#but this fic is genuinely heavy on the descriptions and feelings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

endlessthxxghts · 8 months

Text

Take It Easy

no outbreak!neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈10.2k

Summary: Your family throws an impromptu barbecue. You’re usually the one they throw every task on, but with today being your most painful period day, you say fuck it and leave them to fend for themselves. Only one other guest is invited today, and that’s Joel Miller.

Warnings: Age gap (23/43). Established relationship (to everyone but reader’s family). No physical description of reader besides outfit choices. Use of feminine pet names. LATINO JOEL MILLER (he’s canon in all my fics, sorry not sorry). Fluff with slight angst - getting caught, kinda (?) - happy ending, don’t worry. This version of Joel is always soft for reader, but I feel like he’s extra soft here. These idiots are so fucking in love (highkey jealous). SMUT 18+ MDNI: If you know the traffic light system for safe words, reader uses yellow at one point - but fluff & comfort happens immediately after. Dom/sub and Brat tamer/brat dynamics (subspace!). Daddy kink. Degradation kink (very brief). Making out/body appreciation. Masturbation (F). Oral sex (M receiving). Spit kink (I'm so weak). Exhibitionist kink - reader is being bold 🫣. Face fucking. Vaginal fingering. Lots of kissing (these two definitely have some sort of oral/kiss fixation istg). Soft unprotected p in v. Reader gets a surge of dominance, soooo ya get a glimpse of sub!Joel😏…...I think that's it. Let me know if there’s anything I missed. 🫶🏼

Author's Note: This can be read as a stand-alone, but I accidentally connected this a bit more than I intended to the What You Need fic. That fic talks a lot about reader's background/family dynamic and why/how Joel is the way that he is with reader. There's also some little details in here that might fly over your head if you haven't read What You Need. However, I genuinely don't think any confusion or such will occur if you only read this one shot. I hope you'll be able to enjoy all the same. Much love 💚

MASTERLIST || ONESHOT COLLECTION

“Can you prep the veggies?”

“Can you prep the grill?”

“Can you make the rice?”

“Why don’t I make the entire fucking dinner at this point?” You snap in the direction of the kitchen from your place on the couch, wrapped in blankets, snuggled with a heat pack over your lower belly.

“Well, if you’re offering,” your brother smirks.

You started your period yesterday, and the second day is always the absolute worst. Your flow is heavy, your cramps are excruciating, and your mood is all over the place. Today was not the day for an impromptu barbecue, regardless if there were guests or not.

You promptly give your brother the middle finger then pull yourself off the couch to make your way to the bathroom. You’ve filled up an entire pad, yet again, in less than 20 minutes.

You always do everything for your family, but today, you absolutely don’t give a fuck. Today is self care day for you — popping three painkillers then heading straight to the dark of your room.

You’re not entirely sure how long you fell asleep for, but the smell of charcoal smoke and sizzling steak is what wakes you up first. The next sensation that fills you is the sound of heavy boots walking from, what you assume to be, the back door to the kitchen. Joel. You’d know that walk anywhere. He’s taking on the tasks for your family that usually fall on your shoulders.

He called you this morning before everyone (including you) woke up, saying he’s excited to see you tonight. You grumbled sleepily, about to tell him you were just as excited when a searing pain ruptured in your stomach, causing you to gasp out in pain.

“Baby?” Joel called out, “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Fuck, sorry, baby, it’s nothing,” you shyly say. He says your name. You start to explain, “I started my period yesterday, and-” but Joel cuts you off. “The second day is always the worst,” he states factually.

You smile to yourself, “Yeah, exactly.”

He tells you to get up and get a glass of water and some medicine to ease the pain, which you do, then he tells you to let yourself sleep in today, which you don’t.

“Fine,” he relents at your stubbornness, “but at least take it easy today, darlin’, ya hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Miller, loud and clear,” you tell him.

You can feel his dumb fucking lopsided smirk through the phone, “Fuckin’ brat,” he snarls.

“Mhm, but you’re fuckin’ brat,” you correct him.

“Yes. Mine.”

“Mmmm,” you let out a soft moan at that. Mine. You love the way it sounds, the way he claims you. “I love you.”

His cock twitches at the sound you make, but he wills it stay down. He takes a breath before he responds, “I love you, baby.” He can’t get ahead of himself today. He needs you to take it easy. So he tells you exactly that, again, for the last time before he ends the call and lets you take on your tasks for the day.

Even though the mouth-watering scent of all the delicious food has completely pulled you awake, you stay in bed a little longer, basking in the sensation of absolute no cramping in the position you’re in. And as if on cue, Joel quietly knocks on your door, waiting for you to invite him in.

“Come in,” your voice cracks, still groggy from the hours of no speaking.

He enters softly, clad in that denim button up you love so much paired with some dark washed jeans. “Hi, darlin’,” he makes his way to place a soft kiss to your forehead, your nose, then a longer one to your lips. “How you feelin’?”

“Better now,” you coo, completely enamored by how soft your big, burly man can be. “Food smells good. You helped them?”

He’s sitting at the side of your bed now, facing you, so he can rest his arm across you. “Only your old man. Carried in the food as he finished puttin’ em in the trays,” he says as he draws little circles on your arms.

You hum in response, too content at his presence. Still unable to use your voice, you tug on his arm, silently asking for him to hold you for just a moment before you eventually need to get up.

“They all left, by the way,” Joel soothes.

You finally have the strength to lift your head up, a quizzical look on your face.

“Your brother needed an herb, your dad s’more charcoal, obviously your mother drove ‘em. I don’t know where your other siblings are, though,” he explains.

“Oh.” You look up at him. “So what you’re saying is,” tugging harder on his arm to pull him into your bed, “you can freely cuddle me until then.”

He chuckles at that, giving into your pull, and wrapping his hand around your jaw to pull you into yet another sweet kiss. He’s laying down next to you now, and you take the opportunity to completely entangle your limbs into his, your head tucked into his neck.

Your family is gone for another forty-five minutes from that point on, and you two spend each minute just completely wrapped into each other, sharing sweet, wet kisses everywhere both of you can reach. His thigh supplying light pressure between yours at your core, spurring you both on just enough but not to the point where you lose all self control.

There’s something about the way you two can touch each other like this. With past partners, they always wanted things to escalate. To undress you and devour you at any sign of affection. But with Joel, it’s natural. Of course, his body will react in ways that show he physically wants more, but truly, he just wants to adore you and appreciate you and love you. And in the moments where those three words aren’t enough, he shows it in the other pure way he knows how to.

You’re too distracted being consumed by Joel’s touch, but as sharp as an eagle, he immediately perks at the sound of your family’s arrival. He slowly pulls away, trying to savor the kiss as much as possible. Finally it breaks, and you immediately pull your bottom lip into your mouth, trying to savor the way he feels and the way he tastes. He gives you a look of pure love and devotion—a look you know is only reserved for you, a look you’ll never get tired of. “Time to get up, darlin’.”

“Ugh,” you whine out, “Okay, I’ll meet you out there. I’m just gonna change, baby.”

He pulls you up out of bed and straight into another chaste kiss, “Want me to make you tea?”

“That sounds lovely, baby,” you blush at his attentiveness. You’ve been spoiled rotten by him for the past year, but you still get so flustered every time. “But I think we’re out of what I normally drink-”

He stops you with yet another kiss. “I bought a box of that peppermint blend before I came.”

You can’t stop the way you absolutely fold for this man, evident in the shaky breath you take and the way you completely stumble on your words, “Y-yeah, o-okay, yes, please.”

He smiles and nods, walking directly to your kitchen without another second to waste.

God, he deserves some fucking head right now, you think to yourself as you quietly giggle.

You make your way to your bathroom, taking a quick body shower because those several hours of sleep, plus the way Joel was on you for 45 minutes, had you looking like a murder scene down there. You dry yourself off, lotion up, and change into some loose black sweats and a fitted, light blue baby tee.

You look a lot brighter after your rest; Joel was right in telling you to sleep in, you needed it. Not that you’d ever tell him. He doesn’t need anymore ego boosts. Ya see, what’d I say, darlin’? you can hear his Texan twang scolding you already.

He looks up from the kettle pot boiling before him to see you perched on the bar stool on the other side of the kitchen island, bright eyed and awake, watching him make your tea. “Thank you again, baby,” you softly say.

He comes around behind you, setting your mug in front of you accompanied with three soft kisses peppered to the area where your shoulder and neck meet. “Of course, my sweet girl. You ready to eat? Everythin’ is set up out back, and everyone is out there, too,” he sighs, “already eatin’.” He says, annoyed at the fact that no one thought to call and check in on you, let you know that the ritual of eating together already started. You’re used to it by now, but seeing his reaction reminds you that it’s not normal for your own family to treat you this way. You smile a little sadly, trying to think of how you want to go about this. Usually you just wouldn’t eat, but with Joel around, you know that’s not going to fly.

“How ‘bout,” he says as he wraps his arms around your waist, his head still resting on your shoulder, “I go out there, make a plate big enough for us both, and I come back in and we share?” He could easily get you your own plate, but he knows your family. They’ll jump at any opportunity to shit talk you when they don’t understand the entire situation. Getting you your own plate and serving you when he’s a guest in your own home could inspire that, and he really doesn’t want you to experience that right now.

You lean into him, turning your head a little to place a kiss to his cheek. “Okay, baby,” you smile, “yes, let’s share.”

He comes back inside to you snuggled on the couch again with a pullout table propped right in front. He snuggles up right beside you, placing your legs right on top of his, keeping you secure with a hand on your thigh.

The plate is filled with a mountain worth of food. You already know three-quarters of that is going down his bottomless pit of a stomach, laughing to yourself at the thought. One thing that wasn’t on the original menu for tonight was on his plate. It also just so happened to be one of your comfort foods whenever you weren’t feeling good. “W-who made the mashed potatoes?”

Joel looks up at you sheepishly. He thought he’d be able to pull it off. He didn’t just go to the store, before he came, for your mint tea. He also went to get the ingredients for the mashed potatoes recipe you love so much. Within the almost two years he’s spent getting to know you, he’s recognized that every single time you’re feeling under the weather or falling into some type of depressive slump, you’re either eating or craving it. “I, uh- When I went to go get your tea… I figured I’d get ya your stuff for this, too. Made it before I came to wake ya up.”

“Joel…” your voice cracks and your eyes tear up.

How is it that after 23 years of life, you’re finally experiencing what it means when someone loves you? And you’re not talking romantic, you’re talking pure, genuine love. Love that you should’ve received from your parents, your siblings. They have never once shown you the consideration of making you your favorite meal, or fixing you a cup of something warm when you’re not feeling well. They have never shown you what it means to appreciate someone, in any of the love languages. The only person that has shown you remotely anything is your mother, but even that is limited because she cowers behind the directives of your father. You see her try, and you feel selfish not to appreciate it. But is it selfish to just want to be wholly loved by the people who created and raised you?

You pull the fork out of his hands and set it back on the plate. And in an instant, you completely throw yourself on him, your arms wrapped around his neck tightly, legs tightly hugged between his own. He loses his balance and lays straight back onto the couch, letting out a grunt at the landing, with you on top of him. You push into him for a kiss, your noses smooshing together as you lick inside his mouth with a sense of urgency to show him how much you love him. Once the initial shock of you pouncing on him wears off, he immediately wraps himself around you, tightening his hold to pull you in impossibly more. His tongue dances with yours, one arm wrapped around your middle and another secure around the bottom of your ass.

You adjust to straddle his hips, sitting up and pulling him up with you by the collar of his denim. You break away from him just for a minute, heavy breathing and eyes dark, and you let your hand glide down his chest, swiftly undoing a few buttons of his shirt, making sure to leave a trail of sloppy, wet kisses as you go. You make your way down to his belt, unbuckling it with such a need that he can’t help but just watch you. You slip the belt out of the loops, letting it fall to the ground, and you’re scooting back more to situate yourself in between the tight space of his legs. You palm him through his jeans, feeling how absolutely hard he is, which elicits a deep groan from the man above you. With that, the button and zipper of his jeans are undone. You bring your hands up back to the hem of his jeans, looking back up at him for his approval.

“Sweet girl, ya know your folks are right outside,” he tries to warn but fails with the way his voice wavers with need.

You look to the back door that’s twenty feet away, curtains completely drawn, and look back at him. “You and I both know none of them are coming back inside for a while,” you raise your eyebrows in defiance.

He is truly at war with himself right now. He could let you do what you want, knowing you get off just as much as he does when you give him head. Or he could situate you back to your original positions and finger a few orgasms out of you, and he just pulls away from you if someone were to walk in — the safer route. Or. The safest option being he bids your folks goodnight and you let them know you’re going out for the night.

Though, the latter would just be too easy. He knows you both revel in the risk, in the act of sneaking around. Which is why he finds himself scooting forward to the edge of the couch, and you take the hint loud and clear. He wants you on your knees for this. He meets your stare once more, both of you sparkling with mischief. “Well? Darlin’? Best get on with it then, huh?” Followed by him lifting his hips slightly so you can tug his clothing down, his tip red and aching.

“Fuck, yes,” you gasp out, “been thinking about this since you left my fuckin’ room, daddy, I want you so bad.”

Your admission spurs him on more, and his eyes go impossibly dark. “Go on, darlin’. Prove it to me. Show me how fuckin’ bad.”

You pull yourself up to stand on your knees for a moment, and murmur a quiet come here to him, urging him to lean in for a second. He pulls closer, stopping an inch away from your face. You open your mouth for him, tongue sticking out and flat. He gets the hint, and before you can even register, his hand is on your jaw, tilting your head back and opening you wider, and he spits.

You use all your self control not to swallow it right here and right now, desperate to feel any kind of warmth from him slide down your throat. You have other plans right now. You close your mouth and let your own spit generate, absolutely giddy with want to please your man. His eyes are fixed on you, knowing your next plan of action, but still stunned all the same at how fucking filthy his sweet girl is. You pull yourself back, hovering your mouth over his erection.

You open your mouth and just let the combination of both of you fall from your mouth, sliding down his cock like the sweetest of syrups that you can’t wait to lick up. As the amount of spit starts to really gather, you grab him by the base and start stroking up and down his length, putting extra emphasis on his tip, running your finger over his slit for good measure. He lets out a stuttered groan at that, and you take that as your queue to finally put him in your mouth. Running your tongue in the same pattern your fingers did his tip, making him hiss in your ability to make him fold at the smallest of touches.

You keep this pace for a good while, using your hand in tandem with your mouth, stroking up and down in the speed and pressure that you know brings him to the edge fast. The sounds coming from your throat mixed with the slick feeling of your hand pumping him has your pussy absolutely dripping for attention. Fuck it. You slide your other hand down into your underwear, and begin to play with your clit, not wanting to go any deeper for fear of getting blood all over the place. Joel wouldn’t mind—of course, he wouldn’t—but you would, so you give yourself just enough to ease the aching need between your legs. Your moans get louder now that you’re touching yourself, your throat adding a delicious vibrating sensation to him.

His eyes were shut at how fucking amazing you’re taking him, but with the sounds you’re making, he can’t help but make sure all his focus is on you. And god damn, when he sees you touching yourself so prettily while you’re being such a good girl making daddy feel so fucking good, he can’t help but cum at the sight. “F-fuck, sweet girl, holy fuckin’ hell,” he breathes, “It turn you on that bad to have my dick in your mouth, huh?”

You pull off of him with a pop, making sure you keep as much of his cum in your mouth as you can—because there’s a fuck ton—and you fix your stare into his dark eyes as you swallow every last bit of him. “So fucking good, daddy, I-” you break off into a moan, your hand that was pumping him now gripping his thigh to maintain your balance as you continue the ministrations on your pussy.

“Cum for me, baby, show me how good it makes you feel to be daddy’s little slut,” he demands. You gasp out at his words, that demand being what really throws you over the edge. Your clit pulses underneath your fingers, you feel yourself gush out, your blood and cum making you feel impossibly messier, and with that, your body goes rigid.

Joel leans forward and grabs onto your jaw, keeping you upright while you come back down from your high. You’re so far gone that you don’t realize he’s peppering your face with kisses, uttering sweet nothings until you’re back with him. He gently pulls your hand from your pants and settles them into your lap.

“I’ve got ya, baby,” he kisses your lips softly.

“My sweet girl,” he kisses your jaw, “I love you,” another kiss at your pulse point below your ear. He feels your body begin to relax.

“Atta girl, baby,” he whispers before reaching down and settling his other arm underneath your legs, positioning himself so he can pick you up in a cradle position. He stands and carries you to your bathroom, settling you on your feet for one moment so he can pull your sweats and underwear off of you. He guides you down onto the toilet, kissing your forehead and muttering a quick one sec, baby before he steps out. He comes back two minutes later, and you’re still in subspace but slightly more grounded, and he kneels down in front of you, instructing you to lift one foot at a time.

He went to go get you a new pair of underwear and some gray sweatpants. He already stuck another pad to your underwear, too. The action fills you with such an overwhelming feeling that you can’t help the tears that roll down your flushed cheeks. He looks up, knowing everything you’re saying and feeling by your gaze alone. He cups your cheeks with both hands, rubs his thumb to wipe the stray tears, and kisses your forehead, your left eye, then your right, your nose, and finally your lips, all in an attempt to seal every ounce of love and adoration he has for you.

“I love you,” you finally say, leaning your forehead against his, and just take a moment with his hands on you. He pulls back again with a kiss to your forehead, and he grabs the wipes on the counter, encouraging you to lean back a bit, so he can clean you properly.

“Wait, no,” you meekly say, trying to grab the wipes from his hands. He knows you get embarrassed at the fact that he sees you a little gross like this, and you know he truly doesn’t care. Usually he relents and lets you do it yourself, but tonight, he’s doing everything for you whether you like it or not. He raises one eyebrow at you, and that’s all you need to bring your arms back down in defeat. You lean yourself back a little, spreading your legs open, and let him clean you up.

When it comes to other activities during your period, you usually are uncomfortable. But with Joel? With him, you don’t mind. You actually love it. It’s in moments like these that remind you how irrevocably in love you are with this man.

Afterwards he stands you up, pulls your bottoms on, and turns you towards the sink and washes your hands for you. He really wasn’t kidding at how easy he wanted you to take today.

He carried you back to the couch and wrapped a fluffy blanket around you. You threw yourself on him in the middle of your guys’ meal, so after he settles you into the couch, he transfers your shared food to a real plate instead of paper and warms everything up. He does the same to your peppermint tea.

After everything is warmed, he settles back onto the couch beside you, pulling your legs up onto his thighs and holding you above your knee to secure your position. You go to reach the fork, but Joel is quick to swat your hand away, taking the fork and feeding you a bite of your mashed potatoes instead.

“I told you,” he scolds, “to take it easy today.”

You frown, “And I have been! You’ve literally been taking care of me since you got here.”

He sets the fork down, reaching for your tea and lifting it up to your mouth. He’s not gonna respond until you take a sip, which was much needed as your belly immediately calms at the heat. You take one more sip as he begins, “You pouncin’ on my fuckin’ dick was not takin’ it easy.”

You cough on the fucking liquid still traveling down your throat. You were not expecting that to come out of his mouth. You try really hard to will yourself not to fucking burst out in laughter because you know how serious he was with this statement. So instead, you settle for your typical smart ass remark. “It wasn’t?” You asked. “Seemed real easy to me,” you add as you take the fork from his hand and take another bite of the yummy food before you. His eyebrow shoots up and you give him a lopsided smirk in return.

“Watch it, sweet girl,” he says as he brings his hand up, thumb and forefinger pinching at your chin to force your eyes into his. He gives you a bruising kiss, one that entices him to bite at your bottom lip as he pulls away. You can feel yourself slipping again. He’s not done with you, he’s just giving you a moment to refuel.

“I’ll be good,” you softly whimper as you chase for his lips. “I’m not so sure about that,” he responds as his grip on your chin gets tighter, forcing you stationary and a few inches too far from where you want him to be. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes gloss over as you whisper out a small I promise, to which he says, “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure of it.”

He lets go of your face completely and continues feeding you, alternating between the food and your tea. As the next bite he prepares for you reaches your mouth, something that has never happened before decided to occur. Your mother comes inside the house, and her first sight as soon as she came in was you, completely wrapped around Joel, and him feeding you.

Your jaw freezes, his grip on your leg tightens out of instinct to protect you, and it’s a staring standoff between the three of you. Joel doesn’t realize he’s still holding the fork up until his hand starts to shake, so he gently sets it down on the plate. It’s you who speaks first. “Mom, I-”

But it’s your mother who wants the first word. The first two words, actually. “How long?”

Your heart is beating out of your chest, and the only thing keeping you from full blown panic is all the ways you’re in physical contact with Joel. “I can explain, mom, I-”

“Flower,” she says to comfort you. She’s not mad? you think. Your heart immediately calms, but now you’re just confused. Growing up, your mother always called you her flower. She used it predominantly when she wanted to help you regulate. You’ve always been full of anxiety and other strong emotions. Flowers are strong and beautiful, and show exactly when they need support. And when they are given the support they need, they flourish. That’s you. You are a flower. Her flower. But now she can see, there’s someone else tending to you. And she is not mad.

“A year and some change,” you softly say. She looks between you two. Then she steps forward. “Look,” she breathes. “I know our family hasn’t been the best in showing love or appreciation. And they obviously haven’t been the best at fending for themselves-”

“Amen to that,” you say, and she chuckles in appreciation. She continues.

“Thank you, by the way. For everything you do around here. We both know none of it would get done around here if it weren’t for you. I try to help you as much as I can, but obviously not enough. If you can pull everyone’s weight around here, which you shouldn’t have been doing in the first place, then I can at least pull my own and whip them into pulling their own, too.”

Your eyes are watering, and you take a deep, shaky breath. Joel feels it. He brings his hand around to rub small circles into your back. You’re so grateful he’s here. “I love you,” you say to your mom.

“I love you, too, flower, but I’m not done. I also know that I’m not too great at using my voice. Defending what’s right. But you’re the one person in this family that’s given me the inspiration to fight for what I believe in. You give me strength, and constantly seeing this family pull you down lower and lower as the years go by breaks me. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

Tears begin to fall, both on your face and your mom’s.

“And in this last year, and some change, to be exact,” she smiles as she recalls your answer from earlier, “you have been the most vibrant flower of the entire garden. In the gloominess of this house, you continue to grow, and I’ve been dying to understand what changed. And now I see why. And I have never been more grateful for another human—the first one being you—until he entered your life.”

You and Joel both look at each other, his eyes have a hint of gloss to them now, too.

“So,” your mother says as she reaches for the tissue box on the counter and walks back to hand you the box. “I won’t tell a soul. It’s not my story to share. And remember. I will always have your back. Always. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel comfortable enough to tell me about such a beautiful relationship, but we’re here now and I need you to know that I will forever support what makes my flower happy,” she looks to Joel, “and that’s you. I will support both of you until my flower decides on something different.”

Joel’s face turns into a scowl, half joking and half pissed at the thought of you leaving him. “Which, I have a feeling isn’t gonna happen, so you can calm yourself, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” your mother adds after seeing his boyish reaction that would normally scare anyone but you, and apparently your mother.

You lose your shit at his new nickname, and all the emotions just flow out at once. You pull yourself off of Joel and run into your mothers arms, needing her comfort. She holds you like that for a few seconds before she says, “Okay, go, I think Mr. Grump needs your comfort now. Absolutely no way I’m doing it.” You laugh and squeeze her one last time before she grabs something in the kitchen and heads back outside. You make your way back to Mr. Grump, straddling his lap. Before she opens the back door, though, she calls out your name.

“Yes, mom?”

“I’ll cover for you, hon,” she says nonchalantly as she goes back outside.

You and Joel stare at each other for a moment, too shocked to take action on the opportunity that just presented itself to you. Then, it finally hits. You pull him into a kiss that’s downright feral, your hips grinding down on him on instinct. “Take-” you say as you try to break away from the kiss, but you’re too drunk on him to completely pull away, “t-take me home, baby.”

He grunts in response, and stands up with you completely wrapped around him. He heads for your front door.

“Baby, Baby, wait, not here,” you say breathily as you go back in for another quick kiss, “through the garage.” He looks confused for a second before he remembers. The front door camera. The left side of your driveway being the camera’s blind spot. Immediately he reroutes.

You would think the first thing he does is bring you to his bedroom, but no. He sets you on his couch, molding your body into his signature position for you that makes you sit on your heels, palms up on your thighs. He could’ve easily told you he wanted you in position, but again, he told you to take it easy.

Although the position almost always forces you into subspace, you’re confused and coherent enough to question him, “Baby..?”

He steps back, looking down at you with his eyebrow raised, “Don’tcha remember, sweet thing?”

“You pouncin’ on my fuckin’ dick was not takin’ it easy”, he said.

You promised you would be good.

To which he assured you, “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure of it.”

He sees the moment it clicks in your head, and immediately his hold is on your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He leans down, his lips ghosting over yours. He whispers, “Color?” Still demanding but with a hint of softness to it. You tilt your head further back, trying to make your lips touch him more, “Green,” you say.

He pulls your chin into him and kisses you, slow and sweet, his tongue tangling with yours. He pulls away, breath slightly shaky, but he composes himself quickly and stands straight up, letting go of any contact with you.

His couch is either really low to the ground, or he is just one big motherfucker. Either way, you sitting on your haunches on his couch like this while he stands straight up in front of you makes your head in direct eye line of his crotch. And you can’t seem to pull your eyes away from it. You see his tent forming, and you’re smart enough to realize what lesson he’s about to give you.

“Told you to take it fuckin’ easy today,” he says as he slowly unbuckles his belt, “didn’t I, baby?”

“Yes, daddy,” you say quickly, not wanting to piss him off more.

“But ya didn’t,” his belt falls. “Did you?”

Your spit thickens. “No, daddy.”

His belt is on the floor, and he’s reaching to undo his button and zipper. “My good girl was jus’ too fuckin’ eager to have my dick in her mouth, hm?”

You lick your bottom lip, catching the drool you didn’t realize was pooling out of your mouth. Like Pavlov’s fucking dogs, he’s got you trained. You let out a whiny mhm in response, already completely blissed out at the prospect of what’s about to happen. He settles for it, this time.

He pulls his jeans down, just enough to pull himself free. He leaves his boxers up for now while he explains. He walks closer to you, his hardness one lick away from you, and forces you to look up at him again. “You’re gonna take my cock in your mouth again, sweetheart,” he says.

You eagerly cut him off, “Yes, please, thank you, daddy, I-”

He shuts you up by pushing his thumb in your mouth. “But you’re not gonna move or do anythin’, besides sit prettily for daddy,” his grip on your jaw tightens, “ya understand me?” He slides his thumb out and spreads your spit across your bottom lip and down your chin.

“I understand, daddy,” you say, your eyes completely glossed over. Out of instinct, you fold your hands behind your back, signaling to Joel your complete submission to him.

“Such a good girl when you remember how to be patient,” he says as he stands back to his full height again. He gets impossibly closer, crowding your face. He pulls his boxers down, and his erection springs free, the tip landing against your lips, smearing the pre-cum across it. It takes everything in you not to lick it up—you can’t, he needs to give you your next instructions. He hears your silent pleas, and as he settles his hand at the back of your head, fingers grounding themselves into the roots of your hair, he tells you, “Open.”

Knowing how rough Joel can get, you take a deep breath, relaxing your throat, and you open wide, your tongue laid flat out, slick with the drool that’s been forming since the noise of the belt buckle hit your ears.

His other hand is holding himself at the base, guiding himself into your mouth. He taps his tip on your tongue a few times for good measure, before pushing himself all the way in. You feel your gag reflex coming, but you take another deep breath through your nose, urging your throat to relax a little more. It does. He pushes slowly in until your nose is flush with the patch of hair above his length. All you wanna do is unclasp your hands and reach for his thighs to pull him into you tighter, wanting to engulf his scent into you, but you can’t. All you can do is take what he gives you while sitting pretty like the good girl you are.

He starts to pull back a little, and that naturally makes your throat contract, forcing a groan out of him and more saliva out of you. He lets go of himself, and now both hands are on you. He taps your cheek, asking you to look up at him. “Hands behind the entire time. Any touch on my thigh signals red to me, okay?”

You nod your head as best you can with his grip on you and let out a little moan for good measure. At your signal, he completely and utterly wrecks you with no hesitation. And you take it exactly as he gives it, just like you promised you would.

The more he thrusts, the more spit that builds, leaking from your mouth and down your chin. Your eyes are shut at the feeling of him abusing your throat, but he won’t have that. You feel his other hand not tap your cheek twice. Your eyes fly open and land on his dark ones. “Those eyes stay on me,” he grunts out at a particularly rough thrust. You whimper out at his words, trying to convey your apologies for doing something that could make him mad. “No, it’s alright, darlin’,” he says, his pace never faltering. “I- fuck- wasn’t specific enough,” he grunts, “but ya know what I expect now,” his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. “Isn’t that right, pretty girl?”

Your eyebrows furrow and try to emphasize with your eyes that yes, eyes on you, daddy. He understands. “Atta girl, baby,” he breathes out, pulling out momentarily to give you a breath.

You choke out a little as he pulls out. He softens, concern laced in his voice, “You okay, amor?”

“Yes,” you say weakly, “I promise, please. W-want more..” You open your mouth wide again, tongue positioned perfectly for him to slide back in.

His eyes fall dark again and there’s that signature lopsided smirk. He guides himself back into you, completely, and his hand from your cheek glides down to wrap around your throat. “Shit, amor, you feel that?” He squeezes at the base of your throat. “I’m all the way fuckin’ in there, baby,” he says, falling back into a rough pace, feeling the outline of his dick glide in and out of your pathway. “You’re takin’ me so-” he lets out a pained grunt. He’s close. “-so fuckin’ good, shit, baby.”

Your throat constricts again, and that feeling is what sends him over. For the second time today, all of your senses are being consumed by everything Joel: his taste, his smell, his touch, the downright sinful sounds that grace your ears, and you take it all in, eagerly. Both hands release their hold on you as he pulls out of your mouth, and you’re quick to lean into his hips. His hand shoots back to the nape of your neck, pulling you back like a mother does to her puppy.

“You’re fuckin’ insatiable, you know that?” he says, out of breath, still trying to compose himself from the soul-sucking he just took from you. You give him a blissed out giggle, “You jus’ taste so yummy, daddy.”

“Yeah?” he asks, amused. “Well, so do you, babygirl, so it’s my turn now.”

Immediately your ears perk up and your body goes rigid. The thought of him giving you head with the flow you have right now doesn’t sit right with you. “Yellow,” you shakily whisper.

He lets go of the back of your neck and falls to his knees to match your eye level. “Oh, honey,” he cups your face, “Please tell me how to make it better. Do you wanna stop here, mi amor?”

Your body relaxes at his instant reaction. You’ve only ever had to use a safe-word with Joel twice. Today, included. And in each rare moment, he does what every caring partner and proper Dominant should: validate, comfort, and communicate. He has never given you any reason to be scared or feel disrespected. This is Joel we’re talking about here. You’re safe in his presence, always. The thought puts you at ease, but it also makes you feel a little ridiculous at using a safe word for something that could easily be communicated without it.

“Wait, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you or anything, it’s something so tiny and stupid, I should’ve just communicated instead of going straight to the code-” you quickly start panicking as you ramble on, but he’s quicker. He pulls you off the couch and into his lap, holding you in a tight embrace, knowing the pressure is what helps pull you away from your panic attack. He’s muttering it’s okay, you’re okay and I’ve got ya, as he kisses the top of your head. As soon as he feels your body relax in his arms, he speaks. “Darlin’ girl, please look at me.” You do, teary-eyed.

“I completely forgot you were on your period. I was too in the moment, and I had a lapse in judgment in my words. I’m sorry. You should not be the one to apologize, ever, if you’re ever in an uncomfortable situation like this. The safe words are there for a reason, okay? Use them. They are there to keep you safe, always. Thank you for speakin’ up, my love.”

You nod your head at his words, too emotion-filled to respond with anything else right now. The only thing you can offer is a whisper of a “Thank you, I love you,” but that’s enough for him.

He gives you a soft kiss to your lips. “How would you like to continue, beautiful girl?”

You think for a moment, and the way that his hand feels wrapped around you starts to make your arousal build again. All you can think of are his big, calloused hands all over you. In your mouth. On your thighs. In your warmth. Screw the bloody mess, he doesn’t care. You squirm at the thought, and he feels you falling back into your space again. His cock stirs beneath you. He tightens his grip on you to coax you out of your thoughts. “Fingers,” you squeak out, your cheeks flushing red instantaneously. He grins, but his eyes stay fixed on you, hinting at you for something more. Then, it clicks. “P-please, daddy, need your fingers in me,” you say, voice trembling with need.

“I’ve got you, pretty girl,” he says as he pulls your thighs around him and brings himself to full height. He leads you to his bed, setting you down on the edge with a kiss to your forehead and a quick one moment, sweetheart.

He leaves to return back with a large bath towel and lays it across the center of his bed, dark blue to match his sheets. He situates pillows for your head and leaves a smaller one out, just in case. You feel his weight shift the bed, and he’s walking toward you on his knees. You lean into his touch the moment his hand makes contact at your lower back, and he’s guiding your shirt off of you. He takes that same arm, wrapping it around your waist, and leans down to situate the crook of your knees over his other arm. He’s carrying you up higher to the center of the bed, completely removing any opportunity for a thought to run through that head of yours. He wants you focused on nothing but the way he’s going to make you feel.

Once you’re laying down on your back, he makes his way down, placing soft kisses on your belly and all over your thighs while he slides your bottoms down your legs. Once you’re completely bare, Joel situates himself in a way that he’s never done before. He lays next to you on his side, shoulder propping him up, so his hand is underneath your head and he’s still looking down at you. He grabs onto your thigh closest to him, and he hooks your leg atop of his, opening you up.

The level of intimacy and vulnerability of the way you two are positioned against one another has your mind reeling, absolutely aching to be consumed by him. Joel is always sweet and soft with you, but this is completely on another level. It doesn’t feel motivated by a feral need to rip each other apart. The motivation lies in the pure need to feel. To feel you against him, consumed in the entirety of love and raw emotion. To feel him against you, filling you with a genuine intimacy and devotion you both know only he can provide you.

He brings his other hand up to gently cradle your face, and he leans in to slot his lips against yours, his tongue running along your bottom lip, swallowing the faintest of whimpers that slip from your throat. Your hand slides to the back of his neck, keeping him close, deepening your dance of lip and tongue. His hand drifts away from your face and takes his time to grasp and show attention to the rest of your body.

He takes one of your breasts in his hand, massaging it with a care that causes your fingers to curl tighter in his hair. He shows the same attention to your other one, then flattens out his entire hand to run down your sternum and belly, positioning his hand on the pathway down for his middle and ring finger to be the first that make contact with your sex.

And when it does, neither of you can hold back the groan that leaves your mouths. He’s too enamored by you to let his lips leave yours, but you have a feeling your filthy-mouthed man would make a comment about how wet you are for him. You know you’re right when he completely bypasses your clit and down to your entrance, eager to get his fingers covered in you, so he can spread it all over you.

You pull away for a moment, both of you out of breath and pupils completely blown. “You see how good you make me feel, daddy?” His fingers reach your clit again. “I’m so fucking wet,” you moan out, “and it’s all because of you- all for you, daddy.”

“Baby, please,” he grits out, his fingers leaving your clit after a few more circles, dipping into your entrance with ease. “So fuckin’ good to me, but fuck, stop talking,” he breathes, hips involuntarily thrusting into you, “need you to soak my fingers first, amor.”

You shoot him a smile that gives him butterflies, and then you’re pulling him back in, needing to feel him everywhere he can possibly manage.

The pace of his fingers are perfect, constantly hitting the spot that’ll get you there in no time with the heated sensation of lips. His hand behind your head moves down and wraps underneath your waist, pulling you in flush with his body. He needs to feel every part of you. Your leg closest to him—the one hooked around his leg—comes off of him, and now you two are completely laying on your sides, facing each other.

His fingers leave you for a moment to hike your other leg up and around his waist, your pussy inches away from his center. His fingers find you once more, and the angle is impossibly deeper. You’re whining out now as you rock your hips against his hand. He knows you're close with the way your breath shakes. He reaches his thumb up to circle your clit, and you break away from his lips, throwing your head back at an instinct, exposing all your sweet spots for his mouth to reach. As his hands continue working you to the edge, he gives you the final push when he latches at the base of your neck where your shoulder meets, and he litters the area in wet kisses and painfully delicious bites.

Oh, fuck, daddy, yes,” you moan out, your vision going white and your body going rigid. Your climax hits you so hard that you don’t realize his fingers left you, your thighs still convulsing and hurtling you through your high. You can faintly hear Joel, muttering his sweet whispers, as he always does.

“Oh, fuck, that was so fuckin’ sexy, baby.”

“You’re beautiful, yanno that?”

“I love you, my pretty girl,” he places a kiss right atop your heart.

Still, your mind is floating somewhere in narnia, so he understands when you don’t reply right away. You’re not even completely back from your orgasmic haze when he pulls his boxers completely off, throwing them somewhere in the room, and his aching cock is resting against your core.

“Darlin’ girl,” he brings his hand up to guide your limpless head to look at him, “I need you to use your words f’ me, honey, please give me a color,” he says, the softest you have ever heard him.

You give him the smallest smile back, but it’s so full of love and admiration. You’re lightly nodding your head yes, trying to will your vocal cords to respond. “G-gre..” you let out.

He stops you with a kiss, “Okay, honey, okay, that’s all I needed,” and another kiss, “Can I give my baby what she so desperately wants now?”

The prospect of the sensation your body is about to go through because of him ignites a fire in you. It forces you to come back down from your haze, so you can register every second of him in his entirety. Your neck straightens and your eyes open fully, pupils blacker than he’s ever seen. “Yes, daddy, please give it to me,” you say with a neediness more than anything. His lip quirks up in a smirk. “What my baby wants, she gets,” and he’s pushing your hips into him as he pushes into you, his tip notching at your entrance. You hiss, reveling in the stretch he gives you regardless of how much he works you open.

There’s a stigma with Dominants that they are always so calm and collected, always composed and never in a state of neediness and desperation like their submissive counterparts. However, that’s simply not true. In every please, in every whimper, in every cry; in every orgasm, in every act of brattiness, in each use of the honorific; in every demonstration of pure submission: there is a Dominant, willing themself not to give in and give their partner everything they need. There is a Dominant about to break because one more plea from the submissive’s mouth has them ready and willing to forgo every single plan they had for that particular scene.

And that’s exactly what Joel does here. He had a plan for you, even after you used your yellow code, but with the way he’s wrapped around you tonight—you have the power. You’re calling the shots. He exists simply and solely for you and your pleasure. Nothing else matters.

He bottoms out, and both his arms are wrapped around your waist, both of you completely aligned with one another. “How do you want me, baby?”

“I don’t care,” your forehead falls into his, “I just need to feel you, please.”

With your words, he’s thrusting into you with a calculated intention. You needed to feel him, you said. So he pushes in not too fast but not too slow, and hard. He buries himself to the hilt every single time, and it’s like he put you in a trance. Your eyes softly shut, trying to stay open to look at him; your eyebrows are pulled together; and the only sounds falling from your mouth are moans and whimpers and sweet nothings only he’d be able to decipher with your babbling. You feel everything in this angle, with his rhythm. You feel every vein, every ridge, you feel his tip kissing every sweet spot inside of you while simultaneously stealing the oxygen from your lungs. He feels so fucking good. Your leg hooked around his waist squeezes tighter on instinct, and he groans at the feeling. Seeing you completely desperate and at his disposal nearly finishes him right then and there.

Your hand is at its usual spot for tonight, wrapped tightly in the curls at the base of his neck. You're meeting his thrusts now, and it heightens the sensation tenfold. Both your breaths are hot and heavy, mingling into the thick air of Joel’s bedroom. You’re nearly at the edge again, you both are, but you need a little more of a push. “Baby, t-touch me, please,” you say with more breath than your actual voice. He sounds absolutely pained, “I got’cha, baby, I got’cha.” His hand leaves your waist, the other tightening around you to compensate for its absence, and his fingers are back on your bundle of nerves, circling at the same rhythm that he’s pulling in and out of you.

A gasp leaves your throat, and every part of you that’s wrapped around him pulls him in impossibly tighter, “fuck, just like that, fuck, please don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop,” you ramble on in an almost incoherent whine. You can feel your words and sounds spurring him on as his cock twitches inside of you. He’s close, too. Then it clicks, you realize what you meant earlier when you said you needed to feel him first.

His fingers speed up and so do his hips. “C’mon, darlin’, such a good fuckin’ girl, give it to me, soak my fuckin’ cock,” he grunts out, now chasing his own release.

Not stopping your movements, you unravel your arms from him and you push down on his chest, pushing him onto his back. You’re on top of him now, your movements only faltering momentarily as you situated yourself to straddle him. You grab both his arms, the one working your clit and the other on your waist, and you bring them up above his head. You pin them there with your own hand, your body leaning over him and adding to the momentum as you bounce on him. “No,” you say, almost a growl, “Need you inside me first,” sucking his bottom lip.

He fucking whines. “Need you inside me first, then I’ll give you what you’re looking for.” You switch off into a grind of your hips, moving back and forth as the feel of his pubic hairs rub against your clit causing your pussy to flutter on him. He feels it and his hands flex to move from your grip. Your hold on him tightens. You have the power. You lean down, licking a pathway up his neck and making your way near his ear. You whisper, “Stuff me full of you, daddy, and I’ll fucking soak you, I promise.”

“Fuck!” He growls as your hips speed up, and now he’s the one seeing stars. His face and neck flush into a bright red as he floods you with his release. And as if right on queue, the warmth and the feeling of him in you and seeping out of you is what finishes you. The constant stimulation on your clit from his pubic bone along with the angle his dick continues to prod at, you’re creaming and soaking him, just like he wanted. His thighs and even the area below his belly are drenched with the mixture of your guys’ fluids, and he can’t help but gawk at the scene before him.

You are completely surrounded by the product of your two’s arousal (plus a bit of blood, but he doesn’t care), you continuing slow grinds as you work yourself through your orgasm, and the way that your head is thrown back in pure bliss—he’s entranced by it all. His cock is nearing the line of painful overstimulation with you still on him, but he really can’t find himself caring enough to get your attention.

He thought he would never be into giving up his dominance, his yearn for control. But now that you’ve given him a taste at what you’re capable of, fuck, he feels downright insane if he didn’t want more of it.

You realize he may not be used to the oversensitivity as much as you may be trained for, so you bring yourself to a halt and slowly slip off of him. You bring your eyes to meet his, and you can’t help the giggle that leaves your mouth, seeing the goofy, blissed out grin on his face as he looks at you. You lean towards his head and give him a sweet kiss to his lips and his nose, and you softly tell him that you’ll be right back but to stay here with a slightly more demanding tone.

You quickly go pee in his en suite bathroom and wipe your bottom half down. You grab a pair of his boxers he leaves for emergencies under the sink (you let out a little chuckle at the fact), and grab a pad from the box he also leaves under the sink, for you, and stick it onto his underwear before shimmying it up on you. You grab another washcloth and soak it in warm water and walk back to the bed. You sit yourself up next to him and start wiping him down. As soon as you finish, you try your best and throw the washcloth, aiming for the sink of the bathroom, but you fail, miserably. It lands with a wet plop on the side of the toilet, centimeters away from landing in the toilet’s bowl. “Eh, that’s good enough,” you say to no one in particular as you nudge him to bring his hips up so you can take the towel out that he placed earlier to catch any of your blood drippings. You place it in the hamper, then you bring yourself to lay back down, cuddling into Joel.

He turns so you both are facing each other again. His head propped up on his hand. His other hand runs up and down everywhere he can reach.

“W-was what I did at the end there… was that okay?” you ask meekly as you slowly bring your eyes up to his.

He lets out a hearty laugh, shoulders shaking. You weren’t expecting that kind of reaction. “Honestly,” he says as his fingers come to a stop and he just lets his arm wrap around you lazily. “I was really shocked when you flipped me over, but then,” he pauses for a second. Really just to spur you on more than anything. “I was so fuckin’ turned on and achin’ for you. I’d just about let you do anythin’ to me if you treat me like that, darlin’,” he says as he leans down to place a kiss to your lips.

He pulls back and your gaze is away from him and your cheeks are as red as he was earlier. A shy smile paints your face. He brings his fingers up to your chin, “Oh, come on now, no point in gettin’ all shy on me now is there, my dirty girl?”

You give him the best reprimanding face you can muster (which he finds beyond adorable), and you parrot a common phrase he uses with you when you’re a brat, “Watch it, big boy.”

He laughs at your antics, but you see his cock twitch at the pet name. Your eyebrows shoot up. “Joel!” you say, actually reprimanding him this time, but you genuinely don’t know what for.

His hand shoots to cover his mouth, an attempt at stopping his burst of laughter at your reaction. He lets go of his mouth after a moment and pulls you closer to him. He places kisses all over your face while you both giggle and let yourselves fall from your high together.

He abruptly stops his kisses to look at you. He doesn’t say a word. “Yes?” you ask, curious of that mind of his.

“Ya know how much I love you, right?” he asks, genuinely.

“I think I’ve got a pretty good hint, baby.”

“Good,” he says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“And I love you so much, you do know that, right?” you offer as you bury yourself into his chest, inhaling his musk mingled the faint aroma of you.

He repeats your response back to you. You smile in his chest. It’s you who places a kiss atop his heart this time.

You both stay wrapped up in each other for a few more hours before your tummy begins yelling at you for sustenance. Though, until that happens, you two lie in each other’s arms, wondering what you did to deserve such an all-consuming, raw and genuine love.

Your mother was right. You really were the brightest flower in the garden, and it was all because of your big, macho man, who was actually as soft and cuddly as the clouds that bring water for the garden. Ever since he entered your life, he made sure those clouds poured all their attention on you. Giving you all the water and nutrients, all the love and care that you would ever need.

Forever.

End note: Thank you so much for reading! As always, your support is always always appreciated. There's no amount of words to describe how grateful I am for how much love I receive from you all. You're all too amazing. Feedback is also greatly appreciated, whether it's praise or constructive! Anything and everything helps me to be the best writer I can be. I love you all so very much💚💚💚

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saltywritings · 3 months

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The Bonds of Blood (Aegon Targaryen II x Reader) Dark Content

Summary: Aegon visits Aemond's wife at night.

Warnings: very dark fic, noncon/dubcon, somnophilia, slight stalking, envy, descriptive smut, blackmail, and trickery. adults only.

You've been married to Aemond for three lunar cycles now. He had shown glimpses of kindness in his own way… when he was present. Yet, to call him merely "kind" felt too generous—he merely existed. He was passive, seemingly disengaged. You endeavored to spark his interest. You inquired about his dragon and extended offers to share books with him. Nevertheless, the moments spent together felt devoid of life. Even amidst conversation, the emptiness hung heavy in the air.

Passion was absent, and intimate moments were few and far between, lacking any semblance of desire. His gaze scarcely met yours, and his departures were swift. The only instances when Aemond displayed any semblance of spousal behavior were in the presence of his elder brother. It seemed as though Aemond harbored a tinge of jealousy towards Aegon, perhaps protective of you from his brother's attention. Despite Aegon being among the few at court who showed genuine interest in you, Aemond repeatedly cautioned his brother to steer clear of his wife. Nonetheless, Aegon's presence always found its way back to you, defying Aemond's warnings.

At times, you found yourself pondering the possibilities of a different marriage, yet you endeavored to remain grateful that your husband was not cruel or violent. Despite this, the weight of duty pressed heavily upon you. Three moons had passed, and still, your womb remained empty, testing the limits of your hope. This was of course until the night you woke up.

As your eyes begun to flutter you first noticed the pressure on your body. The rhythmic creaking of the bed caught your attention, though initially, you were uncertain of its cause. This was until you could feel him, inside of you. He was engulfed in you, your tight pussy clinging around him. Aching for a sensation that he, your husband, had not provided you with this moon. A moan had parted from your lips, remaining in your throat as you pushed yourself up slightly.

"A-Aemond?" You questioned; a hand quickly pushed down on your back, holding you down against the bed. Your body obeyed, though your lips continued to spill the sweet sounds of desire.

There was a feeling inside of you. It was unfamiliar, foreign. A tightening deep within your womanhood that clung around your husbands length.

"A-Aemond, I-I-"You did not even know how to form words to explain what was happening, however, his hand hard against your back his length continued. Hard, smashing into you as you begun to spasm around him. Your first release would consume you- It made sounds that never left your lips bounce on the stone walls of the room causing him to push your face down into the bed to silence you. His trust quickened and soon you could feel him fill you.

This feeling was familiar, the other was not. You could feel his seed, sticky and thick, as he fucked every last drop into you. His trust becoming lazy as he kept you pushed down on the bed. He stayed there like that and while you wanted to question him you could not move. When he did pull himself from you he left the room before you could even fully turn around. Leaving you to sleep, sticky, and unaware of what your husband's brother had just done to you.

For you had thought that your husband had come to your room, late at night, to finally fulfil his desires . . . or his duty. Regardless you were finally happy to be fulfilling yours.

Aegon would come to you when you were asleep each day that week. He pushed you down on the mattress, face down, and always left without saying a word.

Tonight was no exception for Aegon. He had managed to slip into your room undetected, pausing for a moment at the foot of the bed. As you slumbered, as you often did, he couldn't help but notice how your features seemed almost angelic in the moonlight, reminiscent of a painting he had once seen of the Mother. Aegon's eyes were fixated on your chest, watching your breast as they rose and fell with your breathing. What he would give to fuck you in the day light. Aegon crept onto the bed, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he deftly peeled away the blankets. Your legs were apart, waiting for him, he was certain.

Aegon normally flipped you over but tonight was different. He could not resist, for his hands carefully removed your undergarments. He brought them to his face and took an inhale of your sweet scent. His cock had become rock hard, stirring in his trousers as he brought them down. He did not wat a moment longer, for he soon pushed down on your thighs and slid himself inside of you. Even after nights of stuffing himself inside of you, your cunt was deliciously tight. Aegon begun to thrust into you, concerned about his own pleasure.

Your body became tense with him inside you, he watched as your face contorted; soft sounds falling from your lips as he thrusted into you.

The sensation was no longer unfamiliar. As you stirred from your slumber, you found yourself beginning to embrace the feeling. Yet, as your eyelids fluttered open, you gazed upward. For the first time since your husband had started visiting you at this late hour, you were able to meet his gaze. However, now eye to eye, you were able to see that this was not your husband. It was Aegon who had welcomed himself into your body, hands gripping on your waist as he spit you on his cock, grunting into you, and filling you with his seed each night.

"A-Aegon!" You asked in an out rage, a smile creeping on his lips as he placed his hand over your mouth.

"Shh-" He ordered as he started to thrust into you at an accelerated rate. Without mercy. You were tightening around him, involuntarily. You were trying to fight off the feeling of your own release; tears had been pooling in the corners of your eyes as you whimpered for mercy.

There was no mercy here.

Aegon knew what you were doing and continued until you spasmed around him causing him to hum. "Good Girl." He cooed to you, taking his fingers and now shoving them into your mouth. Looking at you, your hole full of his cock and another full of his fingers. "Fucking look at you, getting fucked by your husbands brother. You whore." Aegon said in a grunt as he continued his speed, slowing down slightly to savor this moment.

"You love this, don't you?" Aegon asked, his fingers pushing down on your tongue, causing you to gag on his fingers. You could not answer, you didn't have to. The slickness between your legs said more than any defense you would have given.

"Ah, Gods- I'm close. It's so hard to last inside you." Aegon spoke in a grunt as he continued to fuck you teasingly slow. "Aemond doesn't know what he's missing." He continued on.

Aegon would pick up his speed, unable to hold off any longer as he soon tense his body, his cock spasming inside of you. "Fuck- fucking milk me you whore." Aegon says as he fills you, ensuring that not a drop of his seed is leaking out of you, his free hand pushing down on your thigh so you have no option but to take it. He soon pulls his finger from your mouth and slowly unsheathes his cock from within you.

Aegon turns over to you and without a moment hesitation informs you, "You'll have to fuck Aemond here soon, convince him that he actually managed to get you pregnant."

#aegon targaryen smut #house of the dragon smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #dark aegon smut #dark house of the dragon smut #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x reader

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bobluvbot · 2 months

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late night cravings

pairing: sirius black x afab!reader summary: you sneak off the night for a cheeky midnight snack, hoping sirius won’t notice (spoiler alert: he does, and he’s sulky about it) wc: 4k cw: pregnancy & baby talk, descriptions of food and eating, brief allusions to sex (not directly stated), no physical traits of reader specified but sirius can hold things out of reader’s reach a/n: so i had a lengthy angst fic for sirius’s debut on my blog and im halfway done on it but i cant seem to finish it bc it sends me to a depressing spiral each time <33333 so pls enjoy a very self-indulgent domestic excessively fluffy blurb with my beloved <33333 p.s this is not proofread so plz ignore mistakes ty <3

opening the tomato salsa jar turned out to be the hardest part.

back in bed, you thought the trickiest part of your late night escapade from sirius black was his long limbs wound up tight with yours, even in low light of the small nightlight in the corner, you could still make out the intricate script and designs following the curves and dips of his strong arms, holding you close to his chest.

you had it committed to memory by now, having explored sirius’s body well enough to memorize the way his skin feels against yours, with heartbeats and breaths falling in sync without much effort.

judging by the way his breathing gets heavy after every exhale and the little snores that escape in between, you knew he was beyond knackered. it was day five of sirius’s new job as an deputy director at the auror office. the day he learned about the promotion was pure unadulterated happiness. after letting you know through an express owl, you mustered up enough vigor available to your seven months pregnant self to get out of the house and go to the local shops to get party supplies and food to celebrate sirius’s achievement.

Coming in third out of the list of things he genuinely loved in this life, after you and his luscious locks of course, was his job as an auror. young sirius had never thought in his wildest dreams that he’d work at the ministry, much less actually enjoy it. can’t really blame sixteen year old sirius, starting an underground rock band with the marauders seemed like the perfect thing to do after gruelling hours of studying at hogwarts.

defense against the dark arts came to him naturally, with some counterspells like second nature to him as being exposed with use of dark magic young gave him no choice but to grow up quickly and defend himself from the excruciating pain or the mind control that was from his own family’s doing. Winning the first wizarding war alongside his friends and found family has solidified sirius’s calling in eradicating the use of dark magic and making sure the next generation can have a safe and normal life without the looming threat of a megalomaniac sorting people with their blood status and taking over the wizarding world.

that night, sirius walked into a dark and eerily quiet home that had his senses on overdrive. but when the lights turned on and he saw familiar faces of his loved ones all beaming with pride, and there you were in the center, looking ethereal and round and all his, with his favorite red velvet cake on hand and a ridiculously big balloon that says “congratulations” tied to the candle, he could have melted in a syrupy mess of gooey happiness right then and there if he hadn’t caught himself together last minute.

Sirius had thought– that after you agreeing to go on one date with him to hogsmeade, winning the quidditch cup and seeing the proud look on minerva’s face, going home for christmas break and euphemia welcoming him with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug, remus teaching at the very same classroom you all were in years back, james and lily’s first kiss at the altar, holding little baby harry in his arms, you walking down the aisle with a bouquet of peonies in the most beautiful dress, and when you held his hand that one night and told him that you were expecting—- that he knew of love. but you do something extraordinary that has him scrambling to add to the endless list of why you’re the love of his life. he was so focused on you that he wasn’t prepared to catch pure muscle of james’s body as he flung himself to tackle his best friend in a hug. luckily, remus with a party hat was aptly standing between a toppling sirius and the living room wall, and he singlehandedly saved the two from creating a huge hole in the drywall.

this was the life, sirius had thought after many hours of partying celebrating and eating, when he laid beside you in bed, limbs tangled, sated and dizzy and warm as you both came down from your highs. and he gets to spend it with you.

but as fun and exciting sirius’s new job is, it entailed an increased amount of responsibility as he was assisting the head auror. his least favorite part of the job was the boatloads of paperwork he has to deal with. An express owl almost dropped a howler letter into the soup you were making for dinner earlier that day and you opened it up panicking thinking it was an emergency. But no, it was just sirius whining that his hand hurt and is about to fall off and that he needs you to kiss it better.

You did eventually, and one thing led to another and here you were, tucked in your husband’s warm embrace. you could stay here forever, only separating to drink water and bathroom trips, but the gnawing urge to eat something savory, sweet, tangy, and crunchy has possessed your entire being, the only way to quell it was to get up and go to the kitchen. the baby doesn’t seem to have a semblance of time yet, a fact you both envied and despised, because the clock on your nightstand said it was 3:48am in bold red numbers. A few months ago, you’d never be caught dead awake at this time, taking your precious sleep time seriously. The man himself would poke fun at you and say you’d gladly sleep through an earthquake or a housefire just as long as you get your seven to eight hours of sleep per day, and despite of your assumed role of contradicting and arguing with spontaneous and stubborn sirius, you had to agree.

But this was not about you anymore, or at least not quite yet for a good seventeen years, so you untangle yourself from sirius and your perfectly warm and cool side of the bed and waddle down the carpeted stairs, careful not to set foot on the creaky step that might risk waking sirius up. You need your secrets too, and you’re not in the mood to share food.

Grateful for the heavens that you and sirius stocked up on groceries two days ago, you had a wide selection of random items to munch on. A few days ago, you were introduced to the idea of a fluffernutter sandwich while scrolling through the short videos on your feed. Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff as spreads on their own was something you didn’t mind eating, but both together in a sandwich? You were enthralled, and the only way to quell the curiosity was to make it. So you did.

You shovel and slather more than enough spread on each slice of bread, though you might have used the same spoon on both jars.. but who’s to tell you off otherwise, your snoozing husband upstairs? pfft.

Smiling happily as if committing a particularly naughty crime, you place the spoon in your mouth, licking off the gooey mixture as you place the sandwich on a piece of paper towel (yes, you take the no dishwashing tonight seriously) on the table. humming, you mull over what to prepare next.

The baby needs something savory and tangy, but you’re not particularly keen on going through all the effort of heating up the soup from dinner, not to mention the amount of cutlery and dishes you’ll use for that, so you zero in on the tostada shells you chose rather than tortilla chips because its much more crispier.

Opening the fridge, you see the laughing cow on a round packaging and decide its the one, so you grab two cheese wedges from it.

Sirius had argued that the next aisle had actual, real blocks of cheese with a variety on display and that there was no point in getting artificially flavored ones. But you’ve gotten really good at giving him the stank face, which inadvertently ends 75 percent of nonsense bickering before it even starts; and since you’ve started showing more and more, sirius has admittedly gone softer on you, not that he was ever more but a pushover your entire relationship. Merely widening of eyes and a jut of your lower lip, even adding a slight tremble or two during times where you did actually fuck up, sirius can’t hold his stance longer than a minute before sighing and taking you in his arms. he might call you out for being a brat at times, but there’s no denying he loves it. And so the artificial wheel of cheese wedges got purchased and bagged home, and you’re meticulously spreading it over the golden shells, leaving little to no gaps of it bare.

Laying it on another paper towel, your heart gets giddy on your chest knowing you’re in for a treat tonight. But not quite time to start munching, the baby reminds you that you still need something tangy to complete the meal. So comes your big predicament, should you get dill pickles or tomato salsa?

It took you ten seconds too long of weighing down the pros-and-cons of choosing one and feeling like you made the wrong choice if you end up not liking it. It doesn’t help that the pregnancy hormones make you more anxious and tend to put you always on the verge of tears. So when the not-so-groundbreaking idea of just eating them both hits you, you feel the weight slide off your shoulders as you sigh. Because again, who’s gonna tell you that eating pickles this late at night can give you bad acid reflux, your snoozing husband? Pfft.

Snacking on some, you do manage to pick out the juiciest looking pickle chips and lay them atop of your tostadas. You and the little one are beyond excited to dive in. It’s looking like a mini upside-down pizza with the cheese spread first then the pickle as toppings. Only thing left now was the the tomato salsa slathered on top to seal the deal.

Opening tight lids wasn’t an issue for you before, in fact, you took pride when friends hand you a jar or bottle to open because you could do it in a breeze. Chances were, the lid wasn’t even screwed on that tight, you were just built different, you’d say with a shrug once you give the items back. So when the tomato jar doesn’t budge after two attempts, you get puzzled.

Maybe your hands were slippery? You wipe them down with a tea towel and try again. No.

You weren’t holding it tight enough? Fingers held taut against the lid, you try three times. Still no.

Determined, you try different positions before letting the jar go, shooting it glares as if it’d get intimidated and just open up for you. You were also getting lightheaded, and passing out on the kitchen floor due to excessive stimulation of your vagal reflex because you were too stubborn to use magic or wake your husband up to open it for you doesn’t seem like the best way to spend the early Tuesday morning hours.

Magic was even out of the option (well, in your brain it was), because your wand’s tucked beside sirius’s on your nightstand, and frankly, you don’t have the patience to drag yourself upstairs just to flick a utility spell to open the wretched thing. So you do the next best option: lose hope.

The disappointment was mutual between you and your baby. And the acid reflux did start to kick in, making your stomach grumble in both hunger and pain. This was all going so well until it isn’t, tears began to make its way up to your eyes.

“See, this is what you get for being greedy and eating all snacks by yourself,” sirius huffs behind you, deep voice still raspy with sleep. You didn’t even hear him getting out of bed and coming down the stairs, that’s how preoccupied you were with opening the jar.

He grabs the container away from you to open it, but not without throwing a scowl at your direction, handsome face contorted with furrowed eyebrows and downturned mouth, enough to express that he felt betrayed by this whole ordeal. If you were in a better mood, you’d poke his sides and tackle him playfully, teasing him for being sulky. But for now, you need the jar opened so you could eat in peace. You’ll deal with the sharing food issue later.

“t wasn’t supposed to take long,” you mumble, caught off guard and refusing to make eye contact, pretending the fridge magnets beside sirius’s head is ten times more interesting than his face. You don’t miss his raised eyebrow and snort at your response.

The second attempt comes and he opens it with a satisfying pop. your mouth falls agape, eyeing the *now accessible* tomato salsa dip in disbelief. What the hell?

And you couldn’t even take the smug grin spreading across sirius’s face by the millisecond. Refuse to. You try to snatch the open container away from him but he holds it higher and out of reach, making a show of puffing his chest, flexing his biceps, even giving it a kiss. This is all James’s doing, you need to have a talk with Lily soon about keeping these two separated.

“Sirius!” you try to plead your way out. the trademark innocent, pouty expression settles on your face like a second mask, hoping he’d go down this easy.

It doesn’t work. He just chuckles, mocking your pleas and face while his free hand sneaks up and pinches your unsuspecting cheek to tease you further.

You yelp in mock outrage and swat his hand away, trying your best to keep your displeasure firm on your face, but you feel the giggles coming up. “This is why I sneak out alone to eat, you’re such a bully,” you huff, but take a seat in front of your makeshift spread.

Sirius places the jar near you, but not without poking your exposed sides, armed with the knowledge that the easiest way to get you laughing (and eventually conceding in an argument) is knowing where your tickle zones are. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, plopping himself beside you. “That’s also why you’re the only one waking up with an upset stomach, stinking up our bathroom so early in the morning.”

Now this one got you appalled, embarrassed, disturbed, basically hit with all the feelings. You’ve been living together long before you got married, and he never brought up this issue until today. “That’s it. I’m leaving.” He makes a move to snatch the sandwich away but the embarrassment on your cheeks made you more agile, swatting his hand away and shielding the sandwich with your hands. “After I finish my meal,” you continue, shooting him a glare.

But see, one of the things that drove you nuts even way back at Hogwarts, was how Sirius Black mostly managed to outsmart you or be one step ahead of you in everything. After you turned him down without much thought whatsoever despite his grand declaration of interest, Sirius took it upon himself to show you (1) that you made a mistake for rejecting him, (2) that his ego won’t let you embarrass him like that again, (3) and that you won’t get rid of him that easily. Once he set his eyes on you, you were face to face with him in everything: grades, OWLs/NEWTs scores, Quidditch plays and bets, wins at the duelling club, even with the fucking gobstones tournament. He never let you catch a break.

Things were surely different now, since you vowed to be with him in sickness and health and untill death parts you both– hell, you’re carrying his child. So you figured maybe, maybe, he’ll let you catch a break this time. Let you eat in peace as you mull over his bathroom comment and how you’re going to get him back.

But again, no. Unlike you, Sirius remembered to grab his wand from the nightstand. Not even batting an eye, he says nonchalantly, “Accio sandwich.” And the fluffernutter you protected with all your physical might managed to escape your watch, and land gracefully on his waiting palm.

What irritated you more from this whole ordeal? The prodigal auror that climbed his way up the ranks and became the youngest deputy director, fully capable of complex spells and wielding different kinds of magic, felt the need to do a verbal Accio spell just to make a point to you.

Out of words, you just stare at him blankly. Too stunned to even cry in frustration because you knew you made a conscious, willing choice to be with this man.

Maybe your best guilt-tripping expression comes best when you’re not trying. Color drains from his face when you remained silent and he scrambles to take a bite off the sandwich before handing it back to you, or rather placing it on your limp hand as you refuse to acknowledge it, still too hurt to budge. “‘m sorry, baby. Just wanted to eat with you since we didn’t get to earlier.”

He did arrive later than usual, deciding to finish the stack of case files and paperwork so he won’t have to sift through them again the next day. There were plans to wait for him before eating, but when the jitteriness and slightly nausea started to kick in, you had no choice in the matter. Sirius had been sulky and clingy the moment he got home, and as compromise, you stayed to watch him eat; listening and reacting animatedly as he ranted about his stressful day.

So you cut him off some slack, also exhausted from all the emotional stimulation sirius brought since he woke up. As a silent peace offering (also because you’re not ready to say sorry to his face), you slide the tostadas within his reach and finally take your bite of the goddamn sandwich. It was good, tasted as expected, sweet peanut butter. You’d probably have it again as a drunk at 3am meal.

Sirius also went and got snacks of his own: microwaved popcorn, pickles, toasted bread slathered with butter, and grapes. Together, you munched on the little spread of random food you could find in your kitchen at 4am in comfortable silence, which is surprising after the earlier bickering. No matter how cheesy it sounded in your head, sirius was the only person that can drive you to the brink of insanity and right back. You were in for a hell of a ride for the foreseeable future; and while there’s a lot of uncertainty right now and changes to be made when the little one gets here, you’re beyond happy that you get to do all this with him.

Sleep was beginning to creep up on you. Of course he notices this right when you do, so a warm arm wrapped across your back urges you to settle on his lap, bodies melding into the familiar crevices like puzzle pieces, though you both had to adjust certain angles to accommodate your growing belly. You sit like this for a while; your head tucked securely in the crook of his neck, steady breaths lulling you to sleep, while sirius’s hands instinctively finds its way under your sleep shirt and on the natural curve of your belly, lithe fingers stroking and drawing soothing circles anywhere he could reach.

you wish you could stay like this forever– cozy and soft and safe– but alas, you were carrying sirius black’s offspring. the baby decides to reward you with a round of kicks, probably giddy after feeling their father’s touch. Sirius chuckles and coos at your bump, while a muffled groan leaves your lips from the sudden onslaught of movement, but still refusing to move from this comfortable position.

Smooth cold lips touch the side of your forehead and you relish in the feeling. “Does it ever hurt, love? All that kicking and wiggling?”

“Not really,” a content sigh leaves your lips. “Feels strange at times, seeing your belly move on its own.”

To prove your point, two tiny bulges make a split second appearance just above where Sirius’s hand lay. His thumb soothes the area lovingly.

“Definitely getting stronger though; Lily told me during the later months, harry for some reason loved to kick downwards, making bathroom trips more frequent than it already is. Not excited for that.”

He presses kisses on your forehead, temple, hairline, anywhere he could reach without moving too much. “Things that you do and endure for this ‘lil troublemaker,” sirius murmurs. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, you could feel his body reverberating with awe and fondness. You try to bask in it for as long as you could, but a passing thought makes its presence known to you again.

“Do i really make the bathroom stink?” it comes out whinier than you intended it to be but you just had to know for peace of mind.

Sirius’s whole frame vibrates as he tries to stifle his laughter, taking you with him. He’s laughing at your expense but you feel your own giggles brewing in your belly. You try to hold it in for longer, preserving some self respect. “A little bit,” he says solemnly. You groan, earlier mortified feeling returning in full swing. It triggers another round of chuckles.

“But dove, it’s nothing that my deep love and adoration for my lovely strong hot and sexy wife can’t handle.” He says assuredly, and you curse yourself for being so down bad for this man as blood rushes to your cheeks from his words. Good thing it’s dim and your face is still tucked in the crook of his neck.

You do pinch his arm in response, and both your laughters compliment the comfortable silence.

“Although,” he says after a while. “The betrayal of you eating without me still hurts.”

“Siri.. i’m sorry,” you mumble. “‘y looked so tired, Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

He tuts and doesn’t say much after that. In sirius dictionary, this means he just wants some affection from you— for you to dote on him and coax out his forgiveness, even if you both know he’s not really mad; judging by his arms still wrapped securely around your frame and steady breaths that tickle and fan on your bare skin.

So you mimic his actions from earlier, planting tiny kisses on his neck, collarbones, jawline, anywhere your lips could reach. Kissing his cheek seem to do the trick, his fake scowl quickly coming undone as a bashful smile breaks through the frown, and his tiny dimple you love so much making an appearance. The muggle maternity books did say dimples are genetic, so an image of a little Sirius running around and smiling up at you with those dimpled cheeks is a warming thought.

“I am charming all the lids to be stuck at night as soon as i wake up tomorrow for work.” You poke a sensitive spot on his side, making him jolt, but you couldn’t resist laughter as it bubbles out of the surface. “You’re insufferable, I can’t believe I married a psychopath.”

“And you let him knock you up too. I’d say it takes one to know one, hm?”

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hotchsofficialwifey · 7 months

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strangely, he feels at home in this place

warnings: angsty, lots of fluff, hurt/comfort, descriptions of a panic attack, umm idk what else

a/n: yay, new fic! fucking finally!! i loved the fnaf movie and it re-inspired by obsession with josh hutcherson, so here i am, writing for it! pls don't bully me for this (don't like, don't read)

"mike?"

your warm voice echoed in the freezing dark room. he was shivering vigorously, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. tears stream down his face with only mere muffled whimpers coming out as a result. he hated feeling like this, but you hated seeing him like this even more. you jump to action, frantically trying to give him the comfort he so desperately needed.

you weren't close at all, you and mike. you were abby's babysitter, and that was it. but over the months, you grew very fond of mike (maybe a little more than that), and mike grew very fond of you. your co-existence was so peaceful it made you feel as if you had known each other for years. silence between you two never weighted, but instead floated, like a water lily down a stream.

but in the months you had known him, never had you ever seen him like this. so vulnerable, so frightened. it triggered an impulse in you you didn't even know you had to protect, nurture, love.

you wrapped your arms around him, his tense muscle melting ever so slightly at your embrace.

"mike, what's wrong? let's sit down, yeah?" he nodded half-heartedly, and you practically had to push him to the sofa. his movement was rigid, and his silent weeps began to turn into heavy sobs, you only prayed abby wasn't listening from the other room. you continued to hold him close, as if someone were trying to pull him away. you hoped he knew that no one would ever pull him away from you.

after a few minutes, mikes anguished sobs began to quiet down. you guided him through some deep breaths, giving him time to settle down, at least. his whimpers were quiet, but he seemed significantly calmer, and a few moments later, you broke the silence.

"mike, what's wrong? talk to me, i'm here for you." your voice was firm but caring, full of the tender love you genuinely had for him. mike took another deep breath, and then another one, before he finally spoke.

"work was terrible. it was, it was-" before he started crying again, you gently shushed him.

"you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. i just want to make sure you're okay." he was silent, contemplating, it seemed.

"mike. i need you to tell me that you're okay." you squeezed his bicep reassuringly and he looked up at you with the sweetest eyes. the sweetest, most devastated eyes. your heart tightened at the sight.

"i'm okay." his voice was practically inaudible, but his eyes spoke for him. the tight-lipped smile you forced against your face, along with the warm touches, seemed to calm him. for him, it felt familiar.

you stayed like that for a few moments, one arm wrapped around him, his head rested on your shoulders. you felt him melt into your touch so delightfully. you relished in that feeling before you spoke again.

"how about you get into some clean clothes and go lie down, yeah? that sound okay?" he nodded and slowly got up from the couch. as he got dressed, you got him a glass of water and a warmer blanket (seriously, his blanket looked terrible for this time of winter). he accepted both with a meek 'thank you', and you turned to leave, to let him rest.

he grabbed you by the arm and you froze in your spot.

"stay." he pleaded. when you turned around, his eyes were sparkling in the moonlight haze that was bleeding from his bedroom window, big and wide and brown and perfect. everything about him was so perfect.

"please." he begged again, that voice of his rich and sweet, like honey with chamomile tea. some part of you was unsure, but most of you was more than happy with his request.

you crawled into bed next to him, keeping eye contact the whole time. for the first time this night, he smiled. a soft, sleepy, honest smile. one you hadn't seen on him in quite a long time. you brushed his hair out of his face, caressing his cheek with the back of your hand. the gesture to you was small, but to him was the closest thing to an 'i love you' he had received since his parents died.

and then you kissed him.

the kiss was timid and shy, but the butterflies in mike's stomach grew nonetheless. he smiled into it, kissing you back with warm compassion and kindness. his hand found it's way to your waist, making the intimacy of the moment grow. in that moment you knew you were head over heels for mike schmidt. and in that moment, he knew the same. the kiss broke eventually and you both slept peacefully, like angels, wrapped in each others arms. you never wanted to let go, and neither did he.

#mike schmidt #fnaf #fnaf movie #mike schmidt x reader #michael schmidt x reader #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst #lovey dovey #romance #five nights at freddy's #fanfics #fanfic #fanfiction #writer #mike schmidt imagine #michael afton #fnaf x reader #stories

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johnnysuhbmarine · 5 months

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Just Add Alcohol...you know, the Antiseptic Kind

Pairing: Jeno x reader Description: After getting into another fist fight, !best friend Jeno ends up back at your place for help, but you’re about at your limit of how much you can stand to see him like this before saying something about it. The only problem is, you still haven’t found a way to address it without bringing up your feelings. Word count: 1,508 A/n: first fic :') wrote this sometime last year and I think it's the best out of my completed one shots, so now I'm sharing it with the world (that's you). shout out to @fullsunstrawberry for convincing me I wouldn’t die if I actually posted my writing <3333 please enjoy, or don’t…I can’t tell you what to do, but feedback would be GREATLY appreciated :)

You squeeze the excess water out of the rag before stomping back over to where Jeno laid on the couch. Your heavy, rhythmic breath is the only sound to fill the tense silence between the two of you as you press the towel up towards his eyebrow, covering a freshly split-open patch of skin. The action provokes the usual wince in pain from Jeno, but you don’t say ‘sorry’ this time, instead just clenching your jaw.

It was routine at this point. Jeno would knock on your door barely able to hold himself up, you would help him to the couch, or on days where he was particularly bloody, you’d have him sit on your bathroom counter and just pray he even had the strength to make it all the way there. Then, you’d get to work on cleaning him up, because you always clean him up, from his fights on the playground in primary school to now, when some kind of fate lets the two of you reconnect after you moved away before high school only to end up at the same college. It was two years ago when you immediately recognized the crescent-eyed smile of the boy sitting at a table you passed on your walk to class. You froze in the middle of the science building, sure you were crazy, but it only took a second before he came up and grabbed your wrist to spin you around. “I knew that was you.” He stated in relief as he pulled you into a hug that you fell right into, just as you always had. Your best friend status seemed to stick through all those years apart, as had his fighting tendencies. Though now, instead of pressing band-aids over boo-boos, you were disinfecting deep, bloody cuts, and wrapping gauze around his rough hands, misshapen by the amount of fingers he had broken that he never gave time to properly heal.

You never reprimanded him. You didn’t need to. He knew that seeing him in this state was hurting you. Though you never said so, it was always evident by the look on your face that you couldn’t be bothered to cover up. What he didn’t know was that you were only on the med-school track because, since kindergarten, you had wanted to be a doctor so you knew how to take better care of him when he got himself injured.

“You’re mad at me.” His gentle voice, the one he spoke with only when he was talking to you, cuts through the silence and brings you back to the present. You take a second to think about how to respond as you move onto his next wound.

“Why do you get into fights?” You ask, no real emotion behind your words outside of genuine curiosity. Jeno shakes his head, wincing as he quickly realizes that the motion was too rough for him right now.

“No reason.” He replies calmly, and you look up to meet his eyes as you press your towel against the cut by his lips.

“No reason? You do all this for no reason?” You spit back, unable to keep your even tone anymore. Jeno rolls his head to the side, dodging eye contact with you as he replies.

“I knew you were mad.” He says, almost absentmindedly.

You take a sharp inhale of breath, annoyed beyond measure, finally breaking.

“Of course I’m mad! I can’t leave you alone for one second without you hurting yourself!” This time, when Jeno winces, it’s not because of the antiseptic or pressure, it’s your tone, one he was so unfamiliar with when it came to you. All he thinks to do is roll his eyes in response.

“I mean, I always end up fine so it’s okay-”

“No!” You yell, cutting him off as you throw the cloth haphazardly at his figure, getting him to move his gaze back over to you in confusion as he picks up the towel and presses it against his wounds in your place. You just look at him, eyes scanning his entire bloodied up figure on the couch, tears threatening to spill for the first time ever in front of him. “No, it’s not okay. Not when I go crazy with worry wondering when the next time will be that you end up on this couch for me to fix. Do you get it? Do you get how scary it is for me to see my best friend beat up like this?!”

“I mean, the other guy always looks worse…” He states, the tiniest laugh accompanying his words, enraging you even more.

“You’re unbelievable!”

He furrows his eyebrows as much as he can before it strains against his cuts. “Me? You’re the one all worried for no reason-”

“I love you! Is that reason enough?!” You yell, standing up and walking towards the kitchen in your best attempt to get away from him.

“Oh, God.” He says softly from the couch, and that’s all it takes for tears to start their race down your cheeks.

“‘Oh, God.’” You mock, shaking your head in defeat. “Great. Great. You can keep that towel, but please get off my couch and go somewhere else. Preferably, to a doctor. The rib that I keep telling you I’m worried about every time I see you, it feels broken now.”

There’s a beat of suffocating silence before he speaks up again. “Y/n…” He says, just as gently as before, though you take none of it.

“Just go!” You shout across to the living room. You hear him let out a heavy exhale before responding.

“First, it’s hard to move because I apparently broke a rib, so if you want me to go, you’re going to have to help me up and out of the door. Second, the reason I got into the first fight on the playground in kindergarten was because that kid, Seongho, made fun of your hair bow.” You render still, staring down at your hands splayed out on the kitchen counter. You don’t know if you can form any response, you’re hardly sure if you’re breathing. Thankfully, Jeno fills the silence himself. “I said ‘oh, God’ because I realized I should’ve just told you that when you first asked. That I get into fights because some part of me has always needed to protect you. That the fights I seek out are against people who eye you like creeps. Yeah, I get into other stupid fights because people wanna punch me so goddamn bad for some reason and I don’t know how to back down, but the ones I start are just so I can keep you safe and gentle in this stupid, hurtful world.”

Time seemed to stand still. You couldn’t wrap your head around his words. They seemed too unreal coming out of his mouth, but he spoke so surely. In the consequential stark silence, you hear him groan in pain, finally getting you to move as you rush over to him on the couch, extremely scared he was actually trying to get up and leave now, which he really was in no position to do by himself. However, when you get over to him, he hasn’t moved an inch. Instead, a soft smile covers his face as confusion crosses yours.

“I just did that to get you to come over to where I can see you again.” He admits, and you deadpan before you can finally find humor, shaking your head with a small laugh as tears continue to run down your face. Then, he finally does move, reaching a hand up to caress your cheek as his other still holds the damp cloth to his cuts. “I love you, y/n.” He says gently, making sure you were holding eye contact with him as he did so. You use a hand to wipe the remaining tears off your face before leaning in to kiss him softly.

When you pull away, Jeno moves his head up to chase your lips as much as he can without hurting himself, pouting when you take a step back and shake your head. “You can kiss me all you want later. I have to get you to an actual doctor before your fractured rib punctures your lung and you die.” You state plainly, reaching an arm under him to help him off the couch as the two of you hobble towards the door.

“I got so lucky…you’re incredibly romantic.” He replies sarcastically, and you just turn your head to look up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know why you’re teasing me. I don’t want you to die. That’s very romantic.” You respond with a smile, opening your door to get out into the dorm hallway. Jeno smiles lightly, kissing the top of your head as the two of you wait on an elevator. Then, all you can do is hold his hand as the doctor calls Jeno stupid for getting into fights (you slipped him a $5 for that one).

#Jeno #NCT Dream #Jeno One Shot #Jeno x reader #NCT Dream x reader #Jeno fanfic #Jeno angst?#Jeno fluff?#Jeno who knows #NCT #NCT Dream drabbles #Jeno drabbles #nct x reader #nct scenarios

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maskedmando · 2 years

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I Need You Here

Part 1

Paring: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's a normal day on the Razor Crest when you get shot in the stomach by the bounty that Din is out looking for. The reality of it all changes everything.

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: heavy angst, blood, injury, detailed description of wound, getting shot, talk of dying (no death), general fear of dying, smut in next part, this work is 18+ minors do not interact

a/n: pls take warnings seriously. this is my first time posting a fic to tumblr in a long time, so please let me know the general vibes. will include a part 2 later! (this is cross posted to my ao3 account as well)

Looking back, out of all of the many days that you have spent parading targets on your back with Din Djarin, it had felt like the least likely one for you to die. But you suppose that, in reality, that’s more often when these things happen. On days they’re not supposed to.

You’ve been hit by blaster shots before. They’ve grazed arms and legs, singed hair, nothing serious. You’ve chuckled at the way that Din tenses while cleaning flesh wounds that you can’t reach.

You knew this one was different about 8 seconds after the bounty on the other end of the blaster fell in a heap at the bottom of the open ramp of the Razor Crest. He had only made it about 4 steps in before you realized it was either him or you making it out of this.

As those seconds ticked by, you were hit with a third option that you hadn’t initially considered. This outcome being that you might just die right here on a planet that you weren’t supposed to be on for more than a day, the child still locked in the bunk where you left him after being alerted to someone that was definitely not Din approaching the Crest, next to a bounty that you and Din had jokingly placed bets just this morning on how quickly he would have him frozen in carbonite.

The bounty had fired at the same time as you and hit you just left of your belly button. You knew it was different the moment you were sure that the bounty was dead and your 8 seconds were up.

Your vision narrowed rapidly as your hands flew to the fire that was starting in your midsection. For a moment, you genuinely thought that you were holding your organs in your hands, but you physically shook the image out of your head as you realized that your hands were simply slippery with an alarming amount of blood.

The bounty must have had some sort of attachment to his blaster, because the hole in your stomach was not the size of a typical blaster wound. It was bad. This was bad.

Your next choices felt like a blur. You needed to com Din. You needed a med kit. You did not know if you had time for both of those things. You stood frozen while those two options took precious moments away from you.

The child wailed from the bunk.

The noise sent your body into some sort of uncontrollable mission. You could grab the med kit and take it with you into the cockpit while you commed Din to let him know that he needed to come back immediately. A small part of your brain wondered exactly what you thought Din would be able to do for you, but the larger part knew that it wasn’t about anything that he would be able to do. It was simply about the fact that you needed him here right now.

You remember the feeling of your hand wrapping around the handle of what you truly hoped to be one of the spare med kits as you did everything in your power just to get yourself to the ladder of the cockpit. You have no recollection of how you got yourself up, all you know is that you weren’t able to stand back up after that point. You crawled the rest of the way to the controls, leaving a trail of blood that would haunt Din even after washing it all away for months.

Of course, the only way to get a hold of Din was through the communication device that he carried with him that could radio back and forth with the control panel of the ship. You reached up and fumbled around until you got a hold of the radio piece and pulled the cord just far enough for you to half-sit half-lay on the ground beneath the blinking lights of the controls above you.

You breathe in deeply and hit the button that allows Din to hear you. “Mando.” You spoke it eerily calmly considering that, to your own ears, your voice sounded miles away. You’re sure you might actually be holding your organs at this point.

Letting go of the button, you hear Din quickly respond. It’s not often that you com each other while he’s out hunting. The sound of his voice comes from the speaker on the panel above you. You close your eyes as you listen. “I know, I know. I had him in my sights about 30 minutes ago, but I lost him. Looks like I owe you 10 credits. No need to rub it in.”

He sounded so lighthearted. He was always so serious, but he was in such a good mood today. You noticed it this morning. Your eyes welled as you brought the radio back up to speak. You were about to ruin his life. “Din.” This time your tone was much shakier.

There was a pause before a much more serious sounding Din responded, “Y/N?”

You let out a sob, hearing him say your name. You register in that moment just how scared you are. You can’t die without him there. He’s going to get back to the Crest and find your dead body in his cockpit and your blood all over the place and the child locked in what is basically a closet and he’s never going to be the same. While you’ve never spoken about what you are to each other, you know that Din Djarin loves you and that you love him just as fiercely. You’ve left it unspoken to protect yourselves from this moment right here. But now that this is happening, really happening, you're not sure if leaving things unspoken will make all of this easier or harder for him in the long run. You force yourself to focus on how the tears feel running down your face.

“Y/N!” His voice snaps you out of it.

You take yet another deep breath and steady your voice. Your other hand is still holding your lower half together. “Din, I’m sorry. You have to come back to the ship. The bounty found the ship.”

“What do you mean?”

“The bounty came to the ship. I shot him, but-” you let go of the button quickly as you let out a genuine scream of pain. You don’t know if you can get your breath back.

“But what?” This time it sounds like Din is moving quickly, but you still can’t get enough air to respond to him. “Y/N, respond!”

You cry openly this time as you respond to him, knowing that the pain isn’t going to go away and there’s no point in hiding the damage that’s already been done. “I got- I got shot. I’m sorry. The kid’s okay; I h-hid him. But I got shot. T-There’s too much blood, I don’t know what- what to do. I need you to come back. P-Please.”

He responds the moment you let go of the button. This time it’s clear through the radio that he’s in the air. “Where?”

“I’m in the cockpit.”

“No, mesh’la,” he corrects gently, “Where did you get shot?”

You're sweating profusely at this point. “My s-stomach. It wasn’t a normal blaster, Din.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but you're also starting to notice that you may not be fully aware of your surroundings at this point. It’s entirely possible that he’s talking and you're just not aware of it until you start to pick up on his voice again.

You’re now fully laying down on your back, looking at the control panel above you. When you hear him again, it’s almost like he’s standing right above you. “You need to keep pressure on it, cyar’ika. I know you can do that for me. I promise I’m not far away.”

Your hand pushes harder into your stomach, and black spots burst into your vision. In the sheer amount of shock from the pain, you actually let out an involuntary combination of a laugh and a sob, your body having no idea what to do with what it was going through.

You never knew how much you didn’t want to die alone until right now.

“I-I really want- I’m sorry- I really want you to be here, Din.” You let go of the radio and let it dangle above you as you move to use both hands to put pressure on the wound.

You’ve made up your mind.

You’re not dying until Din gets here.

“I’m almost there, y/n. I promise, everything is going to be fine. I’m not going to let anything happen to you-” you know Din keeps talking, but this is truly where you start to lose touch with reality.

In pushing on your wound, you black out for an unknown amount of time. When you start to wake up, it’s because you hear someone moving around wildly below. Din basically flung his body up the ladder, and you heard him stop when he reached the top.

It’s the only time he hesitates, and it’s an image he will never forget. And there is only one thought going through his head as he has followed a clear path of your blood straight to the sight of you laying motionless on the floor of his cockpit. It’s a miracle he didn’t throw up right then instead of later that night.

This is your fault.

The thought repeats even as he bursts back into action, ripping his gloves off and kneeling at your side at a speed that makes you dizzy just lying there.

You’re confused as you see how badly his hands are shaking and he tears through the med kit you brought up with you. You watch him, almost calmly, as he spews out apology after apology. You don’t even grasp that he’s working on your wound until your brain finally catches up with what’s happening.

You want to tell him that he doesn’t need to panic, you couldn’t even feel it anymore.

Instead, you looked up at his helmet as it remained hyper focused on a wound much worse than his mind ever would have allowed him to imagine you having. He was polished and shiny as usual, which felt oddly comforting to you at that moment.

When you first met Din, you remember how uncomfortable you felt looking at him. Not because you were intimidated or scared, though, you might have occasionally been at the time, but because you were forced to look at your own reflection much more often than you had ever been used to. The hut you lived in prior to traveling with Din didn’t have any mirrors or overly reflective surfaces, and you only ever really saw yourself when you glimpsed your reflection on the surface of the well that everyone got their drinking water from. Your reflection in Din’s armor is much sharper, much more unforgiving. It had been alarming to you for longer than you would have expected after first meeting him.

Now though, as the edges of your vision blurred, you realized something that made your body feel warm. At least, you assume that’s why you were feeling warm. You didn’t care to think about what was happening to your body anymore as you were too focused on gingerly reaching up to grip Din’s elbow. He was moving so quickly, if he would just slow down you could enjoy the fact that you barely see your reflection anymore when you look at him. You only see him now. This fully fleshed out man before you that has shown you more of the galaxy than anyone before would have even bothered. You know him. You can die knowing that you got to see Din Djarin. It feels wonderful. You want him to know how wonderful it feels.

“I can see you,” your ears registered the nearly incoherent mumbling sound of your voice. Although, you’ve reached a point where your brain seems pretty sure you’re actually just having a dream. In fact, when you wake up later, you will never remember any of this. You continue to ramble, “It’s just you. I-I’m so glad it’s you.”

He began to shush you purely on instinct, “You’re fine. I’m going to take care of this.” His words seemed instinctual as well. His tone was what gave him away. You could write a book about the sound of his voice and what it all means. How it can help you see him.

Din Djarin was utterly terrified. His tone burrowed into your stomach and caused the warm feeling to bubble and turn sour. His tone did that, not the blaster wound. You’ve never felt more compelled to comfort him. How could anything be wrong when he was right there and you didn’t even feel the pain anymore?

“Din, it’s okay,” you squeeze his elbow to get his attention, but you’re unsure if you’re even strong enough at this point for him to feel it, “I feel safe. I just see you.”

“Mesh’la, please,” you don’t know what he was begging for. “I have to fix this. We’re leaving soon I promise. We shouldn’t have even come. I’m sorry. I don’t know- I- I’m going to fix this.”

The frenzy of his hands pulled at your attention. Looking down, you thought for a moment that Din had put his gloves back on, but soon realized that his hands were coated in a layer of your blood. You were becoming more aware of the fact that you couldn’t seem to blink away the blur in your vision anymore.

You needed him to slow down.

“I can’t!” Din was close enough that you could hear the panic coming from under his helmet. You hadn’t noticed that you had said that aloud and that both of your hands were grabbing at his while he tried to apply a bacta patch. Your wound was still bleeding too much, making it so that the patch wasn’t sticking correctly.

You and Din both knew that you had used the last of the bacta shots for a leg wound that he had gotten two weeks ago. He was supposed to pick up more shots on the last planet you were on, but the vendor was charging an abnormally large amount causing Din to decide that it would be better to wait and work through the easier bounties before finding a cheaper salesman.

Now this patch was the only form of bacta on the ship and, no matter how Din tried, it wouldn’t stick.

As you gently gripped his blood soaked hands, he let out a sob.

You began to shush him purely on instinct.

The child wailed from the bunk.

Din’s head shot up immediately. “He can help you,” you thought you heard him say. You were too happy about the fact that his hands had stopped moving and that you didn’t register his movement until both of those hands had moved to either side of your face, cradling you in a way that was gentle yet utterly desperate. His helmet was almost fully pressed to your forehead. He had never been this close to you. Right then, you think you were okay with dying.

“He’s going to help you,” This time as he said it, his hands forced themselves to slip away and his forehead to push away from yours as he stood and disappeared down the ladder.

Out of everything that happened, this was the most painful. While you don’t remember, Din will never forget the sound that tore from you as he disappeared from your side. Given the state you were in, your very fuzzy and disoriented mind jumped to the conclusion that he wasn’t coming back and you were about to die right there, alone. It was entirely nonsensical, but your whole body was shaking from the way you were sobbing by the time Din was back by your side with the child no more than 15 seconds later.

The child did not hesitate to close his eyes and reach out for your stomach as Din turned to focus on calming you down. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, mesh’la. He can fix this. Everything is going to be okay. I’m sorry.” His hand, still covered in blood, soothed your hair off of your clammy forehead. He positioned himself so that your head was resting in his lap. The movement allowed you to notice the child.

You smiled softly at him and reached to rub one of his ears. Din gently stopped you and you let out a soft confused whine from the back of your throat. “Let him work, mesh’la. He’s going to save you.”

You were only partially able to take in Din’s words at this point. You choked out, “He’s safe.”

“You kept him safe. You always keep him safe. You did such a good job, sweet girl.” If you weren’t dying and your blood wasn’t rushing through your ears as if you were drowning in an ocean, you might actually think Din was crying. “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to keep you safe now. You’re going to stay with us and we’re going to leave this planet soon and you’re going to be fine.”

That tired smile spread on your face again as you tried to focus on the only two things that have ever truly mattered to you. “My boys.”

You were so happy you were with your boys.

The soft smile stayed on your face as you closed your eyes and, finally, went to sleep.

#din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #pedro pascal #angst

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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

Text

That lil house, between your legs, where all my dreams wait

A Sarge & lil Mama fic -the Proposal

Summary: Elvis informs a certain girl of his dreams that she’s gonna marry him…she’s got some concerns and conditions, one includes him making sure his babies will fit in her lil house

Warnings: Umm, the mild usual with this universe? Themes of breeding, housewife and innocence kink, ill informed consent regarding a pussy inspection and said pussy inspection and descriptions of a vagina (ok, it’s Elvis being a creep and looking up her skirt on her request, but made cute ok?) mentions of Gladys’ death

-February of ‘58 timeline change

“It’s been decided.” is the first thing out of his mouth that morning as he strides up to Elaine where she stands in the shade of her father’s porch.

She’d been over at Graceland all day yesterday and the evening, too, -most days here lately- trying to make him eat, trying to keep him company, trying to get him out of his mother’s closet. It had been in the reverse order of all that, but she had done it. She was the only human that Private Elvis Presley would take orders from, though he reckoned she didn’t guess that. Sweetly, softly, efficiently, she’d gotten him out and gotten him calmed down and gotten him fed. Probably would have put him to bed if he hadn't given her a weak smile and told her to run on now, he wanted to discuss something with her father.

And now he’s here on her porch, looking like maybe he did sleep after all, judging by the rumpled state of his usually pristine hair. It’s growing out a little since they shore him of his prized locks. She thinks he looks better this way, prettier and sweeter without the gel and the sulk. He looks older, too, the way his arms bulge from push-ups and bootcamp, highlighted by the way they bracket the porch posts as the heavy weight of his gaze flicks over her.

“What’s been decided?” Elaine asks him from the gloom of the porch, squinting at his looming silhouette as it’s outlined by the white, bright, February sun.

She’s unable to recall a single loose end regarding the funeral arrangements he had charged her to oversee. It’s over and down with. Miss Gladys is six feet below the sod in Graceland’s backyard and the fans and family have been hosted with impeccable hospitality by herself, the obituaries and memorials written, the flowers preserved as long as possible. Elaine noticed a few petals had started to fall from the Peace Lilly spray when she was over yesterday. She’d picked them up hastily, hoping he didn’t notice that even those were dying. The decisions are all over and done with, he’s due back to the army in a month. And she’s back to teach and produce at RCA.

“It’s been decided and don’t you go objectin, it’s for the best.” he repeats insistently, but his jittering leg gives away the bold act. He’s nervous, she realizes.

“What is it, Elvis?” she asks, voice soft and encouraging as it’s been all week.

“You’re gonna marry me,” he says, “talked it over with your daddy an’ everything, it’s settled. Graceland hasn’t got a mistress no more, and you belong there. Saw it all week, you’re perfect for it.”

He informs her -not asks, ask would imply some free will on her part- like it’s her required duty to the nation or something. Marry him. Like taxes or the draft.

“You outta your ever lovin mind?” she whispers, genuinely worried he’s snapped under the weight of his publically analyzed grief. She’s seen how useless Vernon has been in comforting him, she knows how lonely it gets when one’s mama isn’t there to comfort you for her dying on ya. Elaine really feels for him, she does.

He was there for her when it happened to her, so she’s been there for him. But she knows this can’t be more than a half baked idea.

“I’m dead serious.” he growls, his ferocity taking her aback, she shifts her weight from foot to foot and eyes him warily, “I told ya, it’s all settled, your daddy said yes, you ain’t got anythin to object to.”

“Don’t I just?!” she laughs, “Elvis, you’re just sayin this cause I’ve been with ya during these last few days, and you’re hurtin and you’re lonely and it’s understandable and I’ll be there for ya, always. But you just had a girl, and this’ll pass sure enough. You’re Elvis Presley, your life’ll go on after this. And, and I-well, I’ve been wanting to get married and I want babies and I’ve wanted it for awhile now. I’ve waited on ya to help me like ya promised but I won’t be played with, I won’t! Not even by you. Not even when you’re sore.”

“You want babies?” he asks, his voice low and a sweaty hand leaves the porch post and cups her cheek, calloused fingers digging into her scalp when she goes to pull away, “I’ll give ya babies.”

“I’m being serious, Elvis!” she complains, neck craned away from his assessment of her lips. She never jokes about children, and she won’t let him.

“So am I.” his soft, boyish face looks hopeful suddenly, and rather capable. “I’ll give ya babies, far more than most men could manage.”

“How?” she whispers, his persistent sobriety throwing her into confusion.

“How?” he repeats, copying her quiet tone, distantly hearing the faint squeak of the porch swing chains as the breeze lazily rocks it.

“Yes,” she hesitantly goes on, “how do you know you can? How does anyone know if they can?” It’s something that's bothered her for awhile now. The idea of marrying a man who fails to give her children like Mrs. Myers husband down the street. Five years married and no kids, it’s the talk of the neighborhood. Or those starlets who manage to never have a child and disfigure their waists, no matter the amount of masculine company they keep.

Elvis cocks his head to the side, a puzzled glimmer in his eyes as Elaine’s bashfully inquiring eyes plead with him to understand her burning curiosity. And when he does -fully understand her naïveté, that is- he feels his cock twitch beneath his belt.

“Wellll,” Elvis draws the word out and she is swaying towards him now, that boiling hunger to learn coiling her tight as she hangs on to his every syllable, “I’m pretty confident, it’s just a thing that a man can tell, ya see, it’s a guess, but an educated one. But, we could make sure.” he’s winging it at this point, and shaming his heavenly mother while he’s at it, but he can’t seem to stop himself, not now that he knows he’ll be her teacher and her claimer if he can just make her agree, “We could check and make certain I ain’t overpromisin’, make sure the furniture fits the house, if ya get my drift.”

She doesn’t get his drift. That’s plain to see by the quizzical furrow of her eyebrows and the gape of her plump mouth as she tries to make sense of his euphemisms. Clever and bright Elaine Phipps looking a bit dumb as she blinks up at him in the shade of her front porch makes him smirk wickedly.

“You want children?” she asks, instead of taking him up on his offer just now.

“Most certainly do, we talked bout this before, Elaine.”

“You were complainin bout Anita, back then. Anything to find fault with her, doesn’t mean ya like children.” she crosses her arms and it pushes up her girlish bosoms, pale and promising beneath her gingham check house dress. He’s gonna make those bigger, so plump they’ll spill over that merely adequate neckline.

“Look here you got it wrong, Anita and the rest, they were nice gals, yeah?” he concedes, but it’s just to launch his next explanation, “But they weren’t mama material, ya see? My mama, she told they weren’t fittin, and she told me you were. Just as all the twiggy boys and sleek doctors and the artists fellers ya hang round, they either want your money or they’ll only make decent beaux -but they ain’t gonna make good daddy’s. Mark my words.”

“And what, you don’t want my money?” she teases.

“Now, ‘Laney honey, I’m the one who makes ya your money.” he laughs, tweaking her nose with his fingers and she bats his hand away with a giggle. “And conversely ya own my voice, you’re on my label as a producer, right next to your ole man.”

“Speaking of,” she grows earnest, “ya know Sam Cooke? Signed onto RCA right after ya?”

“Yeah, what of ‘im?” he frowns, impatient this conversation has gotten derailed from its original purpose -to the topic of another man, and a swanky one at that, “You gonna marry him?” he balks.

“No, no! though if he asked…” she winks and he squeezes her waist in warning, feeling the soft flesh give under her girdle from his pressure. That’s how it’ll feel to hold onto her when she rides him.

“What bout him?”

“So, he’s gonna start another record company,” she looks so earnest and invested in the topic he has to let her go on, “one where the artists will have control and rights to their music! And he’ll stay at RCA in the meantime but he’s tryin’ to find supporters and other to join him, a few have already this first month. And, well -“

“What?” he asks again, and it makes her lashes flutter as she gets shy under his stare, “Ya want me to join?”

“Well yeah! Though I doubt Parker would let ya. But that isn’t what I was gonna tell ya.” she bites her lip, “My point is, the point is -that Sam has offered me to be a producer! I mean -Elvis! We’re talkin Cooke, Redding and Smokey and well Burke and- lord it would work for you! But the point is, I’m gonna be doin that, I’m thinkin of taking him up on it.”

“Now hang on a second.” he shakes her gently by his hold on her waist, “One minute you’re objectin to marryin me cause I’m ‘Elvis’ and you say that as if babies an’ me don’t go together like cookies and cream -and now here ya are all talkin bout hangin with cool cats and producin and climbin the laddeh. Which ya want honey? Thought you wanted to be a mama?”

“I’m just saying,” she stamps her foot in the little bit of floor space his crowding has given her on the porch, “You’re talkin bout marryin and Graceland havin a missus and meanwhile you’re gonna be gone across the ocean! How’s that make any sense? Ya don’t need a wife for that, I could be house sittin for ya just as well, while producin with Cooke in the meanwhile and when you get back, I’ve no doubt you’ll fall in with some starlet or other. See? There, fixed. Sensible plan now. And I agree to it, yer welcome.”

“Little girl, yer not hearin me at all.” he raps his knuckles against her oh so sensible yet silly head, her startled indignance the cutest thing he’s ever seen, “I want me a woman to marry before God, to give my children to, to raise those children to a right legacy, to help me make a change for good in all this mess. And I want that to be you.” he articulates the last sentence clearly and prods his index finger against her chest, like the finger of fate marking her out for this.

“Elvis i-“she shakes her head adamantly, and he thinks it must be a little hard for her to understand that his every daydream, every evening prayer, every midnight spill into the sheets these last two years have been about making a family outta her. But she will get the vision, she’s gotta. She has to. Or else. Else he’ll do somethin rash and unchristian if she doesn’t relent to bind herself to him before he goes back to Fort Hood.

Somethin real rash, like wring her neck or admit he’s a goddamn slave for her. Embarrass them both. She probably can tell, the way he’s gripping her and nearly salivating over such close proximity to her lips and body and everything. He has to remember his mama, has to remember how to treat the gal she pointed out to him in the manner befitting a new Mrs Presley.

“You want babies? Hmm?” he’s breathing in her exhales he’s so close, as she’s bowed backwards as he leans in, her little head almost bumping her fathers front door in an effort to keep their lips apart, “I’ll give ya babies. You wanna make good music? The best in music is holdin ya right now, baby. You wanna make a difference? I know ya do, ya want power and ya want security and money and ya want love, don’t ya? Way I see it, I’ll give ya that. Better and more of it than anyone. Sensible plan, ain’t that what ya called yours? Well, here’s one, damn sight more sensible than yours and tryin all this solo.”

Her pretty lips are puffing with each labored breath she takes to steady herself and her eyes track over his face intently, and he knows she weighing the pluses and the minuses, his fame verses money and his moods over his devotion and his appetites over his loyalty and anonymity over influence. The hands she has pressed to his chest to keep them apart soften with each passing moment.

“But -do ya even love me, Elvis?” she asks, a note of something very sad but a little hopeful lingering in her voice. Like she’s mourning the fact that she’s considering this for all the reasons that make her so wonderfully practical, but the girl in her can’t help but wish for a little romance.

A gust of a breeze whips her hair around her in a swirl of brushed out curls and her eyes sparkle even in the porch’s shade. He cups that precious, brave little face in his hands and presses her against the screen door, neighbors and street traffic be damned

“Oh honey,” he gushes then, cool demeanor abandoned and all that lovely passion she adores in him coming out at last, “I have for a long while now. And I can’t think of a stronger way of showin ya than to give you my babies. To make a life with you, give ya mama’s house and my name. Please say yes, Elaine. Please, please I need ya to say yes.”

“Oh Elvis,” she breathes, feeling him hold her and promise to her and want her is every bit as naturally compelling of obedience as that night of the funeral, but she never once imagined it as his wife, “I just don’t wanna be alone Elvis,” she tries to make him see her true fear, “I’m real honored by this but, but I’m so lonely and I want all this so I won’t be! And you’re gonna be gone. Gone to Germany and then gone to make music and movies and-“

“I’m gonna take ya with me! Always, always together, I swear!” he closes the distance and presses his lips to hers firmly despite her lack of response, “I need me a wife, Elaine,” he pants against her mouth and she can smell the spearmint of his gum, “I need a good woman, and you’re the one mama pointed out to me. Shouldn't of put it off so long but I-I was a fool. I need ya with me everywhere I go, don’t send me across the ocean without you! Don’t, you wouldn’t be so cruel, please baby, please!”

He’s not sure how it happens but he’s slumping down the length of her body, hands sliding along the gorgeous outline of her and suddenly he’s on his knees, painted boards hard against his knees, begging like a groom oughta, his face is pressed to her womb. This womb he’s got such plans for and such right to and he has to make her see that in his head they’ve been married for years already. “I’ve taken care of ya, haven’t I?” he begs her to remember, “You trust me to take care of ya, to love ya, to cherish you, don’t ya, Elaine?”

The kicker is she does. And she’s not sure why she worries more is needed. All she wants right now is to be needed, and the crying, grieving young man clinging to her right now needs her badly. She runs her fingers through his hair soothingly and likes the way that makes him shudder. “Will you always need me, Elvis? Really? Even when good times come round again?” she asks what really worries her.

He pulls his face away and looks up at her, lips puffy and his dark lashes clumped from tears, “Always, Elaine, always.”

“And you’ll give me Graceland?”

“Yeah, course baby, you’ll be my wife, it’ll be yours!”

“I mean...legally, you’ll give it legally.” she doesn’t ask this time, she’s stating conditions.

“I-I-if it matters so much, sure. What’s some more papers?” he laughs. “Why?” he adds with a flicker of dread.

“You won’t divorce me if I’ve got Miss Gladys’ house, will ya?” she explains and has the audacity to grin.

It hurts deeply that she still doesn’t get just how badly he wants her for all eternity. “Why you talkin bout divorce, honey?” he asks wounded.

“So many people get them.” she says mournfully, “And mostly entertainers.”

“That's cause they marry icy bimbos and are selfish bastards.” he states, rising up to his own two feet again, the topic back on safe ground -ground he has the upper hand in. “See, darlin, there’s plenty of men who want wives, and cause the wives want children they tell the poor girls they want kids, too. But they don’t, so once the wives have got the kids they move on. Real dastardly thing to do and more common than you realize. And with your money and your looks, you’ll have a line of such good for nothin bastards linin up with fake promises. You understandin me?”

“Yeah.” she swallows thickly, knowing he knows far more about all this than she does.

“So it’s important to marry someone ya trust, right?” he prods.

“Yeah.”

“More so than even someone ya love, dontchu think?”

“I suppose so.” she nods, care creasing her face, “You don’t mind that I don’t love ya Elvis?” she asks worriedly, “Because I am really fond of ya, and I enjoy you I just -I don’t think I love ya.”

“I’m willin to bet that’ll come.” he says solemnly, “And I’m willin to put in the work to make it grow. Just as I will our babies.”

Her face softens at the mention of the longed for babies. A smile even plays around her mouth, beginning to plump up her cheeks. “Will ya check, then?” she whispers.

“Check what?” he asks, absently thumbing the beautiful line of one of her collarbones.

“If it’ll work.” she blushes, ignorance both emboldening and shaming her all at once, “Make sure we can make babies for sure, you and I.”

“Gotta do that before you say yes?” he laughs, disbelieving and feral at the prospect.

“Yes, it’s important to me, Elvis.” she remonstrates against his humor. “Most important thing of all.”

“A-a-alright, I-I-I’ll check.” his mouth runs dry at the prospect of seeing, smelling, maybe even wetting his fingers in that place he’s wrung himself dry imagining night after night and morning after morning. And the fact she’s asking, offering -under ill informed pretenses as it is. “Can’t do it out here.” he whispers, the depravity of his taking advantage like this actually taking a toll on his bravado.

“Come in then,” she whispers in turn, though from a different motivation, “but be quiet, daddy’s still sleeping, ya kept him up so late.”

She opens the creaky screen door with painstakingly slow care, and the large wooden one, too, with its familiar stained glass windows. It is cool and dark without a lamp on or blind raised inside their den, she’d barely gotten dressed and come downstairs to start breakfast when she heard his car peel out in the front drive.

She spins around just short of the coffee table, her circle skirt swirling and swooshing tantalizingly, no stockings on yet as she wasn’t prepared for guests.

“Where should I….” she trails off as she surveys the different flat spots upon which to perch for this examination, her devout ignorance of the socially condemned nature of it all giving her a chipper confidence that Elvis finds throbbingly attractive in an unschooled virgin.

His voice sounds gravelly and about three octaves deeper than usual when he croaks out, “Anywhere's fine -how bout here…” he picks her up by her waist to sit her on the high top, Oriental imported side table, a gift her father gave her mother as an anniversary present.

It’s taller than the couch and it lets her legs dangle apart naturally. He could easily take himself out and slide right into her at this level. It makes him dizzy when he hears her shaky exhale as he seats her, belying a real, deep seated nervousness on her part that he’ll find some abnormality with her that will crush her dreams. The fact he’s certain she’s not as nervous over a red blooded boy lifting her skirt and looking at her bare cunt makes him so painfully hungry to devour her that he has to gnaw on his bottom lip to keep from groaning. -And taking advantage of what’s not yet his. For his mama's sake, for his mama's dream of this, he’s gotta keep ahold of himself and refrain from anything God might find fault with. For them to be punished with barrenness because Elvis couldn’t hold back before the proper time would be too cruel. He can’t do that to Elaine or himself. He’s gonna be the man in her life, has already been so for awhile now, and he’s gotta do right by her. He thinks this even as he gives her lips another peck and sinks to his knees to give her pussy an inspection that is as futile as it is arousing.

He rubs at her thighs over her dress soothingly, though by her quick breaths he suspects she’d rather he hurry and give a verdict. Her eyes that have been turned towards the staircase, making certain father is still asleep, drop to his face expectantly.

“Here I -let me, I should probably-“ she says determinedly and suddenly she’s pulling at her skirt, the thin fabric sliding from beneath his palms as she lifts it and then he’s holding onto warm flesh instead as she gathers the fabric to her waist.

He chokes on his own spit at her innocent brazenness and has to glance away for a moment from the blood stirring sight of graceful thighs bracketing plain white panties, a wet patch visible on the crotch and a few stray wiry curls sneaking out from the seams at her groin.

“You ok?” she asks, and the genuine concern in his voice tells him that the agonizing need he feels is visible on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just so goddamn pretty.” he admits, truth the only thing he can manage to blurt and it serves him well.

She looks relieved and gives him a pleased smile and chooses to spread her legs wider. So wide in fact that she has her heels propped on the sideboard beside her hips. Who needs stirrups for an examination when a girl can bend like that? Bend…oh god he can’t wait to bend and bury and dump inside her…

Elvis has never wanted to dive face first into a muff so bad in all his life. The wedding is gonna have to be next week. He can’t wait longer than that, he doubts he’ll sleep a wink until he knows what she tastes like.

“Can you tell like this?” her soft voice reminds him he gave her a fucking excuse for this perverted cock tease torture and he reels through the options of backing out now or pushing this a little further. “Or do you need to move these?” she voices the second option for him, the barrier of her panties implied if not mentioned.

“Yeah, gotta look at the lil house.” his voice comes out wavering and wrecked, “Lemme just-“ he tentatively raises his hands to her precious place and hooks his fingers to the cotton panties and pulls them to the side.

She’s so goddamn pink. Glistening and swollen like she’s been freshly teased. Something about him excites her, without her even knowing. Her curls are sopping wet, they slick up his fingers as he holds her apart, and in their strands they’re trapping the most delicious essence he’s ever smelled in his entire life. She hasn’t shaved, she hasn’t primped, she hasn’t stretched herself out, she’s exactly as God made her and he’s the first man to see it.

It causes him to whimper, long and gut wrenched, his whole throat throbbing as he wiggles on the floor.

“Oh…Jesus.” he wheezes.

“What?” she demands peering down at him, and she’s the authoritative one here, now that he’s all but humping the floor in his delicious misery of viewing Elaine Phipps’ perfect, unused cunt. “Will it work? Is something wrong?”

“No no no.” he garbles out, one hand slipping from her slick folds and gravitating to his own lap out of natural instinct, crushing his twitching bulge into submission, “You’re perfect, Elaine, absolutely perfect.” he wants to cry, maybe because he's so horny, maybe because he loves her so damn much. He’s really not sure, nothing makes sense except that he was meant to live inside that perfect little haven of hers that is honest to God trickling before his very eyes. His thumb involuntarily swipes up and spread it to her clit, making her buck towards his attentions.

“It’s achey, Elvis, it’s always achey.” she informs him, “Does that mean anything? Is it wrong?”

And he knows she means wrong as in humanly abnormal, not morally incorrect. He’ll never let her know anyone would think differently. As long as he possibly can he’ll keep her eager and unabashed.

“Nah honey, nah that’s a good sign.” he breathes heavily, still stroking that dribbling, untried place, “Means you’re fertile, means you’re ready for a baby. It’ll keep achin till ya have one in ya.”

“Oh.” her mouth rounds childishly and she nods as if this were a sudden epiphany.

“We should give ya a baby, then, shouldn’t we?” he prods now that he’s got her attention and her arousal.

“I’spose so.” she agrees, tentative, her lip drawn between her teeth, still contemplating this marital bargain with the fabric of her hem crushed in her palms. “Your babies’ll fit?” she asks once more for good measure.

His babies. She’s no idea it’s his cock she should anticipate. “Yeah, perfect fit. Don’t think anyone else’s would.”

“Oh….good.” she lets out a massive sigh of relief she has been holding in for most of her teenage years.

“Gotta marry me, first.” he reminds, swirling his thumb faster and she keens a little before remembering her father upstairs, “I can’t go round givin babies to someone who ain’t my wife, ya know.”

“Alright.” she agrees to marry him in a soft whisper, her hand coming to cover his own tenderly as it works between her legs, stalling his distracting movements.

“What’s that?” he asks again, breathless with hope.

“I’ll marry ya Elvis, if you’re sure we’ll work.”

“I’m sure.” he swears, watching the way her pink hole flutters, “I’ll give ya a baby and fix the ache, darlin. Won’t have to fret over anything again your whole life.”

The floorboards upstairs creak and Elvis nearly yelps in shock, so far gone was he in their own little world he’d forgotten that he’s got her spread bare in her father’s den. He stands up abruptly and pulls her skirt down gently, making her proper again.

Wedding night. He’s gotta wait till the wedding night before trying anything, or even explaining the mechanics of it, he thinks. He doesn’t wanna spook her, and he wants to have her stuck with him before he drops that final little detail about the necessity of a man going inside and blowing his load in order for the miracle of life to occur.

Yeah, that’s not something you tell a skittish little girl who just barely agreed to marry you for your mansion and security.

He’s pulled from this scheming by the feel of her arms winding around his neck, drawing him forward gently and to the immense relief of his battered heart he realizes she is about to kiss him. It’s a sweet kiss, gentle and tentative and growing in surety as she decides she likes it, and it’s the loveliest one he’s ever had, made so by the relief that she must care for him somehow, even if it’s no match for the insane obsession he harbors for her. It’ll do, it’s a seed he can water and grow.

“You’ll stay for breakfast?” she asks him as they pull away, drowsy and a little cross eyed from how long they’ve smooched.

“Love ta.” he murmurs, pulling her off the table and drawing her close so he’s holding her to him, swaying gently and savoring the feeling of his soon to be wife as she nestles into his chest.

Father comes down shortly after.

“It’s settled, sir.” Elvis informs him, a respectful title tacked on to a declaration that leaves no room for argument from either of you, “She’s agreed. And I’m the happiest of men.”

Most fathers might tell him, “congratulations” or “welcome to the family” or if it were someone besides Elvis Presley they might venture a “be true to her.”

Father says not a word, all advice and remonstrance and conditions already expended on this headstrong young man the night before. He surveys the young people as they embrace with a genuine smile on his lips and a world of melancholy in his eyes. Elaine wonders if he is mourning the loss of his own bride, or mourning her future as Elvis’.

For Elvis, though, that day is remembered as the most joyful and blessed of days when he lucked out and snagged the loveliest creature living. And how he came to eat French toast and cantaloupe beside her father without having washed his hands.

#sarge and lil mama #most wholesome breeding kink you ever did see #proposal #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis presley #elvis x you #Elvis one shot #mine #elvis x reader #Elvis x Elaine #elvis austin butler

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novantinuum · 14 days

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Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences (CW: Description of attempted suicide) Words: 5.4K~ Summary: There’s more to this story, Lars can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with Steven, something is distinctly wrong. And oh, does he hate being right. - When an unexpected visitor tumbles through the magic portal in his hair long after hours, breathless and bright pink, Lars must amass the courage to weather one of the most difficult conversations of his life.

Hey folks- this is a really heavy one, but it's a story I've been sitting on in my WIPs for a good four years and am very happy to finally set loose. A lot of personal experience has been poured into this particular fic, and I hope you enjoy.

Please take care and mind the content warning given above. If you're curious on what else this story entails, you can click through to see the AO3 tags as well. Love y'all!

Advocate

The Sun Incinerator’s bridge is unusually quiet tonight, with almost everyone spending the evening in their quarters. As such, the only sounds greeting Lars’ ears right now are the dull buzz of their FTL-drive and the gentle chimes of one of the ship’s secondary consoles in the back. (Padparadscha’s making some adjustments to the mainframe parameters, hoping to secure them more malleable control over each system’s energy output.) It makes for a rather meditative scene… focusing on these lulling, almost formulaic bits of white noise as he peers through the glass and watches entire stars and solar systems zip by as nothing but razor thin tendrils of light, the very fabric of space warping and folding around their ship in a myriad of hypnotizing colors. Content to simply be in this peaceful silence, he stretches back in his captain’s chair, allowing a wide smile to rejuvenate his countenance. There’s genuinely nothing more relaxing in all the universe than this.

Though, as he begins to muse upon today’s chaotic ventures of choice, it occurs to him that he hasn’t logged anything down for a good few cycles. And that really, really needs to change, he thinks. Keeping thorough audio records of their whereabouts and activities could prove useful if they get into any more legal scrapes with disgruntled Gems. Plus, it’s great for personal posterity— for when he and the fam want to kick back with some mixers and reminisce about old times.

He activates the mic embedded in the armrest of his seat with a single tap, and clears his throat.

“Logging… stardate one-three zero-five twenty eighteen,“ he begins, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the cool metal. “Or, uh… however that’s supposed to work,” he tags on with a bemused mumble, his nose wrinkling in personal annoyance as he realizes he might have completely jumbled the date format again. At this point, half of his logs are month first, then date, and the other half are date then month. Ugh, what a mess. Perhaps one day he’ll standardize the captain’s logging procedure, but that future is definitely not now.

And knowing him, it’s probably not gonna be tomorrow, either.

He’s unable to help his exhausted yawn as he kicks back and unwinds, throwing his legs over the side of the armrest as he pushes ahead with his recounting of the last few hours.

“Today’s travels once again had us come face-to-face with our favorite frenemy Emerald, who claimed that her latest star cruiser had the booster technology to easily outperform all other Era 3 ships and challenged us to a race across the Stellaris Astroid Field in sector 9. We won, of course,” he says with a smug lilt to his voice. “The Rutiles’ savvy piloting saw to that, as well as Fluorite’s last-minute engine modifications. I think we hit like… a record cruising speed?” He presses his lips into a thin line and turns his head towards his friend working at the rear of the main deck. “Hey Pady? D’ya happen to remember what our top velocity came to during the final stretch of that race?”

She pauses in her self-appointed duty and hums in careful thought, sorting back through her eidetic knowledge of the recent past like it’s nothing but child’s play. “I believe… 181 klicks per second, nearing the speed of light.”

“And that was like… a record, yeah?” he asks, a sudden hair-raising twinge of… well, something settling deep at the pit of his chest. He ignores it for now. Such phantom pangs aren’t uncommon these days. He’s not exactly sure what causes it yet, and chalks it up to more ‘pink zombie’ weirdness.

“For our craft, yes,” she nods. “For all Gemkind, no. I was curious, as well. As far as I’ve read from Homeworld’s databases, the current non-FTL cruising record is 186.1 klicks per second.”

Lars can’t help the scoffing chuckle that bubbles within his throat. “Ugh. Good grief, that’s basically light speed as it is. Like, leave some room for competition for the rest of us, yeah?”

Padparadscha gives a faint snicker of agreement as she turns her focus back to the ship’s mainframe interface. Right, right… she’s got work to get done. Which really reminds him, he needs to get back to his point too, or else this log’s gonna be stuffed with nothing but meaningless chit-chatter and asides. He sighs, leaning his cheek against the seat’s edge again.

“But in any case,” he continues into the mic, “our latest victory over Emerald seems to ha—”

With zero warning whatsoever that hollow pang at his core intensifies, its thrall pulsing louder and louder until it’s a thunderous cascade of static rippling through his very veins. He hisses in alarm, jamming his hands over his ears out of pure bodily instinct. This doesn’t help, of course— as this cacophonous feeling (not a sound, not some external input he can mute or modulate, but a feeling—) seems to be emanating from within, from a place all but intangible to the physical realm, from—

He spies that oh-so-familiar glow emanating from the fringe of his hair just a split second before his surprise visitor tumbles through and throws off his center of balance, unceremoniously toppling both of them to the floor in a ridiculous tangle of limbs.

Lars’ exhales become laborious as he extracts himself from under the teen and clambers back up to his knees, heart pounding with more fervent intensity than it has since he up and died a few years back.

And right on cue, about fifteen seconds too late:

“Captain Lars, Steven is about to cross through the portal in your head!”

“Yeah, I noticed, thanks,” he snaps in the shock of it all, feeling guilty for this snide remark the second it passes through his lips. (Because Padparadscha can’t help her compulsive ‘predictions.’ He knows this. Everyone knows this. He’ll have to find time to pull her aside and apologize.)

But not now.

Not yet.

Because the alarm bells rung by Pady’s next comment are enough to slap him right out of his brooding contemplation and back to the troubling here-and-now.

“I also predict that Steven won’t be in a very sound state of mind when he arrives,” she says, a noticeable tension building in her tone.

His eyes blow wide as he shifts his full attention to his friend, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a thin sleep shirt.

Steven is… oh, geeze. It seems Steven can’t even manage coherent speech right now. His cheeks are blotchy and raw with recent tears. He’s doubled over on the floor with one hand clutching at his center as he heaves for breath, glowing bright ass pink and looking halfway to hyperventilating. One thing’s for sure: it’s really, really hard to watch. His own chest growing insufferably tight in sympathy, Lars leaps to action, unwilling to let the poor guy wallow in the thickets of whatever the hell this breakdown is about any longer than he has to.

“H-hey…” he begins, edging towards him with the same slow deliberateness he always has to use with the rescue dog his parents recently adopted. And like, yeah— a part of him feels really rude for comparing his own friend to a skittish, fretful animal— but it’s a comparison that seems all the more apt the longer he drinks in the realities of this situation.

Because just like ol’ Maru, Steven is jumpy, horrifically on-edge, and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

Lars frowns, considering what few options he has.

Realizing his friend’s not likely to calm down very well so out in the open like this, he turns towards his fellow Off-Color.

“Pady, I’m taking him to my quarters. Can you let the others know, and uh… tell them not to disturb us for a while?”

“Yes, right away,” she chimes, hopping off her seat.

“Thank you,” he breathes, expression softening. “I mean it. And sorry about— well, I’ll talk with you later, all right?”

Her mouth falling into a perfectly neutral line (even if she’s incapable of reading the future, he’s sure she’s intensely aware of what he wishes to speak to her about from mere context clues alone), the Gem serves him a solid nod of acceptance and spins on her heels, striding down the hall with a level of confidence he envies. The bridge’s door slides shut after her, leaving him and his glowing, pink hued guest entirely alone.

Alone, and incredibly, incredibly vulnerable, like a live wire flailing about atop a damaged Earth power line.

(The last thing anyone on this ship needs is him having one of his infamous explosive episodes here and compromising the bridge’s airlock system. Which is why his quarters— below deck and fully enclosed— is a far more ideal locale for them right now.)

“O-okay, Steven,” he says, holding out his arm in aid as the teen struggles to clamber back to his feet. “Let’s go somewhere private to cool down, yeah?”

A few minutes later, Lars has Steven situated on the one plush sofa he keeps in his quarters. Since he no longer possess any biological need for sleep and thus doesn’t keep a bed, his room on the ship is pretty sparse— just a desk for journaling or gaming and some shelves with a number of sentimental knick-knacks he brought with him from Earth— but he did find it important to keep a couch. Even if he doesn’t need to sleep, curling up for a quick hour of shut-eye still feels quite rejuvenating sometimes. Plus, it’s handy to have whenever he hosts visitors. Like now.

Lars sits himself down right next to the distressed teen. He’s still flushed bright pink, but has regained a fair bit of emotional stability compared to how he was right after tumbling out of the magic space portal in his hair. It might take a while until the glow fades away entirely, but it’s progress, at least.

He sighs, rapping his fingertips against his jeans as he gives his friend some time in silence to cool down. The last thing the guy needs right now is for him to wave half a dozen questions in his face. He’ll talk when he’s ready. Or, hell, maybe not at all. That’s okay, too. Maybe he just wanted a place to have a quick little freak-out away from his family or girlfriend. Who’s he to judge? Sometimes a man’s just gotta be alone for a while.

Of course, he muses, if Steven really wanted to be alone, then he wouldn’t have crossed through Lion’s mane over to him, now would he? So this visit can’t only be due to a desire for solitude. Steven sought out him— specifically him— for a reason.

That churning, hollow pang at his core radiates even stronger, pulsing at the same interval as the dull tick of the clock he has hanging up on his wall, the one he keeps set to Earth EST as an everlasting reminder of his humble human roots and all the people who care about him back home.

Finally— some ten or so minutes later— the seventeen-year-old stops glowing, that unnatural, otherworldly pallor fading into obscurity. The kid (sorry, but Steven will always be a ‘kid’ to him at this point, don’t matter his age) deflates in exhaustion, cupping his face in his hands.

Now a little more confident that his expressions of concern won’t rile him up to destructive levels of stress, Lars makes a gentle inquiry as to what brought him here.

“‘Course, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he tacks on quickly when he sees Steven’s expression widen with an almost grief-stricken apprehension, “but since I’m here an’ all, I figured…”

His guest sucks in a deep, shaky bout of air.

“N-no, I wanna talk,” he says, voice painfully hoarse. “I came here to talk, but I— it’s just so, so much, I-I’m—”

Lars’ eyes soften. “Dude, it’s okay. Take your time.”

And take his time he does. Another minute or so passes whilst Steven continues to reel himself in on the emotional side of things, breathing slow and heavy as he levels a dead-eyed stare at the blank section of wall flanking the doorway and his desk.

“Connie and I had a fight,” he begins eventually, his tone streaked with embarrassment. “Over the phone.”

Lars’ brow shoots up. Huh. All right. This is absolutely not the opener he expected.

“Really? You two fight? About what?”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore. It was nothing,” Steven mutters, clenching and unclenching his fists against the soft fabric of his pajama pants in a markedly uneven rhythm. “Just me being an idiot, as per usual. I’m sure we’ll make up over it tomorrow. But the problem is that we hung up mad. And when I’m mad about something, it just… makes me mad at myself. A-and then it’s like—” anxious, clawing hands migrate to his head, gripping at his hair— “w-when I’m mad at myself I just spiral? And it’s so, so scary how fast that can happen.”

Ever so slight, his lip presses into a tense frown as he listens. He doesn’t interject, not yet. Steven’s not finished with his disclosure— there’s more to this story, he can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with him, something is distinctly wrong.

And oh, does he hate being right.

“I just… couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Steven admits.

The aching hollowness etched into the contours of his friend’s face intensifies, if that’s even possible.

Lars swallows.

“It?”

“—about killing myself,” he rasps, “and finally being done with all this.”

…

So, he’s not gonna lie.

While— much like himself— Steven’s never been the sort of person to prefer wearing his most turbulent emotions on his sleeve, he’s long suspected something like this was going on with him.

He suspected (because he’s been right there in those trenches himself), but he never said anything.

He never mentioned these worries to any of his guardians.

And he never asked.

‘Cause like, how could he, right?? What a horrible, triggering inquiry that would be. ‘Hey Steven, hah, so random question— you don’t happen to casually fantasize about your own death or anything sometimes, do you?’ Fucking hell, what an asshole he’d make. What a disgusting, disgusting breech of boundaries. He always hated it when his parents violated his trust by butting into his own personal business unprompted, so how could he ever turn right around and do that to Steven? To one of his most cherished friends in the whole galaxy? To the guy who— despite years and years of putting up with all his toxic bullshit and daring to see the good in him anyways— literally brought him back to life?

Thus, with him never volunteering any information himself, all that was left for Lars to do was watch.

To watch, and to listen where he can.

But still.

He’s not gonna lie.

Even if he always kinda suspected, even if so many of their interactions this past year only acted as fuel for all his constant, silent worries, hearing the kid actually say those words hurts like a bitch.

…

“Steven…” he utters with widened eyes, extending his hand.

To no avail, though.

“And that’s stupid, right??” the teen blurts out with a broad sweep of his arms, either ignoring or plain not noticing his offer of comfort as he rants onwards, his demeanor growing more and more unstable with each and every syllable. “That’s just… stupid! Normal people don’t think like that! Normal people don’t make mistakes and instantly leap to the worst possible punishment and spin that little thought around, and around, and around in your head until you’ve considered a thousand different scenarios that all end the same way.”

He pauses for breath, his chest heaving in and out— probably amidst the exertion of being so damn honest for once. Lars doesn’t even make a sound within this brief span of quiet. A part of him is a little terrified at what else might spill out of his friend’s mouth now that the cork of his anxieties has thoroughly been popped off, but he’s even more terrified at the thought of derailing him, of unintentionally stopping these truths from ever being spoken.

“And it’d be so easy, too,” Steven says, his once manic tone dropping a little lower, into something that’s worryingly more akin to numb acceptance. “I already know exactly how I’d do it! All I’d have to do is smash my gem so I don’t heal, and slit my wrists, and let myself just—” his voice cracks— “drift away, b-but—”

Lars’ brow hardens with a sudden rush of understanding as the trajectory of the teen’s sentence trails on off. “But something’s… holding you back?”

He nods, swallowing so hard that he can see the resultant lump move along the center line of his throat.

“The problem is,” he says, voice raw and vulnerable, “I’ve already seen how my family would respond to that. To… to me trying to kill myself. When I turned into that monster, I— I don’t actually remember much about it, but what I do remember is that the last thought I had before I changed was eerily similar to what I’m feeling now.”

Momentary lull. He’s rotating a thought in his head with the same intensity of a set of steam engine gears grinding against each other, that much is obvious.

“I think… for me,” he continues with marked hesitation, “corruption was a form of suicide. Which means—” he grinds his fingers into the soft fabric of his pajama bottoms as if seeking out an anchor, any anchor at all— “I already know what that would do to them. And I hate that I do, b-because… ‘cause I’m just so tired. Of all of this. I just want everything to stop. I want to stop.”

Lars can’t help but wince as he listens to the developing theme of this admission, to how each and every new word his friend weaves into existence falls into such dissonant harmony with the gloomy, directionless version of himself he’s worked so hard to let rest in the past. Hell, he might as well be looking straight into some weird, warped mirror of his own teenage years. His lungs seize tight upon this revelation. Instinctively, he extends his hand towards the guy’s shoulder, sobered by the understanding that he’s possibly the sole person in this entire quadrant who’s capable of conveying even an ounce of sympathy or comfort for what he’s battling through right now.

“Hey, man. It’s okay. It’s over, now, you’re here with me. Those are just thoughts, y’know?”

Steven shakes his head, the motion swift and drenched with the dread of all his unaddressed self-loathing.

“But they’re not, though…”

“Wait, what are you even—?”

“Because… this time I almost carried through with it.”

His expression crumples upon the advent of this spoken revelation.

Fuck, he thinks, wishing with every last brittle nerve in his body that this conversation didn’t just swerve in the exact godawful direction he always feared it might. What the actual fuck.

He is so not equipped for this.

With literally nothing else in his arsenal but the drive to bite his lip and listen, Lars motions for him to continue.

Sniffling, the teen backs his story up to provide what little context he feels comfortable with sharing.

“After Connie and I’s fight… well, my dreams were really, really bad. So I woke up. Alone. And I started spiraling real bad again, an’… and then before I could even process what was happening, I—”

Sweet stars, is the poor guy trembling as he struggles to push this admission out. With a brief waver of hesitation (‘cause in normal circumstances, he’s not huge on all this touchy-feely stuff), he reaches over, angling to rest one of his hands over Steven’s.

“I had the knife in my hand,” he says. “And a pestle from the kitchen, to smash my gem. B-but I just… I just couldn’t do it! I’m just a coward, Lars! A stupid fucking coward who can’t even—”

He doesn’t utter a single syllable.

He doesn’t even think. (How could he, in such fraught circumstances?)

Limbs trembling in an outright terrifying cascade of adrenaline he hasn’t experienced since the day he finally found something worth existing for, Lars surges forward to wrap him into what’s gotta be the tightest, most sincere hug he’s given in his whole twenty-one years of life.

And thankfully, such an impulsive interjection is all it takes.

The walls his friend’s erected around himself this past season topples like wayward dominos. They smash against the ground, crumbling into vulnerable, vulnerable fragments.

Steven sobs into his shoulder with a raw, shattered fervency that stretches leagues beyond any outpour of emotion he’s ever witnessed from another living person. It’s messy. It’s visceral. And in the precise context of this intensely specific turn of events, it’s a damn cathartic relief… because when it comes to training your brain out of a deep-rooted death wish, feeling anything— literally anything at all— is step number fucking one.

“I wanted to die so badly,” the teen warbles, his ugly mixture of snot and tears staining his shirt all the while. “B-but… I’m just such a worthless, pathetic failure that I can’t even do that right!”

He can’t help but cringe at this admission, but resolves to remain silent, not wanting a gentle pushback to such brutal self-loathing to spook Steven away from showing any shred of vulnerability whatsoever. He’s been there plenty of times himself. After all, when a person who’s caught in such a void of hopelessness and despair makes a last ditch appeal for help, they’re usually not looking to be told ‘everything will get better in time, you’ll see’ or ‘don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re not a worthless failure at all,’ or whatever other empty attempt at reassurance someone who doesn’t have such intimate experience with depression and suicidal ideation as he does might come up with. In many cases, such people are simply vying for their bleakest, most private feelings to actually be heard for once in their lives.

The moment’s sanctity unhindered, the boy continues to cry against his shoulder for a good long stretch of time. Lars barely even breathes as he sits perched at the very edge of that couch, consigned to nothing but a statue as he holds him within what’s gotta be a record for the galaxy’s most awkward and stiff embrace ever shared.

A miniature eternity passes within this space before those sobs finally begin to lighten up.

“‘M sorry,” Steven mumbles through a face full of snot, pulling away from his offered comfort as a flicker of shame wrests control of his features.

Lars shakes his head in a vehement refusal of the habitual guilt spiral he’s sure the guy’s a split second from slipping right into. “Dude, don’t be. Stars, I— I’m just glad you came over to me, okay?”

Then, swallowing… and doing his upmost best to consider the most respectful way to broach such a sensitive topic, he continues:

“I… I don’t mean to pry, but… are you… taking anything for this?”

Steven’s glassy expression scrunches into a configuration that screams nothing but blank confusion. “What?”

“Like… medication, or—?”

A bright understanding dawns within his gaze like the glow from a passing star system, before immediately collapsing inwards into a bitter, shadowed singularity.

“No… no,” he protests, gesticulating all the while, “I keep telling everyone— my therapist, my dad, the Gems— I don’t wanna take any medicine! I’m not sick, I’m not, I don’t need drugs in my brain, I just— I just need to stop acting like this, just need to do better, to be better, I-I need—”

“Steven, no offense, but it’s called mental illness for a reason,” Lars says in the most deadpan tone he can muster, crossing his arms as he leans back upon the plush of the couch cushion. “Your brain is ill. That’s literally what this is. If you had the flu, you’d be taking flu medicine to help yourself get over it, right?”

“I’ve never had the flu,” he says in miserable contradiction.

“Yeah, well— come on, man, just work with me here,” he half-snaps, throwing a hand up for emphasis. “You agree that someone who is ill deserves medicine to feel better, right?”

The teen merely shrugs, his features growing cold and sullen. And good golly does he super want to smack all this noncommittal, self-sabotaging bullshit out of his stupid fucking system right this instant— because it reminds him so damn much of himself, and he hates that it does— but… aughhh. He’s gotta be more mature than that, doesn’t he?

As the older of the pair, he’s gotta be the role model here.

“Then, don’t you think you might benefit from the same thing?” he presses.

Steven responds in the negative, swiveling his head from side to side. “I don’t know how it’d interact with… well—”

He flashes a sharp gesture towards himself. More specifically, towards his very center, where his gem sits. Lars has no need to live inside his thoughts to pick up on the tricky little issue he’s hinting at here… he’s worried about how human medications would interact with the complexities of part-Gem physiology. And to be fair, it’s a reasonable concern to have.

But then again…

“That’s how it is with humans, too,” he shrugs. “It takes some people a lot of trial and error to find a drug and dosage that works for them. For once, you wouldn’t be any more an unusual case than anyone else. Do what you want, but—” deep inhale— “if it were me, I’d really consider talking with a psychiatrist about this.”

The teen issues a dull huff through his nose. It’s the sort of response that makes it clear he reluctantly agrees with Lars’ logic, but should he actually follow his advice— and stars, he hopes he does— won’t be doing so with a willing heart. That’s fine, though. Sometimes, being the most supportive friend one can be means that the other party won’t always like what you have to say. He knows this from intense personal experience… from being the person on the other side of this kind of conflict. Sadie was never afraid of serving him the tough love and cutting perspective he needed when he opened up to her about his own experience with suicidal ideation, and he’s forever grateful for that. Thus, the least he can do now is try to be that kind of advocate for Steven, too.

Which brings him to the next vital topic rattling within his brain.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Lars says, folding his hands in his lap and looking him directly in the eye. “This is important, so please be honest with me. Have you told anyone else you’ve been struggling with these kinds of thoughts?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, his own gaze slipping aside amidst the turbulent throes of his clear shame. “I just… I wanted to deal with this myself. I don’t want them to be disappointed. They all think I’m doing so well these days, but then—”

“Steven.”

There’s no acknowledgement of his call, at first. He’s just too damn tangled within his own thoughts— expression glazed over and restless fingertips drumming in an endless thrall against his thigh.

“Steven, come on. Look at me,” he implores, interrupting his manic fidgeting with the reassuring solidity of a hand over his. “Please. Promise me, when you go back through my head, you’ll call someone else— anyone else— and tell them. Tell them, and then have them contact me. I want to hear you promise.”

“Lars…”

“Promise me,” he repeats with an even stronger fervency, his normally sluggish heartbeat surging halfway to its old full-strength status quo. “Listen, I don’t want to invade your privacy any more than you want me to, but if you don’t do this by the end of tomorrow… if that very clock—” he jabs a finger towards the so-mentioned object hanging upon his wall— “hits midnight and I don’t hear anything from your family… then I’m calling your father and telling him myself.”

Steven’s expression twists with a sharp jolt of dismay, his mouth falling ajar. Lars cuts off any pending protests with a swift flash of his hand and continues undeterred.

“I’m not joking. I’m like, a billion light years in space, man. You need someone closer to home in your corner, too.”

Unable to ignore the hard hitting truth of this statement, his friend finally acquiesces to his request, his shoulders slumping inwards.

“Fine,” he mumbles, folding his arms to his chest. “I promise I’ll tell Dad.”

“Thank you,” he breathes in sheer spine tingling relief. And by golly, does he uber mean it.

Because holy shit, have the past fifteen or so minutes of conversation been an absolute stress-soaked ordeal. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so emotionally exhausted in his whole ass existence.

“In the morning, though,” Steven adds. “I—” the kid heaves a long, exhausted sigh— “I really don’t think either of us are prepared for that kind of conversation this late.”

“Absolutely fair enough.”

His friend sniffles a little, gaze averting once more. “Can I— can I stay here, for tonight? I really, really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course,” he nods. In his mind, Steven’s request was never a matter up for debate. “Always. I’ll… I’ll go get some blankets.”

Hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, Lars pushes himself off the couch and slowly shuffles his way to the door. (The storage closet he keeps all his extra personal elements in is a short distance down the hall, past Rhody and Padparadscha’s shared room.) He keeps his expression as blank as he can muster… at least until he’s moved well out of both visual and auditory range. And then… once he’s absolutely positive that Steven can’t overhear… all that built-up worry and emotional strain simply overflows.

He’s not outright crying— not in the way that others might— but damn if he’s not real close to it.

Lars’ whole body shudders with a burst of delayed grief as he braces himself upon the closet door. He clamps a hand over his mouth, stifling the impact of the shaky exhale that spills from his lips otherwise unhindered. Just… fuck. What the fuck. All of this feels like a horrible nightmare. When the hell did things get so bad for him? Who let things get this bad? Is he at fault—? Like, geeze— he always knew something felt awry with the kid (and that’s half the issue, isn’t it? He’s not just a sweet little kid with simple lil’ problems anymore, and in many ways he never was), but should he have said something? Confronted him about it? Told his guardians about his concerns, privacy be damned?

He grits his teeth as he muddles over all the infinite complexities of this problem.

Ugh.

What if, what if, what if.

It’s all useless conjecture.

The bottom line is, Steven doesn’t deserve any of this. Not then, not now, not ever. He shouldn’t have to be dealing with any of these horrid, horrid thoughts. Stars, if anything had happened to him— if he actually did follow through with his plan, then—

Lars drops his head against the door panel, doing everything within his power to will the thought to evaporate from his mind.

No.

No…

He doesn’t even want to consider that possibility. Steven’s like a brother to him at this point. It’s not gonna happen. Not now, not ever. Not on his watch.

He’s not sure how yet, but he’ll make damn sure of it.

…

Once he’s cooled himself down, Lars returns to his quarters with a couple of blankets in hand.

Upon passing through the doorframe, he’s met with a somewhat reassuring sight: Steven already sound asleep on his ratty old couch, curled up against the armrest and snoring softly. Heh. He sure doesn’t blame him for tuckering out so soon. Poor guy must’ve been exhausted after such a rigorous emotional outpouring. Moving with calm intent so as not to disturb him, he quickly lays the blankets across his slumbering form before retreating to the far wall to keep watch for the night. He stretches back against the metallic panel, inhaling as deep as he can muster to erase the quavering tension staining his countenance.

Standing vigil over a soul in need… just in case.

#su #su future #lars barriga #steven universe #padparadscha #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic · 3 months

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Good Omens Fic Rec: in your own time

Aziraphale and Crowley grew up together as next-door neighbours on Hogback Lane, classmates at the local Catholic school, and inseparable best friends. By the age of eighteen, both were hopelessly in love with the other, despite the knowledge that they were doomed to live apart, as Crowley aimed to pursue university study in London and Aziraphale committed himself to remaining in Tadfield, dedicating his life to the Church. After almost twenty years spent away from his hometown, renowned botanist Crowley decides to come and visit Tadfield again at a moment's notice; the purpose of his visit is to speak at a Careers Day for the school he and Aziraphale, now a beloved priest and a frequent helper at the school, attended. The twenty-four hours that follow will change both of their lives for ever.

Length: 33,632 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, After Dark, Human AU

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by ineffabildaddy

*Minor Spoilers* I'm proud to say that I was the third hit count on this one and I had no idea it was being posted. This is a STUNNING priest AU, and this is going to be a long rec post.

Crowley and Aziraphale are estranged childhood friends here. Aziraphale was put on track to become a priest, and could not walk away. Crowley had to leave and find his own path. Personally, I love that plotline because it gives me a connection to their 6,000 years of friendship that I like to see revisited in Human AUs. We only get brief flashbacks to their youth, but it is enough to know how much they loved each other then. They go through life content, but incomplete. Each aware that their soulmate is out there, but reconnection feels impossible. That magic is not gone yet, and an unexpected reunion was just the spark they needed.

Crowley's portrayal here is especially soft and tender. His blend of anxiety and genuine confidence is as charming as ever, but it's his understanding and acceptance that truly shine. He never blames Aziraphale for the way things have unfolded. There's no punishment for the past from him, only unwavering support and love. He's so loving and safe, praising and doting on Aziraphale with pet names. I know Aziraphale is going to be cared for now.

Aziraphale's relationship to God and the Church was such a gorgeous journey. He was put on this Earth to do good and provide comfort to his community. Just like the canon though he'll need to separate out the Institution (Heaven/The Church) from God. His moral compass is so strong, "heavy, gilded, reliable". He just needed to learn to trust that voice. And not the voice of those who have forced him to conform to their will. The narrative never villainizes Aziraphale for staying with the church. He just needed some separation and someone to catch him. To be shown that love is holy. The church is not God, he will not be destroyed for acting on his love. I won't quote the whole thing but on Crowley's side, there is a stunning description of what he finds holy and worth of worship. That I am going to reread 1 million times. This story speaks to the late bloomers, the closeted, and the repressed—the queers who have hidden and suppressed their desires to conform to please others. It's for those whose lives seem to have slipped by, filled with missed opportunities and immobilizing fear. It holds us close and tells us, "It's never too late, my love." I often get stuck on "lost time", times I've felt I've wasted in my life. So reading, "It's never too late to do whatever it was you were always meant to do, as long as you do it when you're ready. It's never too late to look into the future, to conceive of a world which makes you grin with excitement and banish all dread from your mind." well, it made me emotional okay!!

Oh and it's hot as fuck. So there's also that. Like seriously, it'll creep up on you here. It'll be some gorgeous line about the human condition or whatever, and then the filthiest most delicious line imaginable! It was like an electric shock to me. The confessional scene had me weak in the knees!!!! I can't say enough times I love this story. The first several chapters are safe in public, but you will hit a point that it is not! Proceed at your own pleasure

Read it here, fic by ineffabildaddy

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #fanfic rec #aziracrow #good omens fic rec #aziraphale x crowley #in your own time #ineffabildaddy #mostly safe in public #after dark #human au #religion au #plants au #five flames #faves of the blog #medium

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skzwife-02 · 10 months

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Stunt Double

[Bang Chan x Fem!Reader]

summary: hannah convinced you to be her understudy but things quickly take a turn when you become her ‘stunt’ double due to a scene in the script where the prince has to kiss her

genre: fluff

warnings: none

note: this is a non!idol au, high school au. like to add that descriptions about your looks are vaguely mentioned since you are a stunt double, you have the same hair as Hannah. AGES ARE CHANGED!!! they’re only 1 year apart, with chan being a senior, and hannah being a junior. your dorm is like an apartment btw (honestly surprised i finished this earlier than the jisung fic but whatever)

Masterlist

The sky is still dark when Hannah calls you, your ringtone loud as it bounces around in your empty dorm room. You’re lucky your roommate is somewhere else, otherwise they’d be awoken by it.

You reach for your phone, the screen feeling cold to your warm touch. “What do you want?” You mumble lazily, eyes still closed in effort to keep the sleepiness in.

“Please don’t be mad…” She begs, dragging the end, voice increasingly loud, waking you up fully.

“Bitch, if you don’t shut the fuck up.” You quake, not fond of her loudness. You lower the volume on your phone.

Hannah groans from the other line when you hear Christopher, her brother, warning her from the other room. “CHRIS! I’m on a call with Y/n!” She exclaims, not even caring that her mouth is directly to the microphone.

“So what’s the news, that you have to wake me up at,” You pause, glancing at the blinking digital clock on your bedside table. “…3am in the morning.” You deadpan, mentally kicking your best friend for ruining your sleep schedule.

“Well it’s just, you know…” Her voice sounds almost apologetic, guilty in a way, but mischievous just the same. “So you know how Snow White is kissed to be saved from the poisonous apple and uh.”

“Who the fuck got the prince role, Hannah?”

~•~

“Come on. It won’t be that bad, right?” She insists although sounding unsure. Offering you a smile that you return, albeit sarcastically.

You sit at an empty table, begrudgingly setting your books down. “What do you mean! It’s literally,” you hiss, pinching the bridge of your nose. Trying to calm down.

“Okay first of all, I understand. The man is old as fuck. But you just have to lay down on the bed, maybe have a glass case over you, stay still as he kisses you. Then the lights dim and the smoky effects will start and then we’ll switch places.” She went on, hoping you won’t back out.

“I just didn’t expect my first kiss to be for a play.” You murmur timidly, accidentally banging your head on the table as you drop down to rest.

You’re about to massage it when you feel a hand on your head and a worried voice asking you if you’re okay. You blink, Chan’s face so close to yours. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine Chris.” You respond, taking his hand off your head.

He backs away from you, quickly taking the spot beside his sister, you don’t notice his ears redden and a giddy smile tugging at his lips.

You spend the rest of the day swimming between classes, the halls seemingly crowded every time you leave the classroom. By the end of the day you’re bruised from the amount of people who bumped into you in the hall.

You sigh, exiting the nurses office and heading for the theatre room.

“Hey!” Chan calls from behind you and you wonder if he’s talking to you. “Y/n!”

And he is.

You stop walking, turning around to look at him when you suddenly fall to the floor. An undeniably heavy weight leaning on you.

He’s quick to stand up, offering you a hand then picking up the bag you dropped. “Sorry.” He whispers while smiling, avoiding your gaze.

“It’s alright.” You reply genuinely, with you already experiencing that with a number of people today, him being added to the list isn’t that bad.

“I’m going to the theatre room, walk with me?” He questions, hopeful eyes gleaming down at you.

He’s tall.

“Y/n?” He repeats, lightly tapping your shoulder.

You snap out of your trance, nodding. “Sure.”

You stride side by side, stepping into a comfortable silence. When you reach the small beige door that leads to the theatre room Chris opens the door, bowing like a gentleman to a lady.

You giggle, “Why thank you, good sir.” Playing along, you enter the theatre room, doing a slight courtesy before bursting into a fit of laughter.

He finds the sound so angelic, he can’t help but stare at you. Eyes shut as you hold your stomach, lost in the moment.

You sigh in content. “You’re funny.”

~•~

On the day of the play you don’t seem so bothered anymore, “Thanks Y/n. I know you wanted your first kiss to be romantic but I don’t want to kiss my brother. Yuck.” Hannah expresses her disgust, mimicking the sound of puking.

You laugh at her shenanigans. “It’s okay, really.” You assure her as she steps into the dressing room, fixing her dress.

You have a similar one, being the double after all, you need the same clothes. You haven’t changed yet, all the other dressing rooms being occupied. “Hannah, I’ll just go change in the bathroom. Be right back.” You excuse yourself, walking to the nearest unisex bathroom, which you know is down the hall.

When you get inside you start to undress yourself, putting the dress on. It’s cool to the touch. Silk gliding right on your skin like a perfect match. The beautiful red gem on your chest sparkling in the bathroom light. You smile, admiring the beauty of the garment when you realize the zipper is stuck.

The doorknob rattles, “Occupied!” You shout, trying to zip the dress up quickly but to no avail.

“Oh sorry.” Chan replies.

When you hear his voice outside you feel relieved, “Chris?”

“Y/n.” He responds, unaware of your situation.

“Can you help me with my zipper?” You request in a whine and he agrees. When you unlock the door he rushes in, careful not to open it too wide so no one can see you. You turn your back to him, the low dip of the zipper is enough for him to almost see you shorts underneath, but he doesn’t.

Chan starts to fiddle with the zipper, trying his best to zip it up. When he finally does, you’re grateful, giving him a thank you smile before leaving him in the comfort room.

~•~

You stay unmoving on the wooden table that’s been decorated with flower, vines, and numerous types of leaves. You haven’t been waiting long, just about 5 minutes when you hear Felix’s narration through the speaker.

“The dwarves lead the prince to princess Snow White, the path familiar to him.” Felix starts,

“She looks like she’s just sleeping.” You hear Chan recite, but it’s not boring. You can feel the emotion from just his voice, like you don’t need to see his expression to know he’s worried.

You know he’s just acting though.

“She’s been poisoned by the Evil Queen.” The smallest dwarf Changbin explains sadly and you almost tear up, the raw emotion from their voices makes you love theatre so much more.

If only you didn’t have a sore throat you’d be having your own lines.

“-The dwarves leave the prince to mourn for his lost love-“

You don’t listen to Felix anymore though, instead focusing on a sneeze you feel. Trying your best to stop it but you just can’t control it, you let out the smallest sneeze.

It’s the cutest thing Chan’s ever heard and he has to stop himself from smiling at your previous action.

You feel your long hair getting pushed to the side and Chan’s hot breath on your lips. He caresses your cheek before completely closing the gap.

His lips are soft.

The kiss is slow and sweet, when he pulls away you have to stop yourself from sitting up to pull him back in for more.

The music changes and the ‘smoky effects’ Hannah was talking about fogs up the stage. “Do you need help getting up?” Chan suggests, hands going to support you but you shake your head.

You shuffle off the bed, rushing backstage where you find the 7 dwarves.

“So,” Jeongin teases, acknowledging your presence. He grins, “How was hyung’s kiss.” the young one continues to mock.

The rest of the boys cheer at his question making you groan, “Shove off, I.n.” You order but the smile on your lips tell them you liked it.

~•~

“How was it?” Hannah chimes from your door, behind her are your roommates, Rachel and Olivia who seem equally pleased with your one moment ‘performance’.

“He’s a good kisser if that’s what your asking.” You admit, turning your attention back to your book.

“Okay hoe.” Olivia blurts, sitting on the floor of your room and Rachel joins her.

Hannah sits beside you instead, taking your book and your reading glasses then placing it on the table. “Okay you dense dumbass. My brother’s been in love with you since you two met. Honestly the man can’t keep his mouth shut about how you’re the most beautiful amazing person he’s met. So do you like him or not.” She confesses.

“And if you do, since when!” Rachel bubbles.

The girls look at you expectantly.

“I,” You ponder what to say. You’ve never thought of him that way, but the way his lips felt right against yours. “His kiss got me feeling something.” You answer, the blatant honesty getting the whole room erupting in laughter.

Your phone rings and you pick up, shushing your friends. “Hello, Y/n speaking.” You speak, a default response falling from your lips.

When you hear who it is you put it on speaker phone and mute yourself, “Hey Y/n, I was just wondering if you’d like to go out for lunch tomorrow. You know to celebrate the play?” He proposes, and if Hannah hadn’t told you about his undying love for you, you’d think this was just a friendly hang out.

Funny, a senior who’s incredibly dense.

You hit unmute, “Sure, darling.” you muse and you can practically hear the smile on his face as he says goodbye.

Your friends squeal, happy you’re finally out there living your life.

~•~

“Thanks for lunch,” you sing, opening the door to your dorm. When you’re halfway in you turn around, “you kiss really well, Channie.” You praise, about to close the door when he stops you.

“Do,” He stammers, “can I kiss you?” he pipes. The same hopeful gaze you know all too well from his sister.

You open the door wider, inviting him. When he gets inside you close the door and lead him to your room.

The rest of the night is spent cuddling, watching movies, and exchanging a few kisses.

Find all my works under #skzwife-02

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bbypedrito · 1 year

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Rough | Joel Miller/f!Reader

Joel is a big ‘ol softie about you and your bad pain days and as much as you love his gentleness, sometimes you crave something a little more rough.

rating: explicit, minors DNI

warnings: one shot, established relationship, vaginal fingering, spanking, slight praise kink, joel calls reader a good girl, no y/n or reader descriptions besides references to experiencing reoccurring flare ups of pain. setting is purposefully vague but definitely post-outbreak.

a/n: i genuinely didn’t have ANY plans to write joel anytime soon - i was actually gonna write a marcus pike fic instead - but then the other day i was having a pain flare up and started to think about joel to cheer myself up and things got…self indulgent. i don’t know if it’ll resonate with many other people here but i thought i’d share it anyway :-) this has been my first time ever writing a reader fic, first time writing joel or any pedro character AND my first time writing hetero sex in a very long while so…please bear all of that in mind 🥲

📌 can now also be read on ao3!

“I just don’t like it,” Joel says. It’s about the third time he’s repeated the phrase since you broached the subject this evening, pacing back and forth in your tiny shared room like an agitated wild animal trapped in a cage. His footfalls are heavy, old work boots thudding rhythmically on old floorboards, and you wish the stubborn man would relax for just a second because this is getting ridiculous.

“Joel,“ you try, but he shakes his head.

“Wouldn’t feel right.”

“Joel-“

“Too much risk.”

“Joel!” You grab him by the arm to stop him in his tracks and he immediately stills, finally looking you in the eyes. “I’m asking you to fuck me rough, not perform open heart surgery on me.”

Unamused, he rolls his eyes at your joke. “Might as well be, with all the stress you’re puttin’ me through.” Noticing your face fall, he immediately softens, “I just don’t wanna cause any more hurt than necessary, sweetheart.”

It’s sweet, the way Joel is careful and so, so achingly gentle with you. He knows the pain you’ve been through - still go through - and he always goes the extra mile to make sure you’re comfortable.

You learned quickly it’s Joel’s love language - his actions speaking for him rather than words - and it’s downright romantic, in an honest, simple, Joel Miller kinda way. He trades anything he can give to make sure you have painkillers that actually work, always somehow gets his hands on fresh, clean, soft blankets just for you to burrow into when you need rest days in bed and he always seems to know when to give you either the space or the company you need depending on your mood.

And when he takes you to bed, he treats you with such tender care and gentle reverence it makes your chest hurt.

You love it, love him for it and you know it’s one of his ways to show he cares for you too but…God, you want more. You want the man Joel is clearly putting a herculean effort into holding back when he slowly and gently takes you apart. You want him to fuck you, selfishly take his pleasure from you, make you feel every single inch of him with every step you take the next day.

“You won’t hurt me,” you reassure him, “not in a way that’s bad, anyway. I want it. I want you.” You cup his face in your hands, stroking his bearded cheeks with your thumbs. Joel tilts his head just a fraction and leans into your touch with a soft exhale. “Do you trust me?”

“‘Course,” he replies, and you resist the urge to laugh fondly and kiss the frowny crease between his brows because it comes out a touch sulky. You don’t wanna risk wounding the man’s pride at this juncture — not when you feel so close to getting what you want.

“Good,” you lean in to kiss him, both hands splaying on his broad chest, “so trust me when I say,” a nip at his full bottom lip, “I want you to ruin me.”

You pull away slowly and feel victorious when you see Joel’s dark eyes looking back into yours, pupils so dilated they’re almost pitch black. Knowing you’ve just about already won this argument, you decide to stoke the flames further by nuzzling into the thick tendons of his neck and letting your teeth catch on the sensitive skin there. You feel rather than hear the soft groan this pulls from him, the way it rumbles in his chest, and your hands tighten their grip on the soft fabric of his wash-worn shirt.

“What you’re askin’ me for is…I won’t be gentle,” Joel warns.

“Is that a promise?” You tease.

Finally, finally, he starts touching you back, reaching for your hips to pull you in closer and kiss you properly. You moan into his mouth needily and that’s when Joel’s resolve snaps like the string of a bow drawn too far beyond its limits. His hands tighten on your hips before moving down to grab your ass and use it as leverage to press you against his chest and the strain of his cock against his jeans.

“I’m just givin’ you one last chance to back out, sweetheart, that’s all.” His chest is rising and falling heavily, his nostrils flaring and his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen pointed in your direction. He looks half wild and it really shouldn’t turn you on but it does, fuck, so much that you’re delirious with it.

Maintaining eye contact, you grind yourself insistently against him and it’s the final answer Joel seems to need. He curses under his breath, muttering something about you being the death of him before guiding you backwards against the wall and kissing you with such heated fervor your head spins and your pussy pulses with need.

He brackets you in with his arms, bracing himself with hands either side of you on the wall and you gasp when he presses a thigh between your legs for you to shamelessly grind down on through your sleep shorts. The rough denim is only barely the right amount of friction you need and you whine as you grind down harder, trying to relieve the deep ache of arousal in your cunt.

“That’s it,” Joel murmurs between kisses, lips brushing yours. “I got you, baby. Use me just like that.”

You tug him back in for a needy kiss, hands running up his chest to cling to his shoulders, then up again to run through his hair, before back down again to paw uselessly at his shirt. Joel pulls away and huffs with amusement, disentangling from you to undo the buttons so you can hungrily pull it off his broad frame and discard it. Feeling confident — and perhaps a little heated and possessive in the moment — you run your nails down his bare chest, leaving little white lines that turn pink and then red in their wake. Joel inhales sharply, watching you with hooded eyes and you shiver at how nakedly hungry he looks.

He reaches for his belt to unbuckle it, but pauses for half a moment. Seemingly changing his mind, he decides to undress you instead, pulling your t-shirt up and over your head and unhooking your bra. Your head falls backwards against the peeling wallpaper with a soft thunk when Joel harshly pinches at your nipples with rough hands, rolling them between calliused fingers until they’re peaked and swollen. You squirm, sensitive, the sensations going straight to your already soaking wet cunt.

“Please, Joel. Please.” You’re not even sure what it is you’re pleading for, and you whine almost pitifully when Joel stops touching you and takes a step back.

“Turn around and brace yourself against the wall.” His voice is firm and you obey immediately. “Good girl.”

The praise makes your heart and your cunt flutter and you barely have time to catch your breath before Joel abruptly pulls down your shorts and his hand comes smacking down on your ass. You gasp at the sharp shock of it, the sting that immediately warms and blooms into hot pleasure.

Joel chuckles. “This what you wanted?”

“Yes, please, again, please,” you babble, sweaty palms slipping a little against the wall.

“Good girl.” Another smack, a little harder this time, and your hips buckle forwards, trying in vain to seek friction. Joel notices the desperate wiggling of your hips and reaches round you to cup your mound, his other hand running over your reddening ass cheek. “So wet for me already, just from gettin’ spanked like this,” he says, voice rough but hushed as if in awe of your response to him.

All you can do is nod frantically in reply and press yourself greedily against his fingers and he clicks his tongue at your eagerness. Two thick fingers sink inside of you easily and when you try to fuck yourself on them Joel uses his free hand to land another hard smack on your ass.

“Greedy,” he admonishes, “you just can’t wait, can you?” He crooks his fingers, pressing them up against the perfect spot inside of you and lands another hard smack and you moan so loud you’d be embarrassed if you didn’t feel so fucking good.

With a murmur of praise and lips pressed hotly to your ear Joel adds a third finger and the tight stretch around him burns and knocks the air out your lungs in a ragged gasp.

“Fuck, Joel,” you whimper, and it spurs him on, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a relentless pace. Your back arches, hands scrabbling for purchase and you fall forwards slightly to press your forehead against the wall, eyes screwing shut. The wet sound of your slick as Joel fucks you with his fingers and the smack of skin on skin as he spanks you in time with his thrusts fill the room and it’s so obscene your face flushes, heart pounding in your ears.

“Fuck,” Joel moans, “you gonna come for me like this? Pressed up against the wall and all over my fingers?”

“Yes,” you breathe, “please.”

Joel presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing tight, demanding circles until you buck against him uncontrollably and tighten around him with a cry. He buries his face into your shoulder as your hips shake, fingers still working in and out of you as you ride out your intense orgasm.

Boneless, you slump back against him with a sigh and Joel catches you, wrapping his free arm around your middle. Your cunt is still sporadically pulsing around the fingers still inside and you hold back a whimper when Joel eventually eases them out of you.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks you, pressing soft, fluttery kisses down the side of your neck. The brush of his moustache against your sensitive skin makes you giggle.

“Fucking sublime,” you reply, grinning. In truth, your body is aching and you can feel dull pain starting to thrum in your joints and muscles, but you’re used to that by now and you know you can handle it. Besides, it was definitely worth it. You tilt your head back to look Joel in the eye. “Thank you — for trusting me, I mean. But also the really great orgasm.”

Joel’s lips curl upwards into a fond smile and when his arms tighten affectionately around you his hard cock presses up against your ass. You start to move back against him and he groans low in his throat, but before things can get heated again he turns you around so you’re standing in front of him at arm’s length.

“Not now. Next time,” he promises, bending with a grunt to pick up your clothes and handing them to you. “I don’t wanna push you too hard tonight.”

You can’t hide your pout of disappointment, but when your body protests with twinges of pain when you move to get dressed you concede to yourself that Joel’s right, so you let him gently guide you into bed. You watch surreptitiously from under your cocoon of blankets as Joel undresses down to his boxers and when he catches you looking he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Insatiable creature,” he scolds before settling into bed next to you. You curl yourself around him, tangling your legs with his and pressing your face against his broad shoulder.

“Wake me up if you start hurtin’ any, are we clear?” Joel grumbles into the pillow.

You smile fondly against his warm skin. The rough, slightly wild Joel you got to finally experience tonight was definitely everything you’d been hoping for, but this version of him now, soft around the edges, soft bare skin, sharing a bed with you, this version of himself he’s worked so hard on rediscovering in order to take care of you will always be your favourite.

“I promise.”

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #i am so NERVOUS 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫#my fic

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

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fic rec friday 17

welcome the the seventeenth fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

1. got got got it bad by @kairiolette

"He leans in to hook his arm around Keith’s shoulders in full. It’s right in Keith ear, when he speaks. “I have a crush on someone new, like, every week.”

“No—it's not someone.” Keith brings his head up, and it feels as heavy on his neck as if it were his center of gravity, and he meets Lance’s eyes with his own. Keith doesn’t mean to communicate something through their silence, he just kind of gets caught up in staring at Lance’s face, which tends to happen lately. Sharp features, cheekbones and chin. Impossible eyes and a loud mouth as expressive as his eyebrows. But Lance seems to come to some understanding on his own. He sits back in a rare, rare moment of speechlessness, that mouth of his slightly pursed and twitching in its search for words in what can only be, though Keith doesn’t know much about body language, immense confusion on the brink of realization."

Or: Keith acknowledges his feelings for Lance and promptly goes through the five stages of grief.

what have i said about fics from 2016!!! just the end note and the end made me LAUGH like i couldnt help reading this. they are so stupid and so lame and i love them so much. if u like 5+1 and u like klance being annoying i highly recommend

2. Wicked rather than virtuous by 2dick2down [EXLPICIT]

No one ever told you how hard it was to be sexy during a Washington winter, especially not Fifty Shades of Grey, which Lance often felt like the star of. And, all right, in all fairness, Keith wasn’t Christian Grey levels of wealthy, and he didn’t have any secret sex rooms, and Lance was not with him because he’d signed his ass over to a repressed BDSM god.

Don’t get Lance wrong. Keith was definitely a repressed rich boy. It was just that he was Mr. Grey’s inverse: the type of repressed rich boy you had to beg to spank you and even then there was no telling if he’d have to leave the room afterwards because he felt so torn up with guilt at having to hurt you. Which he didn’t. Or, well, he did, but Lance liked it. Enough to ask for it, anyway.

And was that honestly so crazy?

okay so honestly this is a porn fic. BUT it is a porn fic that also has a plot, and the plot is actually pretty sweet. the crowning jewel of this fic tho is how fucking funny it is. like i was genuinely laughing out loud on several occasions. i will provide for you an example of such:

“Let me cook for you, since you so rudely interrupted my attempts to feed you last night.”

“I don’t know,” Lance said. “If I remember correctly, I was stuffed for most of the night.”

Keith let that sit between them untouched.

“I know you want to laugh.”

it’s so funny. this is one of many moments. read it trust me

3. you build your tower (but call me home) by @parchmints

In the land of Arus, the youngest Nalquodian prince—Prince Leandro—is hidden away in a little castle that overlooks the kingdom; a countermeasure to protect him from the Galran assassins that have sworn to take his life.

And in the tallest tower of the castle, behind a grimy rose window and under a dusty sheet, is an enchanting gargoyle that the prince finds himself compelled to visit every day.

Almost as if by a spell...

idk what it is about me and gargoyle fics. im obsessed. this one in particular blew me away!! the plot was EXCELLENT, magic and fantasy and royalty that doesnt suck. so much fun and SO much intrigue. i read this the first time and literally could not put it down, and then when i finished i scrolled right back up to the top and reread it

4. you’re lucky that’s what i like by zenstrike

Lance rescues a hamster from certain doom.

or, Lance has Keith wrapped around his little finger and doesn’t even realize it.

okay this description is from the first work in the series and it does not do the whole thing justice omg. i am OBSESSED with this series. a month or so ago i was freaking out on here bc it was updated for the first time in forever and i was so pumped!! the way klance is written here is like nothing i’ve ever read before and i cannot get enough. they’re soft and they’re scared and they’re so so young and they don’t know how anything works yet but they know that they want to find out together. and they each come from a place of brokenness and strangeness and they know that beauty can come from that messiness and they embrace it but they are so sure that they will be the ones to stay tangled together despite the odds and they’re RIGHT. literally no words i could use would properly explain this series to you like i am speechless!

5. layer cake by zenstrike

Keith and Lance, on the couch with a bottle of wine

this fic is from you’re lucky that’s what i like, and it’s singled out particularly because this one did things to me. i read it several times in a row just to fully process it. it’s so aptly named because the layers of devotion...genuinely almost more than i could and can handle. god.

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

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daydreamingfuel · 1 year

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Freak Like Me

Chapter 2

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

AO3 // previous // next

Y/N has just moved to Hawkins from England with her parents and is starting at the high school in the final term of her senior year. Eddie immediately takes a liking to her and they become fast friends, deciding to take her under his wing and falling to her charms. This is Hawkins however and things are never quite as they seem...

WHOLE FIC TAGS & WARNINGS: gratuitous use of Y/N (I'm not sorry), friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, eventual smut, semi-fix-it-fic, angst, injury, canon dialogue and events used, canon graphic violence, no main character death :)

Chapter Tags & Warnings: daddy issues, panic attack description, use of misogynistic language in a nightmare, heavy flirting, Jason, Chrissy makes an appearance, slight cliff-hanger?

Chapter Word Count: 6.4k

A/N - yes I know it's been 7 months but a lot of shit happened and I had writers block, so sue me

As Eddie walked away, Y/N felt their heart feel slightly fuller knowing her life wasn't going to go completely fall apart in Hawkins. She had a friend. And the possibility of more friends in the form of Hellfire. Maybe, just maybe things wouldn't go up in flames this time. Plopping down on the sofa next to her mother, she noticed her mum smiling to herself. Y/N quickly realised that her mother had heard everything that had happened in the kitchen and was forming her own opinion on what had happened.

"Don't" Y/N, said looking at her mother, who hadn't stopped looking at the book she was reading, avoiding eye contact.

Mrs Y/L/N just smiled more, "I'm not saying anything."

"Good. Because it's not what you think." Y/N settled back into the sofa, and Mrs Y/L/N only responded with a small 'Mm'hm'. Y/N cocked her head slightly with a scoff, about to argue her case when they bit their tongue as both women heard the front door opening. Mr Y/L/N was home.

Y/N and her mother looked at each other, enjoying the calm before the inevitable storm. They both knew that he would not be in a good mood, he rarely was anymore. Y/N couldn't remember the last time she had seen her father genuinely happy; she only ever saw stress, anger, and frustration. And drunk.

"How was work dear?" Mrs Y/L/N said, placing her book on the coffee table and standing to greet her husband in the kitchen, Y/N following behind. 'Here we go…'

"You know I can't talk about it, the project I'm working on is confidential." The man said dropping into a chair at the table with a thumb and a finger on his temples. "Y/N, how was your first day? You didn't get into any trouble, did you?"

"No dad I didn't, just bombarded with ridiculous questions…but it was actually okay, I made a friend." Y/N smiled to herself, and her mother winked behind her father's head as she caught her eye, making them glare playfully at each other. Mr Y/L/N missed the whole interaction, eyes still shut as he tried to massage away the headache. Without really thinking, the words tumbled out of her mouth, "As a matter of fact, he's picking me up for school tomorrow morning, he left his van here after dinner." This made her mother tense and Mr Y/L/N's eyes snap open.

"He?" the man questioned, stifling his growing anger, "Dinner?" He turned to look at his wife, whose eyes were only on her daughter, before he turned back to Y/N, "Is that whose van is outside? Y/N, I told you not to do this-"

"I know dad." Y/N cut him off, as Mrs Y/L/N laid a hand on her husband's shoulder, giving a warning squeeze. "But nothing is going to happen."

His voice raised a little, "It'd better not otherwise I'll-"

"You'll what dad? What would you do?" Y/N bit back, louder.

"Okay let's all calm down." Mrs Y/L/N finally got a word in, but it was fruitless as Mr Y/L/N stood up and raised his voice further. It was nowhere near the first time this had happened and both women of the household knew it wouldn't be the last.

Y/N didn't react, and Mrs Y/L/N didn't try to step in again, they just listened to the man rant and watched as he paced the kitchen, seething at the prospect of Y/N causing any more trouble. Y/N couldn't remember when he had grown so cold towards her but over the years learnt that it was just better to take it than argue. When he finally ran out of words to target Y/N and sat back down, she silently turned and walked to her room, not letting him see the effect he had on her. He didn't need to see her to know she was sufficiently scolded, and wouldn't talk back for the foreseeable future. She could hear parents muffled talking, knowing not another word would be said about what had just happened and squeezed her eyes shut tight willing tears not to fall. A pointless pursuit as the tears fell regardless.

Of course, this is how the day ends.

Ruined.

Because you couldn't hold your tongue.

You knew he would react like this.

How stupid can you get?

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Y/N slid down the door, hands pressed over her ears to drown out the thoughts. Once she was sat she let out a choked sob and let all the tears out, holding her body together with arms wrapped tight. She cried and cried until her body physically couldn't and all that came out was heaving, shaky breaths. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve and taking a deep breath she finally relaxed a little. Exhausted, she pulled herself off the floor and started slogging over to the bed until she stood on something small and pointy.

Dice.

"Fuck!" She cursed under her breath and looked down. All of the things Eddie had brought were still scattered all over Y/N's floor. Her lip trembled slightly, remembering how nice the night had been, as she kneeled and put all the things away in the bag he had also left. She would give it to him in the morning. Checking the clock, and seeing it was well past midnight, she groaned. Having vaguely heard her parents go to bed a while ago she knew it was late, but time had escaped her. She needed to sleep. Collapsing onto the bed, and staring at the ceiling, Y/N tried to forget about the sour turn of events and focus on all the good things that were to come. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.

Y/N walked down the corridor, anxiously pulling at her school jumper, and keeping her eyes cast down, avoiding all the stares of her peers. Rounding the corner, she ran straight into the last person she wanted to see.

"You should really watch where you're going." He spoke flatly, eyes looking straight through her. The same eyes that had once gazed at her like she hung all the stars in the sky. Not a hint of malice or judgement. Now she saw only disinterest and resentment. He had gotten what he wanted.

Y/N said nothing and tried to push past but he caught her wrist tightly and pulled her back, "Got nothing to say now?" He spat viciously, "After running that dirty mouth of yours you'd think you'd at the very least be able to say something."

As she went to turn and hit him, she found herself surrounded.

Slut. Whore. Greedy bitch. Disgusting. Dirty. Pervert. Freak.

The words echoed around her. Growing louder and louder and louder until-

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Y/N groaned as she sat up and reached to shut up her alarm clock. Blinking slowly and softly shaking her head, Y/N tried to shake off the dream. The memory had been warped over time, but the feeling remained the same. All she felt was shame as she climbed out of bed and got ready for the day. Pulling open the curtains, the sun blazed through and made her squint, shielding her eyes as her body was instantly warmed despite it being February. After changing into something weather appropriate, she collected everything she needed and headed to the bathroom to freshen up. Y/N pulled her hair off her face and secured it as best she could then looked herself dead in the eye in the mirror.

"You can do this, it's a fresh start, and you're already doing better than you thought…just breathe…" The pep talk was unconvincing but somehow managed to force Y/N's head a little higher.

Breakfast was silent, Mr Y/L/N had already left for work and Mrs Y/L/N was lost in thought staring into her mug of tea. She knew her mother meant well, but the silence was killing her. Before she could muster up the courage to say something, the honk of a horn sounded from outside. Eddie. With a sigh, Y/N pushed off from where she leant against the counter and gave her mother a chaste kiss on the cheek as she picked up her things, and Eddie's bag of D&D paraphernalia, before heading outside to see Eddie sat in his van, passenger door open and waiting for Y/N, A cheeky grin on his face.

"Morning, Y/L/N." The sound of his voice instantly soothed her and made an unconscious smile appear on her tired face.

"Morning, Munson. I have the stuff you left at mine last night." Y/N said whilst buckling her seatbelt and nodding her head to the bag.

"Goddamn it, now I don't have a reason to come by after school with the excuse of getting my shit." He said playfully as he started the engine, pulled out of the spot in front of the house, and turned on a mixtape – Black Sabbath pouring out through the speakers. Y/N chuckled slightly at the predictable choice and watched him drive for a while, taking in how the sunlight made his skin glow and highlighted the soft curls of his wild hair. His hands gripping the steering wheel accentuating the lean muscles in his forearm, the bat tattoo rippling slightly making the wings look like they were moving with each subtle flex. Having felt her eyes on him for minutes uninterrupted, he smirked cheekily and said, "Stop staring, you're gonna burn a hole straight through me."

"Shut up." He laughed as she rolled her eyes, "As if I would actively stare at you Eddie, you flatter yourself."

"Yeah sure, you definitely weren't checking out my sick tattoos." He pushed back and glanced at her, with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

If she was bolder, and more truthful, she would have said "I really love your tattoos and was completely fascinated by the way the bats look like they're flying as you drive," but she wasn't that bold so, Y/N scoffed and moved her eyes to the horizon, and instead said, "You wish."

The conversation stopped for a good few minutes before either spoke again, just enjoying the music and each other's company, Y/N breaking their silence with, "Do you think we could do a one-on-one, private D&D game?"

"Sorry, what?" Eddie had to blink a few times to fully register what she had said, "Can you say that again, I zoned out listening to the music."

"I said," Y/N chuckled, "Do you think we could do a one-on-one, private D&D game? I was thinking just a little homebrew- is that the right word? Just so I can fully get used to the mechanics and maybe level up if you're feeling generous before my first game with the party…I don't want to embarrass myself in front of them, especially if you're all experienced players…I understand if you can't it was just a passing thought. I'll shut up now."

Once Y/N's short ramble had stopped, she took notice of Eddie's reaction and couldn't help but smile. The man was practically buzzing in his seat, wide grin and fingers drumming excitedly against the steering wheel, eyes sparkling a little at the mere thought. She hadn't realised how close they were to the school, so when he parked the car and fully turned to face her, Y/N was startled a little.

"First of all, yes homebrew is the correct term, well done, and second - that sounds like a great idea, I'm annoyed that I didn't think of it first." Eddie finally answered, the excitement practically dripping od his tongue at the prospect, "I'm going to spend the rest of today thinking of a small campaign we can start and finish before Hellfire, do you want to do something classic or a little darker, or we can do something a little more whimsical if that's more your speed or-"

"Remember to breathe, Munson." Y/N giggled, cutting off his run-on sentence, his arms that were flailing in front of his face as he spoke froze as she interrupted his flow, "I'll be happy with anything, I'm excited to see what you come up with."

He was completely bewildered by her, nobody had ever been this interested not only in D&D but also in wanting to spend so much time with him, except for maybe Dustin. Beaming as he spoke, Eddie replied, "This is just so great, I'm so glad you are into this. If I'm being honest, I was kind of worried that I'd scared you off a little, you seemed a little disgruntled when I picked you up."

"Oh," Y/N scratched the side of her neck slightly, resisting the urge to just tell him everything, "I just didn't sleep very well, nothing to do with you."

He nodded, and though he was unconvinced, he didn't push. Eddie wanted to ask her what was actually wrong, sensing there was something but chose to let it go, she would tell him when she was ready, he hoped. As they hopped out of the van and shut the doors behind them, Y/N tried to shake off the growing nausea in the pit of her stomach, suddenly being hit with vivid memories of the night before and the nightmare that woke her up. Eddie rounded the front of the vehicle and met her at the passenger door, leaning against it slightly. He stood close, looking at her intensely, as though trying to read her mind. Her eyes were shut tight, and her bottom lip caught within her teeth, her knuckles cracking between her palms.

"Hey, you okay?" Eddie eventually asked and stepped a little closer, concern knitting in his brow, before he jumped back a little when her eyes popped open with a fluttering blink and locked gaze with him.

"Yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought." Y/N tried to laugh it off, but he just raised an eyebrow at her odd behaviour. Not wanting to linger on the topic, she quickly asked, as she pushed off from the van and headed towards the school, turning to face him and walking backwards a little as she asked, "Can we do yours tonight?"

"Umm, yeah I guess, my place is a bit messy but I don't really see an issue," Eddie replied, following after her and quickly catching up.

As she turned to face front again when he was by her side again, she smiled at him over her shoulder and commented, "I don't mind a little mess."

He smiled back, dimples poking out a little, "We can do it straight after school if you want? I'll make you dinner this time, though it'll be nowhere near as good as your mom's cooking, I apologize in advance."

"You're forgiven," her laughter rang through the air, as they pushed through the doors of the school.

The day ran smoother than the previous, most people no longer cared that there was a new girl now that she had chosen to associate with the nerds and freaks of the school. She managed to slide right past any of their gazes as she walked through the corridors, waving briefly at Dustin, Mike and a friend of theirs she didn't know as the pair passed them. Dustin grinned and gave a quick "Hi, Y/N", and Mike gave a tight-lipped smile, their friend giving an acknowledging nod. Although there were still a few that didn't want to leave her alone, Jason being one. As soon as Y/N and Eddie walked into homeroom together, laughing at a story Eddie was telling, he scowled and stared with a slack jaw.

"You should close your mouth, you're gonna catch flies," Y/N said in passing, patting his shoulder firmly to shake him out of his stupor. His jaw quickly snapped shut as Eddie laughed at her snide remark. Jason turned in his chair to make a comment back but the bell rang and Mrs O'Donnell walked in right as he opened his mouth. No other incidents happened for the rest of the morning, and by lunch, she had all but forgotten about why she woke up in a bad mood.

Dustin and Mike's friend from that morning, Lucas Sinclair, had joined them for lunch, Y/N quickly learned that they had been friends for years along with their other friend Will Byers who had moved to California along with his older brother – who was dating Mikes sister - and adoptive sister of the same age Jane, who they affectionately call El – who was dating Mike, his eyes lighting up at the mention of them, talking animatedly. Dustin's eyes crinkle with a grin as he adds details and Lucas smiles as he nods along to the stories of their childhood. They didn't need to say it, but they had formed a bond as close as family, and quite clearly deeply cared for one another. As adorable as she found them reminiscing about their friend, Y/N was caught up on one detail.

"You have a girlfriend?" Y/N interrupted, unable to stop the words from coming out and shutting up the boys instantly, and she backtracked seeing their furrowed eyebrows "That came out ruder than intended, sorry."

"It's okay," Mike reassured before adding, "we've been dating for almost a year, but we've known each other for 3 years. She's pretty cool." He says with a knowing smile and the other boys agree. "Dustin's got a girlfriend too though, they met at nerd camp."

"Camp Know Where." Dustin corrected before grinning with pride, "Suzie's awesome, she's a genius."

Lucas then added, "And I did have a girlfriend, Max, who's amazing, but she broke up with me before school started and kinda stopped talking to me…she kinda stopped talking to everyone actually…but she's great. A total badass." He still adored her.

"So you're telling me, that all three of you have girls that you like and they like you, and you obviously have a solid friend group and yet you still get labelled as outcasts and nerds?"

"Yup."

"Pretty much."

Dustin giggled at Y/N's disbelief, "But we are nerds. They're not exactly wrong."

"Is that why Lucas here joined the basketball team?" Y/N raised an eyebrow at the boy, who bristled at the accusation but didn't deny it. "Look, if you honestly enjoy it and it makes you happy then I'm all for it, but if you're just doing it to try to gain some popularity and status…" she bit her tongue, it wasn't her place, so she finished by saying "just don't sell out, cause from the sounds of things you're pretty popular in your own right." He sits back in his chair and mulls it over in silence.

Eddie whistles lowly, having listened in. "Damn."

Y/N feels her cheeks heat up, the gaggle of boys all processing her words. They had all been listening in. "I'm sorry, you don't need to hear my opinion on it…"

"Don't be," Lucas immediately pipes up and his warm brown eyes reassure her that she didn't overstep, "You've just given me some stuff to think about."

"Well, Y/L/N, if you've done interrogating my disciples," Eddie cuts in with a lazy smile, leaning back in his chair, and the freshmen scoff, making Y/N snicker, "do you wanna go for a quick smoke before class?"

"Where? Smoking isn't allowed on school property." She leans back, challenging him and he doesn't back down.

"I know a place." He says it flippantly as he pulls out a cigarette and places it behind his ear and pulls out a second for her.

"Well, that isn't ominous at all."

"Don't you trust me?"

She smiles. His eyes twinkle. "I probably shouldn't but I do."

Eddie stands and holds out his hand. "Then follow me."

Without a second thought, she takes his hand and picks up her stuff with the other before he leads her out of the rooms and away from his gawking friends. His grip on her hand dropped, only to gently place it on the small of her back to guide her through the corridors and out the back of the school towards the tree line. Confidently striding through the greenery, Eddie eventually stopped at a small clearing in the tall trees, a lone picnic bench sitting in the middle, paint peeling away and the wood splintering, but appearing sturdy as it blended into the darkness of the bark, grass growing around the foot of the benches. Eddie turned to face Y/N and gestured to the table with a 'ta-da'-like flourish, a wide grin on his face, a dimple popping out.

The table creaked slightly beneath them as they sat opposite each other, Y/N leaned across the table as Eddie lit his cigarette and stole it from his lips before he could take a drag. His eyes widened at the nerve of her, his eyebrows raised incredulously as she laughs behind a cloud of smoke. "You little shit..." he mutters which only makes her laugh more before she takes another drag and places the cigarette back between his lips, her fingertips brushing them slightly. She stays leaned in towards him, face resting on her hands as he shakes his head at her before he blows smoke in her face, making her nose crinkle. "Should I light the other or…?"

"Save it for later," she answers, and he furrows his brow as he places it back in the packet.

"You don't want one?" he asks in rebuttal, and she shakes her head between her hands, and he matches her stance leaning in towards her on one hand, cigarette hanging from his ringed fingers. "Then why did you follow me out here?"

"You asked me to."

His confused gaze softens into one of awe before quickly turning smug, "You really do like me, don't you?"

"Meh." She replies with a cheeky grin and a tilt of the head as he pretends to be shot in the chest, having mildly bruised his ego. "Well, if I'm being completely honest Munson, you've charmed me and it annoys me to no end. But don't let it get to your head."

"No promises." He grins widely, the contagion of his joy forcing a grin onto her face. "You know, most people are scared of me. Think I'm a satanist cult leader or something I don't know." They laugh at the ridiculousness, "And yet you, after one day, you trust me for whatever reason, probably a terrible idea by the way I'm a horrible influence-"

"Eddie, are you trying to tell me not to be your friend?" Y/N interrupts, her eyes dropping from his gaze and her heartbeat picking up a little, mind racing with questions of if she's come on too strong.

So desperate for people to like you, you cling to the first person who shows you kindness? How pathetic.

"No! God no!" He answers just a bit too loudly, scaring her out of her train of thought a little and looking back at his slightly wild eyes. "I'm just not used to people wanting to be my friend, especially pretty girls."

"Pretty?" She sees the panic in his eyes as he registered what he'd said and tries to ignore the incessant fluttering in her stomach, "You flatter me, Munson, you should see yourself."

He blushes. She thinks he's pretty.

She pushes the thought away.

"I erm-" he clears his throat, and regains some of his composure, "I don't want you to not be my friend."

"Good." They lock eyes for a lingering moment before he takes a drag of his cigarette, flicking off the ash and placing it in between her lips again. She gulps as his hand brushes the skin of her face gently before pulling away and leaning against his hands again. Smoke surrounds them as she talks but he isn't deterred in the slightest. "So, any ideas for tonight? Or is it a surprise?"

"Well, I was thinking, 'cause it'd be your first time, we do something special," Eddie says, faking a sweet smile but a smirk can't help but creep up onto his face at the insinuation.

"Ha ha." She deadpans in response, trying and failing to stop a smile from gracing her lips, Eddie instantly noticing and allowing the wry smile to stay.

"Seriously though, I want you to enjoy it so I've created something small, heavily influenced by Hobbiton, where you can learn the mechanics without any real threat." The smile turns genuine as he talks, watching her get more and more excited as she thinks about the possibilities.

"That sounds amazing! God I can't wait, I'll spend the rest of the day noting down little character traits for my one-shot halfling and-" she interrupted herself, "-wait, I don't have any dice."

He seems unbothered by the thought, and waves the thought away as though it was a fly getting too close to his face, "Don't worry about it, I got you covered."

Y/N didn't have any time to think about it further before they heard the bell signalling the end of lunch in the distance, and groaned in unison, neither of them wanting to go back to being around other people so soon. Eddie took a long drag of the cigarette, smoke filling his lungs and blowing it into the air before passing it to Y/N to finish. Once she had, she stubbed it out on the table, the little black ring joining the collection that Eddie had left over the years. Wandering back towards the school, a sneaky thought crept into her head – was this a kind of…date? Did he share his cigarettes with everyone? Or was she somehow special to him? Her head was already filled with him after only 36 hours of knowing him, but she never wanted him to escape her mind.

The day passed smoothly after their impromptu escape into the woods but her stomach fluttered with anticipation of what the evening would bring. By the time their last period literature class rolled around she was practically buzzing in her seat but tried their hardest to keep it contained. However, the pretty blonde cheerleader next to her took notice and giggled to herself. Y/N was about to say something snarky but the girl spoke before she could.

"I don't think ever seen someone so excited for school to be over," she said in a saccharine tone that on anyone else would seem fake but on this girl, it seemed to be genuine. "You must have after-school plans!"

"Actually yeah, I do." The girl grinned and looked at her expectantly, "You don't wanna know, it's pretty nerdy."

"Yeah, I gathered, since you and Eddie Munson have basically been attached at the hip since lunch yesterday." There was an underlying edge to her voice, but it was surprisingly non-judgemental. "Jason thinks he's a complete freak but all his friends still go to him for deals. It makes no sense to me!"

She did not need to explain what she meant by 'deals', Y/N understood immediately, connecting the dots to his 'meeting' before he went to her house the previous night. "Hypocrites."

The girl laughs, and Y/N could swear the room got a little brighter, "Exactly! I'm Chrissy by the way."

"Y/N," she replied with a smile right as the teacher walked in and they both turned to face the board to pay attention. The class dragged after that, time mocking her as she waited for the final bell to ring. Although, she and Chrissy did exchange thoughts on the book they were analysing and discovered that they both found it exhausting, sparking a brief, joined rant over the dubious morality of the author. When the bell did finally ring, Y/N all but threw her books and pencil case into her backpack, forcing another giggle to sound beside her.

"You're gonna break your bag at that rate!" Chrissy commented through giggles as she packed up her own stuff. "You know you never did tell me what you two had planned for tonight…?"

"Oh," Y/N let out an awkward half-laugh-half-cough, then perched on the edge of her desk facing the blonde who mimicked her, "we're just doing some D&D stuff, and he's gonna cook, nothing that special really."

Chrissy didn't seem to think so, a wide grin spreading across her face, "He's taking you back to the trailer?!"

"Yeah?"

"Oh, he likes you." Y/N blanched, words caught in her throat, as Chrissy continued, "Nobody ever really goes to the trailer, even his deals are out in the woods somewhere apparently. He doesn't trust easily, and honestly, I don't blame him, with the way he's treated by-"

An arm suddenly draped around Chrissy's shoulders as Jason appeared next to her, "What are we talking about over here, ladies?" Chrissy shrinks into him but still smiles at Y/N, giving her a small wink.

"Nothing that concerns you," Y/N answers smoothly, despite the flurry of emotions running through her. "Ladies have their secrets, you know? Do you tell Chrissy what you and your boys talk about, hmm?"

His eyes narrow as he glances between his girlfriend and apparent new annoyance in his well-crafted life, "You two have secrets?"

"Of course!" Chrissy interjects, placing a delicate hand on Jason's. "All friends have secrets."

Friends.

Chrissy had claimed her as a friend.

Y/N had somehow managed to weasel her way into being friends with not only the school outcasts but also managed to charm the school golden girl, much to the chagrin of her boyfriend. Despite everything that Chrissy represented, a deep-rooted part of Y/N genuinely liked the girl, recognising an old part of herself in the perfectly styled, candy-coated haze of a blonde in front of her. Y/N raised an eyebrow at the jock, daring him to say another word but he plastered on a smile and held Chrissy tighter, biting his tongue.

"Chrissy, let me walk you to practice," Jason redirected his girlfriend towards the door gently, before glancing back towards Y/N, "head of the team can't be late."

"See you tomorrow Y/N, have fun tonight!" Chrissy called over her shoulder as the couple left the room, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts. Snapping herself back to her senses, she quickly grabbed her things and all but ran out the door, making a beeline towards the car park.

Eddie, paced back and forth next to his van, kicking around a rock, whilst he waited for Y/N. Part of him believed that this was all one elaborate joke she was playing on him, that she couldn't possibly have any interest in him. But then he felt a tap on his shoulder and whirled around to see her leaning against the van, smiling at him, and all those pesky thoughts vanished.

"Ready to go? Or do you want to play with yourself a little longer?" Y/N quirked her head at him a little and watched as a blush grew on his cheeks slightly and kicked the rock out of sight before rounding the van to get in the driver's seat.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the trailer park and Eddie shut off the engine of his van but didn't hop out of the car, instead, he simply turned in his seat to face Y/N. He licked his lips and fiddled with his rings in his lap, leg bouncing where he sat. Y/N scanned him, then reached out a hand to rest on the skin of his knee poking through his jeans, "What's wrong?"

Eddie swallowed and glanced down at her hand on his knee before meeting her gaze, "I just- it's ridiculous, you've been nothing but kind to me and I selfishly don't want to believe that you're anything like anyone else in this fucking town, but- I just-" he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat, "I don't want you to judge me on where and how I live. God knows I want out of here, 'much as the next person-"

"Eddie…"

"-I know it's nothing compared to where you live but I was raised here and-"

"Eddie."

"-It's my home and God I-"

"Eddie, oh my God, shut up!" Y/N finally managed to stop his rambling to make him look at her, eyes wide like a scolded puppy, but it softened when he saw not a single trace of judgement on her face, "I don't give a fuck where you live, or what state it's in – as long as it's not making you ill," he chuckled and she continued, "point is, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be, so shut your ass up and let's go play D&D."

"Point well taken." Eddie unlocked the door and ran around to open the door for Y/N, giving her a hand as she hopped out of the van, squeezing it slightly as he led her up the doors to the trailer and let her in.

"What do you mean I died?!" Y/N was exasperated as Eddie rolled over with a fit of loud laughter. The hours had flown by as Eddie guided her through her first game, gifting her a set of his old dice for her to use until she got her own, the gesture making her stomach knot. The dice were simple black acrylic with white numbers but Y/N immediately promised herself to cherish them like gold.

"You failed your acrobatics check jumping off a table and took too much damage cause you're a level 1, then rolled a crit.1 on your last death saving roll, you're dead - them's the rules, honey!" Eddie managed to choke out through his raucous laughter.

"I blame the dice..." Y/N muttered with a pout, arms folded across her chest, glaring at the little acrylic demons.

"Aww, don't pout honey, it's not the dice's fault you're comically shit at this." He mocked, leaning on his arm with a dopey grin, earning him a gentle push so he laid flat. "Hey! No violence towards the Dungeon Master!"

"Oh shut up!" she nudged him again but he caught her wrist and locked his eyes on her, a single eyebrow raised.

"I didn't take you for a sore loser." He sat up, her wrist still caught in his grasp, his voice dropping to a low timbre, sending shivers down her spine. If he kept looking at her like this, she thought she might explode. "Now, because I'm having too much fun watching you get all...passionate, let's say, about the game, I'll let it slide, just this once, and bring you back to life."

She grinned and went to speak but he held a finger to her lips to stop her, before adding, "Just don't tell the others, can't have them thinking I've gone soft as DM. It's our little secret."

She silently held up her pinkie for him to take as a promise and he snickered but locked it in with his pinkie. With his face this close to hers, she could see all of the little details on his skin and ultimately got lost looking into those deep brown of his eyes. Feeling her heartbeat skip, she knew she was fucked.

"I should probably call my mum; tell her I'm not coming home for dinner…"

"Yeah probably."

Nobody moved an inch. Eyes and pinkies locked.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"You need to let go of my hand."

Eddie cursed under his breath and let her hand go, "Sorry,"

"Don't be," Y/N smiled and left the room to phone home, whilst Eddie collapsed back on the bed, running a hand across his face with a frustrated groan.

Outside the room, Y/N was leaning back on the wall, mind racing, trying to figure out what had just happened. Somehow, they had immediately fallen into a natural flirtation and it confused them both, but neither wanted it to end. It just felt so right, but so utterly terrifying. Pulling herself off the wall by his door, she quickly located the phone and dialled home, the phone barely ringing once before being answered, as though her mum had been sat by the phone, waiting.

"Y/N please tell me this is you. I've been worried sick." Mrs Y/L/N frantically said, the distress clear in her voice.

"Mum calm down, please, I'm fine, really I'm fine," Y/N twisted the cable around her fingers as she spoke, brows creased.

Her reassurance did extraordinarily little to calm her mother, "Then where the bloody hell are you?!"

"With Eddie." Silence. Y/N continued, "I'm at his trailer, we've been going over some D&D stuff, lost track of time I guess."

"Well, I'm relieved you're safe at least, I take it you won't be home for dinner?" Her mother sounded a little less tense, but it was strained, trying not to let Y/N know just how stressed she was. Y/N replied with a hum of acknowledgement before letting her mother continue, "Just make sure you're home before your dad, we don't need a repeat of last night." The thought sent an anxious chill down Y/N's spine, nodding subconsciously even though her mum couldn't see it. "Have fun, I love you."

"I love you too, mum. See you later." Y/N hung up and took a few deep breaths.

She needed to shake off this feeling before going back to Eddie, not wanting to ruin another perfectly good night. Once she felt a little more stable, she willed a small smile back onto her face and re-entered Eddie's room to find him playing absentmindedly with the dice, peering up through a curtain of hair as he heard the door move.

"So she knows, but we should probably get a move on, I need to be home before my dad otherwise he'll flip," Y/N said as casually as she could whilst leaning back on his door, arms folded across her chest.

He nodded in understanding whilst making his way over to her, crowding her personal space again, as he leaned in with one hand in his pocket and the other on the door by her head, "So dinner, are you prepared for a wonderful gourmet meal of canned soup and a bottle of beer?"

"And dessert?" Y/N asked looking up into his eyes with a quirk of her eyebrow.

If he was nervous he didn't let it show as he mirrored her expression and poked his tongue out in thought, before answering, "Well that depends, sweetheart," her heart skipped at the pet name, "What's your preferred popcorn flavouring?"

"Sweet and salty."

Why is he so close to me? Fuck, I want to kiss him.

"Excellent."

He suddenly pulls away and she has to blink quickly to readjust and shake the inappropriate thoughts away that had started to creep in again from him being so close.

Just friends, that's all we are, idiot.

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