make a fucking excellent grilled cheese?

Tuesday, 9:21PM

No, fucking– 

Siri – how.do.you.treat.a.burn? 

Calling. . . Burger King . . .

No! Fuck!

Tuesday, 10:49PM

Paul-y! Baby! Paul-ito!

Don’t worry. I got an idea that’s going to make us a million dollars. 

A shop that makes only grilled cheese. But like – fancy grilled cheese. What do the kids fucking call it, ah – boogie – yeah, boogie grilled cheese. Like gouda and white cheddar, and butter churned by blind nuns or some shit. Tomato soups that have been blessed by the Dalai Lama. 

Big sign out front that says, Vegans Can Eat Shit. 

They’ll eat it up. 

Fuck yeah, they will. 

– silence for three minutes and sixteen seconds –

Fuck acting, man. Fuck this place. 

And fuck this fucking cheese that keeps burning – goddamn it!

Tuesday, 11:52PM

Paul, why don’t we hang out anymore?

When I got started, we hung out all the time, man. 

Hot dogs on the Santa Monica pier. Beer in the Pacific Ocean. 

You showed me all the cool spots that no one else in LA knew about. You got me my first bump and my first stripper. God, that was fucking wild, man, you remember? I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up. Did I ever tell you that before? Coke probably didn’t help a kid from a small town in South Cali, but – fuck, it made me feel better. Like I could get my shit together if I really tried.  

What, are you too good for me now – is that it? Am I not good enough for you, huh? 

Look, I’ve got Raising Arizona on right now, so why don’t you come over with a six pack – 

Oh, shit, that’s right. You got a fucking family now. 

Not a good influence, ol’ Dee. 

Not a good –

 

Wednesday, 1:05AM

Fine, Paul. Fine. 

I’ll play Mr. Fantastic in the Fantastic Four reboot. 

Dieter’s thumb brushes the red End Call button and tosses his phone onto the kitchen island with a growl. He can feel himself coming down from the bump earlier – a thing he absolutely did not want to happen – and he shoves his palms into his eye sockets. 

There is more coke upstairs, but that would require him to walk through his very long hallways to get there. Very long, and dark, and empty hallways. 

He should have asked Maria to stay once she was done with the laundry. He would have done it right too – big bowl of popcorn, fully dressed, with a sign around his neck that said, I promise I’m not trying to sleep with you. 

He is becoming increasingly aware of how many erratic voicemails he just left for his agent, aware that behavior like that was libel to get him a sit down in Paul’s office with all the blinds and windows closed, Paul’s narrow face serious and using Concerned Emotion #5, as he asks, “do we need to go back to rehab, Dieter?”

We. 

There once was a “we”, now there was just “he” – in a house with seven bedrooms and a pool that could fit a sixteen wheeler in it. 

And TWO kitchens – why the fuck did he think he needed two kitchens – 

Well, he knew he didn’t need two, but it would have been cool to show them off to someone – If there was anyone to show them off to . . .

Fuck this downer mood.

Dieter snatches up his phone again, and the movement brings up his latest apps. UberEats is the second one. He taps in a few keywords, blatantly ignoring his latest call list. 

Goddamn Burger King . . . 

The front doorbell rings. 

Dieter frowns, pulling the screen closer under his big nose. Now, he knows he is high and he knows he should be wearing his glasses when reading but there’s no fucking way . . .

He goes out of the kitchen, the room still smelling of burnt cheese with the cast iron skillet in the sink and a black husk sticking to its bottom. He goes left, then right, his robe tightly wrapped around him as if he is some huffy housewife, then down a hall and across the marble entrance way – fuming – why is this house so goddamn huge – who thought this was a good idea?

And so he wrenches open the front door – to a girl, not holding a Burger King bag. No, she’s got a roller suitcase behind her, bright blue, and she and the case are dripping wet. Like, just sprayed with a hose kind of wet and her big bottom lip is trembling. Behind her, the sky pukes buckets of rain, groaning with thunder. 

Now, he likes his call girls (he always thought it was classier to call them that) a little more . . . vampy than this, but hell, he had been turned on by much less than this— than her with her big eyes, fat droplets rolling off her lashes, flushed cheeks – and oh, shit, her shirt is totally see-through – is that purple, he feels the back of his mouth flush with spit – wow, is this Paul’s way of apology because – 

“Uncle Dee?” 

And he’s mentally shoving himself back into his pants because no one in years has called him that and that was a very different time in place, when he was a completely different person and if this girl is the person he thinks it is, then – Jesus Christ, he’s bound and gagged straight for hell – 

He squeaks out your name and you smile, sort of grimace, at him and wave. 

“Yep, it’s me. Been awhile, right?” You finally give into the mortification of your stupid plan and you scrunch up your face, your hand wrapped around your elbow. “Look, I’m so sorry, this is too weird. I don’t have your number, but I panicked when my flight got canceled and my phone’s dead and you’re the only person I know in LA and –,” 

“No, no – you’re fine – sorry–,” Dieter blinks before stepping back and letting you through. You sigh in relief and yank your baby blue suitcase over the threshold as you walk in, dripping water everywhere. “Sorry, it’s been a weird night and for, like, two seconds, I thought . . . nevermind . . .”

I thought you were a fucking ghost.

You bite the corner of your lip, glancing at him, knowing it was probably unwise to piss off your one chance at not sleeping on the ground tonight — or if what you were about to say would piss him off in the first place. 

“Yeah, well, it’s been eleven years since we last saw you, Uncle Dee.” 

Early on in his career, he wanted to build up rep as not only an actor but a real tough guy, so he asked if he could do some stunts for an old cop show. For all his bravado, he ended up getting a real round-house kick to the face and it sent him reeling.

This feels a little bit like that.

“No way, it can’t have been that long. Besides, I know I left my number with your dad or your grandma before I left and —,” 

His throat closes up when very old guilt washes over him. It’s intensified when you give him an uncomfortable look.

“So your dad didn’t give you my number then.”

It’s not a question. You shake your head. You don’t tell him that your dad tried to call years ago and got a busy tone for the first few, and then a few years after that, was brusquely informed the line had been disconnected. 

He chews on his lip. 

You try to smile at him again but then another shiver takes hold of you and Dieter grimaces. “Shit, sorry, one second. I think this closet down here has towels.” 

He all but sprint-walks down one of the many halls branching off from the entrance, the ends of his robes flapping. You hear the creak of doors, several, as he digs around in the walls. 

“Why do I have so many fucking linens?” You hear him grumble and you smile to yourself. You feel like you need to wring your hair out but wouldn’t dare move from the spot where he left you.

After a thump and more grumbling, he comes back, rubbing the back of his head, but holding out a giant lime green towel. In the light, you can see the dark circles under his eyes when you take the towel and immediately go to stop your hair from dripping on the marble.

His brain is waffling, ping ponging, between his memories and what is standing right in front of him. This? This is the little girl, not his literal blood relative, but she’s Enrico’s kid – Enrico, a slugger and one hell of a outfielder since he was eight years old, whose mom made enchiladas like nobody else in the goddamn world – Enrico, whose house became like a second home, Ricky's family a better family than his own – this is the same girl who hoarded Skittles like a fiend, the same one who he took to the pool on the weekends in the summer, and the zoo during Thanksgiving break? This little girl – 

– is the same girl who is all legs under damp denim, eyes that could make Cleopatra fly into a jealous rage, and a fucking rockstar smile? 

And, holy shit, those tits –  

Dude, you cannot be checking her out. Dig deep and fight your fucking caveman brain. You’ve fucked up a lot in your life and you cannot do that right now. You cannot do that to Enrico. 

You cannot do that to her.

You notice him grimace as he squints into the light of the chandelier above you both. “So, uh, not that I mind, but, uh, what are you doing here? I mean –,” 

You laugh and it seems to echo in the empty house. “No, that’s a fair question. I was on a flight back from looking at colleges out east and my flight got grounded in LAX because of the storm. I absolutely don’t have enough money to stay in a hotel or rent a car and drive back home, so I needed a place to crash and call my sister to send me some money. And my stupid driver didn’t want to get flagged for harassing a celebrity, so he dropped me off at the corner, hence . . .”

You wave at yourself and inside his slippers, his toes curl, respectfully not looking at your damp legs and a definitely purple bra visible through your shirt. 

Your mouth suddenly capsizes. “Shit, is that okay, if I stay here for a night? I didn’t even think - I - I’m not . . . interrupting anything, am I?” 

Dieter chuckles, your expression undeniably cute, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his robe. 

“Nah. Not unless you call making the worst grilled cheese imaginable a party.” 

At that moment, your stomach chooses to make the most aggressive growl in your entire life and you flush deeper than the cold outside. 

“Apparently someone thinks that’s a good idea,” you chuckle weakly, horrified that your body is actively trying to sabotage a normal conversation. 

Did it matter that you had posters of him in your bedroom when you were thirteen? That you went to midnight releases of every one of his movies? 

No. Not at all. 

“I got some food, mostly leftovers.” He worries at his lip as he realizes the only thing by way of something green in his fridge is the jar of olives he got for martinis. Even then, he has a sneaking suspicion he replaced the olive juice with vodka, but the memory of that night is entirely butchered. “But, uh, I’m sure we can find something.”

You smile at him. “Actually, grilled cheese sounds great.” 

“Only if you do it.” He smiles, honestly, when you laugh. “What? Don’t laugh — I’m serious. I can’t make a sandwich to save my fucking life.” 

“Pretty sure I can manage two slices of bread and cheese.” 

His eyebrows jump as his lips press themselves together and you watch the thumb-sized bare spot on his beard twitch.

“Yeah, that’s what you think and then your goddamn kitchen is on fire.” 

“Lemme change, do some rocket surgery and brain science, and then I’ll attempt to crack this grilled cheese thing.” 

“Okay, but remember we do have Chinese leftovers and I can definitely crush a microwave. This way.” 

You follow him through the halls, his shoulders loosening underneath the off-green fuzz, and you try and not to stare at the immaculately beautiful walls and expansive, clean floors, so your eyes wander, and then you’re trying not to stare at the immaculately beautiful man in front of you. 

You push away the thought that this house looks nothing like you’d expect someone like Dieter to have, as he leads you to the kitchen — all black and chrome and steel, like what a Norwegian serial killer would have — and nods to a door towards the opposite wall. He’s digging around for the last slices of white bread when he says,

“Bathroom’s down there. I’ll get it all ready, but I’m leaving it up to you. Can’t afford to lose another pan.” 

Your eyes finally drift down from the bare walls, unsure if you should be offended that nothing of the family back home is here, or accept that there was just nothing personal anywhere. You smile gently at him and nod in thanks. 

He watches you go, that bright blue suitcase flashing as loud as a tornado siren, and he shakes his head. God, he needs a drink but drinking also makes him horny and he needs every mental facility available to him if he wis going to make it through this night with his sanity still intact. 

Had it really been eleven years? He always meant to call up Enrico and the old neighborhood gang. He probably forgot about that last fight anyway – even if Dieter hadn’t – even if it wasn’t more than a decade ago. Mama Gonzales always said there’d be a place for him, even after his own father said acting was for maricos and drag queens. It always hurt more when the postcards from the Gonzales family stopped coming than when Mom stopped calling. And he always meant to send back a proper return address when he moved out of that crappy loft after his first real movie premiere but that was the 90s, and much of the 90s was spent between working shit jobs and drooling on the floors of rave warehouses. It wasn’t them specifically he didn’t want to see him like that, but anyone. Anyone who knew him before Dieter Bravo. 

Certainly not anyone who called him Uncle Dee —

Something flashes in the corner of his eye and he realizes he’s always fucking hated the fact that the a) the back of his house is just one big window and b) he never bothered to put in curtains. Because, the thing with windows is they reflect things — things like his pseudo-niece taking her top off in his guest bathroom. Reflected and in full color right across his kitchen island like the sexiest hologram that will haunt his fucking wet dreams until the day hell freezes over. 

Yep, that’s definitely your hips, your ribs, and okay—

Nope. Absolutely not. 

Dieter’s knees give out and he crouches (more like slumps) to the floor behind the island, his palms so far in his eye sockets he can only see stars.

Yeah, only stars. Focus on the stars, not the image of the curve of your gorgeous tits that’s running around his brain like a child with scissors and a Thanatos instinct off the fucking charts. 

Fuck, and he just wanted to get high and watch Nicholas Cage in a mullet. 

“Hey, I’m done. Dee, you still here?”

He stifles a groan and stands up. You smile at him, the wet jeans and agonizing white tank top gone, only to be replaced by a black Fleetwood Mac tshirt and — fuck, where are your pants?

You lower the handle to your suitcase and go to stow by the bathroom door. And that’s when he realizes you are actually wearing pants, black shorts that are practically hidden by the oversized t-shirt and are comically, hilariously, painfully small. He can’t actually see the curve of your ass as you walk around the side of the island but he is absolutely not going to let his gaze linger long enough to confirm. 

He clears his throat as you come to stand beside him. He gestures to the four pieces of white bread and a stack of Crafts American cheese. 

“H-h-have —,” he clears his throat again and his forebearers groan collectively in embarrassment. “Have at it.” 

You smile and tuck your hair over your ear before picking up the knife. 

“D’you have mayonnaise? Butter?”  

No amount of irredeemable hotness can distract him from that. “What? What do you need mayonnaise for? It’s grilled cheese.”

You cluck your tongue, an eyebrow raised. “Brain science and rocket surgery, remember? Don’t question the master.”

He can’t help but chuckle as he goes to his steel monolith of a fridge. 

“Jeez, sorry, I asked,” he grumbles playfully.

He comes back with an (thankfully) unexpired jar and tub of butter and you get to work. Silence stretches a bit too long, something Dieter has never been good with, especially with beautiful women. He loves running his mouth and sometimes he's found that the women liked it too. He resigns himself to sit across from you at the island, watching you spread mayonnaise on both sides of the bread. 

“So, uh, how are the folks? How’s your, uh, dad?”

You nod slowly and even though he hasn’t been around in eleven years to pick up on all your tells, he swears your hackles go up.

“Fine. All good. Dad’s still at the car repair shop — owns it now, actually. Makes decent money, I guess.” 

“You guess?” He hadn’t made it his life’s work to mimic the human condition to not recognize cagey language. 

You glance at him briefly before flipping over the last piece of bread and dropping a dollop of mayonnaise on top. 

“Yeah. I — uh, we haven’t — I actually haven’t talked to them in a while. Though if I had, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.” You sneak another glance, this one ladened with a smile that had a secret curled up in its corners. “Serves me right, probably.”

“Yeah. Probably.” 

He can’t help but return the smile, one of a familiarity he hasn’t earned yet. You were smiling at him as if you two had years of secrets together, memories and inside jokes that were for the pair of you alone. For the life of him and all the water in his ridiculous pool, he couldn’t fathom why you were being so nice to him. Letting him off the hook. It had been eleven fucking years after all. There are a lot of things he takes guilt free from the world. Your fucking star-eyed smile is not one of them. 

So, he lets you off the hook. He doesn’t push it. If you don’t want to talk about your folks, he is happy to chatter aimlessly about something else. But, his brain winds up, what happened that caused you to fall out with your parents? Enrico, even back then, had been a hard ass, with you and your brothers. Always made sure to walk the straight and narrow. Detested drugs, always shined his shoes, thought tattoos were the devil, never kissed a girl on the first date — 

And here you are, making fucking mooneyes at his daughter. 

Well, one thing was for sure, he muses, something warm spreading in his gut, you are nothing like your daddy. 

The hiss of the bread hitting the hot butter in a pan (you didn’t even need to ask where another pan was, you just helped yourself to his cabinets and he couldn’t have been more proud) jerks him out of his daze and he realizes that annoying silence has set in again. 

“So, colleges, huh? Anything in particular spark interest?” 

You nod excitedly as he found a topic that made you glow. Clearly, no one had asked about your interests in a long time.

“Yeah, actually. Emerson in Boston was amazing. I loved the city, but not sure I’d survive the winter. Swarthmore sounds good, Amherst too, but again, cold.” You grin sheepishly and flip the sandwiches, pressing the spatula (he didn’t even know he owned one of those) into the bread, making the butter sizzle and the air fill with a smell that can only be described as mouth-watering. 

“It’ll be a nightmare, taking out loans for those places, but fuck, I think I’d be really happy there.” 

He leans against the counter, facing you with crossed arms. He smiles a smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What, your folks wouldn’t pay for it? Or at least help out?”

Something sharp flashes in your eyes, like a rabbit catching the scent of a predator, before you shrug your shoulders flippantly. A well-worn deflection, he notes, right next to the place where he’s got all the places you mentioned are about as far away from California as possible. If you had mentioned somewhere in Europe, he wouldn’t have been surprised. 

“Nah. I wouldn’t let them. Don’t want them thinking they get input into my life because they hold the purse strings over my head.” You turn off the stove and he moves to get the plates out from the cabinets – something to contribute as you made him a better meal than he’s had in ages. 

“So, uh, we eat in there?” You glance down the hall to the eerily clean dining room, a place he’s pretty sure he’s never once set foot in after three years of living in this goddamn mansion. 

He chuckles and shakes his head. “C’mon, I already have a movie picked out.” 

You follow him, plates hot, down carpeted stairs to clearly the only room in the house that Dieter actually lives in. The lights down here are low, much more bearable than the white spotlights of the kitchen. Against one wall, there’s a fully stocked bar, with most of the alcohol halfway empty and costing a fortune. Across from the stairs is a massive record collection, going up to the ceiling, next to a gorgeous old record player — all wood and black vinyl — with big, plushy earphones curled up on a black leather recliner. 

But the star of the show is the wall-to-ceiling television, with a brown, mouse-soft leather sofa that wraps like a giddy, up-turned grin in front of it. 

And of course, in between the superstar television and the cozy couch, is a low glass table where he had snorted lines of coke more times he could count and where a virgin joint sits, unsmoked and tempting. 

Dieter flushes as though he’d been caught by his parents with his pants down around his ankles. 

“Fuck, sorry–,” he rushes over, the plate clattering with the glass, and he reaches for the joint, ready to squish it into his pocket when– 

You laugh. “Relax, Dee, I know what a joint is. In fact, we are very well acquainted.”

You fold yourself into the couch, legs crossed, grinning at him as you bite into your sandwich. 

He swallows, unclenching slightly as he sits down next to you. He watches you eat for a moment, trying to think of something cool to say.

“Sounds like I’ve missed my calling as the fun uncle, getting you high for the first time and all that.” 

You snort and swallow your mouthful. “Yeah, by like two fucking years.” 

“Oh, what a fucking lifetime. You poor thing,” he says, pouting dramatically and you giggle again, bumping into his shoulder. It sends his sanity knocking around in his brain. 

You don’t notice, though, your eyes falling to the joint in the small ceramic bowl. The smile slides from your face. 

“Well, you might have missed my first joint, but I’d be more than happy to take this one as my next.”

His eyebrows practically bounce off his forehead. “You’re serious?” 

Your eyes slide away from the joint to his, something distractingly dark hiding there. “I mean, if the parties on your Instagram are anything to go by . . . And, well, when in Rome . . .”

You trail off, smirking, gesturing around you as if you had any idea the levels of debauchery that were obtained in this very room. Come to think of it, he halfway considers picking you up off the couch and putting a towel down underneath your perfect ass. 

This is how it went sometimes, with the slower hook ups. No wet clothes, or grilled cheese, or bringing up family trauma — but initial touches, curling smiles, and then drugs. Always drugs. As if there needed to be another hand that tore off the cap of the pressurized, fizzy soda bottle. He’d play music then, for them, to show off his vinyl collection and have a plausible reason to rub his dick between their ass cheeks while dancing slowly to something croon-y from the seventies. 

Not that any of that would be happening with you. 

He wasn’t a complete monster after all. 

With a playful grin that he had mastered over many press junkets, he snatches up the joint and lighter, and presents both to you in the flat of his hand. 

“First hit goes to you, since you were so kind to make dinner for an old fuck like me.” 

You snort and put your plate onto the table, wiping your hands free of crumbs on your black shirt. 

“Such a gentleman.” 

With deft and practiced hands, you take the joint between your index finger and your thumb, and sparking the lighter, brought the flame to your lips. 

Just for one second, one goddamn second, he swears he saw The Look reflected in your eyes. He glances away, his cock fluttering awake like goddamn Lassy hearing the calls of another well-begotten child. He picks up his own plate.

“Hardly. It was all a ploy to get you to admit you follow me on Instagram.”

You burst out coughing, smoke chugging from your nose and mouth. “Dieter!”

He cackles, his tongue between his teeth, as you shove him away from you — do not think about her fingers clenched around your bicep —  try to sit up and inhale again. You hang your head and groan. 

“Fuck, I can’t believe I said that.” 

“Yeah, and for that, I get two puffs,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, the rest of it full of the most perfectly cooked grilled cheese sandwich he’d ever had. He finishes chewing and swallows. “Hand it over, princess.” 

You hand over the lighter and the joint, the paper slightly greasy from your fingers, leaning back dramatically into one of the many plushy cup holder seats spread out along the very long couch. 

He chuckles devilishly again, far too satisfied, as he lights up and leans back into the cushions. 

“And, as gesture of goodwill, I’ll admit that’s a good fucking grilled cheese.” 

Your eyes snap open and a wide grin splits your face. “Hell yes! Mayonnaise on both sides, butter on the side with cheese. Best family recipe. Mwah!”

“Fuck, even I know that’s too much cholesterol for me,” he grunts and digs into the cushions, feeling around for the remote. 

“Well, that’s not enough cholesterol for me,” you wink as you take the joint from the hand on his thigh, eyes daring you to do something about it. Nowhere near high enough to take the bait, he just narrows his eyes at you as he clicks the button and the entertainment system comes to life with a primordial hum. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, eyes wide, as the speakers roar and the lights dim further and the screen glows, “it’s like I’m in a fucking movie theater . . . in space.”

“It’s great, right?” Dieter moans like a loving father over his first child. This thing is his pride and joy, the only thing he could stomach in this goddamn house.

The DVD buffer for Raising Arizona begins and you squeal quietly, sliding onto your back, the joint dangling between your lips. 

“No fucking way, I love this movie.” 

Dieter stilled. “Really? You do?” 

The few times he felt nostalgic for his old life — his old, old life when he was still a kid from nowhere, a nobody, you couldn’t pick him out of a line up of his sweaty, grubby cousins when they were all cobbled together like crooked teeth in front of Abuela Josefina’s television that still had knobs and bunny ears to watch movie after movie of Nicholas Cage reruns. Even with knees in his back, elbows in his ears, Dieter could quote every single line, his heart swelling.

That’s gonna be me some day. 

“This movie is from, like, another century,” he mutters as he watches you settle in, something sickening like adoration clawing up in his chest. 

“Yeah and it’s great,” you say eagerly, ignoring the way he plucks the joint out of your fingers. “Put it on!” 

He resolutely ignores the pinch in his low stomach at your almost whine and presseS the play button with a little more force than necessary. Then, balancing the joint on the ceramic bowl, he sticks his fingers into his robe, pulls out his glasses, and puts them on without a second thought – just as he always did when watching movies. 

It is only when he realizes he doesn’t hear you breathing that he realizes what he has done. Slowly he pulls the square glasses off his face and looks at them, feeling as disgusted as the day his doctor put them in his hands. 

Near-sighted. Very common. Happens when people as they age.

“Got ‘em–,” his throat closes again, “got ‘em a few years ago. Only have to wear ‘em to see things up close and, uh . . . Well, I think they make me look old as shit.” 

He can’t quite look at you, unsure what he’ll see on your face and knowing for sure that he couldn’t stand it if it wasn’t the way you look at him before. If you just would tease him about it, then —

“No,” you say, your voice very soft and small. His heart nearly punches out his throat, his neck nearly snapping in half as his head whips up to look at you. You sit up on your elbows, the darkness of the room cushioning your soft cheeks and muting the glaze in your eyes as you watch him over the bend of your knees. 

“Nah,” you say, your nose scrunching, the weight of the high clearly settling into your skin, “they make you look . . . Uh, they’re cute.” 

Dieter sucks in the side of his cheek, nodding slowly and sliding the glasses back over his nose. Cute, he could work with that. 

“Jeez, would you start the movie already?” You poke his side with your toe. He doesn’t need to look at you to hear the faint blush in your voice. 

He turns the volume up and crosses his arms, smiling faintly. You’re warm next to him, he thinks vaguely, his own high finally starting to sink into his bones. 

Cute. Definitely not a word he’s going to obsess over. 

The movie goes on. 

Nicholas Cage is Nicholas Cage with a mullet.

Your laugh is the clattering of bells in his ears and he can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard his sides hurt. 

He’s coming up from bent over, knees almost to his chest, laughter nearly popping his ribs, when he realizes your feet are in his lap. The arches of your soles, the delicate bones of your ankles, the long smooth planes that run up to your gorgeous calves— 

They are there, in his lap, and you don’t seem to mind. Head turned towards the screen, face bright from laughing, your arm arched back over your head, pressing your chest up —  it’s like you meant for them to be there. 

It’s just one hand, right? Two at the most. Just putting his hands down where he had them a moment ago. Up and — down. 

You don't flinch. His palm is on the arched top of your foot, the other just above your other ankle. 

You do smile, but that might have been because of Nicholas Cage raging again. 

And then, during another bout of giggles, he clutches your shin bone, wraps his fingers around your heel, and laughs and laughs and laughs. 

You wipe the tears away from your eyes, the end credits rolling.

“Fuck, that’s a such a good movie.” 

He swallows, swiping quickly under his glasses before taking them off and chucking them onto the table in front. 

“You’re fucking right it is,” he says hoarsely, leaning forward and plucking up the last of the joint. He inhales, letting the smoke ease stifle the tears in the corner of his eyes, gulping down a breath before offering it to you.

You take it, distracted, eyes on the credits, the light from the screen glowing on your cheeks. 

He presses up under your ankle with his middle finger. “What? You knew what was gonna happen, you’d said you’d seen it before.”  

You nodded, still not looking at him. 

He goes for a more direct approach. He pinches your calf, and you scowl, the light back in your eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, a bit sharply. He’s not nearly done having fun with you, not nearly. You take another sip of smoke before setting the joint back on the table. 

You huff, settling onto your back, pinching at your nails. 

“Just . . . Nothing, it’s stupid.”

Dieter hums. He knows when to let him come to you. He taps the arch of your foot.

“How are you feeling?” His gaze nudges the joint on the table. 

You grin. “Really good. Tingly. Warm. Like everything else is a million miles away.” 

Just the two of us. 

“Enough to tell ol’ Uncle Dee what’s on your mind?”

You roll your eyes and sit up a bit, yanking a pillow behind you. 

“Just thinkin’ about the old days, I guess.” You glance up at him from under your eyes. “Not in a bad way. At all. I just . . .”

“What?” If you gave him hell for the last eleven years, then fuck it, he deserved it. He pulls at your ankle. “What?” 

With a big sigh, you lean back, something finally breaking and, with it, comes a great big smile. 

“Okay, remember when you’d put on those plays with the rest of us kids during those super lame family reunions o-o-or Christmas? Marissa would have everything written out, all the cousins cast and you’d beg her to let you play – fucking – Bear Number 5 or something ridiculous – and she’d fight you on it but she’d relent, always putting on a show of her own – as if a ten year old could be put out like that.” You giggled, biting on your thumb, a sparkling in your eyes that made something in his chest burn. 

Yes, he remembers the incredibly stupid fuzzy ears and the bear claw mittens. The fake roaring. TMZ would have a fucking stroke if those pictures of him, baby-faced, were to ever surface online. He smiles at you and basks in the warmth of those memories, his high making them brighter. 

“I think it would have crushed her little heart if you didn’t ask,” you said, heavy-lidded eyes on you again. “I know it broke her when you stopped showing up at all.” 

His heart actually pinches at that. He knows you’re not scolding him but fuck, maybe he’d feel better if you did. What a fucking idiot he was, for leaving all of that for empty mansions and meals from UberEats and all this fucking gunked up shit in his veins that made him feel older and older every year. Like he was chasing something that was never real in the first place. 

“Look, honey,” the pet name is out of his mouth before he can stop it. He’s twisting towards you, both hands under your calves now. “I should have called. Should have made sure that at least you knew where to find me, even if things between your dad and I were fucked.”

“Oh, God, Dee, no. I don’t blame you. I don’t even blame my dad, sometimes. You just were very different people. He’s fine living his life in the same small ass town in the middle of nowhere. But you weren’t. And, fuck . . . I’m not either.”

He frowns. You bite your lip and continue.

“You know, I thought about following you out to Hollywood. Because of those plays. I had the best fucking time doing them and Hollywood didn’t seem so scary . . . with Uncle Dee out here. But, uh, I dunno. I grew up, I guess. Figured I was better at telling stories than performing them. I just knew I didn’t want to end up like my dad. Dying where I lived. Unremembered.” 

His gut doubles in on itself. Please don’t say you gave up your dreams because I stopped calling. 

“Do you still think about acting?” He asks quietly, trying to fight the faint ringing in his ears. 

“Oh God, no,” you wave your hands, dusting away his near-panic that he’d somehow ruined your life. “I really do prefer writing stories, even if they exist only within the pages of a book. Or a really bad pamphlet, once or twice. I tried to continue the plays at home for a few years, after you left and Marissa took up cheerleading and thought she was too old to play with her little cousins anymore. But it just wasn’t the same without her. Or you.” 

He realizes all too late that he can feel your pulse under your ankle. Strong. Pounding. Pounding, hard. Like you’re nervous. So struck by the notion that he can feel something so personal of yours, the smoke trapped in his brain lifts only slightly when he catches your eyes looking somewhere you absolutely should not be. 

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck, he knows that look. You blink at him, then your gaze slowly slides down, down to his crotch, as smoothly you can beneath the weight of the smoke in your brain and he battles between the desire to throw your legs off him or pull you underneath him.

It’s The Look. 

Men, women, it didn’t matter. The look was the same.

When the possibility of sex first enters their mind, when that first bloom of lust rushes down their spine and the memory of the physical exertion of fucking – all the panting and the heavy breathing, aching muscles and sweat – comes back, as real as a song stuck in your head. When that spark of imagination threatens to sway from the hypothetical to the actual, it’s a look he knows so fucking well, he might as well be able to carve it from clay, blind-folded. 

And you’re giving it to him, right now. 

You haven’t really thought about seducing him yet, no, that part hasn’t crossed your mind yet. But you definitely are imagining what his cock would feel like inside you, and you and your imagination and your wide-eyed gaze at his lap all whole-heartedly agreed: that would be a great fucking thing. 

You, on your elbows, your heel dangerously close to his half-hard cock, the glaze in your eyes having something to do with what you were so shamelessly picturing, and your short breath having everything to do with what you were so shamelessly picturing.

He was quite sure you were completely unaware of the expression your face was making. Eyes hooded, mouth parted, breath short. Masking your emotions and filthy thoughts is a skill set mastered later in life and perhaps the last time you looked at someone like that, they simply bent you over the nearest surface and railed you till your knees buckled. 

What a fucking excellent idea, his libido trilled. Now get off the couch and do something about it. I’m foaming at the fucking mouth here, man. 

Dieter silences his inner horny monster, unintentionally squeezing his hand, the one that happens to be wrapped around your calf. 

The movement seems to break you out of your dizzying spiral and you blink up at him.

He swallows. With a half smirk on the edge of your lips that you try to not let him see, you take your feet out of his lap, then reach forward, your palm alarmingly high on his thigh as you take the joint from his fingers. Your eyes flash like warning signs.

DANGER. DANGER, WILL ROBINSON. DANGER.

“So, you gonna give me a tour of this place or what?”

End of Part 1 | Next

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfic #the bubble 2016 #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Hey so I just found your account and omg?? it's literally so amazing 😭✋

Anyways-I was just looking through a bunch of the twist monster au headcannons/stories, and I thought of a scenario that could be done!

Basically the cast reacting to gender neutral or female reader/yuu acting stuff out in their book they are reading like poses, dialogue, just genuine reactions to the text itself

ex. Throwing the book across the room and them being genuinely concerned that something happened bc reader is just staring off into space or cursing but what actually happened was either a character died/did something embarrassing/the mc and love interest finally kiss

Anyways that's all I had in mind hope you have a good day/night! <3

Omg thank you! I’m so glad you’re enjoying the content! QvQ

Ah, books. Such a wonderful creation humans made to fill us with raw, pure emotion or shattering our hearts and souls into a million tiny pieces—only for us to read it again and again! Don’t you just love those moments as a reader? UvU

Except for cliffhangers. Readers have a love/hate relationship with it, writers adore cliffhangers! ÒvÓ

So, what happens if we take a bookreader!Yuu (they/them) and throw them into Twisted Monsterland where even the history books read like a world guide/omnibus to a game or TV series? Oh, and I took a bit of inspiration from a Disney princess comic and a Bill Watterson “Calvin and Hobbes” comic for two of these scenarios. 😂

/-----------/

“Jeez, you sure you’ve got enough books, Yuu?”

“The librarian wouldn’t let me check out more than ten at a time,” Yuu replied, their backpack and arms filled with thick books. “Wish I could’ve gotten ten more at least, but this’ll do for now.”

“Are you sure you can even read all those before next semester?” Deuce asked in concern. “Those look pretty…dense.”

“Oh, I’ll be done in a week. Maybe a week and a half if we get a lot of homework.”

“Funya?! You gotta be kidding me!” Grim said. “Can humans read that fast?”

“Not everyone. Some people are slow readers, but that’s okay since they enjoy it at their own pace while I enjoy it at mine. Only problem for me is choosing which one of these I want to read first!”

/Later that night/

“Yuu? It’s time to eat!” Grim called out. Silence greeted him as he stared at Yuu, who was sitting on the couch with their face practically buried in a book. Frowning, the chimera padded over to the couch and repeated, “Yuu! I’m hungry!”

Still the human didn’t seem to respond, their shoulders hunching as they turned the page.

“Yuu? Yuu!” Huffing, Grim crossed his arms as he glared up at them. “You’ve been reading for the past three hours! How much longer are you gonna read that book?”

“What’s going on, pal?” one of the ghosts asked as the trio appeared.

Gesturing his paws at Yuu, he said, “They’ve been reading ever since we got back from the library today, and now they’re not reactin’ to me. It’s dinner time and they haven’t made any food yet!”

Before anyone could even think of what to say, a loud, shrill squeal filled the dorm.

“Eeeeeee!!!” Yuu squealed, a huge grin on their face as they flopped to the side and kicked their legs like a nervous rabbit while holding the book against their chest. “Omg it happened, it happened!!”

“Mrah!? What?! What happened?!” Grim yelled, wings flared out defensively while his fur bristled. “Why are you yelling!”

“My new OTP!! They finally kissed!!” Yuu said, their eyes wide as they rocked from side to side. “They kissed!! Yes!! Yesyesyesyesyessssss!!!”

“OTP? What’s an OTP??” one of the other ghosts asked.

“It’s what we like to call the ‘one true pairing’ in a story,” Yuu explained, a positively giddy expression on their face with eyes shining brighter than the stars as they struck a dramatic pose. “It’s two characters who vibe with each other on a level that you just can’t help but want them to be together—and the author brought these two together!! Yeeeeeeeee, I’m so happy!!”

“And loud,” Grim grumbled, paws clamped over his ears. “Why are you standing like that?”

“It’s how the main character professed their love for the other!”

“…are all humans as weird as you?”

“Trust me, there are people out there that are way crazier in their excitement than I am right now.”

“Really?!”

“Oh yeah. Don’t even get me started on the fanfics people write.”

“Fan…fics?”

“Oh, you sweet summer child…”

/Two days later/

“Heeeey, lil’ Shrimpy~!”

“Mm…”

“Eh…? Hey, Shrimp…why are you ignorin’ us? It’s not very nice.”

“Now, now, Floyd. One mustn’t interrupt a reader when they’re indulging in such a riveting story.”

“Shh,” Yuu muttered, their brow furrowed as they hunched closer to the book. “I’m at the best part!”

Floyd frowned as he laid his head on his arms, the basilisk slumping against the table. “Man, this is lame,” he said. “You promised to come play basketball with me today!”

“Once I finish this part, we can go do whatever you want, okay, Floyd?”

Jade hummed in amusement as he said, “A rather daring proposition you just offered, Yuu.”

“We have to do a buncha reading for class anyway,” Floyd said with a bored expression. “And Crabby and Mackerel said you finished two other books already, so what’s the point of thi-”

“AAAAIIIIIEEEEE!!?!?” Yuu shrieked, leaping out of their chair as Jade and Floyd recoiled in shock. Before the twins could react, Yuu had ducked back into their chair and pressed the book even closer to their face than before.

“…lemmie see that,” Floyd said, leaning over the table to grab it.

“No, no! It’s fine, go do something else!” Yuu said all too quickly, sinking even lower and turning away from Floyd’s reaching claws. “I think I heard Riddle in the hallway.”

“Lemmie see it!”

“No! You can’t read it!” Yuu cried out, bolting away from the table holding the book tight to their chest.

“Get back here, Shrimpy!”

“Noooo!!”

“Oh my,” Jade uttered, eyes wide for a moment before he chuckled. “Perhaps I should look into this book when they’ve finished it.”

/The next day/

“Oh no…oooh noooooo, I hate this so much!”

“Then why are you reading it?” Jamil asked, the naga curled around them. “If you don’t like it, just take it back to the library.”

“I can’t! It’s soooooo good!” Yuu said, practically throwing themselves backwards onto Jamil’s snake half with the book pressed against their face.

“Eh? But wait, you just said you hated it,” Kalim said in confusion.

“I hate it, but I love it so much,” Yuu told them with a whine, their head now touching the floor on the other side of Jamil’s snake body yet still draped over him like a cat. “This book will ruin your heart and shatter your soul into a million pieces!...you should read it too!”

“Given how dramatic you’re being, it might not be wise,” Jamil said with a sigh.

“Read it!”

“It’s okay, Yuu. We can read together! It’ll be more fun that way!”

“Kalim, no. You still need to study for the next potions exam.”

“Augh, I need someone to talk about this story with so we can lament in solidarity!”

“…have you been taking lessons from Rook lately?”

/Three days later/

“Um…is Yuu okay? They’re looking a little…tense.”

It had been several days since Yuu borrowed a stack of books, and already they had gone through nearly half of their hoard. Between classes and on breaks or after finishing tests, it wasn’t hard for students to notice the lone human with their nose between the pages of one book after the other. Even the researchers had taken note of Yuu’s behavior in between tests, making note of their expressions and how their body changes with each scene depicting their emotions. It was noteworthy how they reacted when a character in the story did something “cringeworthy and stupid” (as Yuu would explain when asked), it looked as though the human had swallowed a lemon.

At the moment they were sitting in Heartslabyul, yet another book in their arms as they sat on one side of the lounge. Cater had taken progression snapshots of Yuu’s body slowly curling into itself, eyes steadily growing wider and wider to the point it looked as though they’d bolt away in panic.

“They’re fine,” Grim told Trey as he munched on a snack. “They’ve been like this since they got all those books. That’s the pose they had last time when their Ohteevee smooched or somethin’.”

“Oh, you mean ‘OTP’, Grimmy,” Cater corrected with a smile. “That’s so cute! Our human has an OTP already~!”

“I’ve heard of hitting the books, but this is ridiculous,” Ace commented with a sigh. “They’ve been reading so long that I forgot what half their face looks li-”

“GRAAAAH!!!!”

SLAM! Fwump!!

“Gyah!?” the boys yelped, everyone staring at Yuu as they sat on the couch with a dark scowl.

“Yo, what the heck? Why’d you throw the book like that?” Ace asked, pointing at the large tome on the other side of the couch now.

“Um…Yuu?” Deuce began when they didn’t respond. “Are…you okay?”

“……I’m mad,” came the response, Yuu’s expression growing more annoyed as they stared off into space.

“About what?” Riddle asked in surprise.

Yuu’s gaze turned to the discarded book, their expression as though they had been betrayed by a trusted friend as they said, “Because my favorite character died, and I refuse to read how the book ends when there’s literally two freaking pages left! That’s not enough space to bring them back in a satisfying way!!”

“Y…you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Ace grumbled with a sigh. “That big of a reaction just because a fictional character was killed off?”

“You weren’t there to see the struggles they went through! I saw them change from an annoying bully into a fully developed and vulnerable character who wanted to take charge of their life—and the author killed them off!” Jumping to their feet, Yuu marched towards Ace and Deuce’s room where they’d left their stuff and said, “Where’s my notebook? I need to fix this!”

“What are you gonna do?” Grim called out.

“Write a fanfic, because my scrunkly deserves to be happy!”

“Huh? Scrunkly??”

/Final day/

“Oh, Great Seven…what happened in your book this time?” Vil asked with a sigh.

Yuu sniffled as they tried to dry their tears, though it was difficult as more continued to flow down their cheeks. “I…I just finished my last book,” they said, their voice cracking a little with emotion as Grim pat their arm reassuringly.

“All ten books in a week?” Vil said in surprise. “That’s…impressive. Even so, why are you so upset? Was the story that horrible?”

“No…it…it…it was too good!” Yuu cried out, clutching the book so tight that their knuckles turned white as the tears flowed freely now.

“Ah…such pure, raw human emotion,” Rook crooned. “To express it so freely without fear…beaute!”

“Was the book really that good?” Epel asked.

“Yes!” Yuu wailed. “Now that it’s over, I…I don’t know what to do with myself now…”

Peering at the title, Vil gave a thoughtful hum and said, “Oh, that story. I hear there is supposed to be a spin-off book series. The first one should have released just the other day.”

“Really?!”

“Mrrr…now you’ve done it,” Grim grumbled with a sigh. “Here we go again.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland monster au #twst monster au #ace trappola #deuce spade #trey clover #riddle rosehearts #cater diamond #jamil viper #kalim al asim #jade leech #floyd leech #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #epel felmier #i had a lot of fun with this once i figured out where to go with it!

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 18

Hey guys! I got the impression that that cliffhanger really threw people and only one person guessed right.

Thank you for all those that wished me a belated birthday, I had a great weekend.

Today we have resolution to the cliffhanger, some low stakes drama, and the only love triangle I can tolerate ;).

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

***

Steve felt someone shove him into the car door. He was whirled around and his back was slammed back into the door. He was face to face with his assailant. He was objectively handsome, Steve supposed. He had long, straight blond hair that went down to the middle of his back, piercing hazel eyes, and piercings in his eyebrow, nose, both ears and pair of snakebites in his lower lips.

On his neck, Steve could make out a tattoo of some kind of bird. He gulped. The man radiated malice and spite.

“I don’t care who the fuck you think you are,” the man snarled. “But you stay away from Eddie Munson.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Fuck off.” He pushed the man back far enough that he had room to swing if he needed it. “I’m betting you’re the asshole that made him feel unsafe. Well, you messed with the wrong person, dude.”

The man, Blondie as Steve was starting to call him in his head, grabbed Steve’s shirt and pulled him so that their faces were inches from each other.

“Leave him alone,” Blondie sneered. “Or you’ll find out how unsafe I can be.”

Suddenly Blondie was yanked back and thrown to the side. Hopper stood over him, snarling.

“Fuck off before my apprentice calls the cops,” Hop said, jutting his thumb at Eden who had her phone out, likely recording the whole thing.

Blondie looked over at Steve, who stood there with his arms crossed and then back at Hopper. Both men glared down at him. Blondie got to his feet and dusted himself off.

“This isn’t the last you’ll see of me, asshole,” he sneered at Steve. “I meant what I said. You touch Eddie Munson and I’ll make you pay.”

“And I told you, you are messing with the wrong man,” Steve snapped back. “You even so much as look his direction and you’ll wish you were never born.”

The man scoffed and walked away rolling his eyes.

Hopper turned to Steve, gripping his shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

Steve let out a long shuddering sigh. “Yeah.”

“Now, you want to tell me what the fuck that was about?” he barked.

“One of the people I tattoo had–has a crazy ex-boyfriend,” Steve explained.

Hopper rolled his eyes. “Fuck. I’ve still got friends in the local police, I see if I can’t convince one or two of them to drive by your shop once and while and make sure everything is okay.”

Steve breathed out a heavy sigh. That wouldn’t do anything about the stalking but at least he wouldn’t be able to do something to the shop.

He nodded.

“Take care of yourself, you hear me?” Hopper said gruffly.

“I will, I promise.”

*

Robin and Steve arrived early the next morning to see the candidates for the receptionist position. They had three interviews lined up and hoped that someone could be found fast.

Robin had started main lining six shots of espresso to get through the day. Something the shop people had taken to calling ‘the fallen angel’.

The first one up was a kid right out of high school. Steve would have guessed that he was Erica’s age or there about. He was nervous and kept chewing on his nails the whole time.

Once he was gone, Steve and Robin looked at each other and said with a heavy sigh, “NO.”

The next one was Troy Walsh. Robin chatted with him happily, but Steve remained silent.

After he left Robin turned to him and smacked his arm. “What the hell, Dingus! He was good!”

Steve folded his arms and ducked his head, scuffing at the floor with the edge of the sole of his sneaker. “If the biggest middle school bully of one of your friends came here and applied for a job, would you hire them?”

Robin opened her mouth to answer but stopped before so much as a squawk passed her lips. She closed it and pursed her lips together.

“I guess it would depend on how often you see said friend,” she said quietly, “and whether or not they come to shop.”

“Will.”

Her jaw dropped and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “Tell me you’re kidding!”

Steve shook his head. “Went as far as to push him while they were playing at the quarry. Will almost fell, if Mike hadn’t caught him, there’s no telling what would happened.”

“There’s bullying and then there’s attempted murder!” Robin screeched. “Jesus Christ!” She looked at the door Troy had just exited in shock and horror.

Steve gave her leg a squeeze. “We still have one more to interview. Maybe they’ll be better then the last two options.”

Robin sighed, but nodded.

“Steve?” the clear, bright voice asked from the doorway. “Oh my god, Robin?”

Both of their heads snapped up in shock. Standing in the doorway was Robin’s high school crush and fellow marching band-ite, Vickie Powell. Her bright green eyes twinkled as a rosy blush dusted her freckled cheeks. In short, she was as gorgeous as Robin remembered.

Steve looked at the application in his hand and then back up at her. “Victoria Prince?”

She shrugged. “Got married, found out he was cheating on me with every available woman on his dorm floor, divorced him, liked the name so I kept it. Also because his parents love me, so...” She winked.

Steve and Robin laughed.

“Come on in!” Steve said encouragingly. “Sit down, tell me about where you’re at now and why you want the job.”

They started talking and they slipped into an easy banter. Before they knew it there was the tinkling of the front door and they could hear voices.

Robin and Steve shared a glance. Steve got to his feet.

“When can you start?” he asked, sticking out his hand for her to shake.

She made a happy, surprised kind of scoff. “Wait, seriously?”

Robin nodded gleefully.

“Today work for you?”

Steve grinned. “Hell yeah it does. We all have nicknames that match the theme, pick one you think you won’t mind being yelled at in. Robin will teach you all the ins and outs of the shop and in two weeks, you’ll be put as main morning receptionist and then we’ll go from there.”

Vickie grinned. “That’s great! I can’t wait to start.”

Robin and Vickie went out to the foyer and he could hear Vickie being introduced to the rest of the Royals.

Yeah, she was going to be a good fit.

*

Steve was happy. That should have been his first warning sign. Because other then the strange run in with Eddie’s ex, everything had been going well. His shop was busy, his training of Chrissy and Argyle was moving along smoothly, Vickie was fitting in perfectly, Robin was having a crisis about having to work with two pretty girls, but Steve thought it was cute, Erica had built the henna thing up so that it was very lucrative, so much so that she was thinking about not going back to school in the fall.

And that was including everything that was happening with Eddie. The tattoo was coming along amazingly. The sword was done and Steve was starting work on the right wing. Saturday nights were for the band and the club after. Steve was actually relishing the slower speed Eddie asked to go with, because he was learning a lot about Eddie and just having fun without the expectations of a relationship.

So of course that meant something was going to go wrong. A wrong that took the shape of Argyle’s roommate and his girlfriend and suddenly Argyle being cagey about them made too much sense.

Steve was at the corner grocer trying to decide between green beans or a side salad for dinner with Eddie tonight. He pulled out his phone to ask Eddie his opinion when he heard a familiar giggle. A sound he hadn’t heard in a really long time.

He turned around just as Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle stumbled around the center aisle display of avocados, laughing about something Steve didn’t hear.

Suddenly Steve’s insides turned to ice. Argyle stopped first and he looked down embarrassed.

Jonathan spotted him next and the look of pity in his eyes made Steve want to throw up right there in the produce section. The ice traveled up his spine as Nancy finally realized that her companions had stopped laughing. She looked at Jonathan, who pointed behind her.

Steve could see her frown as she turned and then her jaw dropped in recognition.

“Steve?” Nancy asked, jutting her head forward in shock.

He took a step back, looking at Argyle, who refused to meet his eye. That’s when he got it.

The friend that needed Argyle to come from California to take care of stayed was Jonathan.

Jonathan had been a car accident two years ago and Will said that Nancy needed help taking care of him, but both Will and Joyce weren’t able to. Will had never said if they got some help, but when he stopped talking about it, Steve assumed they had.

It had been rough time for the Byers family and while Steve sympathized, the only Byers family member he was still on speaking terms with was Will.

He took another step back and stumbled into different display. This one for oranges. He turned on his heel and scrambled to get away, stumbling and bumping into people before just setting his basket down and running.

Steve managed to make it out to the parking lot before he had a break down. He tried to get into his car, but he kept dropping his keys. Finally he turned around and slid down to the ground as he fought off a panic attack.

Suddenly there was someone beside him holding out a blunt.

“Do you partake?” Argyle asked gently.

Steve nodded. “It’s been awhile, but yeah.”

Argyle lit the blunt and passed it over to Steve who took a deep drag before handing it back to the other man. He let the smoke out, low and slow letting the drug calm his tortured mind.

“They told me not to tell you,” Argyle said after a moment. “They said it would only hurt my chances of becoming your apprentice.”

Steve sighed and threw his head back against the door of the car. “Maybe, maybe not. You’re good, man. I just feel so...lied to.”

Argyle took a hit and handed it back to Steve. “I told them we should at least you know that Jonathan was my roommate. Especially since you’re still bros with his bro, you know.”

That got a small smile out of Steve. “Probably. I don’t know how I would have reacted because I wasn’t given the chance to make the choice for myself.”

“Not telling you took away your agency,” Argyle said sagely, nodded. “That wasn’t cool.”

Steve nodded back. “Yeah, but I do like you. I like your style. I want to keep having you as my apprentice...”

Argyle took the blunt away from Steve’s fingers as he was just letting it burn down. “I feel like there’s a but there somewhere.”

Steve thudded his head against the car door again. “Did they tell you she cheated on me with him?”

Argyle frowned. Steve thought it looked odd on the normally chill man. He shook his head. “They didn’t.”

Steve took the blunt back and took another drag. “Yeah. I didn’t find out until after Nancy and I broke up. Just something Jonathan said about when they hooked up for the first time and when Nancy and I officially broke it off set alarm bells off in my head.”

“The timeline didn’t match up?” Argyle asked.

Steve nodded. “It was such bullshit. I thought I had moved on. Things are going great and then this happens and it feels like a bomb has fucking gone off under my feet.”

“You like Jane Austen, my dude?” Argyle asked.

Steve snorted. “Sort of. Robin loves the A&E ‘Pride and Prejudice’ and watches it all the time. It’s hard to miss.”

Argyle nodded. “It’s like how Jane felt when she saw Mr Bingley for first time since he went to London and ghosted her. Yeah, it was tough that first meeting, but now she knew what to expect the next time.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “You’re right, thanks.”

Argyle gave him a half smile. He stood up and ground out the blunt under his heel.

“See you tomorrow,” Steve said with a timid smile.

“Yeah?” Argyle asked, unsure but hopeful.

Steve stood up. “Yeah. I think you need better friends, but that’s a personal opinion not a professional one. And my professional opinion is that you are a great artist and I want to keep you for as long as you want a job in my shop okay?”

Argyle nodded, a big grin on his face. “See you tomorrow!”

Steve watched him go with a shake of his head. The dude was too nice for the likes of Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers, but there were worst people to be friends with. Like Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins for example. And considering that Steve was the one that had made that dumb mistake, he couldn’t really fault Argyle for his.

He went back into the grocer and finished his shopping. At least he would have a funny story to tell Eddie tonight. He just had to apologize to management first.

***

I hope copying it from back when the tagging was working will help. Fingers crossed because I am running out of things to try at this point.

Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​ @renaissan-vvitch @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @aizawa-emma @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @yikes-a-bee @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @archermightbegay @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #tattoo artist steve

[romanreignseater]

Press Play Pt. 2

Roman Reigns x Black Female! OC (Xena)

Rating: 18+

Warning: No warning really, just sad times 😔.

“Being the girlfriend to a famous divorced father of 5 wasn’t your plan at 26 years old. You trusted him with your life, so you agreed to film a little something, but now you regret ever meeting him when your whole life is exposed.”

A/N: Last part on next Sunday and it’s gonna be something special. I hope you all enjoy this part and I may or may not have given another cliffhanger.

GIF: @jeysuso

It’s been a week since the video leak and since you last saw Roman. And let’s just say the media has YET to let up.

“Roman Reigns, Rated R?! Take A Sneak Peak Into The Spicy Life Of The Hot and Heavy Heavyweight.”

“Roman Reigns Purposely Post His Sex Tape In Spite Of Ex-Wife’s New Beau?!”

“Roman’s Slut, Gold Digging Girlfriend EXPOSED For The Clout Chaser She Is.”

“Roman Reigns Losing Fans?! Did He Release His Tape In Order To Suffice His Absence On SmackDown?!”

Yeah it was a lot…

But, nonetheless you had a huge support system around you and they made you feel better.

The video wasn’t that bad as no one saw anything other than the curve of your ass. But you shouting how much of a little cock slut you were. That one part stretched across social media and your Instagram comments was filled with “I’m a little slut” and “Fuck me harder daddy.”

The day of the incident swirled in your head back and forth. The tears in Roman’s eyes was unlike anything you’ve seen before. His deep and uncontrollable breaths broke your heart.

As much as you loved him, he hurt you bad. Nearly 300 missed calls in only a week. 440 text notifications and 50 attempted FaceTime calls. Through your Ring Doorbell, you could see his many attempts to reach you in person.

You were hiding out at your best friend’s house knowing he would try to see you, but you’d have to go home soon since your best friend was going to see her family.

“You’re gonna have to go eventually sis.” You sat on her couch, wig barely on, nails chipped, tissues all around you, and a tub of ice cream as your new best friend. “Do I have to?!” You put on your best puppy dog eyes.

“Sweetie that’s not gonna work on me. I’m gonna see my family and I don’t want to come back to police tape surrounding my front yard.”

Rolling your eyes you sat up and began to clean up. “Look sis, I want to be better. You’ve always been tough and I know you’ve gotten over this. The real problem is, you’re missing Ro.” The mention of his name made you tense.

“Can we not Taylor?!”

“Xena… we have to. I know you miss him, but he didn’t mean to.” “HE HURT ME TAY.” The tears began to form in your eyes at the thought of your fall out.

Hands on hips, Taylor wasn’t feeling your reaction.

“That man has made you the happiest I’ve ever seen. It’s been THREE YEARS, you can’t just ditch out on him for something you don’t even talk about anymore. Every night it’s, ‘why did he hurt me?!’ ‘I thought he loved me.’ ‘He was supposed to be the one, we talked about marriage and kids’, and you just want to throw that away over a mistake. If I recall you agreed to a sex tape, and of course you didn’t want it out there, but it is and the best thing you could is hear him out.”

You sat down, absorbing everything Taylor just said and she was right.

Roman made a mistake, a really, stupid mistake. But, you knew his heart and knew he didn’t mean what he did. You weren’t the only suffering in this situation. His kids were suffering, his family, his business, and he himself was suffering.

“You know what you need to do Xe.”

“I do.”

“You guys still have that baecation booked and I’m pretty sure you can’t cancel.”

Your eyes jumped out of its socket in realization. You and Roman planned a little trip to Bora Bora to spend more time together.

And now… you had to come face to face with him.

Roman’s POV

I’ve called and called and called, but to no avail. Even though the clips that circulated are no longer visible, nothing can ever be erased from the internet.

My ex-wife’s barking finally stopped. My kids last four kids are pretty young, and don’t understand. My oldest daughter definitely knew what was going on. Luckily, she didn’t disown me as her father, but she definitely was disappointed. I didn’t teach her to do that, so I shouldn’t have done that.

But, the only thing on my mind was Xena.

Her smile, her eyes, her hair, her stunning body, the way she laughed, the way she hugged me, the way she kissed me, the way she looked at me , and just the overall way she loved me.

I never felt so loved by someone in my life.

I stared at the diamond ring resting on my bedside table. I came up with the idea to plan a getaway to Bora Bora, which Xena thought was just to spend more time together. But, in reality it was plan to propose.

I’ve been with this… well I guess was in a relationship with this woman for three years. My parents loved her, my kids, and even my ex-wife had a relationship with her. Lying in bed alone at night was something I haven’t felt in a long time.

The tears began to well just at the mere thought of her gorgeous smile and beautiful chemistry between us. I began to sob, missing her badly.

The trip still fluttering in my mind, as we had to leave tonight and I was afraid I’d be leaving by myself. As my tears began to dry, I heard my phone ding. Strengthening my self back up, I pick up my phone and my mouth dropped.

“La’u Tausala 🤩😈.”

iMessage

I quickly open up my phone wondering what she had to say after ignoring me for so long.

“Don’t forget about the trip, you’re supposed to pick me up at 6 tonight.”

My heart couldn’t stop beating. I could tell she wasn’t really mad at me, cause she’d totally would block me.

“Of course, I’ll be there at 6. Also, I’m really sorry angel. It was never my intent to release that tape, it was private and I invaded your privacy. I hope you could have it in your heart to understand how remorseful I am. I love you baby with every fiber in my being, and I can’t see myself without you. I’ll see you tonight ❤️.”

Seen

Xena’s POV

It was 5:54 and I was currently wrestling my luggage, trying to get it to close.

It was a trip to Bora Bora, so of course I wasn’t bailing. But, I really didn’t want to see Roman right now. Yet, Taylor was right, I missed him badly and I was totally over the comments and headlines.

The hurt in my heart still yearned and longed. Then, the doorbell rang. I ran downstairs and looked out the window. Roman’s black Escalade stood tall in my driveway. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

There he was…

Tall, dark, and handsome.

His tan and lean body clad in an all black sweatsuit, all black Jordan’s enclosing his feet.

His hair kept well in a tight ponytail. Not a strand out of place.

“Hey.”

You draw from your thoughts and spoke up.

“Hey, umm I’m still trying to get my suitcase to close so I’ll out in a second.”

“I can help out if you want.”

I contemplated whether or not I should let him in, but I just couldn’t.

“No, I-I got it. Just wait in the car for me please.” He smiled lightly and headed back to the car. I close the door and held my back against it.

“I don’t even know what’s gonna happen on this trip and honestly I don’t wanna know.”

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

What’s gonna happen on the baecation?! Find out next week on the final part to “Press Play”

THE END.

MY TAG SQUAD: @cyberdejos2 @thesamoanqueen @nayys-world @mzv11 @babybatlover @vogueyonce @harmshake @harlem11680 @seeingstarks @thewarlordsworld @alyyaanna @southerngirl41 @christinabae @pitlissa22 @thealliasylum @fame-ass-ers @iluvthebloodline

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns oneshot

[thatfreshi]

"Quit" (Uni AU P. 17)

GUYS IT'S BEEN SO LONG BUT FRESHIAU IS BACK! Sorry for the hell of a cliffhanger I gave you, whoopsies :)

tw - mentions of abuse, hospitalization

The next half-hour is a blur unlike any you've known before. You, Gale, and Karlach pile into the art student's shitty mini-van.

"I'm sure he's okay Tav."

Karlach tries to give you an assuring hand on the shoulder, but you think back to the phone call, the way the nurse wouldn't tell you anything, how you yelled in the middle of a damn cafe. It would be embarrassing if you didn't know the stakes that were in this trip to the hospital, that Astarion isn't the type for medical assistance unless it's absolutely necessary.

Other than Karlach's comment and the occasional flick of a blinker, the car is almost entirely silent. Gale drops you off at the front before leaving to park, and your tall friend stays by your side as you enter the sterile, sad building. When you get to the desk, she speaks on your behalf.

"We got a call that Astarion Ancunín was admitted here?"

"What's your relation to the patient?"

Karlach hesitates, before pushing you forward slightly.

"Well I'm just his friend, but my pal Tav here is his spouse!"

You give her a slightly concerned look, but soften when you know she just wants you to be able to see him.

"You can come back this way Tav."

It's all so quick and without feeling. Truthfully, you know medical professionals deal with this kind of thing on the daily, but the lack of concern for him makes you a little sick to your stomach. The words of your guide fall on deaf ears when you make it to his room, rushing in before she can even finish her sentence. She closes the door behind you as you're met with Astarion, your dear Aster, who looks far more beat down than usual.

"How in the hell did you manage to get back here?"

He asks with a slight smirk, the bags under his eyes far more noticeable than before. You can't help but smile at his charm, but replace it with a bitter expression soon after.

"That's not important right now. What happened?"

The urge to yell and scream is kept at a simmer, and instead your voice is kept soft, like plush moments of reading law papers, like falling asleep with your best friend, like cheap espresso and designer fabrics.

"Severe dehydration I suppose. I passed out, and Petras called an ambulance, which I'm sure got him beat to no end. Stupid decision if you ask me."

"Oh, so you quite literally pass out, and your first reaction is to think about Petras?"

He ponders your words for a moment as you finally sit at the edge of the bed.

"Trust me... I've already had plenty of time to think about just how bad this was. Thankfully when I lost consciousness I only bruised my poor arm, but the doctor said it could've been much worse. Heat stroke, seizures-"

"Okay, let's maybe not talk about all of that."

You start to cry, finally, after a panic-induced state of adrenaline begins to wear off. You get a notification from the group chat. Gale says Lae'zel, Shadowheart, and Wyll Ubered over. You show your phone to him.

"Look, everyone showed up."

You smile softly, feeling a trail of tears hit your lip. It tastes salty.

"Of course they did. You all are far too sappy."

"Oh shut it Aster. We were worried."

"Well it's fine now, right? The issue is resolved, so everyone can go home, including you Tav."

You scoff.

"Fat chance. Besides, Karlach kind of told the nurse that I'm your spouse, so it looks weird if I leave now."

"She did what?"

"Yeah, trust me, it was weird."

He gets a little nervous, showing his age for once, that deep down he's still a 20-something-year-old kid. It stays silent for a little bit, and you listen to the monitors in the room, the almost silent IV drip, the steps of people walking up and down the halls. Your listening is interrupted by a tapping on the bed, Astarion trying to get your attention.

"Yeah?"

"I know I struggle to say it sometimes, well, most times, but I do rather appreciate that you came... that all of you came, but you in particular."

You want to be able to appreciate his words, but the fear that lingers beneath doesn't let you rest.

"I don't want to do it again. I don't know if my heart can handle doing all of this again."

"What else would you have me do darling?"

You know what you want to say, and you know what his response will be, but the words leave your mouth anyways.

"Quit. I want you to quit."

He goes to interrupt you, but you put a finger up to shush him, and he obliges.

"I know it feels impossible. I know you've signed how many documents and that you need the money, but you six incredible friends now that can help you through this. Think about it: if you blackout all your socials, stop showing up, what can he really do about it? Cazador can't get on campus. You'd be safe there, and it will look so bad for his image if you suddenly disappear that he'll be scrambling for PR anyways! I think you can do this, that we can do this."

"And what about the money?"

"Student loans? And we can all pitch in when we have extra. And you could pick up a job on campus, maybe something in the law library?"

You're trying to be inspiring, but looking at him like this makes it hard.

"Why do you keep trying so much for me? Truly, you've wasted so much breath on me, even in this moment."

Somehow those sad questions still catch you off-guard. You put a hand on his.

"I don't think I can even word it right Aster. Even if I tried, I don't think the words would make sense, that any of it would make sense to either of us. Just accept that I'm here, trying for you, okay?"

"Okay... then I'll try too. I'll try your ridiculous plan Tav."

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #angst #comfort #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #freshiau

[dangermousie]

It wasn't daddy (fail to the last) who left the notes giving Ziyu hints on how to master those forms and help with the trials, it was SJ!!!!

You know, SJ really did mean it when he told kid YZ that as long as you are a Gong, you are my brother. The moment he was convinced Ziyu was not illegitimate but an actual Gong, he switched to full on being OK with him - tips for practice and what not (even if not being a moron, he was still investigating.) The man has basically decided his calling is to be a big brother. Heh.

I loved when Ziyu pointed out that he could take the position away from him but he won't. It's funny because when we first meet SJ he comes across as both incredibly cold and incredibly ambitious and then as the story unfolds you realize he has both a deep capacity for love and utter lack of personal ambition (as opposed to ambition for his family.) I also loved that Ziyu figured out what SJ is like after realizing nobody who was a rat bastard could pass those trials, no matter his skill.

When Ziyu called him "Ge," my heart melted. Sorry, SJ, Gong didis are like Pokemon, you got to collect them all :P

Bwahahahahahahhahaha

PS Honestly, whatever else happened or didn't happen, I am just glad the bros get to chill and enjoy life together.

Anyway, this was an excellent drama I adored. Not a fan of cliffhanger bit at the end, but everyone got a decade of peace at the very least, which is the kindest ending you could have for this type of story.

And all the bros are alive and together at the end, so YAY!

#cdrama #zhang ling he #ryan cheng #my journey to you

[xxavengingangelxx]

Somewhere Only We Know - Epilogue (for real this time)

Alright, ya'll! Final installment, for now. I've started to work on 2 requests I have from @bellgraves and from @unicorngirly1 now that this fic is done...for now.

Not as bad a cliffhanger, I promise :)

Taglist! @shepgurl, @lily-lily131313, @sharksausages

Triggers: None, really. Graves being kind of a jerk and intimidating.

-

“My name’s Andrei,”

“Don’t hear that name too often,” you replied. You stepped aside to let him in.

“I hear that a lot here in the US,”

Riley perked up from where he had been lounging on the couch, ears perked up in tight triangles. He growled low in his throat.

“Riley,” you commented. “Stop,”

You thought that his response over repeatedly being told his name was unique only in the US was weird but put it behind you. You also noted his accent. Very unique. He was tall, strong. Too tall and strong to fight off if he tried something. You wondered why that thought popped in your head but then reminded yourself that you sized men up automatically since you had your experience with Shadow Company. “Where you from?”

“Australia,”

“You’re far from home,” you noted. “What brings you all this way?”

“Work,” the large man in front of you shrugged.

Another growl from Riley, who looked ready to lunge.

“Riley, no, sir,” you said sternly. You turned back to your guest, saying, “He doesn’t like strangers, sorry,”

The man had also given another strange response because why would someone come from Australia for this kind of work? Whatever. You led him to where the heating system was.

“Cute kid,” the man remarked of your tiny sleeping son. “Always forget how small they are,”

You huffed a nervous smile.

-

After feeding and taking care of your son you were nursing a cup of coffee at the breakfast nook, trying to stay awake. One thing no one had warned you about was how exhausting infants were. Thankfully, infants also slept a lot. You had him asleep in a bassinet next to you because you didn’t trust anyone with your son. Especially not a stranger.

Things had turned out okay, right?

You were alive, Graves was alive. You had Graves and he had you. You were both together. You had a son Sometimes you worried about being separated, but there was a low chance of that, right? No one knew where you were. You honestly wouldn’t know what to do if you were separated from Graves or your son. They were your world.

141 was okay. At least, the last time you’d heard from them. Graves had allowed you enough contact only to know for sure that Soap was going to be okay. That man had survived a shot to the head.

Graves had prevented you contact them after.

At first it had bothered you. Something deep inside had told you to get away, that Graves was only going to get more controlling. But that faded. Any doubts or negative thoughts you had about Graves always faded. So you stayed. Besides, you had a 1-month-old at that time. Where were you going to run with a 1-month-old and weak from recently having given birth?

You’d get random emails, texts, sometimes calls. But once Graves found out who they were from, 141 reaching out, he blocked them.

Graves reasoned that if 141 found out where you were, so could an enemy so you had to stay off the grid. It made sense. Graves did all your thinking for you anyway.

You were on the verge of drifting off into a light slumber when someone approached you from behind.

And placed their hand on your shoulder.

And it made you jump almost a mile high. You gasped and turned around, almost ready to swing.

Andrei held his hands out, as if to show he wasn’t a threat.

“Sorry,” he commented. “I didn’t want to scare you. Just wanted to let you know you’re all set.”

Heat coming out of a nearby vent confirmed what he was saying.

“Let me get my wallet,” you replied with a sigh of relief.

The weird thing was, though, that you couldn’t find your wallet.

You sheepishly had to break the news to which the large man said not to worry, that they could send the bill.

And he left.

-

Graves got home about an hour after.

“Heater’s back up n’ workin’.” Graves commented, grabbing a beer from the fridge. He leaned over Rett’s bassinet and the tiny thing actually reached an even tinier hand towards his father who grinned.

“How was Rob? He didn’t try any shady shit, did he?” He took a sip from his beer.

“Whose Rob?”

“The heating guy,”

“Oh, they sent someone else,” you said dismissively. You turned to open the fridge, trying to figure out what to do for dinner. “What’s important is it’s fixed, right?” you paused before asking, “Did you get that job?” you closed the fridge door and straightened.

Graves stood in front of you, so close and he’d moved so quickly and so quietly that you hadn’t even noticed he’d moved clear across a large kitchen. He was larger than life, still geared, and looked terrifying.

“What the hell?” you whined. “Scared me!”

“I need to know the name of the person who came here.”

“What’s the big deal, so they sent someone else.”

“I’m going to pull up the cameras, Val,” he stepped closer to you, hovering over you and you found yourself stepping backwards because he…he looked like he did…he looked like he did all those nights ago in Las Almas. “And so help me if you’re lying or had someone else over, we’re going to have a problem,”

“Wh-What do you think, I’m lying to you?” you tripped over your words and you kept walking backwards until your back was all the way on the opposite side of the house at the end of the living room.

“Name,”

“Andrei,” you responded immediately.

Graves’s blue eyes grew darker and you flinched when he stepped closer. Riley raised his head from where he lay on the couch but Riley knew better than to challenge his master.

“Did he say his last name?”

“I don’t…” you raked your brain, trying to remember if he had ever shared his last name. But he had! He had, you recalled told you his full name and told you to put in good word for him with your husband. “Nolan.”

Graves’s jaw clenched. “Pack up as much stuff as you can. I gotta make some calls.”

And with that, he turned away.

-

“If he’s involved with Makarov why didn’t he just take me right then and there?” It had been 12 hours. 12 hours with hardly any sleep and a fussy baby as well as a wound up husband. You thought you were done with black sites but apparently not.

“Makarov likes to play mind games. He wants us to be scared, to the point to where we can’t think straight. Then he lunges.”

“Why me?” you whined.

“Why not? You’re perfect,” Graves replied.

-

End notes: No, Soap does not die in my fic! <3

#phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #cod mwii #graves x reader #mw2 141 #cod mw3 #john soap mactavish #longwayfromhome #somewhere only we know

[zepskies]

Never Say Goodbye - Part 4

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader 

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,400 Warnings: Language, cliffhangers (lol). 

Part 4: Guessing Game

The next morning was a Wednesday. Despite the monumental, life-changing things that happened yesterday, unfortunately, you still had to go to work. You also had three class finals to finish.

Still, you woke invigorated with a new energy you had never felt before because you had finally, finally met your soulmate.

…Okay, not so much met him, but at least you had shared a telepathic conversation! That still counted!

…No matter how actually insane that sounded.

So you got ready for your day with an added pep in your step. You dressed “work casual”: white blouse tucked into a black skirt, tights because of the cold, black boots, and your favorite red winter coat. It hung to about your knees, so it would protect your legs. You even had the energy to put on some makeup and style your hair a little, fixing the frizzy kinks into some smoother waves down your back.

You looked into the mirror and you felt proud of your reflection. Not just how you looked, but of how you were able to carry yourself with your head held high. 

With your purse and books gathered, you ventured downstairs and found your dad already puttering through the kitchen. You accepted the mug of coffee he offered and sipped at it while you packed a lunch.

Hmm, getting low on groceries. I’ll have to swing by the store on the way home, you thought.

There was one other thing that snagged in your mind, and that was having to reschedule your visit with Bobby. After you “hung up” with your soulmate (who frustratingly refused to give you his name yet), you realized how late it was and called your uncle for a rain check. But you fully intended to keep your word and visit him today, after work.

Now, you eyed your dad as he read the paper at the small kitchen nook. You took your coffee and sat down across from him (you still had a few minutes before you had to leave). 

“How’s the world?” you asked him, nodding at the newspaper.

“Great,” he replied dryly. “Just one big dumpster fire.”

The corner of your mouth quirked upwards. “Any local flames?”

Jack sighed and lowered the paper, meeting her eyes. “Unfortunately, yes. You carry pepper spray, don’t you?”

You nodded. “Of course.”  

“And your handgun? Where’d you put it?” he asked. You frowned. 

Your father was a cop and this was the Midwest. You did have a concealed carrier’s permit, but you weren’t allowed to have your gun on you at school, so you typically stored it in the nightstand by your bed. Jack knew that.

“What’s going on?” you asked. 

“There’s been a series of home invasions across town, two of them in our neighborhood,” he said, giving you a firm look. “Watch yourself when you leave the house, when you head to your car, when you leave campus.”

“I know, Dad,” you replied. “By the way…are you planning on going to see Mom today? I didn’t get a chance to go yesterday, so we could go together if you want.”

You were attempting to lend an olive branch after yesterday’s argument. Jack, however, wasn’t getting the hint. 

“I can’t.” He shook his head and tapped at the newspaper headline. “I’m actually heading this case…most of these have been what we call ‘push-ins.’”

“What’s a push-in?” you asked. You could guess, but you didn’t like how serious your dad was right now.

“Let’s say someone knocks at the door. You’re not expecting anyone, not even the pizza guy. What do you do?” Jack asked. 

“Check who it is through the peephole,” you answer.

“What if your door doesn’t have one?”

This was easy. Your father had drilled this into you since you were eight years old. “Ask who it is through the door. Don’t open it unless you know them, or unless you can smell pizza through the door crack.”

“Good. Most people will just open the door without checking,” Jack said. “The guy shoves his way in and attacks you. That’s a push-in.”

Goddamn. You didn't know there was a name for that. 

“And how many of these have happened so far?” you asked.

“Four that we know of,” he replied. “It hasn’t hit the news yet but…Mrs. Jenkins was killed last night. We found the poor thing literally clutching her pearls.”

You blanched, setting down your coffee. Shock hit you first, then sadness. Mrs. Jenkins was the sweet old lady who used to make cookies for Sunday school when you were a kid. She’d given you $50 for college textbooks when you graduated from high school, and then flowers when you graduated with your bachelor’s degree. 

Your eyes burned with emotion. “I can’t believe it. He was after her pearls?”

“I imagine she didn’t want to give ‘em up,” Jack said. “Or she held on out of reflex. When you’re afraid, logic tends to fly out the window.”

You understood that, but you couldn’t believe she’d died for her jewelry. You rubbed the silver ring on your right hand and rationalized to yourself. You knew you could give up your mom’s ring if it meant the difference between that and a bullet in your brain.

Your dad was still telling you to be careful when you left the house that morning. He only nagged and rode your ass about your future career because he cared. You knew that. But the nagging was a test of your ever-thinning patience. 

Once you got on the road, you had an hour to kill on your commute. Then a flash of an idea occurred to you, making you smile. With a deep breath, you sought that thread of energy inside your mind. You didn’t know if this would work. It wouldn’t be long until you were driving away from Sioux Falls and headed to Vermillion, but you hoped the connection would win out.

The thread brightened with your focus on it, and suddenly you could feel him. Your soulmate. 

Good morning, sleepyhead, you greeted cheerfully. His response was more sluggish.

No, it ain’t.  

His grumpy voice made you laugh. Aw, someone’s grouchy in the morning.

This lumpy couch killed my back, he complained. And I could hear my brother’s snoring from downstairs.

So he had a brother. That was an interesting tidbit of information you’d save for later. You smiled. 

You’re a cute grouch.

Excuse me, princess. I’m not a “cute” anything. He sounded mildly offended, but you sensed he was just as amused as you. 

So what’s your brother’s name? you asked.

He hesitated, but eventually he replied, His name’s Sam. 

Okay, so his brother’s name was safe, but his name had to be a mystery. And his job. That annoyed you, though you supposed it was part of the game.

What’re you up to? he asked. 

On my way to work. 

Oh, yeah? What do you do?

Even though you shook your head at the hypocrisy of his question, you decided to answer honestly. Well, I’m finishing up grad school next semester. This week is finals, then we break until January. But I also work part-time for one of my professors as her assistant.

Look at you, he said with a whistle. Beauty and brains.

You quirked a smile. If only your dad were that impressed. Technically you haven’t confirmed the “beauty” bit. I could be a potato with legs for all you know.

You sensed rather than heard his laughter.

Nah, a voice that sexy can’t be Potato Girl. 

You blushed up to your ears at that one. No one had ever described your voice that way. Quiet, mousy yes—and mainly by Dr. Birch—but never sexy.

Your soulmate was definitely a flirt, if nothing else. 

Hmm, you had that line locked and loaded, didn’t you?

Nope. That was fresh, sweetheart, he said. I’m just that creative. 

Sure, you laughed again. It’s already 9:00 a.m. Don’t you have somewhere to be?

Yeah, now that you mention it. I’ve gotta get going to work too.

That was disappointing, but at least you’d learned something new. Your soulmate wasn’t a morning person, and he had a brother.

Do you and your brother both have the same mystery job?

…Yeah, actually. We work together, he said. Good question, Nancy Drew. 

Yes! You smiled in triumph. 

You made a few more guesses about his job: police officer, teacher, leader of a biker gang—all of which were apparently wrong. 

But keep ‘em comin’, he said. You’ll get it eventually.

You let out an annoyed huff. But then you felt his amusement, like he was genuinely enjoying himself while talking with you. That warmed you up enough for now.

After a long day at the university, you relished coming home knowing you only had two more days until winter break. 

You stopped at the grocery store on the way home, like you’d planned, but now you regretted it. There were only two cashiers open despite a packed store. Ugh. Just my luck.

You chose the one that didn’t have a screaming child throwing his mother’s apples out of the cart, but you did stop to help her pick them up. 

“Thanks, hun,” she said tiredly. You nodded with a sympathetic smile.

“How old is he?” you asked.

“Two and a half,” she said. You tried to hide your reaction, but she gave a wry smile and returned to her child.

Good luck, you wanted to say, but you kept that yourself and returned to your cart. As the line inched forward, you wondered if you wanted kids. 

Never really thought about it before, you could admit. You supposed there was a lot to consider, but maybe most importantly: It has to be with the right person.

You wondered if your soulmate was that person, or if having kids one day (or not) was going to be a dealbreaker for him.

Then you snorted, shaking your head. Okay, you’re getting very ahead of yourself. You haven’t even met the man.

“Hey, look who it is!” 

The cashier’s voice startled you from your thoughts. When you broke out of your reverie, you realized you were at the front of the line, and Danny Schmitt was once again your checkout guy. Part of you withered, but you tried at a polite smile as you busied yourself by emptying your cart on the conveyer belt. “Hey, Danny. How’re you doing?”

“Been good. And yourself? You look good,” he said. He wasn’t very discreet about checking you out. You blushed, but more from discomfort than flattery. 

“Thanks,” you said, a bit awkwardly, and started bagging the groceries he rang up.

“What have you been up to?” he asked. “Every time I see you, you’re dressed up like you’re goin’ to a Broadway show or something.”

Broadway? You glanced down at your work casual blouse and skirt. To the movie theater, maybe. Less Mamma Mia and more Magic Mike.  

“I like it though. Skirt and boots, always a sexy combo,” Danny said, and gave you a wink. You had no doubt that many a girl had swooned at the move, but you were less charmed and more annoyed. You finished bagging your stuff and paid with your credit card in silence.

The high school version of yourself would’ve blushed at Danny’s attention. After stapling his fingers together in freshman year, he’d gone through a growth spurt the next. He’d joined the wrestling team, and paired with his light blonde hair and square jaw, the girls hadn’t stopped stumbling over themselves to get with him. 

After high school, though, Danny didn’t get that sports scholarship for college. It also looked like he didn’t have the drive for anything else, either. He’d worked this same job at the Piggly Wiggly since you graduated six years ago.

All right, check your privilege, you reminded yourself, feeling guilty for judging him. Not everyone’s cut out for college. You don’t even know exactly what you want to do with your life.

“Have a good one,” he said, handing you the receipt. “And hey, let me know if you want to get a coffee sometime, or dinner. Flannigan’s has a two-for-one special on beer pitchers…I’ll pay. Or, you know, we could split it. You know, equality and all that. Hell, even you could pay if you wanted to.” He laughed.

Tempting, you thought. Though you’d have to remember about that two-for-one special. Uncle Bobby might want to make that your beer pilgrimage tonight.

“You know, I’ve been pretty busy lately,” you said, trying your best at a smile. “But I’ll let you know!”

Maybe it was rude of you, but you didn’t give him a chance to reply as you took your cart and waved goodbye.

Bobby welcomed you into his home, with what could only be described as a “gruff smile.” You shed your winter coat, but finding no hooks on the wall, you just draped it over the back of the living room couch.

“Come in,” he beckoned with a hand. “Don’t mind the mess. I was just finishing up some…work.”

Indeed, there were several books strewn across the coffee table, the dining table, the little accent table next to the couch—basically every available space in the living room was covered with books, manuscripts, and loose papers. Your eyes scanned over some of them. Raising a brow, you picked up one of the books. 

“Omens, Trials, and Tribulations: A Guided Study on the Book of Revelation,” you read, and gave Bobby a curious look. “Doing some light reading alongside the New King James?” 

Bobby shrugged. “It’s a hobby.”

Somehow you didn’t think that was the whole story, but you smiled in amusement. Then you noticed some rumpled bed sheets on the couch, a green duffle bag dumped on the floor. 

“Do you have someone staying over? Should I come back another day?” you asked.

“Nah, I’ve got a couple of knuckleheads staying over, but they’re not here right now,” he said. “I sent them to work on somethin’.”

“Oh, towing a car for you?” you asked. 

“More like, checking out a possible job,” he explained, though that didn’t really explain anything at all. It left you even more curious as you got the sense he was leaving something out again, but you didn’t press it. Instead, you followed him into the kitchen.

“Want a beer?” he asked.

“That’s why I’m here,” you joked. “Dad drinks ‘em like a fish. By the time I get home, the fridge is damn-near empty.”

“How is he?” Bobby handed you the beer and you took it gratefully. 

“He’s the same. Buried in cases. I made him something before I left, for when he gets home,” you replied. Then you sighed and sat down at the two-seater table in the kitchen. “He didn’t even go to visit Mom on the anniversary.”

Just then, you realized something. You hadn’t actually visited Mom either, because you’d been distracted…hearing your soulmate’s thoughts for the first time. 

Damn it… 

Well, in this case your mom would probably forgive you, but you felt guilty all the same. You slid your ring around your finger absently.

Bobby sat across from you at the table. “The past can be a hard thing to let go of, but the real bitch of it is, it’s also hard remembering.”

You nodded in agreement. 

“How’re you doin’ then?” he asked. Instead of a customary fine, or busy, you actually thought about it. 

“Yesterday…I don’t know. I felt stuck. Like, I was hanging onto the train but I wasn’t in the driver’s seat,” you admitted. “Today, I woke up and things were different.”

“That’s specific,” Bobby remarked. You shot him a wry smile. 

“I don’t know. I’ve spent a long time just, like…trudging through the snow. Trying to keep the flurries out of my eyes,” you said. “But for the first time, I feel like I can see the sun, you know? There’s a reason to hope things might change. Like something good is coming my way.”

Bobby’s mouth lifted into a subtle grin. “Very poetic. You should think about writin’ for Hallmark.” 

You uttered an incredulous laugh. “All right. See if I pour my heart out to you again. God.”

“My apologies, princess,” Bobby said dryly. “Okay. In all seriousness, you’ve got a lot goin’ for ya, kid. You’ve got a right to be optimistic.”

You nodded with a superior smile. “Thank you.”  

“Listen, I’ve got a lasagna waiting in the oven. You want any part of that?” he asked. 

Your uncle was asking if you wanted to stay for dinner. You considered it and realized he was trying to connect with you. It wasn’t the first time he’d offered, and you regretted declining his loose invitations in the past. 

“Sure,” you said. “Lasagna sounds great.”

“All right.” He nodded. “Gimme a sec.”

 You had never understood the seemingly one-sided animosity between your dad and your uncle. Sure, Bobby was known as the town drunk. He’d gotten arrested a few times for publicly intoxicated antics, but he wasn’t belligerent. He wasn’t a bad man by any means. 

“You know, speaking of Italian. I like making spaghetti and meatballs, the latter from scratch,” you said. “Maybe I could make some next time.”

Bobby glanced over at you with a bit of surprise. “Uh…sure.”

You smiled. 

Later, as you and Bobby shared a meal together, you caught up on safe subjects, like how his business was going. He likewise asked you about your job. You admitted Dr. Birch was driving you up the wall this week. She’d asked you to grade two more of her classes’ final exams, putting you behind on your thesis draft. 

But then you drew enough courage to delve into not-so-safe subjects.

“All right, I’ve gotta know,” you said. “Why the hell did you and my dad fall out, Bobby? What is this thing?”

Bobby looked very reluctant. “It’s complicated.”

You stared back at him for a moment. Curiosity was eating at you, but you didn’t want to push either. Today was going well. Maybe it was better not to spoil it. 

“Complicated,” you echoed, smiling ruefully. “Right.”

After you two finished dinner and the dishes were cleared, you thanked Bobby and surprised him with a hug. His arms came around you briefly before you both let go, just a little awkwardly. 

You put on your coat and headed out the door, until his voice stopped you on the porch. 

“Look, regardless of where your dad and I stand, you’re family,” Bobby said. “You’re always welcome here.”

You gave a warm smile. “Thanks, Uncle Bobby.”

Then you returned to your Camaro and drove away from Singer Salvage, waving to his through your window as you went. 

You made a left at the main road going west, so you didn’t see the black Impala come in from the east road, turning into Bobby’s driveway.

“What were those smooth wheels doing pulling out of this junk heap?” Dean jabbed a thumb behind him as he and Sam came into the house. They’d gotten nothing from that potential lead on John Winchester’s whereabouts, and neither of them were in a great mood. But the smell of food cheered up both of them, especially Dean.

“What?” Bobby asked.

“That blue ’93 Camaro Z28 that just peeled outta here. She was nice,” Dean said. Sam glanced at him, impressed. Dean smirked, an Aw, yeah, I know my shit kind of look.

Bobby smiled in amusement. “My niece stopped by for dinner.”

Sam shared a look of mild surprise with Dean, who said, “That’s a shame. Would’ve liked to meet her.”

Bobby shot him a warning look. “Down, boy. Like you need any help findin’ dance partners.” 

Dean grinned. Sam nearly rolled his eyes. 

“The lead didn’t pan out,” Sam said. “So we’re gonna head out in the morning, if that’s all right.”

“Fine,” Bobby shrugged. “Drink my beer, eat my food, and run up my water bill. Just do me a favor and clean up after yourselves. I don’t need a roach infestation.” 

“What, don’t you think the rats need company?” Dean teased. Bobby raised a warning finger at him, making Dean hold back a laugh.

Bobby went upstairs for bed soon after, and Dean gave Sam first shower this time. It was good timing too…

Dean realized he could hear his soulmate again. 

 You were rocking out to a Billy Joel song.

He smirked. Figures.

As you drove home blasting “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” you chanted along with the long verses, sometimes forgetting words, sometimes stumbling and saying them wrong. But you came in strong with the part you knew: We didn’t start the fiiire. It was always buuurnin’ since the world’s been tuuurnin’—

Figures, your soulmate’s voice cut through everything else. It almost startled you, but feeling his amusement made you blush hotly. 

He laughed, and it was a rich sound that made something flutter in your stomach. 

Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt the performance. But come on, ‘80s pop?

You scoffed. All right, Mr. Power Ballad. Billy Joel is pop rock.

Gotta say, I expected better from you, sweetheart, he teased.

Ugh, you sound like such an old man. Tell me you don’t just listen to mullet rock, you rejoined. 

All right. Let’s take an inventory, shall we? he challenged. ACDC. Led Zeppelin. Boston.

You made a face as you continued to drive through your hometown. You knew these streets like the back of your hand, even in the pitch black of eleven at night. 

Yes to Zeppelin. The other two are…loud, you said. You heard him sigh, but he accepted this.

Fine, how about Hendrix?

Absolutely. You smiled. I take your Hendrix and raise you Prince and Beyonce.

Prince, yes. You can keep Beyonce, he said. Sorry, I’m not Team BeyHive.

You chortled in response. The fact that you know what that means give me hope. At least you’re aware that you live in the 2000s. 

Whatever. I was raised on two things: classic rock and the open road.

His grumpiness was entertaining, but this gave you an excellent opportunity to play your little game.

The open road, huh? Are you some kind of traveling salesman? you asked.

Definitely not.

Hmm. Perhaps he sensed your frustration. He surprised you by giving you a hint.

Travel is part of it though.

Aha! I knew it.

Oh yeah? How?

This morning you said you were sleeping on a couch, you began. You typically don’t do that if you’re not at home in your bed. So I could assume you were traveling, and you had to work today. But I didn’t know you had to travel often for work until you just said it.

You felt proud of your deductive reasoning. So now I know that you and your brother have the same job. It’s unlikely you live in Sioux Falls. And you travel often for work.

Dean whistled lowly. Damn, girl. Somehow you’re reminding me of Sam right now…what are you studying again?

You noted a brief tendril of sadness from him, being quickly brushed off. You didn’t dwell on it, but you would make a mental note of it for later, maybe.

History, you replied.

Oh, okay. Gonna be a teacher or something?

I…don’t really know yet. I’ve been scoping out jobs…

You’ve almost got two degrees and you don’t know what you wanna do with ‘em?

All right, that was hitting a nerve. 

“You know what? Don’t change the subject!” you said. Realizing you said that out loud, you made sure to think it at him this time.

You don’t live in Sioux Falls right? Or South Dakota even? you added.

Look at you go, little miss detective, he replied. You thought he enjoyed teasing you a bit too much. No, I don’t live here. But a family friend does.

Okay, so that narrowed it down to everything.

You turned the street corner into your neighborhood. The streetlights were sparse here ever since the last snowstorm knocked them out. Your dad had talked about installing ground lights in the front lawn for years, but he’d never gotten around to it. His job was too demanding to take care of much at home, which left you with most of the responsibility. Sometimes you wondered how your mom did it…

Anyway, back to the game. 

Plumber, electrician, flight attendant? You guessed. You had a feeling from the way he talked about your schooling that he hadn’t gone to college. You didn’t mind that. If this stupid game was anything to go by, it sounded like he had an interesting way of making a living. 

Nope to all three, especially the last one. Ugh.

Goddamn it. Okay, do you own a business?

You could say that. It’s a family business, he said. There was a playful note to this voice, as if he was dancing around the truth.

Dear Lord. All right, a family business… 

It was probably something small-scale. A diner? Hardware store? 

It’s not a physical store. More like a…a service.

You were getting warmer! With a smile, you made your way down your street and pulled your car into the driveway. Surprise, surprise, your dad wasn’t home yet.

Got it. You nodded. Okay, truck driver. Service engineer, electrician…oh shit, I said that earlier. Hmm…exterminator?

You grabbed your purse and finally got out of your car. You’d made it all the way to your front door when you realized that your soulmate had gone quiet. You sensed he was thinking, contemplating. 

You nearly bounced in excitement as you unlocked the door to your house. I’m right, aren’t I? Which one?

After stepping inside and closing the door behind you, you turned on the hallway and living room lights. 

The last one, he said at last. You paused in your excitement, your brows furrowed.

Exterminator. Really? That was curious. Who’d ever heard of a traveling exterminator? Like rats and stuff?

And stuff, he said with a chuckle, but somehow you knew it was hollow. You frowned, until you looked into the living room and noticed something weird. 

A black duffel bag that didn’t look like your dad’s. You don’t remember it being there this morning either. 

Hey, you okay? he asked. You realized that he was probably sensing your confusion. You headed toward the duffel bag. 

Yeah, I just got home—

The moment you set down your purse on the coffee table, a hand closed over your mouth and muffled your scream. 

AN: Yay, cliffhangers! (I promise they'll meet in the next chapter lol.)

Also, I just want to say THANK YOU to all of you reading, reblogging, commenting, etc. I didn't think this little fic would generate that much interest, but getting your feedback is inspiring me to write more!

Keep reading: Part 5.

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