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melodygatesauthor · 8 months

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The Only One

Dark - Duke Leto Atreides X f!Reader

Not Beta Read

PLEASE READ TAGS/DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC. THERE ARE DARK THEMES!

Summary

The duke needs an heir, or Caladan will fall under the rule of his enemies. There's one woman is capable of saving the planet...she's the only one.

Tags/Warnings

Disclaimers: This fic does not comply with canon, throw everything you thought you knew about the Dune lore out the window. The duke is (in my opinion) in character for this situation, despite the obsessive tendencies. There is heavy non-con in this fic, it's not for everyone. If you're sensitive to that sort of thing in fanfiction, please keep on scrolling thanks. NSFW, non-con, rape, kidnapping, sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, praise kink, lactation kink, pregnancy, blood kink, cockwarming, forced pregnancy, non-consensual bondage, porn with some plot, smut, creampie, body worship, pregnant sex, oral sex (f receiving), Dark fic, Dark Duke Leto Atreides. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT (that means that what you see in the tags WILL be in the fic, don't act surprised when you get exactly what you were warned about.)

Word Count: 6k

Prelude

After many years of trying for an heir, Duke Leto has begun to give up hope. Without an heir, the emperor threatens to give away his birthright, strip him of his title, and hand Caladan to his enemies. He has been given only one final year to produce a son who will carry on his family name. While searching for someone who could give him what he needs, he happens upon a mysterious woman. The strange woman tells of a prophecy, one that Leto takes very seriously, because he has no other choice. "In a village, not far from here, my lord, there's a girl. She is not of noble birth, but I have seen her future, and she will give you many sons." Duke Leto, a kind and gentle man, would never hurt someone so innocent on purpose, but when faced with the choice of taking you, or losing Caladan to those who meant to oppress it, he must set aside his morality for the greater good...

The duke entered his chambers where you were suspended from the lofty ceiling, as he’d requested his men to do once they found you. A warm smile spread across his face at the sight of you, so beautiful, so scared. Leto stepped forward, nearly jumping when your head shot up and your tear-stained eyes locked on with his. He held one hand behind his back in a regal manner, holding the other out to touch your cheek as he closed in on you slowly.

“W-wh…” you cleared your throat, “where…”

“Shh,” he whispered softly, brushing his thumb over the soft skin of your beautiful face, “you’re safe now. There’s no need to panic.”

Despite his words, it was clear you were terrified, struggling to breath in a normal, even heave. No matter the fear you displayed in your eyes, the duke’s expression remained calm, and filled with adoration.

“I know you’re frightened. It is…expected,” he said softly, standing up straight and casually walking to his wardrobe. “Would you care for some wine perhaps? Or I can call for the doctor, he could provide you with a mild sedative?”

He turned to look at you, your head was hung downward once again, naked body trembling and rattling the chains that held you in place. He wasn’t a cruel man, though he suspected you thought he was. He’d never done something like this before, sending his guards out to retrieve a young woman to keep in his chambers indefinitely. A nearly inaudible sob escaped your lips.

“No need to cry my dear, you’re not in any danger,” he said, beginning to unbuckle his belt, the sound of the metal piercing through the room. “In fact, you’re going to be very well taken care of here. Do you have any idea just how lucky you are?”

You cried harder, sobs becoming even louder as you looked up at him again. He removed his shirt, revealing his warm, sunkissed skin. It was hard to tell, but he appeared handsome through the blur of your tears. You dropped your head again, your neck aching from the position you were in. Your arms were pinned behind your back, body bent forward at the hips, leaving your rear exposed and open. Your thighs ached, legs spread wide, forced open by a metal pole secured between your knees. The ache in your chest from your labored breathing was horrid enough, only made worse by the chains wrapped around you, keeping your torso held upward and parallel to the stone floor.

“You don’t even realize that you are the most important piece to maintaining our way of life of Caladan,” he continued, removing his pants completely and letting them fall to the ground. “I have been unable to find anyone compatible. Perhaps it’s that my genetics are too much for the average woman to carry to term.” He stepped closer to you, cock bobbing heavily with every stride. “But you’re not average, are you my dear?”

“P-please,” you croaked, “I…I…”

“No no, not another word. You’re frightened now, yes, but you’ll soon realize the important work that you were made for,” he walked past you, running his hand along your arm and to your hip as he did. “The important job you’ll be doing for me…”

You whimpered, struggling slightly against your restraints but to no avail. The duke used to pride himself on being an honorable man, and even in this morally reprehensible moment, he felt justified in his actions. He didn’t always like what his duty called him to do, but knowing it was for the greater good, he would do almost anything.

“You see my dear,” he cooed, “you were found for me, a beautiful, fertile woman who is prophesied to give me many children…” he leaned into your ear, “many.” His tone turned to a low rumble. “So even though this may seem sudden, you will realize with time that you’re fulfilling your purpose…your destiny.”

His right palm splayed over the globe of your cheek, moving toward where your body was spread in two. He didn’t like hearing you cry, but he knew it was inevitable. No normal girl would consent to being abducted and restrained in a man’s bedroom, not even the duke’s bedroom. He saw your puckered hole, and he pressed his index finger to it gently, inciting a gasp from you, followed by the rattling of the chains. You cried out, begging him to release you, but your wails fell on deaf ears.

“I know you care about Caladan, our people. I know you care about the Atreides legacy, and you know…” he spit between your crack, letting his warm saliva trickle from your rim down between your folds, “you know I need a strong, healthy heir.”

Leto positioned himself behind you, using his hand to fist the fat tip of his cock at your glistening entrance. The metal pole keeping your legs spread for him creaked with tension as you struggled to close your thighs, a pointless endeavor. He sighed heavily, gliding his head between each crevice of your pretty little cunt, making himself slick with your arousal.

“You must think me to be a cruel man, but you’re mistaken darling. I don’t want to hurt you, and if you’ll relax this will be much less painful for you.” His breath was ragged with an almost animalistic desire. “You must understand, however, that I care far too much about the future of my people not to provide them with an Atreides heir.”

No matter how hard you tried to escape the flesh splitting thrust of his wide girth, your attempts were futile. A pained scream echoed off the walls of his chambers, followed shortly by the warmth of your blood against his thighs as he slapped them against yours loudly. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he wanted to get your first time over with, and not drag it out any longer than necessary. He slowed down after a moment, once your screaming turned to soft whimpers.

“You’re doing so well…” he huffed through his nostrils harshly “…I know this isn’t easy for you,” Leto leaned forward, grabbing one of your hanging breasts in his large hand, pinching the nipple gently, “b-but your body was built for this…it was built for me…”

“No, n-no…” you trailed off, feeling your head fall back down, neck aching still from the strain. A small moan left your lips, despite your attempts to keep it in.

“O-oh sweetheart is…is it starting to feel good?” The roll of his hips remained at a steady pace. “That’s wonderful, it will help with the pain, and your time will be more enjoyable for you if you can gain some pleasure from this as well, I don’t want you to feel misery if I can help it.”

“S-stop, please, my lord…”

“Shh,” he whispered softly, continuing to palm at your breast.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips against the soft skin of your spine. He could feel your tied-back hands fidgeting against his ribcage. His free hand moved to your left hip, holding it tightly to angle himself deeper.

“I’m going to fill you with every bit of me , every-single-drop,” he punctuated each word with a harder thrust. “I need to make sure you get it all, need to make sure it takes…mmph!”

Surely your noisy whimpers could be heard in the halls, yet no one came to help you. They all knew what was happening in there. You were to be the mother of the next Atreides heir. You would be made to bear child after child for the legacy obsessed duke. A breeding vessel for a desperate nobleman, torn between his kind nature and his need for the security and wellbeing of his people.

“The emperor will take everything I have if I can't secure my bloodline. He’ll give it t-to the…” he whimpered and gulped deeply, “Harkonnens, and I can’t let that happen to my people.”

You could hear nothing over your whimpers save for the wet slapping of his skin against yours as his pace quickened. You didn’t know what he was going on about - destiny, legacy, an Atreides heir? - He snapped forward again, a gravelly rumble falling from his chest. He moved to an upright position, letting your breast hang loosely once more. You wailed loudly, the feeling of his thick fingers leaving their impressions in the flesh of your hip.

“M-my lord, my lord…it hurts so…s-so-much-s-sir!”

“I know, but you’re taking me so well anyway aren’t you?” He looked down where your puffy little hole swallowed his crimson painted cock. “Look at that.”

His index finger touched where you were stretched around him, that little bit of skin that held onto his cock like it never meant to let go. You whimpered, chains rattling around you as your body involuntarily moved, only serving to sink you down further on his length once more. He could hear you hyperventilating, a panic-stricken whine punching out of your chest that he felt a tad guilty for inciting.

Until he remembered what your purpose was…the reason he’d had you brought to his castle in the first place.

He reached an arm around your leg, sinking the pad of his finger into the wet, bloody mess between the slippery lips of your cunt. In the sea of your arousal, he found the swollen bud that made your walls flutter around him. You gasped, and seemingly on their own, his hips slid forward, chasing that delicious feeling of your body finally accepting him, pulling him deeper inside.

“You like that don’t you?” He bit his lip, a breathy chuckle escaping through his teeth with the knowledge that he’d found a way to settle your terror, if only for a moment. “I promise, no matter how terrible this may be, that I won’t allow you to stay like this…and-s-suffer-oh-my…”

He felt your body squeezing tighter, walls contracting around his cock. He thrust forward again, shuddering at the way you were taking him, pulling him deeper, like your body was begging for his cum, like you needed him to feed your hole until you were stuffed and overflowing.

“Mmm-m-my-lord…p-please–”

Your tone was different now, more sultry and full of desire. It was good to hear you like that, moaning instead of crying, grunting with pleasure instead of pain. This would be so much better for you once you gave in, he knew that much. He could give you everything: make your body shake with orgasm after orgasm, clothes made from the finest silks, and comforts that were reserved for only the lords and ladies of Caladan.

“Your pleas don’t go unnoticed sweetheart, don’t think me cruel, I wouldn’t do this if the circumstances were different,” he huffed, breathing becoming more ragged with every glide of his hips. “I need you…Caladan needs you–needs-you-full-ah!”

The smooth roll of his hips slowed as his seed spilled into you. You felt it, warm and slick as it coated your insides white. You felt a sensation you’d never felt, rolling over your entire body and pooling in your core, causing your legs to shake and your mind to go blank. It was euphoric; a reprieve from the pain you’d endured for what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than several minutes.

Leto felt your pussy walls squeezing, crushing down over his girth in waves while you moaned. What a sweet sound, one that made him feel mental relief that he’d given you something in return for your suffering. His finger slowed around your hardened clit, letting you come down slowly from your high.

As your pleasured whines subsided, you thought he would remove himself from you, letting your hole relax after such an ordeal, but he didn’t. The duke stayed there, hips pressed flush against your rear, making no motion to release you from his hold. You moved slightly, but he gripped tightly on your hips, keeping you firmly in place.

“No, no darling, no.” His voice was calm but raspy, still settling after his climax. “I’m going to stay like this for a moment longer, just to make sure it takes. We wouldn’t want to waste it.”

He looked down, seeing the way your body had bled on his, coating his pubic hair in a deep red shade. He felt for you, truly he did, but once you realized what an honor it was to be in your position, he knew you’d find it was worth the sacrifice. Your breathing was slowing, going back to normal, and after several moments he pulled back, letting his limp cock fall from where it had torn you open.

You groaned, feeling yourself become empty all at once. Your head hung down, neck finally too tired to hold it up any longer. You heard the duke tsk behind you, his palms pressing against your cheeks and spreading them further. The sound of dripping cum on the floor echoed through the room.

“Let’s keep it all inside, sweet one, I need you to give me a son,” he pushed his spend back inside you with his finger, what little was still there and had not fallen to the floor.

You winced and hissed, the metal holding you in place rattling once more. His thick middle-finger slid in deep, Leto shuddered as your hole clenched in response. He could hear you crying, a soft, defeated sound he wished one day would stop. But he couldn’t expect that from you, not now as he broke you in for the first time. He expected you would be like this for a while until you were used to him, used to his size, used to the way he kept you as full as possible, as often as possible.

“Your body handled me very, very well darling,” he said, idly fingering you as he spoke, continuing to push his spend back inside you. “Looks like I’ve made quite the mess of you, but don’t worry, I’ll have you cleaned up in a moment.”

He kept true to his word, once he was thoroughly satisied he’d kept his cum in you long enough, the duke turned onto his back, positioned himself between your thighs, and propped himself up on his elbows so his lips could reach your cunt with ease. A gasp shot from your lungs, the feeling of his warm mouth enveloping your sore folds bringing comfort to the ache. You moaned, a sound that represented more than just sexual pleasure, but a sound that told him you were at least accepting your fate…for the moment.

He was right, there was no more fighting, and it was clear your words weren’t going to change his goal oriented mind. His desire to have an heir was stronger than his desire to act honorably. His tongue went flat, you felt it soothing the tear of your hymen, then dragging upward and flicking once it reached the peak of your folds. You exhaled a sigh, cunt throbbing in response to the way he lapped at you masterfully.

“You know not many,” he kissed your pussy lips, “can say,” another peck, “they’ve been lucky enough to carry such an important role for Caladan. Even I’m not as important as you are right now.”

His hand reached up and pressed against your stomach while his mouth continued to melt into your cunt, soothing you even more as he cleaned you. He never felt such pride as he did in that moment, knowing that this was a good effort, even if it didn’t take. The sheer amount that he ate from you, in combination with his already discarded seed on the floor underneath him, gave the duke a sense of relief to know that he was producing sufficiently on his end. It wouldn’t take long for you to give him a healthy child, if you were indeed the girl the old woman had told him about.

You whimpered still when his tongue would touch your wound, though it was always followed with the relief of him dragging it over your clit. He slurped quietly as he continued, not making an indication that he would be stopping any time soon, despite the likelihood of you being clean already. The hand on your stomach moved, reaching up and cupping your breast, holding it and squeezing softly.

“Oh, my lord, y-yes…”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t deny the heat pooling at the base of your abdomen once again. Was it even worth trying to deny the way it felt? He was the Duke of Caladan after all. If he wanted a hundred concubines tied up to his ceiling he could take them, and no one would stop him. You should be grateful it was he who took you, and not someone who might’ve been much more cruel in their claiming of your body.

He hummed into your folds, breathing heavily through his nose as he did. His hand slid over to your waist, gripping around you and holding tight. The vibration from his moans, and the brush of his peppery beard against your thighs was causing your body to near release once more. That would only be the second time in your life that you’d felt it, and you wanted it more than you could bear.

“Mm, let yourself go my dear, I only want you to feel good from now on, now that I broke you in a little.”

His mouth never left your cunt as he spoke, his words only serving to draw your next climax from your body faster. You felt it fall over you, warm and heavy, making your body melt once more, going limp save for the involuntary crashing of your walls around the emptiness the duke had left behind. He didn’t stop until he was sure you were fully satisfied, head hanging down again and breathing returned to normal.

With a grunt he rose from beneath you. You heard him padding on his bare feet to the wardrobe on the far side of the room. If you turned your head just a little you could see him, much clearer now than before. He looked at you as he put a loose cotton shirt over his shoulders, then leaning down to pull his trousers over his legs.

“You’re simply the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said in a gentle baritone, moving back to kneel in front of you. “I do not kneel for many, but I’ll kneel for the mother of my children.”

You strained your neck to look at him once again. He cupped your cheeks to help you, seeing your struggle and feeling sorry for the part he played in your suffering. He kissed your forehead, feeling the salt from your sweaty brow upon his lips.

“I’ll return every day, at least until I’m sure you’re pregnant,” his lips curled into a compassionate smirk, “then I’ll let you rest while your belly grows.”

He stood, striding to the washroom and leaving you hanging there, like a prized animal on display. Before long, the same men who’d captured you returned, undoing most of your bonds, save for the ones holding your hands behind your back. They weren’t rough, just like before when they’d abducted you. You felt your entire body sigh, your bones and muscles feeling relieved to fall back into place.

You weren’t sure when exactly you’d conceived. It must’ve happened at some point between that first time when he tore you apart, and the following month when your period didn’t arrive when it should’ve. By then you’d become, not unlike, a piece of furniture in Duke Leto’s chambers, restraints much less restrictive and painful than your first meeting. Only a week after he’d broken you, you’d become more willing for him, crying less when he came to take you.

“I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here, despite your situation, and since you’ve become so compliant, I think I can afford to make you more comfortable,” he’d explained.

And so he had you moved to the bed. Though you weren’t completely free. That was a risk the duke could not afford. So he had metal cuffs around your wrists, and chains that connected them to the stone wall behind the bed. You could move easier, but you could never leave.

When another week went by, two weeks after your torment began, he was swelling with pride, seeing you spreading your legs upon his entry into his chambers without prompt. You said you appreciated the silken evening dress he’d had the servants craft for you, the one that fell open on either side of your hips when you presented your cunt to him. He wasn’t supposed to love you - it wasn’t necessary for him to love you - but he felt himself overwhelmed with feelings he couldn’t contain every time he saw you.

Three weeks after that first meeting, you kissed him. It was clear he’d been holding back, allowing you to maintain some level of autonomy, despite having taken your body for himself so many times. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, force you to be intimate with him if that wasn’t what you wished.

So it was a shock when he was several moments into fucking you, cock sliding wetly along your walls in a desperation to fill you with him again, and you grabbed his face on either side. His hooded eyes shot up, meeting with yours but then quickly flicking down to see your precious lips closing in. You closed your eyes, and so did he, and everything seemed to slow down for a moment, including the pace that he thrust into you.

The slow roll of his hips was heavenly, and was soon accompanied by the feeling of his hand on the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss, gliding his tongue inside your mouth so he could taste you. The duke filled you faster than ever that night, being so engulfed in the moment that he couldn’t hold on any longer.

And now, it was just over a month beyond your arrival to Castle Caladan, you were sitting with the physician while he examined you, confirming that yours and the duke’s efforts had been fruitful.

The way Leto looked at you in that moment, was a look you’d never seen before. His dark brows turned up and stitched together, soft lips parted just before a smirk curled over them. He held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, the glossy sheen of tears apparent in his eyes.

“After years of trying to produce an heir, I finally found a perfect vessel, such a precious thing,” he cooed, touching your stomach before leaning in and finding your lips with his own. “My most wonderful treasure.”

Leto heard nothing else as the doctor murmured about you, voice seeming background to where his focus lied. Part of him was still shocked that the old woman was right. She told him in his search of her prophecy that you, a normal village girl, would produce many sons for him, and she was right.

That night, the duke did everything he could for you. His kisses were softer, less desperate and more deliberate. His hands didn’t grab your flesh as a means to hold you, but rather to feel you. And when he sunk his cock into you, he did so in a way that emphasized your pleasure over his own, angling for those spots that made your body quiver.

You may not have been of noble birth, but to the duke, that night you were his empress. There wasn’t an inch of your skin that hadn’t been brushed by the coarse hair of his bearded chin. He worshiped you, giving you an evening dedicated to only your satisfaction.

For many weeks he would come into his chambers and ramble on about how proud he was, and how well you were doing. He would whisper the most depraved, while beautiful, things in your ear about how the people of Caladan owed you their lives, and how he couldn’t wait until it was time to breed you all over again. All of that praise was nothing though, not compared to the way he looked at you after coming back from his trip to Arrakis.

When he walked into his chambers, and you were there on his bed, only a couple short months away from birth, he stopped dead in his tracks. He felt like the words were trapped in his throat, and his feet were stuck to the floor. All he could do was stare, and take in the beauty before him. You were simply radiant, pregnant belly full with his son, his heir; swelling breasts nearly spilling out of your dress.

Once he found the ability to move again he slowly walked over to you, taking off his coat as he sat beside you.

“Look at you…” his voice trailed off.

“Hello my lord,” you greeted softly.

His hand reached for yours, and he was quickly reminded that you’d been a captive there, metal cuffs still wrapped around your wrists, rattling as he held you. He felt a pang in his chest, wanting desperately to release you. Every time the thought crossed his mind though, he worried you would run. You didn’t seem like you would try to leave, having become much more docile since your arrival months ago. There was also the glaring fact that you were pregnant, and it wouldn’t be easy for you to get away even if you managed to pass every one of the guards who might see you before reaching the doors of Leto’s home.

There was always that small chance though, no matter how slim, that you would leave. It was a risk he couldn’t afford to take.

He looked back at your body, eyes wide and trained on your stomach. The duke leaned in, kissing just above your navel, a satisfied hum escaping his lungs as he did. It was hard not to like him, and that was what you hated about him the most. The man was dedicated to his people, to his title, and his legacy more than anything. The longer you were around him, and the more time you’d spent under his care, the more you’d begun to understand your purpose within his walls.

The idea of the Harkonnens, or any other house for that matter, claiming the right to Caladan, should House Atreides produce no heir, was a frightful one. He broke you from your thoughts, eyes trailing up your chest and to your eyes. Your breath caught in your throat, he looked so handsome, lips slightly parted with a few stray hairs falling into his dark eyes. Despite holding you captive for the sole purpose of breeding an heir from you, you’d begun to fall for Leto Atreides, against all odds.

“My sweet girl, my darling, you’re doing so well, growing my child in your womb. I couldn’t have asked for a better woman to give me a son, to give House Atreides its heir,” he whispered, cupping your cheek, bringing his forehead to yours. “I’ve been disappointed so many times.”

“Thank you my lo-”

“No sweetheart, no, shh…” he pressed a finger to your lips gently before replacing it with a tender kiss, “you should be worshiped by Caladan, it's people…I want to worship you.”

His hand grabbed at your waist, pulling you against him into a deeper kiss. You felt his growing arousal against your thigh, followed by an involuntary rut of his hips. You whined, trying not to be bothered by the incessant ache in your chest, your engorged tits becoming too heavy and painful to bear. It was hard to focus on the duke’s soothing touch when you felt such discomfort.

He stopped kissing you, looking at you with concern, “are you alright sweet one?” His eyes trailed to your tits, “are they sore? Oh you poor thing.”

You nodded and whimpered, wincing as he pulled one of your straps down and pulled a heavy breast from its confines. Your puffy nipple had a bead of white sitting on it, threatening to trickle down the mound. His pink tongue darted out, lapping up the milk that nearly fell from your breast, and humming in approval of its taste.

“Let me help you my dear,” he said softly, leaning in and latching his mouth over your chest.

You gasped at first, the coarse brush of his beard stinging against the sensitive skin, but it very quickly gave way to a much better, more soothing sensation. You sighed in relief, feeling him suckling at your flesh, drawing out the milk that had been causing your breasts to swell beyond belief. He moaned against your skin, rolling his hips idly as he did. This was very unusual for him, to be so needy and desperate for you, clinging onto your body the way he was.

In the past, Leto would’ve just taken you if he wanted to, but with your body so soft and full with his child, he would resist. Of course he knew you could take it, you weren’t made of glass, but he wanted to give you nothing but comfort, emptying you instead of filling you with more than he already had in the past. He felt your hand reach up and grab the back of his head, delicate fingers massaging between his peppery locks.

“Mm, my darling, so sweet,” he muttered against your tit, a little milk dribbling down his lips.

You felt his hips moving more, now more deliberate before, as though he were accepting of his primal urges to find release, rather than suppress it, but still unwilling to ask you for help.

“It’s alright my lord, you haven’t…mmph…you haven’t been satisfied in some time. Do what you must.”

Even though he was trying to remain stoic and refined, your permission was all he needed to throw all that aside. With his free hand he tugged at his belt, keeping his lips pursed around your nipple as he did. You heard the unmistakable clanking and rattling metal as he found success, pulling the leather from the loops and tossing it to the ground. His dexterous fingers then made quick work of his pants, pulling them to his thighs.

Leto Atreides was a nobleman, not one to give in to such animalistic delights so easily, but something about drinking from your chest, and how perfect you were serving him and his house with your pregnancy made him feral for you. His hands were shaking as he tried to bring his cock to your hole. He’d done it so many times before, why was he struggling now?

“Sir…” you pushed him off your breast, biting your lip at the sight of him as he looked up at you.

His eyes were hooded, milk-drunk and heavy. The lips that had been suckling for a while were now pink, puffy, and covered in a white, glossy sheen. You lifted your leg, sliding yourself into a position that you were both parallel to one another. You wrapped your leg around his hip, angling his fat tip to your slippery entrance.

“You’re too precious, too g-good…oh…” His hips stuttered forward, opening you wide around his cock once again.

You hadn’t been with him in so long, your body had nearly forgotten how to take him. You winced, needing to readjust once again, but he was patient, holding himself flush against your hips while your walls moved aside for his girth. He let out, what sounded like, a low growl as he mouthed at your neglected tit. His hips remained in place, making no attempt to retreat, nor to glide in further. His cock rested there contentedly, throbbing every now and then.

He gulped, humming into your breast as he drank more, the ache in your chest slowly subsiding with every moment that passed. Eventually he moved his hips lazily, pulling back after a time before rolling back forward.

What the duke was feeling with you in that moment was more than a simple sex act. What he felt now was comfort, his cock buried in your soaking, slippery heat, and his lips pursed around your nipple. Leto swirled his tongue in a slow roll over your peaked mound, taking a moment to inhale several shaky breaths before going in for more.

The way he drew more and more milk out of you was causing your body to relax further, your walls becoming more open to his slow movements and deep strokes. A low moan escaped you, forcing his eyes to shoot up, still so dark in their feral hunger. You tugged his hair, forcing him to pull off your breast with a loud pop. Without hesitation, you kissed him, filling your mouth with a combination of your sweet fluids and the duke’s own signature taste

“You’re like no other. Not a day goes by that I don’t want to hold you close sweetheart…”

He brushed his nose against yours, eyes moving slowly from your lips, to your eyes, and back again. A swell of emotion poured through him, his desires going beyond just wanting to give you his seed, but it was something more. Your last name…it was wrong. He never wanted to take a wife, in fact, he’d vowed never to do such a thing, but you’d changed the very fiber of his being from the moment he’d found you.

“After my son is born, I’ll give you the best gift I can, the only gift I can give a woman of such importance…oh my…g…”

The duke lost himself, holding you tightly against him, though careful not to squeeze against your stomach too harshly. His choked moans vibrated against your chest while he filled you, pumping your body with his cum once again. You felt your own climax wash over your body, inspired by his own, drawing everything it could from him as it did, both of you a trembling, moaning mess.

He sighed with contentment after his mind cleared. He looked at you once more.

“I’m going to keep you,” he kissed your lips breathlessly, “I’m going to keep you here with me. I’m going to give you my name, and until the day I die you’ll be mine, my precious thing.” He pecked you again, and then pressed his lips to your stomach.

“I can’t wait to have your name, sir, and to be able to walk around the castle freely,” you said softly.

Leto’s blood ran cold.

Walk around freely…

Perhaps you’d misunderstood him, in fact, he was certain of it. He could see how his words may have been misconstrued. Evidently he would need to be more clear with you. The duke’s gaze darkened when he looked back into your eyes.

“My sweet girl.” He cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead. “Until the day you are barren, I cannot risk any harm to you, nor your body.” His words were chilling, but his gaze was warm.

“You’ll never leave this room, so long as I can help it.”

Duke Leto Atreides Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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dottores · 1 year

Text

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part, forbidden love, slow burn.

warnings: fem!reader, age gap, lots of worldbuilding for snezhnaya & the fatui & fontaine, dottore is his own warning, angst and romance, none others that i can think of off the top of my head. each chapter will have its own warnings, it is self-ship coded, and i will take liberty with dottore’s known lore.

status: incomplete. updates sporadic, at least monthly.

taglist: 50/50 (CLOSED. if you would like to be on it, still comment here—i’m going to periodically go through and remove people who don’t interact, and then i’ll add you)

notes: sigh i wanted to give my beluved a little series. this is something i’ll be working on in my free time for fun, so updates will be sporadic, i was gonna post the reincarnation fic butttt that one is a little too dear to my heart ALL SEGMENTS THAT SHOW UP IN THIS SERIES ARE MINE ‼️ i created them, do not take them to use for yourself.

00. THE SEGMENTS

01. MIDWINTER

02. JOY

03. THE COLOR PURPLE

04. THE FAMILY JEWELS

05. AN INEXORABLE DEATH

06. RISE OF A KING, FALL OF A QUEEN

07. A WARM WELCOME

08. THE DOCTOR

09. THE TIES THAT BIND

10. GENESIS

11. DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

12. SPIT IN MY FACE

13. ALEA IACTA EST

… TBA

SIDE STORIES

THREE TIMES THE SEGMENTS MET YOU WITHOUT REALIZING IT, AND ONE TIME THEY DID.

rbs appreciated!

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x you

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metalheads-trash-bin · 4 months

Text

Hello everyone! My name is Toby, I’m a beginner writer and love to make shit uber realistic for readers. Here’s all the info about my stuff!

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Key:

Ships

Notices

Warnings

Fandoms

Baseline importance

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So far I have three fanfics, a fourth is on the way.

All of my fics will be linked down below! They are wips, so please be patient. Each has their own schedule so make sure to read!

All fanfics will have nsfw, and I don’t mean the basic “stick penis in hole” shit. I mean detailed, loving, and non vanilla nsfw.

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TROLLS:

The first one is my all time fav: Fliff! It goes into Floyd’s trauma, his healing, and realistic dynamics between the characters. This fanfic will be updated twice a week, it used to be updated every day but that’s not survivable long term for me ^^

The second one is Breek! Creek is in no way infantilized in this fanfic. I look at things in a psychological aspect and make damn well sure he’s not babygirlified. This fic goes into Creek’s trauma, Branch’s trauma, allll the trauma, a bunch of healing, and a little bit of angst. It’s updated whenever I feel, but it won’t be abandoned or rarely touched!

The third one is John Dory x Reader! In this it talks about JD’s trauma, some headcanons of his diagnostics, and a bunch of intimate stuff and heart to heart stuff. He is not glamorized in this fic, instead he’s recovering and in therapy. He also has a smallll teeny weeny alcohol issue, but he’s in therapy for that as well! The reader is a trans male, fat L if you can’t handle that. <3 It’s updated whenever I feel just like the Breek fic, but it won’t be abandoned or rarely touched!

The fics are interconnected, so if you see a ship or lore that’s in one of them, assume it’ll be mentioned or involved in the other!

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CREEPYPASTA:

I am currently working on ideas for a rework of a Jeff x reader fic I read. It had a really nice plot but the execution was absolutely horrendous + it was abandoned. I’ll type more info as I update!

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Where else you can contact me or see my content:

Insta: _.metalheads.trash.bin._

Twitter: _mhs_trash_bin_

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And with that…

!!Release the hounds!!

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TROLLS:

Summary:

Floyd is forced into therapy after Branch takes him to his annual checkup since he's staying with him.

Branch's reason for sending him being that he notices Floyd's facade of "being fine" and totally not traumatized even toward a doctor. This leads to him sitting in therapy, which in turn gives him homework. Whats the first assignment you ask?

Making friends besides your brothers and Poppy.

Who better than Barb, the queen of rock, as a starting point??

Summary:

It was the last few weeks of fall, Branch heading to the forest to get the final harvest for the season. There were rumors of an animal lurking around the farm, he didn't realize that that animal was a familiar face.

Summary:

You're a metal/rock troll starting a new life in Pop Village. During one of your bonding activities with Branch, you notice a large creature in the meadow.

Why not pay the owner a visit??

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CREEPYPASTA:

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PS. I have a shit ton of playlists on Spotify of ships, characters, and more! Check em out down below~

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Enjoy! <3

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qingxin-dream · 8 months

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“Just One Good Thing”

summary | it’s hard to love someone who is broken, and even harder when two broken people love so deeply it hurts. (art credits: @/pastahands on twitter).

warnings | not proofread/vent writing, scaramouche lore spoilers, brief graphic depiction of death, illness, loss, profanity, TW heavy mental health topics, self-hatred, dissociation, depression, suicidal thoughts/ideation, graphic description of self-harm wounds, fear of abandonment, guilt, reader is hospitalized

genre | angst, hurt, comfort

word count | 2.5k

pairing | wanderer x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

This was not the first time the puppet experienced betrayal.

How could you have known? It was long before you came into existence, hundreds of years of anguish buried in layers upon layers beneath his artificial constitution. He had once been but an innocent, naive babe with the world sparkling in the reflection of his violet eyes, meant for something greater. He had once fulfilled a purpose.

To be brought into the world against your will, crafted from the divine hand of a grieving Archon, only to have every semblance of your being ripped from you and cast aside in the name of so-called mercy—is a fate akin to death itself.

You never knew his past.

How he was once an eccentric named Kabukimono who wandered from Shakkei Pavilion and made friends with the blade smiths of Tatarasuna. His first taste of human life was amid a blazing furnace and the clamoring of a hammer onto hot metal, learning what it meant to labor and create. He had grown to love the little village as his own, playing with the children and sipping on the bitter taste of tea leaves with his comrades.

The puppet who had called himself Kabukimono was painfully ignorant to the cruelty of fate.

He could have never fathomed the day he would hold the future of his village in his trembling, pale hands as the toxic Tatarigami fumes envelope him in chemicals. There he climbed deep inside the Mikage Furnace, the unique resilience of his artificial body left unharmed by the inhospitable temperatures glowing hot against his divine skin. Any normal human would’ve perished a thousand times over.

Inside the foreign device that promised to save his home lay the bloody, withering heart cut fresh from his closest companion’s chest.

“You are a human, Kabukimono,” Niwa had insisted with a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, a comforting hand resting on the eccentric’s shoulder. “You just don’t have a heart.”

Yet there the puppet stood, his voice robbed from his aching throat, cradling the very essence of his friend’s humanity in his palm.

It was his fault. What a foolish creature he was to ever involve himself with humans, whom he could only bring suffering. His tears were evaporated instantly as the grotesque realization dawned on the distraught young Kabukimono. He would later discover that he had been betrayed by a man who introduced himself as Escher but was known among the Fatui as The Doctor.

The dirty pads of his bare feet had thumped through the rocky village path and down the dirt roads leading to the outskirts of the rural Inazuman wilderness. Crows rustled in the trees and flapped their feathers into the sky, jeering at the desolate and abandoned settlement.

The village should have been evacuated. All who could have been saved were rushed as far away as possible from the poisonous Tatarigami. Rows upon rows of homes and businesses were eerily vacant. Kabukimono, in his watery hysterics, had not paid any mind to his surroundings, leaving behind the only home he ever had for good.

That is, until he stumbled across a young boy who lived under an old sakura tree. Kabukimono immediately felt the void in his chest wrench with visceral guilt upon learning that the child’s parents were crafts-people. The house was utterly empty except for the lonely little boy.

For as much as the puppet wanted nothing more than to rid himself of human companionship, he felt responsible for the loss of the boy’s parents. He had an obligation to see that he was taken care of and safe from the Tatarigami. If he could not have saved his friends, perhaps he could atone for his sins in raising the orphaned child—who reminded him too much of himself.

“Promise me,” Kabukimono spoke up with a bit of a hoarse tone, his voice cracking with emotion, extending a shaky hand to the young boy. “That we can be family. I will watch over you.”

“Like a big brother?” asked the innocent boy with a hopeful smile. He wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, taking the eccentric’s hand in his own. “I’ve always wanted one… I promise, we will be family.”

For a short while, the puppet had learned to push the turmoil plaguing his conscience to the back of his mind. His focus had shifted entirely to ensuring the boy’s safety and happiness, trying to scavenge food for him and exchanging stories under the moonlight. Although, Kabukimono flinched with each cough from the boy that shattered the silence between them as they went to sleep.

He hated that he recognized the symptoms. The residue of the Tatarigami had somehow infected the child, no doubt. A dreadful thought occurred to him—perhaps he had given the sickness to the orphaned child after what happened at the Mikage Furnace. The idea was enough to eat him alive with worry. Kabukimono had secretly prayed that the boy would endure the illness.

The puppet had worked tirelessly to give him the best he possibly could. If his coughs were dry, he would fetch him water. If his stomach rumbled, he would prepare some Lavender Melons. If he needed a friend, Kabukimono would be there to hold his hand as he slept like a guardian angel.

The day the elderly sakura tree shed its pretty pink blossoms was the day the boy was found unresponsive.

Kabukimono, too, found himself hollow and devoid. What did it mean to be family? What did it mean to love? What was the point of having such worthless emotions?

A blazing inferno consumed the darkness of the night sky. Crackling embers swirled and smoke bellowed in the rural countryside as a rickety house succumbed to a hellish fate. No one was there to witness the flaming spectacle. No one to help, or save the vacant violet eyes of a nameless puppet who clutched a small doll in his lap.

It was laughable, truly, how sick and twisted the world could be. The puppet couldn’t fulfill his creator’s wishes, nor could he befriend humanity, or have a heart of his own. Oh, to perish in a fiery death would be far too simple for Celestia’s liking, wouldn’t it?

For five hundred years, Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche—no matter who he became—the feeling of inadequacy remained.

His divinely-created body was an immortal prison, shackling him to his sins. As a Fatui Harbinger, no needle, blade, or poison of the Doctor could kill him. No enemy or magic of the Abyss could ultimately break him. The puppet was built to withstand the likes of the Cataclysm that had taken his creator’s sister, yet the scars of these experiments litter his fair skin are a reminder that he is indeed alive.

Wanderer vividly remembers his dark fascination with testing his limits in the depths of his dissociation. Anything to serve as penance for the irreversible destruction he had inflicted upon his friends, his family, and his home. If he was lucky, perhaps the Doctor would find a way to end his misery or the maddening darkness of the Abyss would swallow him whole once and for all.

Even forsaking his autonomy and identity as Scaramouche to ascend to godhood would be a fitting death for the puppet. After all, the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom would never bow to his emotions like a weakling. Losing himself to infinite knowledge and truth would be a good ending, despite the insanity that would befall him.

All that mattered is he would cease to exist.

But it was you who defeated him, in all his might and glory as a fake Archon pumped full of divine wisdom and the sludgy remains of dead gods. It was you who found him after he tried to erase every part of his worthless being from Irminsul, and helped him pick up the pieces of himself in the aftermath.

The reality that lies within Irminsul had given him a new perspective as the Wanderer. Though he retained the poignant memories of his sins, Wanderer made sure to carve a special space in the void of his artificial body just for you. His savior.

Not a single one of those instances—absolutely fucking none of them—could ever compare to the morbid and desperate pit of despair that ravages Wanderer at the sight of your fragile body curled up in a white hospital gown. You are hooked up to a myriad of monitors and machines, wires and tubes tangling your frame like chains. The distant beep of the electrocardiogram is burned into Wanderer’s mind.

It’s your heartbeat, and the very reason for his continued existence. You had been reduced to small blip on a computer screen.

The hospital room was otherwise silent. The windows had the blinds slightly drawn, a cool ray of moonlight washing over Wanderer’s disheveled indigo hair from behind. Even if you were unconscious, Wanderer had wanted to tuck you in for the night, but he was terrified of hurting you. The fluorescent white light above your bed was off, bathing you both in warm darkness.

In the late hours, all Wanderer could do was stare at you with eyes reddened from crying, his crimson eyeliner smudged at the edge of lashes. He would occasionally lick his dry lips, which were chapped and peeling. The sting of the dead skin on his lips being tugged between his teeth was a momentary release from the overwhelming anxiety dwelling within.

His thin fingers are intertwined with yours on the hospital bed, one of the few ways the puppet can keep himself grounded in this moment. Every once in awhile, he’ll give your hand a gentle squeeze followed by a few broken wishes for you to open your eyes again. To see the life in you and hear your sweet voice again.

Sometimes it would get to be too much. Wanderer would raise your hand and kiss your knuckles with hot, salty tears pricking at his eyes. The stinging sensation would force his eyelids closed, sorrow streaming down his stained cheeks. He was sure that this was a result of his own shortcomings.

Your arms are wrapped in bandages with a few stitches here and there lying underneath. A deathly pale color flushed your beautiful face. And oh, Archons, those eyes of yours he had always adored endlessly were sunken darkly into your face, hidden in your slumber. His gaze drifted to your lips, still full and pink, perhaps his last vestige of hope as they parted for your sacred breaths.

To imagine you’re suffering as much as he had in his past is utterly unthinkable to Wanderer.

The only difference is your fragile mortality. He knows your pain now, he can see it carved onto your wrists in what must have been a frenzied meltdown.

Some cuts are lighter and faded, meaning this certainly isn’t the first time you hurt yourself. Other gashes in your arm are deeper and swollen, each one weighs on the puppet’s heart greater than the last. He couldn’t count how many times you must have taken that razor to your wrist. Wanderer silently curses himself for letting this happen to you.

“How stupid could I be? Letting her away from me,” he quietly lamented with his head in hands, fingers curling around his indigo locks tightly. “I had just one good thing.”

Rocking himself gently in the chair next to you, Wanderer continuously tugs at his hair to an almost extreme degree, unable to handle the anger, betrayal, and sadness overcoming him. He was practically attached to you at the hip, he should’ve noticed when your voice faltered or when your eyes betrayed your words. He should’ve seen the signs of you slipping through his fingers.

Even if every day wasn’t perfect, even if sometimes you both said hurtful things to each other, neither of you never truly meant it. Wanderer couldn’t bear to imagine not waking up next to you, the morning sunlight kissing your silhouette like an angel. He never thought that he’d find his purpose in you, in the most mundane moments that he cherished so deeply.

He knew you had a history of mental health struggles. So did he. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give you his everything—fingers entwined and sweat glistening on your bodies as he made you his for the umpteenth time.

The echo of the puppet’s soft sobs dissipates into the emptiness of the hospital room. His whole body is shaking with emotional agony. It’s the first time in centuries that he has allowed himself to feel vulnerable like this. How could he not when the love of his life—the meaning of his existence—had tried to take themselves out of it?

Wanderer finally releases his hair, taking your left hand again and passionately pressing his lips to your bare ring finger as an unspoken promise. You both had worked so hard to love better and be better. He wasn’t about to give you up.

There would never be another you in eternity.

He couldn’t bear the heavy burden on his heart anymore. Carefully, he pulled the thin blanket back and climbed into the hospital bed next to you. His fingers trembled at the contact, feeling your faint warmth. Wanderer gently pulled you close so that your head was safely tucked into his chest and he could rest his chin on your soft hair. He sighed, covering you both in the blanket once more.

Sobs tugged at his chest and his grip on you momentarily tightened. Though tears glistened at the corner of his broken violet eyes, Wanderer blinked them back with a shaky breath. You were in his arms and his world was made whole again.

“I love you, (Y/N),” his voice is gravely and barely audible. “I love you so fucking much… don’t you dare think otherwise.”

The puppet nuzzles his nose into your scalp, breathing in your familiarity like it’s home. He begins to play with your hair gently, combing and caressing your soft strands with his fingertips painted in black.

“You scared the shit out of me, you know…” Wanderer kisses your hair, closing his eyelids for a long moment to memorialize the feeling of your skin on his lips. “But I’m gonna get you out of here, baby. I’m gonna get you help, okay?”

His toned arms keep your body pressed to his, wanting to feel every part of your being entangled with him as it should be. The tickling sensation of your little breaths on his neck brought a small smile to his face because it meant you were sleeping comfortably and most importantly, alive. You were the missing piece in his puzzle, fitting perfectly into place with him.

“It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay,” the puppet whispers to you, hoping you could hear and feel his love in every way, shape, and form possible. His words also served as an assurance to himself because in this moment he felt so helpless, seeing the wounds on your precious skin.

“I won’t let anything hurt you anymore,” Wanderer solemnly vows, his voice slowly but surely trailing off as he succumbs to his exhaustion with you held close to his heart.

“Goodnight, my love.”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.

#wrote something much darker for a change #been listening to ‘heather’ by ruby haunt💔#[opulent dreams].✿#[dreams of delusion].✿#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin wanderer #wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer angst #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst

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shikai-the-storyteller · 11 months

Text

A summary of the Guapoduo lore today because my heart is in tatters

Roier and Quackity are doing a bit and fighting each other at the Oxxo. Roier says "Help!" in chat. Cellbit sees it and gets worried, asking where he is.

Roier doesn't respond, so Cellbit gets even more worried. He starts checking the map to see where Roier is despite the fact he's in a dungeon with Forever

Eventually, Cellbit warps over to the Oxxo to check on Roier (he's fine). They have some banter, and Cellbit says he wants to talk to Melissa / the psychologist about something. Roier asks why he wants to talk to Melissa instead of him, and Cellbit says it's just because he wants to get something off his chest.

Quackity says he knows a doctor and relogs as Doctor Simi. They go to Roier's psychology office and ask Roier to wait outside so Cellbit can have a private conversation with Doctor Simi (Quackity).

(Roier secretly stays outside on the roof and listens to the conversation)

Cellbit confesses that he and Abueloier (Roier's "Abuelo" who visited the Island for the wedding) got into a fight because Abueloier was trying to stop / ruin their marriage. In the first incident, Cellbit was triggered by a cellphone and jail cell (which reminded him of his past) and he says he "accidentally" stabbed Abueloier 7 times. He says Abueloier pulled a chainsaw on him next, which triggered him more because Cucurucho attacked and tortured him with a chainsaw, and he stabbed Abueloier again and then buried his body

Doctor Simi (Quackity) tells Cellbit to lie to Roier, but when Roier comes back inside, Cellbit tells him the truth. Roier says he already knew, but he's disappointed and sad and doesn't want to talk to Cellbit.

Roier says he seriously needs to consider whether he still wants to marry Cellbit, and runs off.

As Cellbit is about to warp away, Doctor Simi (Quackity) attacks and kills Roier. Cellbit cancels the warp and runs to protect Roier, but Quackity is able to get around him and hit Roier one more time (killing him) then logs out.

Cellbit sets up a spawn trap and tries to kill Quackity when he logs back in, furious that he tried to kill his fiance.

Eventually the three of them all meet up again, and Quackity tries to help smooth things over (and even resorts to flat out lying and saying it's a cultural difference). Roier says he needs to find his Abuelo's body.

Cellbit tells him it’s fine if he doesn’t want to talk or if he needs time to think and asks Roier to remember one thing, and then he hands him an Amaranth (a flower that means eternal love -- the same flower he left in a chest for Roier when the Federation infiltration plan went wrong)

They part ways, and Richarlyson hunts down Roier to talk to him. Richarlyson: He loves you very much, he was just scared that Abueloier would try to ruin the wedding. Roier: My Abuelo didn’t ruin our wedding. Cellbit did. There is no justification Richarlyson, imagine that someone came and tries to kill your dad. Richarlyson: But he’s sorry Roier: Yes, it’s fine, and I already forgave him, but right now I don’t want to see him, and I’m not going to marry him. First I want to know where my grandfather is. Richarlyson: But if you spend a lot of time away from him, he’ll be sad Roier: And I’m sad too

Ultimately, Roier says he still likes Cellbit, but he's sad and he wants to be alone.

Roier warps to Cellbit's castle to drop off Richarlyson, and barely says anything to him. Right as Roier is warping away, Cellbit says "I love you." Roier doesn't hear him.

Richarlyson chases down Roier to tell him Cellbit said he loves him. Cellbit chases after Richarlyson and tells Roier he doesn't want to pressure him. Cellbit: I just wanted to talk... I don't want you to feel pressured, I understand if you don't want to come back. [...] Even if you change your mind, I want you to know that the time I spent with you was very important to me, you were the only person who trusted in me. You were there when no one else was. Roier: Thank you. Thank you. Me... Me too Cellbit, but right now I'm sad, and angry.

Cellbit says goodbye in the usual way, calling Roier guapito and Roier responds saying “Goodbye Cellbit,” not calling him gatinho.

[Roier's POV] Roier wonders if he'll ever be happy again, and that Roier cubito being happy isn't canon. Roier: First the tacos, then Bobby… and now gatinho… what’s next? [...] Roier: Today they betrayed me again, they stabbed me in the back once more. Today, I’d put on my old clothes (Spider-man outfit) because I felt good… but not anymore.

[Cellbit's POV] Cellbit asks Dapper if he thinks he can revive Abueloier with a Death Totem. Bad doesn’t like the idea and is trying to discourage them, but Cellbit says it’s the only thing that can fix his marriage

Cellbit says he’s willing to sell his soul, to do anything to get Roier back, saying "There are no rules when you consider love" and "I WANT TO BE GAY MARRIED WITH MY HUSBAND"

Dapper says he may need someone related to Abueloier, so Cellbit says he’ll hold off the occultism until Roier comes back online.

Cellbit says he’s willing to sell his soul in order to get Abueloier back and make Roier happy. He says he will make this marriage happen – then elaborates and says, "but only if Roier wants to," he wouldn’t do it without Roier’s consent.

That's about it for now! We'll have to wait and see what happens next.

#Roier #Cellbit #QSMP #Guapoduo #Spiderbit #i talk #qsmp talk

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jo-harrington · 19 days

Text

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 3: Lore Dump

Previous Chapter: Out of Character

Summary: After your bombshell revelation, Eddie finds it difficult to wrap his head around what is now his reality to empathize with your shared predicament.

Word Count: 8k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lore Dump (literally), Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Various References to Movies and Television, Criticism of Fanfiction, Meta Fiction

Note: Ok besties here we are and the chapter, or at least one part of it, is very much as the title says. It's a Lore Dump as we figure out how Reader and Eddie have found themselves in this predicament. Warning everyone that it might be a little mind-fucky but a lot more will be explained in detail in future chapters. We've only just scratched the surface here.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

You'd never run so much in your entire life.

Alright, that might have been a little dramatic.

But that didn't mean it wasn't true.

"Is it always like this?" you panted as you chased after the flopping brown coat of the man a few steps ahead of you. "With the running?"

"Oh yes!" he called out. He looked back at you with a charming, crooked grin and pointed ahead. "You'll get used to it. Allons-y!"

This whole nightmare started when you crashed your car into, what you thought was, an unassuming blue "police box."

And now, several days later, you were running, ducking, diving...surviving all manner of monsters that seemingly popped up out of nowhere in the middle of Texas. With a goofy man with unbrushed hair and a buzzing screwdriver called The Doctor, and his companion--whatever that meant; it sounded suspicious to you--Martha, who kept staring at you like you'd grown another head.

You supposed adventure was the idea when you left the borders of Port Geneva proper, but this kind of adventure wasn't exactly what you had in mind. Static monsters who could literally take the words out of your mouth and a hive-mind controlling overlord whose goal it was to steal knowledge.

You might have been a lover of fantastical stories, but this was something beyond your wildest fantasies, and apparently something Martha and the Doctor encountered regularly, if their cool reaction to some of the atrocities you'd seen was indicator enough.

They both seemed to have it in mind that you were joining them for this type of ordeal from now on, though.

Especially the Doctor, if that "you'll get used to it" was something to go by.

"Come on, faster, faster," Martha called out to you from the threshold of a solid metal door just up ahead. "They can't get in through the iron."

You pumped your legs faster and ignored the burn in your lungs as you passed the Doctor and joined Martha in the safety of the bunker, with the man of the hour himself following shortly after. Martha slammed the door shut and then used the sonic to ensure the lock would hold.

They let you have a moment to catch your breath as they strategized plans for the next steps, which seemed impossible now that you were stuck in a bunker filled with junk and no exit.

"Nothing's impossible," the Doctor exclaimed as though he could read your mind. Maybe he could; you wouldn't put it past him. "And we're not stuck."

He removed the brown trench coat and got to work sorting through the junk in the bunker, while Martha took a seat beside you and patted your knee.

"You should be proud of yourself," she said gently. "It's really hard, dealing with all of this. And I've been with him for almost a year now. All the running, the monsters, all of the...impossible--

"Nothing's impossible Martha," the Doctor interjected.

"--improbable things," she amended. "It doesn't get easier, but you will get used to it. Besides, you'd think you were on the track team like Sam with how fast you've been running. Maybe you should have been the star relay runner instead of her."

Martha might have laughed.

But you didn't.

You felt a cold sense of dread overtake you. You'd told them about your friends back home earlier in the day, when you'd panicked over your impending doom. You cried and told them you wished you were still back there, safe and sound; in hindsight, it was a pathetic moment.

It wasn't what you'd said that gave you pause now, though; it's what you hadn't.

"Martha," you muttered nervously. "How did you know that Sam did relay?"

Martha's eyes went wide and she looked to the doctor in a sudden panic.

"I...I never told you she was on the track team."

It was a standoff.

A staring contest.

You and Eddie watched each other, unblinking, as if to see who would break first.

Eddie knew it would probably be him because his mind was racing, but he would give you the chance to repeat yourself, or elaborate, or maybe yell "surprise" first.

None of those things happened of course, so he was left in stunned silence trying to formulate the words to respond to your groundbreaking revelation.

We are in a fanfiction.

Fanfiction.

He had heard about fanfiction before. Drove the guys out to some comic book shop in Fort Wayne to celebrate Jeff's birthday and the nerds behind the counter were talking about a Star Trek fanfiction they read in some celebratory fan magazine.

He'd honestly never thought about Kirk and Spock like that and he really didn't want to again.

Even though it kind of made sense.

He just wasn’t that big of a Trek guy either.

But damn, even though he and the guys might not have been the popular kids, they were definitely not dorky like that, were they?

Except that they were. He was.

He wrote his favorite characters into his DnD campaigns as NPCs and he fantasized about what it would be like if he was Han Solo instead of Han himself, and tucked away in a drawer at home, there was definitely that story about you...

"Shit," he finally breathed out, blinking and breaking eye contact with you. "Shit, I did this. I mean, I know I did this, but did...did I do this?"

"What?" You frowned at him. "What do you mean, did you do this? Eddie, did you hear what I said?"

"No, yeah, of course I did," he began rambling. "I just...before you showed up in Hawkins, I...I wrote about you. I wrote about you leaving Port Geneva and coming to Hawkins and meeting me and...fuck...that means you know."

You stared at him blankly.

"You know that Port Geneva is a TV show," he clarified and then ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus Christ, how did I...how could I have done this? Shit. Shit."

You crossed the short distance and took a seat on the couch beside him, comforting hand finding his knee instantly.

"Eddie--"

"I'm sorry I did this. I'm sorry I just...you're my...my favorite character and I..."

"--you didn't do this. Someone else did."

He took a few breaths, heart pounding in his chest, and then swallowed hard.

"Who?"

"That's...a little harder to answer. But I think the thing you need to focus on right now--the thing you're missing--is that we are in a fanfiction. You and me. Together. Because I'm not the only one from a TV show. You are too."

Eddie was dumbstruck for a second.

Well, he was pretty dumbstruck about this whole thing. But he only had a second to really process it, because the next thing he knew, you were in his lap, lips pressed to his, hands fisting his jacket, and the door to the greenroom burst open as his friends walked in.

You pulled away from him as the catcalls and whistles and jokes began and glanced over your shoulder at the guys to bite your lip bashfully.

"Ah, looks like the original song worked after all," Jeff teased.

"Good, cuz then we don't have to play it anymore, bleh," Gareth stuck his tongue out. "You know, for everything you preach about metal and only metal Eddie, you sure wrote some sappy Greg Brady shit."

Eddie's ears rang as he answered. Well, as his mouth moved and voice spoke, saying something that got everyone laughing. Something that he had no control over once again. You turned back to him and he widened his eyes in some silent plea but you simply shook your head at him.

Instead you leaned forward and kissed him again, softer this time. Gentler. Different from the unexpected kiss just moments before, this was one of understanding and comfort.

He relaxed under your touch.

"Alright guys," you announced as you pulled away, words and tone of your voice not quite matching the softness of your gaze as you continued to watch him. "Your set's over. You don't have to go home but you can't stay here. Bev wants you out."

"What was all of that?" he demanded as you stepped out of your car.

After driving the guys home, he sat on your porch and waited. Chain smoking and lost in his thoughts until you got back to Forest Hills after your shift.

"Can I at least get inside first?" you asked with a nervous laugh. "Do you want to wake Granny up? Jesus."

He was on your heels as you unlocked your door and stepped inside, almost followed you to your bedroom when you said you'd wanted to change into PJs, and even declined a soda when you got settled back in the living room.

And once you couldn't stall for any more time, sitting next to each other on your couch, he stared at you and begged, "please, I need to know I'm not in a nightmare here. Or dead."

You let out a honk of laughter and then reached over to take his hand in yours, and he felt the slight edge of abject terror start to lessen.

"You're not in a nightmare," you reassured him. "Or dead."

"Then...then what is this?" he whispered desperately. "Is this a trick? A joke? Start from the beginning. Please."

You took a breath and began.

"It's fanfiction." You hummed contemplatively for a moment. "This is...I don't know when it started, actually. For me, that is. For you...well, there's no way we could say for sure; I can only talk about my own experience."

You paused and then said your name, the same way that you had introduced yourself originally. And then Eddie realized that you were introducing yourself again as you squeezed his hand in yours.

"I was born and raised in Port Geneva, and then in 1985 after graduation, I left to start my adventure. And from that moment on--for years--I got to have it. I got to have...a hundred adventures. A thousand. A million maybe? As many adventures as there have been people to imagine them. As many adventures as there have been fans to write them.

"Fans like you, Eddie," you smiled at him. "You said you wrote a story where I came to see you."

"Yeah," he nodded, cheeks hot under your gaze. "I did."

"And I'm your favorite character?"

He thought about you, thought about himself and the countless nights that he watched you on the screen.

"How could you not be my favorite?" he asked gently in return.

Your gaze turned soft and you looked down at his hand, clasped tightly within yours, and then you continued with your story.

"I got to see the world, got to meet so many people, I got to fall in love...except I never realized it. Until...until I met him."

"Him?" Eddie asked sharply, thoughts immediately spiraling.

Love.

You said love.

Who was this Him that you were in love with? Even through Eddie's confusion and panic about the predicament he was currently in, he could still feel a bitter jealousy roiling deep inside his gut.

"The Doctor," you whispered.

"Doctor Who?"

You snorted. "Exactly."

"I don't get it," he shook his head.

"Doctor Who...that's...it's the name of a television show. Been around for a long time, but I'm not sure how popular it is here. If it even exists. You have a lot of media that we didn't have in Port Geneva but there's a few things that...I dunno...that your writers haven't mentioned. Or The Writer hasn't included yet."

You explained it to him, or the gist of it at least.

An immortal time-traveling alien and his usually human companion, all of the adventures and misadventures and danger. Being able to go to different times and timelines and universes.

In any other scenario, it would have sounded cool. Maybe a little scary. But now, all Eddie could think about was this mess you were in.

"And...this Doctor...he's what brought you to Hawkins?" he questioned hesitantly, figuring that it made the most sense. "He thought he was bringing you back to Port Geneva's universe and brought you here instead?"

"Uh, no," you frowned. "That was The Writer. The Author. Whatever you want to call them."

"Because this is a fanfiction."

"Yeah. That was. And this is. I just...didn't know it yet. I didn't realize it was fanfiction until later. But, uh, whoever wrote that crossover story just brought me from my world into Doctor Who, and that was when I realized I was a fictional character from a TV Show. Because they wrote me as a character who jumped from a television show into the 'real world' of the Doctor and his friends."

Just like you were now: a fictional character in his world.

"It's hard to explain, but the Doctor made me aware of it. Made it make sense." You faltered. "Well...not really, but that's when it started. He told me that I wasn't real--"

"Wait,” he interrupted you. “But you said I was from a tv show back at the hideout. So you're telling me I'm not real?"

"Ed--"

"Because you’re from a tv show and so am I and this Doctor is too.”

“I wouldn’t try to think about it so hard.”

“Is that...the Doctor told you that you were a character in a TV show and you weren't real? And that's what you're telling me right now too?"

"It's hard to explain--"

"Because I don't know sweetheart," Eddie chuckled sardonically and shook his hands out of yours so he could run them over his face, through his hair. "I...I feel plenty real. And if there's anyone who isn't real here...well, I have a stack of video tapes back home that can provide enough evidence."

He’d thought about the barebones of it when he’d been outside waiting for you to get home, but faced with the truth of it now, the dominoes were starting to fall.

He was real, he had to be. His whole life, all of his memories, all of his friends, what about th—

"Can you let me fucking finish?" you snapped at him with a sharp clap.

His shoulders heaved and he stared at you with wild eyes.

"You're real," you explained calmly. "I'm real. We're both real. Real people. Real lives. Real memories. For the most part."

Eddie didn't like the sound of that.

"But this world...is your world and I don't belong here. Just like I didn't belong in the Doctor's world either. He explained it to me in some way I didn't quite understand; I'm just a girl from the midwest. I barely graduated high school and suddenly he was telling me there was some cosmic anomaly that pulled me out of my world, my tv show world, and that I was transported into his world. It was wild.

“The important thing though was that he didn't know how to get me home. So, until he could figure it out, I was stuck. And I traveled with him for a while. With him and his friend Martha…and then with another friend Donna. Until somewhere at the end of it all...I died."

Eddie's heart stopped in his chest; you...died?

The question was stuck on his lips, the demand to know more, but he felt himself choke up when he thought about it. Even more when he watched the tears well in your eyes as you remembered your own death.

"I died alone, bleeding out in the middle of an alien planet..." you recalled, wrenching your eyes shut. There was a beat of silence and he let you have a moment to recover. He watched your eyes dart around beneath your eyelids as you gathered your thoughts, as you recalled whatever horror you went through. When you were through, you blinked and looked up at him with the weight of a thousand truths in your gaze. "And then I wasn't dead anymore."

"What?!"

"Well obviously I'm alive,” you motioned down to yourself. “Maybe I’m a little worse for wear inside but I’m fine. Back then though...I was dead. One second I was in oblivion. And then next, I woke up in the driver's seat of my car, outside of a hotel in Odessa, Texas. With a man from the future named Hiro Nakamura, who told me I had to save the cheerleader if I wanted to save the world.

"And it all just started over again," you sighed.

You recounted this next place to him. Places, actually; plural. Names that meant nothing to him but seemed to mean something to you--Hiro, Claire, Peter, Sylar--and it all sounded fantastic. Another unbelievable adventure, but there was still something off.

"I...I tried to ask questions. About where I was, about where the Doctor was. It was always ignored. I tried to control things but it seemed like I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried. Tried to do things that I instinctively knew I wanted to do, but I just couldn't. It seemed like there was something controlling me instead. Like I was a puppet on a string. And everything that happened around me...never seemed to make any sense, no matter how hard I tried to wrap my head around it.

"Sound familiar?" you asked.

Eddie scoffed, thinking about the traumatic, out of control moments he had had the past few days. That hopeless, helpless, sinking feeling he'd had.

"It fucking sucks, sweetheart. You feel like that...all the time?"

"You get used to it." You shook your head. "Get used to playing along. I learned that really quickly; I resigned myself to this life where I was just a passenger in my own body. Until I realized if I just played the part that whatever forces-that-be wanted me to play, I could have a little more control."

There was a tense pause as you let Eddie absorb the information. And absorb it he did. He didn't like it, the idea that he had to play a part; it was something he'd been fighting all his life. But maybe if you said it was something that would make him feel more in control, he could try.

He turned to the next thought ever-present in his mind.

"So," he cleared his throat to start again. "How do you know this is a fanfiction? When did you figure that out? Because...when you showed up, I thought about all the possibilities--a dream, a nightmare, hell, heaven, a portal, a wormhole like in a comic book--and that was never one of them."

"Because of the interviews."

"Interviews..."

"They're fun and silly, I guess," you shrugged apathetically. "You'll be in the middle of your life, middle of your day, middle of a fight...and then the world goes dark and you'll find yourself sitting in a room alongside the people you know...and The Writer. An Interview with the Characters.

"I was already familiar with the fact that I was from a television show and in a world I didn't belong in. But I was the only person aware of that fact; to the Doctor, I was a fictional character, but here Port Geneva the television show...didn't exist. I was just another citizen of planet earth, and my home was a real place on the map, as real as Odessa or New York.

"But suddenly my friends and I were in that room sitting in front of someone. A writer. The Writer--SylaireIsMyOTP117--and they were all aware that they were characters in a television show called Heroes, that I was a character from Port Geneva, and that we were all in some kind of...story in another universe, written by this SylaireismyOTP117. Something they never seemed aware of before.

"And SylaireismyOTP117...she acted like she was our friend too, like she had our best interest in mind and valued our opinions. Everyone laughed along with all of her jokes. Answered all of her questions. Except me, because then it all came into perspective. She was the one playing with our lives--playing with my life--and putting us in danger. She made us travel through time to dangerous places, she created more dangers, she even killed Peter's older brother--something that apparently hadn't happened in the show. Well...not yet anyway."

Your hands clenched and unclenched.

"I thought I figured it out," you said through gritted teeth. "Found the person responsible for this predicament I was in. Because she was so...sure of herself. She even had the audacity to apologize for pulling me out of my world and into Heroes. I asked her why she made me die with the Doctor just so I could be a part of this world instead... but she didn't know what I was talking about.

"Suddenly she had this pink magazine in her hand. Pulled it out of her back pocket and waved it around, saying she found it in her mom's childhood bedroom. Said I must have been thinking about one of the stories from it. The Port Geneva Teen Fanzine. SylaireismyOTP117 told me she was sad that people had written me the way they did. Out of Character. That she wanted to give me something better than than had. A better adventure. Then the interview was over. And that was the end of that. Or just the beginning actually.

"Mystery solved." You held your hands out in front of you like you were presenting the secrets of the universe. Eddie could even imagine a glowing sphere floating there if he tried hard enough.

You started naming names then, of movies and books and television shows. Heroes and Lost and Vampire Diaries and The Dark Knight.

And. And. And.

The list just kept going and going.

It made Eddie's head spin to hear all of the places you had been, all of the lives you had lived, the things that all of these Writers had put you through.

To hear how sometimes you'd wake up in a new world, sometimes you'd seemingly get your happily ever after, sometimes none of the above. Sometimes you were even back home in Port Geneva--relieved--only to get ripped away all over again.

It never seemed to end the same way, but it always started with you in the driver's seat of your car. Chugging along to the next destination. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

"And that's how you ended up here in Hawkins?" Eddie asked, then paused. "Do you know...what my show is called?"

"Uh," you winced and folded your hands together in your lap. "Yes. I do. And I know it seems like I know all of these things. I don’t. Rarely, actually. But sometimes the Writers think they're funny and they work the title into the story; that’s how I find out. Because it's out of place.

"But, uh, it’s not the first time I've been here in Hawkins, actually."

It was a record scratch moment for Eddie.

"You...you have?" He smiled and suddenly felt a sense of hope; alright, so his love for you was so undeniable that this wasn't the first time someone had brought you to him. To give him something good in his miserable shit life. "Well so, what happened last time? Why can't I remember? Is that just...well, I guess, what makes this time different? Why am I aware of it all this time?

"Wait! Wait! What's my show about? Is it...is it like...the Misadventures of a Wannabe Rockstar or something? You said that when we had breakfast at Benny's. Is that the title? It has to be."

He rambled for a second, excitedly trying to predict his future, a future where you got to see the ups and downs of his life as he and Corroded Coffin navigated their way to fame.

You let him ramble, let him live in hope for those few moments. Until he realized you weren't chattering excitedly with him.

Until he saw the pain in your eyes.

He deflated, mind suddenly turning to the worst scenarios. At least in his mind.

"We don't make it, do we?" Was the conclusion he could come to. "But it's Wannabe Rockstar, right?. Not Future Rockstar. I'm gonna end up working at Thatcher Tires instead or something. Dead end job, stuck in this town..."

"It isn't your show," you whispered. "Just like Port Geneva...wasn't really mine."

Eddie swallowed hard.

"It's called Stranger Things," you explained. "And it's...I dunno...there are monsters. The first time I was here, I wasn't transported in as someone's favorite TV character. It was 1983, Port Geneva was a real place, and I was a transfer student at Hawkins High. And awful things happened. But there was no Eddie Munson. They must've written you in later in the show."

You continued your own rambling then, as you tried to make him feel better about it all. How he must've been a beloved character for someone to write a story about him. How whatever story they were writing was a good story too, because there didn't seem to be any monsters in Hawkins, not like there were the first time you'd been there.

"And...and The Writer of this story must love you a lot," you concluded. "To bring your favorite tv character in to be your girlfriend. For us to...like each other, love each other--and I do like you Eddie, I want to make that very clear. You make me feel like I'm close to home for the first time in a long time--but it seems like they want to give you a happy ending too. One you deserve."

But your words didn't help. The sinking feeling was back, but this time The Writer didn't have anything to do with it.

It was him, all him. All this misery and he wasn't even the main character of his own show. He should've seen that coming. And yeah he could live with being someone's favorite, enough for them to write a happy ending or something but...

"'s that mean I have a sad ending in the show?" he wondered. "If there are usually monsters here but there aren't, and I get something...something good, does that mean I die or something?"

"Eddie, it's..." you trailed off, but the rest of the sentence was hanging in the air, clear to both of you.

It's better not to think about it that way.

He nodded slowly and pulled his hand away from you to run it over his face.

It was confusing, it was upsetting.

All of it.

The cherry on top of the shit sundae that was his week. His life.

Fuck, but none of it was real, right? Contrary to everything you said. So could he really be upset? Should he? At least he knew he had something good to look forward to. A happy ending.

But how could he look forward to it when he knew that...well, when he knew that he didn't deserve it in the first place. That wasn't what fate had in store for him.

Or the writers of this Stranger Things show.

His happiness was at the whim of The Writer. At the whim of some...loser nerd writing about him in another universe.

A nerd just like him.

Fuck, it was giving him a headache.

"I uh...have a lot to think about," he whispered. You nodded as he stood and crossed towards the door of your trailer so he could leave. He paused at the door, instinctively remembering that he had to kiss you goodbye. Until everything hit him all over again and he decided it was better not to. "I'll, uh, I'll call you. Ok?"

"Yeah," you nodded eagerly. "Call me whenever. Please. It's...it is a lot. And honestly, we only scratched the surface. But we can figure the rest out together. I can help you through it. I promise. I'll be here."

He left without another word.

Denial was the easiest way for Eddie to go about this whole ordeal, or so he thought. How the fuck else was someone supposed to come to terms with the fact that...

Nope he wasn't gonna go there. Not yet.

He knew that he would need to deal with it eventually--need to think it through and talk to you--but until then, he was just going to live his life like he normally would.

So he avoided those feelings, and avoided you.

And it seemed to work.

School, home, trip to Rick's to re-up his inventory on Wednesday, grocery run for Wayne on Thursday, Hellfire on Friday, no date on Saturday.

Dealing at a few parties, band practice where the music was all normal, and then finally back at the Hideout for their gig on Tuesday.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

It was a normal week and aside from the still-obvious markers of this new life he was living, like the mess in the trailer and the fancy renovations at the Hideout, Eddie felt relieved and a little less like he was about to lose his mind.

It was both a blessing and a curse though, because at the end of every day he realized just how much missed you.

You'd rooted yourself solidly in his life--both on tv and now in the flesh--for years. Even when he didn't have new episodes to watch and stories to enjoy, he had his reruns. His tapes. Then you were suddenly there in person and on the phone.

So the you-shaped hole that he punched in his life, when he decided to ignore his predicament, was gaping and obvious.

Yeah, he could tell Wayne about the great battle he'd come up with for Hellfire, or complain to the guys about the bogus chemistry homework. But it wasn't the same. Not anymore.

So he resolved to talk to you on Tuesday after the set, only you weren't there.

"Shouldn't you know Junior? That's your girl," Bev dismissed him with a wave of her hand. She must have taken pity on him at the sight of his sad eyes, and she just sighed and continued. "She called in sick. Took the night off. She seemed fine yesterday; better not be cuz of you, kid."

He feared you might have left town, maybe to spare him or something--how that would work with the fanfiction Gods? Weren't you supposed to stay in Hawkins? He wasn't sure--but your car was in front of your trailer by the time he got home.

Everything was quiet, and all the lights were off, even the porch light which you usually kept on. He debated knocking on your door, waking you up, but decided against it.

If you really were trying to give him space, or simply avoid him like he had avoided you, it was best not to wake you up and piss you off.

"Tomorrow," he told himself. "I'll talk to her after school tomorrow."

Of course, that was the plan and fanfiction or not, sometimes even the best laid plans went awry.

He was still Eddie Munson, after all.

Things never went his way.

Once again, he had Chrissy Cunningham to thank for his plight.

It was on this, the day of his reconciliation with you, that she decided her hunt or conquest or humiliation of him would take place.

Maybe all of the above.

It was raining, he was running late.

He would have cut classes--should have just cut--but despite all odds being against him now more than ever, he promised himself that he was going to try when it came to school.

He had just opened the door to his locker when she appeared, the tips of her pristine white sneakers kissing the sides of his muddied converse.

"Hey Eddie!" Chrissy greeted with a too-big smile and sparkling eyes.

Eddie jumped and looked around the hallway, conveniently lacking its usual amount of students who loitered around before class. Thankfully, no other cheerleaders or jocks in sight either, though; it was either a blessing or a curse, he couldn't tell for sure.

"Hey, uh," he coughed and glanced at Chrissy for a second, before distracting himself with the contents of his locker. Fuck, it was pretty messy in there too; now was as good a time as any to clean it. "What's up?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to talk to you," she beamed.

He felt a bubbling of annoyance build within him, somewhat out of his control.

"You can't want to talk to me and also not want anything Chrissy," he scoffed pretty harshly as he grabbed a handful of papers to sort through. "So do you want to buy weed for a slumber party or something? Or have you suddenly decided to throw your Homecoming crown in the trash so you could join Hellfire ?"

She shuffled her feet and clutched her books to her chest and then took a deep breath.

"I wanted to know if you'd like to hang out some time," she announced loudly, bravely. Eddie froze in shock and then turned to her; her cheeks were red but there was a resolve in her eyes that he'd never seen in her before. "There's a new movie playing at the Hawk. Clue. I don't know if you've heard of it, it looks a little spooky..."

She rambled on and Eddie was left to stare at her, dumbfounded.

Chrissy Cunningham? Asking him out? Ok so Gareth was right?

But was Gareth right? Was she really hot for him or was she just using him for her own amusement? Or was this another little...storytelling mishap that the Writer was putting him through?

Shit, how could he tell?

This kind of shit sort of always, sort of never happened to him before.

Plenty of popular girls thought it was fun to go out with The Freak just to get off or to have a laugh, sure. But everything else in his life was turning upside down thanks to the Writer. So was this just another layer to that absolute shit show?

Gah, what the fuck could it be?

The anger bubbled inside of him again, and he had the vaguest realization that the anger didn't really belong to him. It felt too intense, almost manufactured. He was hit with the sense of deja vu that he'd felt this way before--in the cafeteria before the almost-food-fight and then at Family Video--and he decided to put a stop to it immediately.

"Listen Chrissy," he interrupted her with a cool, indifferent tone. "The movie sounds cool, but I'm really not interested in going out with you." He turned back to shut his locker and get to class when she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"If this is because of Jason," she began softly. "I'm...you don't have to worry. I'd break up with him if we went out."

"It's not about Jason," he snapped, out of control once again. Well and truly out of control. He felt himself shrug her hand away. "I have a girlfriend. A girlfriend who is actually cool and nice and interesting. Who likes the things that I like and doesn't like silly things like magazines and cheer and scrunchies." He watched in horror as he lifted his hand and flicked at her ponytail, and then felt angry at himself, at this situation, at The Writer when Chrissy flinched and dropped her books on the floor.

"It's almost funny that you'd think I'd be interested in someone like you," he spat at her venomously.

He felt the sudden urge to slam the locker, felt the urge to walk away, felt the urge to laugh in Chrissy's face.

But he resisted all of those urges with every fiber of his being.

He just stood there until the puppet strings were cut once again and he felt the rage and anger dissipate.

All the while, Chrissy went from a fearful, trembling mess in front of him, eyes welling with tears, to...nothing.

She just stood there too.

She looked down at her feet, shuffled back and forth for a moment, and then she scuffed her shoes against the floor, nudging the fallen textbooks.

She suddenly didn't look like Queen of Hawkins High Chrissy Cunningham, or someone that was afraid of the Wrath of the Freak, or some lash-batting temptress like she had been just moments ago.

She just looked like the girl who was hiding in the Auditorium at the Hawkins Middle School talent show all those years ago.

A person. Just like him.

Eddie cleared his throat and knelt down to help Chrissy pick up her books.

"Sorry," he muttered when she knelt beside him. "Sorry I--"

"No, it's ok. I guess...I don't know. I guess I just felt a little lost for a while," she explained softly. "And the only thing that seemed like it could fix it was you."

Interesting.

"But not anymore?" he wondered.

"Uh, no," she shook her head. "I don't even know...why I asked you out Eddie. No offense...but you're not really my type."

The two of them laughed for a second as they stood back up.

"You know," Eddie turned Chrissy's books over in his hand, "if you wanna break up with Carver, you can just do that. You don't need to use me as an excuse."

She froze in front of him, cheeks red again, as she hummed nervously.

"Thanks Eddie," she whispered. They both smiled softly, a silent understanding shared between them, and then Chrissy held out her books so he could stack the ones in his hand atop them.

And that's when he saw the book--magazine--at the top of her stack.

A pink-covered, handmade looking thing with a familiar name printed at the top of it.

Port Geneva Teen Fanzine.

His heart stopped.

That was the thing you said your Writer had shown you once upon a time, in your Interview.

For a second he wondered how Chrissy had it, but then he tried to figure out the logic that you were from a TV show and transported here. If he was a fan, there must be other people watching the show and fans of it too. Maybe the magazine transcended universes. Just like the show did.

It honestly made his head hurt trying to think about it.

"You...you like Port Geneva?" he asked, trying to remain as casual as possible.

"Hmm, yeah," Chrissy smiled down at the 'zine. "It's one of my favorite shows. My mom and I used to watch it together. Sam is my favorite character."

Somehow, that didn't surprise him one bit.

"Do you watch?" she questioned, brow quirked curiously. "It doesn't seem like your kind of show."

"I mean, I'm full of surprises," he teased, trying to keep his tone as lighthearted as possible. "But, uh...yeah. I used to."

"It's a bummer that it's over right?"

"Yeah...hey Chrissy, I know you don't owe me any favors or anything but, uh, can I borrow that?"

"Seriously?" she snorted. "It's just got like personality quizzes and little stories and stuff in it. Nothing special."

Little stories? Bingo.

"Yeah, just curious."

"Sure." They traded her textbooks for the magazine, and then with a shrill ring of the bell overhead, they went off to class.

He sat in his room after school, holding the Port Geneva Teen Fanzine like it was some sacred document not meant for the eyes of a mere mortal peasant like him.

The Dead Sea Scrolls or the Magna Carta or The Declaration of Independence.

It had burned a hole in his backpack the whole day, anticipation getting the better of him, but he knew that he didn't want to read the 'zine in front of his friends.

"So stupid," he scoffed at his own antics. "What was gonna happen? Davey wouldn't want to take the 'which character would make the best chemistry lab partner' quiz."

Maybe just in case there was something just inside the pink paper cover that would change his life forever.

"Like what? It's not like your yearbook picture's gonna be on the first page, idiot," he sighed and tightened his grip on the magazine. "Just gotta rip off that bandaid."

He closed his eyes tightly, took a breath, and flipped open the cover.

When he cracked one eye open to take a peek, he sighed in relief.

His face wasn't staring back up at him. No faces, actually. Just a table of contents that looked a little grainy, like it was copied on a Xerox machine and haphazardly thrown together.

There were different headlines just like there would be in a regular magazine--interviews, behind the scenes, quizzes--and then some unique ones--fan art, fan submissions, show theories. At the bottom of the Table of Contents, there was a little slip that could be cut out, filled, and mailed along with a few dollars to some address in California to get the next copy of the 'zine.

Eddie flipped through the pages curiously, and he truly enjoyed some of the pictures of fans visiting the set and getting pictures with a few cast members. Then an interview with the actress who played Sam's mom, who said what a joy it was to see her young co-stars grow up and come into their own, just like their characters.

Then about half-way through, he reached the Fan Submissions.

A section filled with fanfiction stories.

A section where your name was plastered practically everywhere.

Stories of you getting to go to big cities, ones where you finally returned home. A heartbreaking one where you returned in time for Sam and Pat's wedding and you cried because...

Because...you'd actually been in love with Patrick the whole time?

Eddie made a noise of shock as he read the detailed description of your heartbreak and the way that you recalled how sad you had been the day Pat had come to ask for your help with the proposal.

"Were we even watching the same show?" Eddie scoffed.

There were a few fanfiction submissions that characterized you that way, having this unrequited love for him.

But you never really showed any interest in him, other than friendship. Aside from Mark, you never had any romantic feelings in the show.

How had these so-called fans misread your relationship with Pat so terribly?

Or had Eddie's obsession with you clouded his ability to perceive the signs? Maybe he had been watching a different show than everyone else.

He wallowed in that feeling as he waded through the fan stories slowly--although one story about Bonnie and Bill seemed a little interesting: a Bakery/Flower Shop soulmate romance--until he got to one at the very end that caused the hair on his arms to stand on end.

A story about you...and Alex P. Keaton?

It was the only crossover in the fan submission, and it made Eddie nervous once again that he misunderstood your character.

Alex P. Keaton who read the Wall Street Journal for fun?! And you, and artist who followed your heart and went on an adventure to find yourself?! No, there was no way.

"This is a bunch of bullshit," he muttered. He shut the magazine and ran a hand over his face and into his hair.

Eddie wasn't the one who misunderstood you; it was everyone else who did. And if they had written you so wrong in this magazine, he could only dream of how wrongly they'd written you in all of those other stories you told him about. How miserable you must have felt in all of those different worlds.

Shit, and it was not only you who felt miserable, but him now too.

The wild events of the past few weeks had made him feel like he was going crazy. Yeah, at least he had an explanation for it now, but it didn't negate the fact that he suddenly felt like a stranger in his own life.

And if he felt like that, God only knows how you must've felt.

"Shit," he muttered.

He needed to talk to you.

He quickly got up from the bed and raced out of the house, panting as he jogged across the trailer park to get to your door.

He knocked frantically and impatiently waited for you to answer.

His resolve broke when you finally did.

Clothes--pajamas, actually--mussed, eyes bloodshot and puffy, you looked a lot like you had during the episode where Mark had broken your heart and you'd cried to Sam.

Had you thought that he was ending things with you because he had been avoiding you? Because of this whole situation? He ached to think that he'd hurt you like that.

"Sweetheart," Eddie whispered softly. "I should've called. Shit. I'm sorry I--"

"No," you sniffed and shook your head. You were smart enough to put two and two together and realize what he was apologizing for. "No, it's...Eddie this isn't because of you...I mean yeah, actually it is but..."

"I'm sorry," you both said simultaneously.

"I'm sorry that I just left the other night," Eddie elaborated. "I'm sorry that I avoided the whole thing, but I needed...I needed some sense of normalcy in all of this."

When he paused for breath, you immediately swooped in with your own apology and explanation.

"Well I'm sorry I seemed to have brought all of this bullshit with me to Hawkins," you stared at him pathetically. "I've never...no one has ever seemed aware of it before. I've been dealing with this alone for so long. I know I sort of dumped it on you; not only to explain, but maybe because I found some sort of relief that I wouldn't be going through it all alone anymore. I'd have you with me at least.

"And then, after you left, I really had time to think...how long it's been. My show aired in the 80's. And your show...Stranger Things? I mean...between my last time here...someone put me in a modern movie for a short time...and then I guess your season was a few years later maybe? Twenty-twenty-something?"

Eddie's throat tightened. They were still writing stories about the 80's that far in the future? Sure there were war movies and stuff. Man, people must've been really nostalgic and weird otherwise...

"It must be like...a historical documentary at that point," he laughed dryly.

"You calling me old?" you choked on a laugh, and then looked down at your hands. "I guess I am, though. I've lived through all of these different stories for...lifetimes. One story might take...I dunno, a few months for its Writer to finish, but it spans years. Years that I've lived through, one day at a time, with no break."

"Shit...that sounds..."

"Terrible?"

"Yeah."

"It is. I've been dealing with all of this...alone...for hundreds of years at this point I guess. Through stories that still write me as a teenager, or a middle-aged woman. I've lived and died over and over. I've been an artist, a writer, a dancer, a private investigator...I can't even remember the last time I got to go back to Port Geneva.

"And now that you're stuck in this hell too," your voice dropped to a whisper. "It made me sort of dread that for you too. Dread what kind of life that Writers might put you through, especially if your story in your show had a tragic ending like you said. They could give you everything you ever wanted, or they could just kill you again and again, for fun.

"And it's horrible and beautiful and great sometimes, but at the end of it all, it's tiring. Talking through it with you made me realize how much I wished I could be free, that maybe...maybe this Writer who brought me here would just be happy writing a story about the two of us for the rest of their lives or something. Spare us both anymore torture.

"Because at this point...I don't even know who I am anymore."

Your eyes welled with tears again and your shoulders heaved as you held back a sob.

And Eddie wished that he could tell you that he understood.

That his few days experience being aware that he was in a story could compare to everything that you'd seen.

He could tell you he appreciated your concern, that he felt that sense of dread that you felt for him. Assure you that he'd be fine. That it would be alright as long as you were in it together, just like you said.

But truthfully before hearing you say it right now, he hadn't come to that conclusion that he might be stuck in some endless loop of happiness and misery forever.

Because he did what he always did: he avoided the bad things. He ran away from this problem.

So what could say that could help you? That would make you feel better?

He wracked his brain for a moment, coming up with the right words.

But if there was anything Eddie did better than run away, it was say the right thing at the right time.

And he did.

"I know who you are," Eddie finally found his voice.

He took one of your hands in his and then cupped your cheek so you could look into his eyes.

"You might have forgotten who you are, but I know. I've always known. From the first time I saw you on screen, I felt such a connection to you."

He felt nervous, revealing his feelings to you. Confessing his fanatic behavior, his love for you. They were things he never said aloud to anyone and it made him nervous and vulnerable. Made him feel like he needed to run again. But your eyes glittered with unshed tears, and he knew he had to soldier on.

"Meeting you was like...the happiest day of my life. And you weren't anything that I expected, but everything I knew you were, deep down. And you...you've always seen the real me too, which is something very few people have the patience for. You're exactly who I've been waiting for.

"So maybe," he paused and cleared his throat. "Maybe we only have a few weeks together, or a few months, or maybe it'll be a few years for this Writer to give us a Happily Ever After. Maybe they'll put us through hell. But at least we're in it together. And I'll be here to remind you who you are if you ever forget, and to make sure you're not alone for as long as I can. As long as you promise that you'll do the same for me too."

In hindsight, a kiss was probably not the best end to his little declaration, but it felt right, so he did it anyway.

He leaned in and softly kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then caught the softness of your lips between his.

The sound of your sigh, and the feeling of you melting against him, were the sweetest sensations he'd ever felt. It was a relief.

For a moment, right before he pulled away, Eddie felt a smug sense of superiority over everyone. All the writers who had made you question who you were, all of the love interests that they'd written for you--Alex P. Keaton could get fucked--and he resolved to make this a story for the ages, even if it never wound up on some fanfiction writer's page.

"Thank you Eddie," you whispered against his lips when all was said and done.

"We have a deal?"

"Yeah," you bit your lip and grinned at him. "It's a deal."

You backed away and, hands still locked together Eddie looked around the trailer park and sighed.

"So..." he scratched the back of his neck. "What happens now?"

Next Chapter: Reader Suggestions Coming Soon

There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #stranger than (fan)fiction #stff #stff updates #stranger things fic

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sundrop-writes · 5 months

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Your First Kiss With Gar Logan

Gar Logan x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

While the Titans are living in Gotham, things are spiralling out of control. You take a moment to comfort Gar and help him with an unexpected injury, and the two of you find those inevitable feelings coming to the surface.

Gar Logan x Gender Neutral Reader. Friends to Lovers. Fluff. Set during Season 3, Episode 4.

Word Count: 2,700

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is general fluff; set during the episode where Kory accidentally burns Gar due to her visions/waking nightmares; descriptions of Gar having a burn wound on his arm; descriptions of first aid and wound care; the reader attends to the wound because they have first aid experience; the reader used to be a ward of Doctor Caulder (not blood related to him); mention of the reader being an orphan (as everyone in the presence of DC comics lore is); the reader is gender neutral (the main pronouns used are you/yours and there are no gendered aspects to the character); mentions of Gar's past trauma; extreme mutual pining; slight angst with a fluffy ending; I believe that's it.

A/N: This is part of something I am calling the 'first kiss' series - a series that depicts that a first kiss would be like with each of the Titans characters. For context, I am not necessarily writing this as a situation where the reader has never been kissed before and this is their first ever kiss - I am writing this as a situation where this is what your first kiss in the relationship would be like. The kiss that sparks that shift from friendship into romance. (In some of the other scenarios, I might spice it up and do enemies into lovers lmao.) I just think this is gonna be fun because most of the fics I write are based around smut, where kissing is not really the focus, so I wanted to change the pace of what I'm writing and make that big dramatic kissing moment - like you get in romcoms. I hope to do one of these fics for each of the characters, and some requested Dick, so that's probably the one that I'll do next. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

...

A sound of pain caught your attention.

You had been walking down one of the many winding hallways of Wayne Manor, and any thoughts about what you had previously been doing left your mind the moment you heard it. You wondered what was wrong and who was hurting.

The family had been through enough in the past few days. Nobody in the household needed any more pain. Certainly not from your perspective.

A wince - a gasp. Breath hissing through teeth. Distinctly, it was the sound of someone recoiling in pain.

You followed the sound closely and traced it to an open door. There was a streak of light coming from one of the many large, expensive bathrooms that the Manor had. Through that gap, you saw a flash of green - a green shirt, green hair. It took you only a moment to figure out who it was.

“Dammit.” Gar swore.

He was struggling with something. Your insides immediately flooded with concern knowing this. Whatever it was, you would try your best to help him. He was your best friend, after all, and you would never abandon him during a time of need. If the problem was minuscule or catastrophic, you would be there to help him with it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, reaching out to push the bathroom door open further.

You likely already knew the answer, but you couldn’t help the instinctive question as it escaped your mouth.

As the door drifted open at your touch, Gar’s eyes snapped over to you.

He was standing at the sink with one of the long sleeves of his shirt rolled up. Your eyes were instantly drawn to the center of his forearm - you winced yourself when you saw a very nasty burn there. He had a first aid kit open beside the sink with bits of it strewn across the counter, and he was dabbling a piece of cotton on the burn.

So that had been the source of his painful noises.

“I - I’m fine.” Gar quickly lied.

He reached out with his uninjured arm in a poor attempt to close the door on you. You sighed, pushing back against him. In a very Gar fashion, he didn’t fight against you as you pushed your way into the bathroom and closed the door completely behind you, sealing both of you into the privacy of the space.

He knew that you were definitely more stubborn than he was, and it would just be easier to let you help him than to fight against your stubborn will. It was something he had learned a long time ago. The position of being your friend came with forceful caring. It was one of the things that he loved most about you.

“Come on, Gar.” You sighed, your voice ripe with gentle pity. “You should know that you don’t have to lie to me. What happened?”

Gar wanted to explain that he hadn’t told you a lie, that he was fine, but that died off in his throat. Again - you were stubborn. That would have turned into an entire argument.

You gently took his wrist in hand, lifting his arm slightly to inspect the burn closer.

He knew that you had some medical experience. From what he had seen, you were really skilled, and quite intelligent in the field of medicine, even though you hadn’t done any formal study to become a doctor.

You had worked with Doctor Caulder for years, had been his assistant since you were a young child. He had taken you on as a ward when you were orphaned, and very early on, he started teaching you ‘his craft’. It’s how you and Gar had met. You had been there, helping to take care of him and overseeing him after Caulder had injected him with the serum. Your face was one of the first kind faces he knew during the fever induced delirium, having the serum pumping through his veins and painfully rearranging his DNA from the inside out.

You were one of the only people who wasn’t afraid of the Tiger because of it. Even after the horrors that Cadmus had put him through - you were never afraid of him. You always saw him as the scared, shivering boy from the hospital bed. Someone who just needed your help, a hand to hold. And you had always been there, holding your hand out to him since then. Through the good and the bad, through the times when he had been scared and uncertain.

Of course, it was only natural that he had developed certain… feelings for you.

And of course, he was always terrified to voice those feelings. He was terrified to lose you. As a friend, as the strong person he could lean on.

Even now, as you once again took his hand and nursed him back to health - he felt his heart fluttering in his chest, and he was terrified to lose you as a friend because of it.

Gar tried to distract himself from those dangerous feelings by answering your question.

“Well, what happened was…” He began, but then quickly trailed off. “I was in the kitchen, and Kory came in. But she - she wasn’t in her right mind, her eyes were all weird again, and..”

The more words he said, the worse it sounded. He had a large burn on his arm and Kory was well known for her fiery powers. It didn’t take much brain power to put it together.

You looked up at him with deep concern dancing in your eyes, and he scrambled to find the right words. He knew that any way he explained it, it wouldn’t sound good. He rushed to make an excuse for his friend. Someone you both loved that he had far more sympathy for in this situation.

“Kory - see - she - Kory’s been having a really hard time lately.” Gar tripped over his own words to explain it. “It - it was an accident.”

“She accidentally gave you a second degree burn?” You posed, feeding the words back to Gar in the hopes that it would make him realize just how ridiculous it sounded.

Your tone was clearly scolding, an underlying anger in your voice directed at Kory for hurting your best friend.

Gar sighed. He knew it was likely a rhetorical question, but he still was struggling for an answer. He didn’t come up with one before you spoke again.

“Take this off.” You told him, motioning toward his shirt. “I’ll bandage this up for you.”

Gar did as you said, wincing again when the sleeve of his shirt grazed against the fresh wound. He dropped it to the bathroom floor without much thought. You tried not to let your eyes linger on his bare torso - a gorgeous sight - as you moved to grab a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit. You had noticed that bits of cloth from his shirt had been singed onto the wound. That needed to be taken care of first.

“I’m not mad.” Gar said suddenly. “I’m not mad at Kory.”

That didn’t surprise you. He was never the type of person to hold grudges. You had only seen him get angry a handful of times. You had only seen him truly hold rage in his heart when Doctor Caulder had attempted to hold Rachel against her will.

“Why not?” You asked.

You moved him where you wanted him, and he was easily pliant to you, trusting your experience. You trapped his hand between the side of your body and your own arm so that he wouldn’t move or squirm, pinning him there. You held the elbow of his injured arm in the palm of your hand to hopefully keep him in place. You grabbed the tweezers with your other hand and then got to work.

“I’m worr-”

He let out a sharp gasp when you plucked off the first piece of singed cloth. You felt him flinch against your hold as you tossed the piece of cloth into the sink. But he didn’t protest. He knew whatever you were doing was something that you deemed necessary. You were helping him, and he wouldn’t fight you on that.

“I’m worried about Kory.” Gar finished his statement firmly.

“You’re worried about Kory?” You raised your brows at him, your eyes lingering on his face for a moment before you went back to work.

Gar often worried about everyone else.

He had been worrying himself to death about Jason, trying to ‘save’ someone that likely couldn’t be saved since he had magically come back from the dead. He was worried about Dick taking on the pressures of Batman now that Bruce was suddenly absent. He had been worried about Dawn and Hank’s arguing, knowing that Hank had come to Gotham just to win her back. You knew that Gar was worried about everyone, hoping that the pieces of the family would just fall into place and everyone would be happy again. (When they had last been happy, you weren’t quite sure.)

You were likely the only person who worried about Gar in return.

“Who’s worried about you?” You mumbled quietly.

You plucked out another piece of the burnt cloth, and Gar bit his lip to keep from crying out with pain.

“There’s nothing going on with me.” He told you, shooting you one of his glowing smiles. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone to worry about me.”

You knew that even if he didn’t take this injury into account, this was a lie.

The toll of being such an empathetic person was never one that he voiced. The pure pressure of everyone else’s emotions piling onto him, the worry of what was going to happen to his friends. That, on top of his own troubles - nightmares of his time at Cadmus still haunting him, feeling inadequate because he couldn’t use his powers to the fullest extent, missing two of his dear friends with the absences of Jason and Rachel.

You knew that Gar wasn’t ‘fine’. You knew that he had a lot troubling him. It was just easier for him to smile and pretend everything was okay. Because that made him feel okay. It helped him carry on.

And a lot of the time, his sunshiney smile was the entire reason you got out of bed at all.

However, rather than telling him this, you drove home your point in an entirely different way.

“Ironic.” You huffed out, picking out the last piece of the cloth that had stuck to the edge of the wound.

Gar hissed in pain.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Gar finally folded.

Right now, he did need someone worrying about him. That much he could admit.

You reached over and grabbed an anti-bacterial cream from the first aid kit.

You were glad that you would be there to change the bandage and monitor the healing of the wound, because it was likely a lot worse - a lot more painful than he was letting on. You were worried about what kind of mental state Kory had been in that caused her to attack him, even if it had been an accident. You had seen her ‘sleep walking’, or whatever you would call it. You wondered what caused it. You wondered if it was the general stress that all the Titans were under right now. But Gar’s wellbeing was your primary concern.

“You know you can come to me for stuff like this, right?” You told him, your voice edging on scolding as you applied the cream with a q-tip and he gritted his teeth through the pain once again. “Don’t let all that child slave labor that Caulder put me through go to waste.”

Gar let out a chuckle at this - a dry, sarcastic sound. It was a tone that told you that while he did find your commentary amusing, he still resented your former shared ‘mentor’ for all the things he had put both of you through.

“You know I can handle myself.” Gar told you, still slightly resistant to your caring. “Someone needs to be strong.”

It was a dangerous double meaning. He thought that he had to be the singular strong pillar of the household. He thought that he had to be the one person in the family who didn’t fold to his emotions and let any cracks show through.

“Let them handle themselves once in a while.” You told him pointedly as you began to wrap a bandage around his forearm. “You don’t need to be some brick wall for everyone to lean on.”

“But-” Gar said quietly.

“But nothing.” You cut him off.

When you dared to look up at his face, you saw those wide puppy eyes staring back at you. His beautiful brown pupils were shining with guilt. He didn’t need to voice it for you to know that he felt like it was his responsibility to take care of everyone else. They often didn’t take care of themselves properly. If he didn’t at least try, then who else would?

“I know this might be a newsflash for you, especially because you have that golden, shining hero heart in your chest…” You explained, reaching up and running one of your fingers across the skin of his muscled pec, motioning toward that beautiful heart inside in his chest.

With him not wearing a shirt, the skin to skin contact was oddly intimate, causing tingles to radiate out from that point that you knew he could feel too. You became temporarily distracted from your words, and forced yourself to clear your throat and remember what you were saying.

“But you can’t save everyone.” You continued. You distracted yourself from the tension in the air by tying the bandage onto itself to secure it around his arm. “Sometimes they do need to save themselves.”

Gar let out a quiet huff. Internally, he had finally folded to the fact that you were right.

“I hate it when you’re right.” He said quietly.

“You must hate me a lot.” You replied, laughter dancing in your words as you cleverly turned the sentence around on him.

Gar’s face broke into an easy, natural smile at this. You were too clever.

He felt that inevitable warmth swell up inside of him again. The affectionate fondness for you that he always felt bubbling just under the surface.

When he looked up and locked eyes with you once again, sitting in the quiet moment - a rare moment of peace stolen away from the seemingly never-ending chaos that being a part of the Titans family was - he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t hold back his feelings for you anymore.

You felt the magnetism swell in the air, and when Gar reached out, gently gripping the side of your neck, right underneath your ear - you let yourself be taken by it. It had been coming for years, and you easily let yourself succumb to it. You let your eyes fall closed and you drifted into him like a boat drifting at sea, falling into the current that he always provided for you.

The kiss was inevitable, and somehow - perfect.

He was gentle, not forcing his way into your space or presuming anything of you, but falling into the natural rhythm of the attraction as you pressed your mouth against his. His lips were a sweet, soft sanctuary - so much better than you had dreamed of. The touch was so beautifully tender that you felt tingles radiating through you, a high you had never experienced before. You let out a delighted sigh as the kiss pulled at the strings deep in your soul.

After a moment, you pulled back slightly, your forehead gently pressed against his.

“Y/N,” Gar murmured your name quietly.

There were so many things he wanted to say to you.

To tell you that he loved you - as more than a friend. That he always had. To tell you that he was thankful for you, that you were the stitching that held together the very fabric of his life.

But then-

“Gar!” Kory’s voice came shouting down the hallway. “Gar, look, I’m sorry! Where are you? Please, can you just let me apologize?”

Of course. More family chaos. Not a moment alone. Well, no more than one moment.

“You should find a shirt.” You told Gar, giving him a playful grin and tapping him lightly on his bare shoulder.

Gar sighed, and nodded. And hesitantly, he broke away from you in order to go and do that.

Eventually, he would tell you those things. He would find the right time, the right way to put it all into words. But for now, even if it was unspoken, you knew.

...

If you enjoyed this fic, check out my DC Titans Masterlist for more of my other fics!! And please consider reblogging and commenting on this fic to tell me what you liked about it.

#sundrop writes #gender neutral reader #gar logan x reader #garfield logan x reader #gar logan #garfield logan #titans #dc titans #dc titans fanfiction #titans x reader #titans hbo

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ridox · 2 months

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Summary: Welcome to Love & Deepspace Cafe! Today's menu is your favorite boy's favorite food. Pairing: None (?) just little lore on why they love the food they love Author's Note: A little fun headcanon I've had in my mind whilst going through Xavier's, Zayne's, and Rafayel's anecdotes! . ݁𖦹₊ ⊹

🍲 Xavier who has an appetite for a hearty, filling hot pot meal with multiple side orders of meat because it brings him the comfort and warmth he so deeply craves from his light years spent on self-isolation. Xavier who holds on to the memories of a previous life lived by moving on top of a restaurant that sells just that — the same hearty hot pot meal that's filled with its aromatic spices, one that he used to share with an old friend, one that he longs to eventually share with you. Xavier who doesn’t realize it but its not the food itself that brings him comfort, but the memories and would be memories he would make surrounding that tiny little pot, boiling with the restaurant’s specialty soup base, filling his senses with the sense of finally belonging.

🍫 Zayne, the elusive doctor with a surprisingly sweet tooth, always hiding little sweet treats in the form of cocoa and milk in his inconspicuous Doctor’s coat. Zayne who loves the sweet taste of sugar because it serves as a stand-in for the sweet, childish love he craves to feel. Chocolates are a symbol of love after all, always being gifted by couples to one another every Echo Day Celebration. Zayne, who subconsciously thinks that if he can’t feel the feeling of love itself, it’s good enough to mimic it by consuming the one sweet thing that reminds him of you.

🐟 Rafayel who craves for the sweet, fresh taste that the sea could only offer, always finding himself in sea side cafes and beach front restaurants ordering their catch of the day. The media thinks it’s a wonder how an artist like himself hasn’t delved into the culinary arts just yet when time and time again he’s been spotted ordering the freshest batch of seafood a restaurant can offer. But they don’t know that it’s because seafood reminds Rafayel of his home, once from many a centuries ago, far from land and closer to sea. It reminds him of how he himself would catch fish, prawns, lobster - you name it - just so he could share a piece of his home with a landlocked girl he once upon a time fell in love with.

𖦹₊ ⊹

#love and deepspace #l&ds #lads #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #xavier #xavier x reader #zayne #zayne x reader #rafayel #rafayel x reader #ridox notes

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journalsouppe · 1 month

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The Touchstarved DEMO by @redspringstudio! I had so much fun replaying this DEMO over and over, I truly cannot wait for the full release. The art is gorgeous, the writing is excellent, and I am surprised at how much I really loved each character, I expected to at least hate one or two of them like with My Next Life lol. I highly recommend checking out the DEMO if you're a fan of otome games or gothic stories!

The DEMO can be found here on itch.io or here on steam! All the stickers are from different Hallween stickerbooks from Michael's Art Store ^^; (ngl I think this is one of my favorite spreads, I even did do some studies of the color/rendering fhdjsf)

Writing typed below! (plus extra notes)

Rating: 9.5 (demo score - great demo) Played: Sp 2024 Port: itch.io Play full? Y YES!!!!!!

Comments:

First Route: Origin - Unnamed. RO - Leander

love you have a choice of 3 origins

GORGEOUS ART!

this game made me realize I do really enjoy otome games and not as a joke or for irony lol fjdkfal

from initial appearances I like Vere and Mhin ^^;

all the gold on the angel doctor is so gorgeous

killer music

okay I thought I wouldn't like Leander but holy shit --

LMAO NOT HIS SEX ROOM

LETS go I got the special Leander option on the first try

I need to do studies of this art oml I need my art to look like this <3

DAMN, now I'm bummed I missed the kickstarter, I would LOVE the art book

I need the stickers too esp for when I journal the full version

not only do I like the art, the writing is very good too

Vere is so pretty...

I LOVE all the fun marketing lore and illustrations on the Red Spring Socials

ooo damn does Vere have a red option or did I do his route right without one

only three red choice dialogue. 4 recently for Kuras (no Vere)-- Vere has one now!!! Kuras and Vere should have them whenever the DEMO gets an update ^_^

I'm learning I'm good at making the correct decisions lol

I honestly didn't know you could die until after I finished Vere's route (2nd route I did correctly -- 1st was Leander) and was curious what submit surrender did (aka I didn't die initially but went back to see what would happen(

LMFAO NOT MHIN BLUSHING WHEN I TELL THEM OFF pfft

LMAOOO and now Mhin is scolding me

amused with who has slept with who

deathly curious on how fucked up Leander will be

Kuras's nose!!!!! <3

I love the concept designs of Sen and Elyon, I can't wait to meet them

LMFAO 'BASTARD'

ngl I love Ais's mullet

This should not have been one of my first otome games bc now my standards are so high, esp in regards to character design

I wonder if the flashing soulless in the title screen means we'll see more soulless in the full game (than just the one)

okay damn I also really like Ais, these are some really well written characters

LMAO I was not expecting this music for Kuras

oh interesting I didn't realize Mhin's red choice was during your first encounter if you're an alchemist

okay Kuras is very silly and goofy 10/10 guy

ooo good theories about Ocudeus and control on tumblr - "obedience" -- reference to someone thinking the "obedience suits you" line on Ais's character card was actually from Ocudeus not Ais

Summary:

I thought when playing more otome games it would be really hard to beat My Next Life, simply because I am a huge fan of the source material that preceded the game. But wow, with the way this game is setting up plotlines, the full version of this game could easily make it onto my top favorite games list. Otome games are all about replayability, and the way just the DEMO is so rich with content and alternating paths makes me so excited and hopeful for the full game's release. I am bummed I got onto the Touchstarved train late and missed the kickstarter, but hopefully a shop will open around release bc I'd kill for an art book. The art is just so gorgeous and I cannot wait to do some studies, especially with color and rendering. Before playing otome games, I like to look at the character profiles beforehand and predict who I'd like and dislike. And I am very delightfully surprised that any initial dislike I had of characters all but vanished because the writing and personalities of these characters were so well made. I thought I was going to hate Leander but he ended up being the character I'm most curious about. Although I would say my least favorite is Kuras simply bc I'm not a fan of romancing doctors, I am still curious about his background story and connection to the others. In other words, great character who is just not my type. I am also delightfully surprised at the "vulgarity" in this game without being overly explicit -- I have grown so tired of how sanitized a lot of games and shows have been that it's always really nice seeing indie companies play by their own rules. I am so glad I stumbled across this game!! At this point I've done every route favorably but haven't tried all the "wrong" options -- more to play whenever I think about how excited I am for the full game! I've also seen the sneak peaks of an upcoming update ^_^. Highly recommend the game!!

#journalsouppe #bullet journal #journal #video game journal #touchstarved #touchstarved game #red spring studios #otome #otome game

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xmalereader · 9 months

Text

Thomas Shelby x Vampire! Male Reader

|| Masterlist ||

Authors note: It’s finally here, the last part of the Doctor Hemlock series 🥲. The inspiration was gained by watching; Oppenheimer ( because cillian ) S6 of peaky blinders and Story of Dracula. I mashed up all of these together and wanted to come up with something slight angsty and fluff towards the end? I’m thinking about making this short series into an actual multi chapter series with better explanation and view of their relationship, but I’d get into too much detail and lore of Hemlock. Anyways, please enjoy this last shot, I apologize for any history stuff I’m a huge history nerd which is why I enjoyed watching Oppenheimer.

Summary: The final part of the Doctor Vampire series.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mentions of death, turning, history buff, language, mentions of WW2, marriage, past trauma, Oppenheimer reference, Thomas says his last farewell, character death, mentions of the future and past, kissing, slight mentions of blood, mentions of sexual assault.

Word count: 3.3k

—

December 1933

It’s been a a year since he escaped Oswalds grasp, doing things that he was not proud of while under the mans watch. He can still smell the rotten blood along with the sweat of other men who used him for their desires. After Oswald’s huge win on the nazi party he was finally let go under terrible conditions. He’s been locked away for months without the knowledge of knowing what happened to the Shelby family—what happened to Thomas.

After Oswald had won his way into the Nazi Campaign he was finally let go, tossed out from the basement that he was locked in after a year of torture and pain, unable to fight his way through without people taking notice of his existence as a vampire. The world wasn’t ready for it and he couldn’t risk it, not when he agreed to work under Oswald in order to keep the Shelby family safe and alive or so he thought.

Y/n went missing on the day that Polly was killed, for 4 years he was never to be seen again and leaving a bad impression on Thomas making him believe that he had left the family or had betrayed him, having no idea that he was trying to find his own ways to keep the Shelby family from losing anymore people. During his time locked up he heard very little of the family whenever Oswald paid him a visit, feeding him like usual and talking so highly about his latest wins and victories in politics and it letting it be known that he was reaching the high chair and reaching the top.

For a four years he remembered the smell of blood and vomit; Oswald was feeding him, but not correctly. The cruel man would bring innocent people to him in order to feed, knowing damn well that the vampire didn’t drink fresh human blood. He found ways to balance his diet without drinking from another human being after the first time he did. Feeling disgusted with himself he had no choice but to feed if he wanted to make it out of this place alive.

He remembers the cries of the people he drank from, lips covered in their blood as the life in their eyes die out. Once Oswald was satisfied with the results he left him alone with the corpse in his cell, letting him rot in guilt while vomiting up the blood he drank knowing that it wouldn’t do him any better. For four years he faced the torture of Oswalds men for those four years he was forced to lie about Thomas medical condition, making up fake reports of a disease in order to trick Thomas into thinking that he was dying.

For Oswald to get rid of his number one enemy and competitor.

After being released he spent his time looking for the Shelby family only to find nothing. Thomas was gone and so was the rest of his family. No trace of the family was left behind it was as if they all disappeared into thin air, leaving him on his own again. For the first few months he remained hidden from the public’s eye, not wanting to be recognized as the missing doctor of Birmingham. It felt like old times again, having to hide from the people as the years went on. As time moved forward he remained the same, having to adapt into the new century to come.

He watched as the world went on, watched as the fascists won and continued to rage on war onto their own people. It felt like history was repeating itself and he was there to witness it like always. It wasn’t until he noticed the news of Oswalds wedding, marrying the horrendous women that showed in the picture of the newspaper that his hand gripped. His blood boiled in anger at the thought of Oswald getting everything he wanted while he remained on his own, losing the only family he had left.

With rage blinding him he made his way towards the nearest place that could help him get to Oswald faster. Finding his way to Holford’s home, knowing that the man replaced him into becoming Thomas’ doctor for the past 3 years in order to get closer to the Shelby man.

Y/n had entered the property, ignoring the workers protest of him not being allowed inside as he walks further into the place, looking for the doctor until he hears a gun shot go off, getting his attention. He’s quick to rush towards the noise, standing at the entrance of a tunnel only to see the one person he never thought he would ever see again. He’s frozen in place, eyes wide while he stares into Thomas blue eyes.

Thomas stood at the other end of the tunnel, frozen in disbelief as he shakes his head slowly and murmurs to himself. “I’m seeing things.” He had seen his dead daughter and now he’s seeing a dead man that he once trusted with his whole life, telling himself that it wasn’t real.

“You’re in my head.” He says again only this time Y/n finally speaks up.

“Thomas?”

His voice was the same since Thomas last heard it, soft and warm. He wants to tell himself that it wasn’t real and that he died many years ago only for him to feel a warm pair of arms thrown around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Thomas stumbled back in his step, clearly in shock. His hands shook and his breath grew ragged.

“Hemlock?”

The doctor nods into Thomas shoulder, holding tight as Thomas gently placed a hand onto his back, feeling his heart beat. The feeling brings Thomas to tears, breaking down in front of them as his arm fully pulls him close.

Y/n knew that Thomas never cried unless needed too and he never judged the man for it as the two stand in the middle of the tunnel, holding each other close.

One relieved to have found someone they cared for and the other relieved to know that they haven’t lost everything.

—

Thomas and Y/n had gotten far away from Holfords place, out on the hilltop where Thomas’ carriage burned in flames. Instead of Thomas running instead to save what he had of his family he instead mounted his horse with Y/n climbing behind him as they road off towards the hills, far away from the place. The ride between the two was in silence, Y/n had his forehead pressed against Tommy’s back, one arm around his torso while Thomas held the reigns with one hand and the other holding onto Y/n’s arm, wanting reassurance that he wasn’t seeing things again.

The warmth of his hand was enough for Thomas to know that he wasn’t dreaming.

It doesn’t take long for them to arrive near a lake, dismounting the horse in silence as Tommy ties the reigns and Y/n sits near the river, watching the fish swim and the water run downhill. He feels Thomas sit next to him as the two remain close to each other.

The silence is later broken by Thomas. “You disappeared, thought you died.” He began, he played with the pocket watch he held between his fingers. “I went looking for you after Polly died—I knew how much she meant to you and had to tell you, but you weren’t are the hospital nor at your house.”

Y/n’s focus is still on the fish remembering that it was the same day that he was taken by Oswald’s men, captured and locked away.

“I asked Alfie if he knew where you were and he didn’t.” Thomas licks his dry lips. “I thought Oswald got to you and killed you, but your a vampire you can’t kill one easily—“

“Oswald took me that night.” Y/n cuts in, interrupting Thomas and getting his attention. He doesn’t look away from the river. “Oswald knew I was a vampire…his ancestors hunted us for years and he followed into their footsteps. When he found out that I was associated with you and your family he took advantage and threatened me, used me, and I—“ He looks down, holding back the guilty tears as he speaks. “He told me that he wouldn’t hurt any of you if I left with him and I agreed.”

The silence that Thomas was giving him was enough for him to keep his eye focused elsewhere, not daring to look at the man that possibly hated him only to gasp when Thomas reached out to touch his hand, getting him to look up at the other man who only stared at him with eyes full of tears. “I thought you died.”

Y/n shakes his head. “I could have…”

Thomas held his hand tight the two siting close to each other as they listen to the river run.

“We’re both dead to the world and we both lost.” Said Thomas.

After finding out that his disease wasn’t true he had the ability to turn back to his family, but after a month of being gone is possible that everyone thought that he had killed himself. Everyone knew that Thomas Shelby wasn’t going to allow a disease to slowly kill him and would much rather put a bullet in his own head. His family and friends probably think he’s dead already and knows that he couldn’t return to them, not after everything he put them through.

Y/n knew that he wouldn’t have much time with Thomas, having to live on without him. Thomas will pass on and he will move forward, watching as the world grows. “What now?” He blurts out. Y/n usually had things planned and out and knew what to do for the next hundred years, but after what happened in the past five he felt lost.

Thomas was the same.

He was always two steps ahead of everyone, now he felt like he was two steps behind. “I don’t know…” His response was honest he really didn’t know.

The vampire sighs while the two stared ahead, lost in thought and unknown to them on whats to come next. The cold weather was approaching and soon the hills will be covered in snow and new life will start again once spring hits. Y/n had spent years watching the world move on while he stayed the same, having to change every new century, befriend new people, watch them die, and repeat the cycle again. Only this time, he couldn’t do it again, not alone.

—

“What’s it like?”

“It’s like falling asleep and then you wake up.”

Thomas chuckled, head on the doctors lap as he stares at the night sky, stars shining down on them.

“There’s no turning back, Tommy.”

He rolls up his sleeve.

“I know.”

He bites into his own flesh, blood coating his lip.

“Then you know what you’ll face? It’s harder than it sounds.”

“Am I going to be alone?”

The doctor faintly smiles. “No.”

“Good.”

Their lips finally seal together.

—

December 1954

Y/n was sitting in the living room a copy of Times in his hand as he reads through the article, pen in hand and biting down on it in concentration. “Who would have thought that in 20 years a bomb big enough to wipe out an entire city could be seen as the worlds biggest threat.” He speaks out loud, flipping the magazine page as he reads through the article of the “Grandfather of the atomic bomb” news had spread around the world that America had used an atomic bomb to target Japan.

Killing thousands of innocent people.

War was nothing new to Y/n and has seen it for many years and it always end the same with millions of lives being lost due to politics that he never liked or partook into. Whenever he was invited to parties or event during his time as a doctor he was always dragged into political conversations, always finding a way out of it and leaving the crowd before it got too serious for him to handle.

The doctor sighs and closed the Time’s magazine before tossing it onto the empty space on the couch. Until a pair of pale hands picks up the copy. “If you hate it so much why read it?” asked Thomas as he sits next to the other man, reading the magazine in his hand while the other held a cup of tea, taking a small sip as he reads the cover.

It’s been twenty years since Y/n had turned Thomas.

Twenty years since they’ve moved to the states and started new lives.

Thomas looked healthier than he used too and was still adjusting to life as a vampire, learning Y/n’s diet and consuming human foods whenever he pleases. Due to him looking healthier he also looked young for a sixty year old man, the thought merely makes the doctor chuckle since he, himself, was far older than Thomas.

“Perhaps I should stop reading the papers.” He comments, siting back in his spot while lying his head against the cushions while watching Thomas flip through the magazine.

Y/n remembers the first few years of Thomas adjustments, watching as life went on while he stayed frozen in time and struggling with his thirst. Y/n had promised him that he would be with him along the way and wasn’t going to break it, teaching Thomas how to feed and starting his own diet. Before the two left for the states, Thomas had watched over his family and watched as they moved on with their lives, making changes to his company and using the funds that he gave to them for their own children. He watched Arthurs struggle of losing another brother only to heal with the support of his wife, Lizzie and Charlie both move to the country side were she was able to relax from the chaos and death she faced, while Ada remained a widow with her two sons, still lost in the dark from Thomas not telling her the truth as to why he left.

Thomas always felt guilty for not telling her, but she had been through so much that he couldn’t bring himself to tell her and thought that leaving without saying anything would make things easier for him only it didn’t. He bid his silent farewells to his brother and sister before traveling across the ocean and to the states where both Y/n and Thomas were able to start over.

Y/n had caught Thomas outside siting on the porch every night since arriving to America, unable to sleep as he thought about his family. Y/n’s couldn’t blame him and knew what it felt like to leave everything behind, knowing that he couldn’t be present without letting it be known that they were vampires, but with time Thomas grew adjusted to the changes.

“Science takes you everywhere.” Thomas sighs out deeply while setting the magazine down and turning to face Y/n who was already looking at him with a faint smile on his lips, causing the other to furrow his brows.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Y/n shakes his head softly. “It’s nothing.” He repeats himself, clearly proud and admiring Thomas.

“Very well…” Thomas slowly raised the cup of tea to his lips as the sun hits the silver ring he wore on his left hand, getting the vampires attention as his eyes followed the gleaming ring. Not only had Y/n turned Thomas, but the two had secretly gotten married a few years back, knowing that it was illegal for same sex marriage to occur and resulted in terrible consequences that both Y/n and Thomas did their own ceremony in private.

The two wore their own silver rings and would often be asked who their ‘wives’ were when they attend neighborhood parties or work parties and the two always found ways to change the conversation, throwing them off from knowing their marriage.

Perhaps in the future they’ll be able to get officially married?

“Any new patients?”

Y/n hums in questioning, getting pulled out of his thoughts when hearing Thomas ask about his work. “There all the same, mostly soldiers that have gotten back from the war.” He explains. “A few are still struggling with the shit they’ve been through.”

“I know what that’s like.”

Thomas knew of the second war that was raging on with Germany and the amount of lives lost.

The two had lost Alfie in that war and knew how close Y/n was with the man that the news devastated him. The doctor kept his distance for a few days, letting the news sink in before he could accept the fact that Alfie was gone.

“Now Russia is targeting America, think will live through this one too?” Thomas chuckled at his words, lips forming into a small smile. “I think will be fine.”

Who would have thought that they would make it through a Cold War.

—

January 2023

“—successful companies don’t just happen. Success requires nurturing, year after year, to assure that customers expectation not only are met, but also are exceeded. For this weeks assignment I want you all to research about any company or business that has succeed and to reasoning as to why.”

Thomas hears the rustling of bags being packed and the sound of laptops and notebooks being closed making him check the watch he wore and noticing that he went over ten minute of his class time. “I seem to have gone over my limit.” He chuckled, before dismissing his class. For years, Thomas had done different jobs; working in bars, politics, gambling, assassination, stay at home husband, and various others throughout the last sixty years.

He never thought that he’d enjoy being a professor and teaching business, having started when Y/n convinced him to give it a try due to his knowledge in business and knowing how to handle one since he used to own the Shelby Company.

It didn’t take Thomas long to get the job as a business professor.

His first semester only had twenty students, due to him being new not many students joined his class until the second semester hit. His list of students tripled surprising him by how much changed in such a short time.

When he told Y/n about it the doctor only grinned whiling telling him that his students tripled because of his good looks and not because of his lesson, but Thomas refused to believe his words and continued his teachings, oblivious to the fact that his husband was in fact correct and that majority of his students were only there for him.

“Is the professor available for a date?”

Thomas is startled by the sudden question, looking up from his paperwork to see Y/n standing on the other side of the desk, hands inside the pockets of the jacket he wore while a smirk spreads across his face.

“I have some papers to grade, but I can leave that on hold.” Thomas smiles in return while putting his stuff in his brief case while the doctor waits for him. In the last sixty years, Thomas never would have thought that he would see the world advance in such a way, watching the newer generation make changes to their own future, seeing things that he never thought he would see.

Even though Thomas was still stuck with his old ways he tried his best to fit in with the new world, having aged just a bit but not a lot to show how old he was really getting. He was in his hundreds alongside with Y/n, sticking together.

Once Thomas is done putting the papers inside his brief case along with the laptop he bought awhile back due to his old one no longer working properly. “Shall we go?” He raises a brow to Y/n who chuckled. “I’m always ready.”

He locks their arms together as the two walk out of the empty room.

#male reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x male reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x male reader #vampire series #doctor vampire #finale #series #dark au #cillian murphy x male reader #cillian murphy #SoundCloud

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rosewaterandivy · 8 months

Text

i. keep the embers blowing

summary: family lore and a new resident to your small seaside town.

pairing: s.h. x witch!reader

w.c.: 2.4k

warnings: my blog is 18+ MDNI; vague allusions to magic and the like, carpenter & flannel-wearing Steve, and a meet-cute

a/n: she finishes one series only to begin another! Oy vey. Hope you like, and if you do - let me know!

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated! Reposting, however, is not. Enjoy! 💜

Series Masterlist | Playlist | Currently spinning:

For nearly three hundred years, the Callahan women were blamed for everything that went wrong in town. A summer drought and a ruined harvest, a mare and colt lost while she was in foal, a long winter, an outbreak of chicken pox— it didn’t matter if such phenomena could be explained by science or logic, it all ended up with the Callahans as personae non gratae.

Inside the white, two-storey house at the end of the Willow Lane lived an orphaned girl grown into a woman under her aunt’s guiding hands; Kelly and Moira never had children of their own, and when you turned up on their doorstep that fateful day, they welcomed you with open arms and never even batted an eye. In time, they would tell you of the curse that took your father from you and left your mother to die of a broken heart.

Childhood, for you, was filled with a series of small slights and mortifications. No one would touch a pencil or crayon if it was held by you. No one sat with you in the lunchroom. Teachers and parents regarded you with a silent derision and did nothing to temper the taunts of the other children. Boys looked at you like something to be conquered and girls feared you, not that it stymied any of their mean girl behavior.

“Fuck ‘em all,” Kelly would say, throwing more cayenne into the vegetarian chili on the stove. “You’re better off without them, sweets.”

A mantra that sustained you from that day forward.

Sailing through high school to graduate at the top of your class, you fully intended to attend a prestigious university on a full-ride scholarship. The aunts encouraged you to fly the nest and chase your dreams— but then Moira fell sick. You deferred your enrollment for a year, which turned into two and eventually the scholarship was awarded to someone else. Moira’s care fell to you and Kelly, tag-teaming on chauffeur duty and going to doctor’s appointments.

You worked odd jobs around town, entirely dependent on the few townsfolk that would hire you— an abjectly miserable situation. Save for the twist of fate that brought Tracy your way. One day, Moira and Kelly sat you down in front of a large, dusty tome. Sputtering a cough, you batted at the dust motes floating in front of you.

“This,” Kelly said, sliding the book toward you, “Is the family grimoire.”

“It’s well past time you were told, dear heart,” Moira added, with a kind smile.

Tentatively, you brushed a finger against the worn cover of the grimoire tracing the looping ‘C’ of your last name, the gold embossing as bright as if it was newly pressed. They regaled you with the tales of your ancestors, Mary who built this house and worked the curse out of heartbreak and desperation, Sybil who worked the people of the town into an uneasy truce— supplying women with love spells and fertility potions, all the way up to your mother, who fell in love despite knowing the dangers and brought you into the world.

It wasn’t as if they had kept magic from you, far from it, in fact. Kelly and Moira kept up Sybil’s business, as the generations of Callahans before them had. Some years, business was better than others— but the aunts were crafty and seemingly always had something saved for a rainy day. Aside from one small spell in your childhood, you’d simply never expressed an interest in learning the craft. Not wanting to push you, they’d never pressed the issue and assumed you would come to them when, and if, you pleased.

“You were spellbound when you came to us,” Moira says sadly, “Your mother’s handiwork.”

“A bitch and a half to undo,” Kelly adds, taking a long sip from her wine. “You’re free as a bird now though.”

“You showed great promise when you were younger,” Moira smiles, “And I hope we’re not too remiss in beginning your education now.”

She pushes a creased piece of paper your way. You unfold it carefully, the overwhelming scent of cotton blossom and denim invading your nostrils. Reading over your tween-age loopy script in gel pen, a smile blooms on your face.

He will hear my call miles away. He’ll whistle my favorite tune. He always checks his blind spot. He can flip pancakes in the air. He’ll be marvellously kind. He’ll let me map constellations on his skin. His eyes will be as warm as honey and glinting like emeralds.

“What is this?”

Kelly smiles knowingly, “Your half-assed attempt at Amas Veritas.” She plucks the paper from your lax grasp, “If I remember correctly, you were under the impression that if you dreamed up a guy who couldn’t possibly exist, then you wouldn’t be hurt.”

“That the curse would end with me.” Your voice is hushed, recalling how naively you hoped all those years ago. “So, why now?”

It was Moira who answered you with a mischievous grin, “Well, my dear, why not?”

That was a decade ago. In that time, Moira had recovered from her illness, and together with Kelly, they had molded you into quite the talented witch. And after putting yourself through college, you’d opened a shop downtown— Bell, Book, & Candle. Your clientele ranged from tourists to townies and even your childhood tormentors. In time, the Callahan curse had faded from a vindictive tool used by school-yard bullies or "good families" with something to prove, to merely a piece of local lore— In a bind? See the Callahan girl at her shop or take the bluestone path to the back of the old white house on Willow Lane and knock twice on the whitewashed backdoor.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Tracy called from the tea shelves where she perched on a rolling ladder on the wall. “But we’re completely out of the Assam tea for Mrs. Collins’ Irish Breakfast blend and she’s already called twice about it.” She unceremoniously shoves the empty container back on the shelf and propels herself down to the register.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you sigh and search for a pencil in your haphazard topknot. “I’ve called our supplier and he swears it was sent in the current replen.” Finding a pencil, you make a note in the fliofax as your hair cascades down past your shoulders. With another sigh, you finished jotting down necessities. “I trust Frank when he says it was shipped, but we normally don’t have these delays before the first snow of the year.” You glance up to see Tracy shrug. “I’ll make a trip down there sometime this week,” you conclude as the front door chimes.

Several customers poured in as Tracy greeted them, “Welcome in! What can we help you with today?” You went back to the paperwork as the customers dispersed across the store. You could hear Tracy in her conversation with someone about the latest town gossip. (“Are you sure it was the Blakely house? Holy hell!”) You shook your head and smiled, that will spread across town like wildfire in no time, you muse. Busying yourself with tidying the cash wrap, you notice a customer ready to check out.

“I don’t know how you do it!” The newly married Mrs. Smith gushed, “I always walk in here thinking I won’t need anything and I come out with a treasure every time.” You smile politely and ring up her purchases. Pushing the memory of her shouting at you, as you cowered behind Kelly, She started it!

“Well, you’re walking away with some of my favorites,” you say. “I found these scarves when I was in Milan, aren’t they lovely?” Carefully wrapping the scarves, candles, and salve, you continue with the small talk. “With the salve,” you say seriously, “Use it on your lower abdominal area, no more than twice a day.”

Mrs. Smith nodded, mentally making a note. “I can always call you if I have questions, right?”

You nod, “Of course, that’s what I’m here for! Your total comes to 45 dollars today.”

Mrs. Smith paid for her purchases and thanked you and Tracy as she left the store. Tracy eyes you warily, “Was that the salve I think it was?”

Rolling your eyes and stepping out from behind the counter, you laugh, “I think you know the answer to that.”

Tracy scoffs, “God! The last thing this town needs is more kids, damn it Callahan.”

A wind blew softly through the trees, resplendent in their golden yellow hues. A black lab padded among the pine needles while a steady crack sounded down the street. Further up the lane, a young man was bent over to split firewood. His maul slung over his shoulder as he stood to wipe his brow. The weather hadn’t yet turned its frosty shoulder as it was still early in the season, but, nevertheless, preparations must be made.

Turning back to his task, he set a block of wood down on a stump and took a step back. As he was about to begin again, he noticed a car turning toward the Callahan house. Brows furrowed, he placed his maul down and let out a clear whistle, “Lucy!” Ears perked, the dog bounded up from the glen to his side. With a smile, he gave her a nice head scritch and watched as a Subaru ambled up the drive to the white house at the end of the lane.

Later, after a motor-mouth blonde and lean brunet had arrived, the town’s newest resident stepped out for a stroll. Throwing on a flannel to combat the early evening’s chill, he poked his head into the kitchen.

“Lucy’s been fed and walked Rob,” he says to the woman at the stovetop. “Don’t let her fool you.”

She turns with a bemused smile, “I know Steve, s’not like I was born yesterday.”

“Same goes for Eds,” he concludes with a nod before slipping out the door.

Just as you and Tracy were making closing preparations, the bell on the door chimed and a pink-cheeked brunet man walked in. Tracy, eyeing the stranger up and down, let out a low wolf whistle as you jabbed her in the side.

“Hi, welcome in!” You greeted, giving Tracy the eye while she petulantly rubbed at her side. “Is there anything, in particular, I can help you with today?”

The stranger made eye contact with you, his eyes a lovely shade of hazel, and smiled. “Actually, I think I’m looking for you.” He took a step toward her, “Callahan, right?” Tracy snorted and turned to busy herself with something.

You hesitated, never having seen this man in your life, “Um, yes?” You held out your hand to shake, “And you are?” His hand met yours, igniting a tingle at the base of your spine— a firm shake of the hand, his skin surprisingly warm.

“Steve, Steve Harrington. I just bought the property down the way from yours.” His hands were rough, he probably worked with them a lot. He smelled of freshly split wood, towing in a cloud of a pleasant, sappy aroma— warm and inviting.

You dropped hands and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, “Oh, I think I heard something about that. Well, congratulations! It’s a lovely property.”

He nodded in agreement and surveyed the store and its proprietor. You were casual in blue jeans and brown leather boots, paired with a light sweater. Hair slightly wavy and a lovely shade. Soft and feminine features, but your energy radiated strength.

“Yeah, well,” Steve cleared his throat, “I’m really excited to have a place by the water now.”

You smiled, “No place I’d rather be.” Steve, huh? You tried to place him, he seemed so familiar, and yet…

He definitely wasn’t a beach bum, he lacked the sloping posture. Maybe he was one of those rich summer vacationers? “Well, if you need anything please, don’t hesitate to ask!” Glancing around, you hoped to find Tracy, but she had made herself scarce. Damn.

Steve mused a minute before speaking, “Thanks, think I’ll just browse around for now.”

Robin had sent him out with strict instructions and a list— myrtle, myrrh, a tea of some kind, and then, of course, Eddie had chocked in his items as well: devil’s nettle, a very specific type of coffee bean, along with a few other odds and ends.

Luckily, he could find most of the items with practiced ease and sauntered back to the counter. Making idle chit-chat, you rang up the purchase and recommended a few local cafes and stores for his consideration.

“So, what brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“Oh, me?” He smiles as you bag up the purchases, “I’m just some guy with a carpentry business.” Passing the bag to him along with a receipt he thanks you and turns to leave, but not before sliding a card on the counter that reads: ‘H & M Design and Construction: REMODELS, DRYWALL, CARPENTRY, PAINTING, INSTALLATION, ELECTRICAL, REPAIR - WE FIX THINGS.’

Before the bell can chime to signal his leave, he glances to the built-in bookshelves gracing one wall of the store, ladder docked near the register where Tracy left it.

“Your teak could do with a good oiling,” he nods to the built-ins in questions, “Think about it.” And stepped out of the store with a wave, into the indigo night.

Tracy, seemingly coming from nowhere, wore the contented grin of a cat who caught the canary. “Babe,” she said sweetly, “Do you have any idea who that was?”

Distracted by reorganizing the front of the store, you shrugged, “Said his name was Steve, just bought the old Blakely property.”

Tracy hummed and busied herself with tallying up the till eyes falling to the cream-colored business card. She pocketed it, making a mental note to call for an estimate for the store later that week.

In the early morning, a cool breeze swept through the open second-floor window of the Callahan house. Quilts half on the floor, you shiver slightly and roll on to your side throwing an arm over your eyes. All was silent. The moonlight illuminated the photo of your late mother. The woman appeared to smile graciously at the photographer, her husband and your father. A slight breeze too swept through the photograph; the older woman laughed warmly.

This breeze continued down the to the old Blakely house. A picture window was opened slightly for the wind to slip through. Steve, dozing on the couch with a blanket half covering his torso, sighed in his sleep. The sea air was doing him some good. The breeze tousled his hair before it gracefully dissipated.

Unbeknownst to the two residents in the realm of dreams, a change was carried on that breeze. Slow and gradual, but still a change. It was coming swiftly and with intent. Just as a mother once promised her daughter it would.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fan fiction #fic: tiofky #Spotify

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spnexploration · 1 year

Text

Pack Masterlist

So, I didn't really mean to start a new series when a scene came to me, but we're at over 8k words in the doc now so it's pretty official that I have, in fact, started a new series...

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Madison (the werewolf from season 2 "Heart" 😆)

Note: This is not a poly fic but I will be leaning into Pack dynamics where Pack members seek comfort in physical contact with other Pack members. So if you're after something poly you could probably read that into some subtext here, but if you're not into that then don't worry.

Series summary: Omega!Reader is thrown into a world she's not expecting when her mate turns out to be a hunter, and she's not used to Alpha & Omega Pack dynamics.

Warnings: canon-level violence, probably a bit of smut, A/B/O dynamics, there will be hugging and sleeping with (literal sleeping, not sex) Pack members who are not your mate. Individual chapters will carry their own warnings.

Supernatural writing masterlist

(image from google)

Chapter 1

Your newly-found mate, Dean, leaves you in the care of his brother.

Chapter 2

You accompany Sam and Madison on the case.

Chapter 3

Dean explains.

Chapter 4

You go home to sleep.

Chapter 5

You head back to the bunker with the Winchester

Chapter 6

Madison opens your eyes...

Chapter 7

Sam and Dean leave you and Madison in the motel room.

Chapter 8

Sam takes Dean to hospital.

Chapter 9

Sam comes to sit with Dean with you.

Chapter 10

Dean gets out of hospital.

Chapter 11

Dean is suddenly sick.

Chapter 12

Dean remains in the local hospital clinic.

Chapter 13

Dean comes home.

Chapter 14

Dean and you go to the doctor

Chapter 15

You try to follow the doctor's orders

Chapter 16

Miscommunications abound...

Chapter 17

Dean calls a family meeting.

Chapter 18

The reader learns a number of things about her new life.

Chapter 19

You need some air.

Chapter 20

You're feeling better.

Chapter 21

You start learning some lore

Chapter 22

The morning after your night alone.

Chapter 23

Your heat continues.

Chapter 24

You've finally been marked!

Chapter 25

Your heat and Dean's rut are over.

Chapter 26

The Pack heads out on Claire's hunt.

Chapter 27

#alpha!dean winchester #alpha!dean winchester x omega!reader #dean winchester x reader #a/b/o #protective!dean winchester #protective!sam winchester #alpha!sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester x you #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #spn a/b/o #dean x reader x sam

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mushroompoisoning · 1 month

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Good friend, I ask of you because I trust you, what are these "The Mechanisms" you are so fond of?

Okay I tried to type out an incredibly long summary but tumblr deleted it so you're getting a semi-sane version instead

The Mechanisms are a band of immortal, space-faring pirates travelling the universe singing about the tragedies they witness for our entertainment!

There are nine main members you'll hear about, with the tenth - Dr Carmilla - having left much earlier and making her own music 👍 ( there is technically an eleventh but they're more of a mystery easter egg than anyone we know things about )

Quick lore thing: the mechanisms immortality works from the mechanical part(s) they each have. They can die and get injured, but they'll revive whenever the narrative wants them too. All logic in this universe functions off of Would It Be Good For The Story

The cast is:

Jonny D'Ville (he/him) is the ship's first mate ( don't let him tell you otherwise ) and he's got a mechanical heart

Nastya Rasputina (she/her) is the ship's engineer and girlfriend! Yea the ship - Aurora - is alive btw. She's got me hanical blood

Ashes O'Reily (they/them) is the ship's quartermaster and best arsonist! they've got mechanical lungs

Drumbot Brian (he/him) is the ship's pilot and the only one with a moral code. It's controlled by a switch which flips between Means Justify Ends and Ends Justify Means with no nuance. everything is mechanical except for his heart

Ivy Alexandria (she/her) is the ship's archivist! Pretty chill, cares more for books than violence but that doesn't mean she disapproves of the latter. she's got a mechanical brain

The Toy Soldier (it/its) is the mascot and whatever else they tell it to be! it just wants to be involved. will follow anything you tell it if you ask nicely ( or with enough force ). it's not actually mechanized, and is instead a sentient wooden man

Gunpowder Tim (he/him) is the ship's master at arms! madman war veteran who I love dearly. he blew up the moon. he's great. I pick favourites. he's got mechanical eyes

Raphaella La Cognizi (she/her) is the ship's unethical scientist! nothing is off the table when it comes to research. nothing. theory is she mechanized her, but iirc that unconfirmed. she's got a mechanical spine and wings!

and Baron Marius Von Raum (he/him) who is neither the ships baron nor doctor. he claims to be both, though. Deeply unserious fella. he's got a mechanical arm

^ here are some good images for crew reference

OKAY! Now onto actual music

They have six albums and a couple singles!

Once Upon a Time (In Space) is an unconventional retelling of classic fairytales

High Noon over Camelot is a retelling of King Arthur

Ulysses Dies at Dawn is a greek mythos adaptation

and The Bifrost Incident is a norse mythos adaptation

there's also Tales To Be Told volumes I and II, and the two single Frankenstein and Death To The Mechanisms ( technically that one is part of an album but the album is just a bunch of their other songs from already existing albums )

The tales to be told albums contain some of the mechanisms origins!

One Eyed Jacks is Jonny's

Lucky Sevens is Ashes'

Lost In The Cosmos is Brian's

and Gunpowder Tim vs The Moon Kaiser I don't think I have to say

Nastya has an origin song, but it was never officially put on anything. You can find it on the @mechanismslorearchive ( you can get any lore you want on there )

They also have a number of live shows ( you can find those on youtube ) and written stories on their website! I recommend these if you wanna get to know the mechanisms as characters better

that is the basic rundown. I'm not an expert on the mechs so if you're looking to talk to a metaphorical seasoned nurse instead of a med student I'd go to @bugsinthebayou or @gunpowderdtim (sorry for tagging yall)

#wallace says shit #asks & answers #mechs posting #HP!!#hope thats right I had to check your name #enjoy this messy and amateur summary #god I hope there are. limited mistakes in this.

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supernaturalfreakout · 3 months

Text

Revelations pt. 2

[History on Your Side—Chapter 3.] Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: Revelations of a different kind are revealed. You and Sam spend some time alone. *Please see the masterlist for entire work summary and tags* Masterlist | Read on AO3

The Impala rumbled through the streets, the engine's purr resonating through the rainy night as Sam and Dean navigated towards your address. The houses stood in neat rows, each one barely distinguishable from the next in the dimly lit neighbourhood. As they pulled up outside your modest townhouse, the porch light cast a soft glow, illuminating the rain as it fell.

You met them at the door, hurrying them into the kitchen where an array of old texts and manuscripts lay, covering the table and floor.

"Wow, you've really gone to town" Dean remarked.

The three of you gathered around the small kitchen table, the air thick with anticipation as you laid out a leather journal and a few worn manuscripts in front of you.

A touch of nervousness colored your voice as you continued. "I've been studying these texts for a while and have never been able to make sense of them, but when you mentioned a spell... well, take a look..."

Sam leaned forward, recognizing a familiar seal on the journal. "Are these… Men of Letters materials?"

Your confusion was evident as you locked eyes.

"You know about the Men of Letters?" Dean's tone was laced with both concern and intrigue.

You nodded. "I've been quietly researching their history for years. It's not something openly discussed in academic circles... it's often dismissed as mere conspiracy or myth."

Sam's eyebrows rose in interest. "What got you interested in their research?"

"I stumbled upon obscure references during my doctoral studies. It was like uncovering a hidden world of knowledge. But the deeper I delved, the more I realized how deliberately it was obscured. My colleagues shrugged it off, but I sensed there was more… and… I'm sensing that you know more than you're letting on?" You looked between the brothers as they glanced at each other, silently contemplating whether to reveal their connection to the secret organisation.

Sam leaned forward as he explained. "The Men of Letters, they've been around for centuries. They've catalogued knowledge about every kind of supernatural entity you can imagine. They're like a secret society, guarding information that most people can't even imagine."

Dean, nodding in agreement, added, "They've got archives full of books and lore from all over the world. But they keep it under lock and key, hidden from the public eye."

You listened intently, visibly intrigued. "So, you're saying that this organization has been safeguarding knowledge about the supernatural for generations?"

Dean chimed in. "It's not just about information. They've got tools, spells, ancient artefacts—stuff that's pretty powerful if it falls into the wrong hands."

Your eyes widened slightly. "How do you know all of this?"

"We've had our fair share of encounters with the Men of Letters," Sam began, a hint of hesitation in his voice. "In fact, we live in one of their old bunkers."

"Yeah, it's our headquarters. It's packed with centuries-old knowledge, weapons, spells—everything we need for our... line of work. Where did you say you found this?" Dean's voice turned accusatory as he picked up the journal.

"It was donated by a member of the public… I reached out for information on local folklore and someone handed it in. There should be a name in the cover, hold on…" You flipped to the back page. "Donated by a Mr Henry Win… W... Winchester".

A silence settled between the three of you. Sam and Dean gaped.

"Henry Who?" Dean asked, not believing his ears.

"Henry Winchester." You gulped, watching the brother's shocked expressions.

"Huh." Sam huffed, visibly baffled. "Henry Winchester is… or was… our grandfather".

"Wait, so you're telling us that you just happen to have our missing Men of Letters' journal, donated by our grandfather?!" Dean accused. "Who are you working for lady?".

"What?! No one… I mean, I work for the university… No one else... I'm just as confused as you are right now!" You sat back in defence, noting the concern in the brothers' eyes.

"Not many people even know about the Men of Letters, let alone actively research them" Sam added, searching your eyes.

You looked at him pleadingly. "I swear Sam, I wouldn't lie about this..."

Sam calmed, noticing the panic in your eyes. "Hey, hey… it's okay, I believe you Y/N." I don't know why, but I just do. Sam soothed as he looked into your eyes.

Relief washed over you and Dean appeared to calm, trusting Sam's intuition.

As the tension lifted, a sense of understanding gradually filled the room. Sam's unwavering belief seemed to bridge the gap, diffusing the suspicion that lingered moments ago. The relief in your eyes mirrored Dean's easing stance.

"So, you're like… guardians of this hidden world?" You asked, reigniting your conversation.

Sam exhaled through his nose. "More like janitors, cleaning up the messes others can't handle."

"It's not always glamorous," Dean teased with a smirk. "But someone's gotta do it." The hint of humour in his tone reassured you that his earlier suspicions had dissipated. "Anyway, back to this spell…"

"Right, of course..." You pulled the journal towards you.

Sam leaned forward, studying the text intently as you pointed out the details you had identified. Aided by Sam and Dean's knowledge, you worked together to translate the details of the spell.

The spell involved a meticulous process- a ritual, cleansing a site with specific herbs and offerings, all of which had to align with the energies of a full moon.

Hope coloured Sam's voice. "This is incredible... So the spirit's energy is tied to the full moon?"

You nodded. "Lore states that the tribe worshiped the full moon, and when a member died and their bones burned… their souls transcend there…Somehow, this dude got trapped on earth"

"Huh" Dean mused. "Sounds like a sci-fi movie".

Sam huffed, "Are you forgetting that Vampires exist, Dean? Werewolves, Demons, Angels...?"

"Angels?!" You blurted, shock evident on your face.

The brothers chuckled in unison. "Why is it always the Angels that shock people?" Dean smithed.

You squinted at Sam, tilting your head to the side in mock suspicion. "Angels, really!? You're not getting out of that one easily, I'll have questions later."

Dean winked at Sam.

"Anyway moving onnn…" Sam pressed, placing his hand on the table. "This explains why there have been no reported sightings in a few weeks. No full moon = no spirit."

"So… yeah, this spell… the moon." You stumbled over your words, a hint of reluctance in your expression. "Basically… it seems the spell can only be performed on a full moon. And, well, the next one is... tomorrow."

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Tomorrow? That soon?"

You nodded, feeling the weight of time. "I'm sorry I didn't mention this earlier. That's why I called you over so urgently."

Sam nodded thoughtfully, understanding the sudden rush. "Thank you Y/N. We owe you big time for this."

You glanced at the clock on the wall. "Soo… we should get cracking then. We'll need to gather the ingredients and prepare for the ritual before sunset tomorrow".

Sam and Dean exchanged a concerned glance. "Y/N... This ritual, it might not be safe. We can't guarantee what we'll face there."

Dean's expression hardened as he chimed in, his demeanour firm. "Sam's right, we can't risk putting you in harm's way."

You met their concern with an unwavering, resolute look. "I understand the risks, but I called you here for a reason. I want to help."

Sam sighed deeply, his concern etched in his furrowed brow. "We appreciate that, but this is our job—our responsibility. We can't involve you in something this risky."

"But… I've been studying these texts for years... I know the history," you insisted firmly, your determination shining through. "I can be an asset, not a liability."

Dean shook his head, his reluctance evident. "We can't take that chance. Our line of work, it's not for everyone."

You stood your ground, your stance holding a mix of frustration and resolve. "I understand the risks, and I'm willing to take them."

Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing look, silently acknowledging your unyielding determination. With a heavy sigh, Sam relented, albeit with lingering worry etched on his face. "Okay. We'll need to gather the ingredients, and rehearse the spell."

Your eyes lit up with gratitude. "Thank you. I won't let you down."

After a tense pause, Sam spoke in a softer tone. "We'll prepare everything. But promise us, if it gets too dangerous, you'll stay back."

You nodded firmly. "I promise. I'll follow your lead."

Dean, uncomfortable with the tension in the air, decided to excuse himself. "Hey Sammy… as you’re the bookish one, why don't you stay and get clued up on this spell. I’ll head out to grab the herbs and shit". Dean shot a reassuring look at Sam, a silent encouragement to handle the situation, before swiftly leaving to gather the required supplies.

As the sound of the closing door echoed through the room, the atmosphere seemed to ease a bit. Sam met your gaze, his concern softening into a reassuring smile. "He's got a way with words, hasn't he?"

You chuckled softly, the tension easing a little. "He sure does. Is he always that direct and to the point?"

Sam let out a breathy laugh. "Yep"

You mirrored his amusement.

Sam leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as he regarded you. "You really shouldn't have to do this. It's not your responsibility."

"I know," you admitted, a hint of weariness in your voice. "But I can't stand by knowing that I might know something that could help. This means a lot to me."

Sam's expression softened, understanding the depth of your commitment. "We appreciate your willingness to help. But you have to understand, this world we deal with, it's dangerous. We've seen things that... no one should have to."

You nodded solemnly. "I get it. But sometimes, doing what's right means taking risks."

Despite his concerns for your safety, your words resonated with him deeply. "We'll do everything to keep you safe, Y/N. That's a promise."

A faint smile touched your lips. "I trust you."

---

With a newfound understanding, you focused on the task ahead together. Time passed swiftly in your combined efforts, Sam absorbing every bit of information like a sponge, whilst you offered clarifications and insights from your research.

As you discussed the finer points of the ritual, your voices softened, the air thickening with a palpable chemistry, unspoken yet undeniable. Your forced proximity seemed to heighten the charged atmosphere. An accidental brush of hands while reaching for a text, or a fleeting touch as you exchanged notes, sent jolts of awareness through you both.

Sam caught himself lingering on your words longer than necessary, admiring the intelligence and passion in your eyes. He tried to concentrate on the ritual details, but his thoughts occasionally drifted to the way your eyes sparkled with enthusiasm or the way you ran your fingers through your hair in moments of deep contemplation.

You too, couldn't help but notice the intensity in Sam's eyes as he absorbed the information. His focused demeanour was intriguing, and the way his brows furrowed slightly in concentration was oddly endearing. You found yourself drawn to his earnestness, dedication, and the way he spoke with a gentle authority.

"Y/N," Sam began hesitantly, breaking the intensity of your study. "I owe you an apology. When we first met, I... I made a mistake, misgendering you. I'm truly sorry. I haven't stopped thinking about it… I'm pretty embarrassed actually."

Your expression softened, surprise flickering briefly before a reassuring smile tugged at your lips. "Honestly, forget about it... titles can be deceiving."

Sam exhaled through his nose. "It must suck though, right? That people still make assumptions like that".

"I guess so, I just try not to think about it."

"Yeah, yeah, right, I'm sorry."

You chuckled. "Stop apologizing... It's all good."

"Good." Sam smiled, unsure where to lead the conversation next. He hoped he hadn't ruined the vibe.

Sensing Sam's hesitancy, you shuffled in your seat. "Um, I don't know about you, but all this reading is making my head fuzzy. Do you…fancy a beer?"

"Uh, yeah… sure." Sam rose from his seat, unconsciously mirroring you.

"Awesome, you relax, Sam, I'll grab them".

"May I use your bathroom?" Sam asked, ever so politely.

You chuckled. "Yeah of course, up the stairs, first door on the right."

Once in the bathroom, Sam closed the door and stared at himself in the mirror. He felt like a teenager on a first date, full of butterflies. He tried to calm himself down, splashing some cold water on his face and checking his teeth. Taking a deep breath to calm the flutter of nerves in his chest, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. He couldn't deny what he was feeling- he was head-over-heels crushing on you.

As he tried to steady his racing thoughts, Sam couldn't help but replay the moments you had shared—your smile, the accidental touches, the way you seamlessly connected over shared enthusiasm.

"Pull yourself together, Sam," he muttered to his reflection. He couldn't afford to let his feelings interfere with the task ahead, especially when danger might loom.

Taking another deep breath, he straightened his posture and splashed a bit more water on his face, letting the coolness soothe his nerves. "Just a crush," he reminded himself firmly, though his heart wasn't completely convinced.

Downstairs, you were gathering drinks from the kitchen, your own thoughts a mix of excitement and nervousness. You had sensed a shift in your interaction, and now, with Sam excusing himself, you tried to contain your own flutter of anticipation. The prospect of spending a casual moment together felt oddly thrilling.

With two bottles in hand, you made your way to the lounge, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. You set the bottles down on the coffee table as you heard Sam's footsteps coming down the stairs.

"In here!" you called, signalling Sam to turn right, instead of left back into the kitchen. "Needed a change of scenery" you smiled, trying to ease the tension as you both sat on the sofa.

Seated next to each other, you took sips from your drinks.

"Sooo, besides solving supernatural mysteries, what else do you do?" you asked, attempting to break the ice.

Sam chuckled softly, grateful for the shift in conversation. "Well, it's pretty much a hunter's life for me—saving people, hunting things, the family business, as my brother likes to say."

You grinned. "Saving people, huh? That's quite the noble endeavour. But what about when you're not hunting?"

Sam paused, considering the question. "I guess I try to keep some sense of normalcy—reading, jogging, that kind of stuff. Dean says I'm a bit of a nerd."

You chuckled. "Sounds like a good way to balance out the otherworldly chaos."

Sam's gaze softened, memories of a different path flickering in his eyes. "I had another life planned before all of this... I was studying to be a lawyer."

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really? What made you change course?"

"Family duty." Sam's reply was tinged with melancholy and regret. "Some things happen, and you find yourself down a different road. Dean and I… well, we took on this legacy, and it became more than just a choice."

You nodded, sensing the depth behind Sam's words. "It takes a lot to give up one path for another."

"Yeah, it does," Sam agreed softly, a hint of sadness in his tone. "But I guess in the end, we all have to make sacrifices for what we believe in."

You considered him for a second, admiration in your thoughts.

"Anyway... enough about me…what about you? Besides being an encyclopaedia of hidden knowledge, what fills your days?"

You blushed. "Well, you know... the simple things—hiking, painting, exploring new cafes..." A soft smile graced your lips. "Oh, and I have this habit of binge-watching crime documentaries. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure."

Sam chuckled. "Oh yeah?"

You exhaled in amusement. "Yeah, um... I know it sounds so cliché, but understanding the human mind, motivations—it's fascinating."

Your conversation flowed effortlessly, each question peeling back another layer, revealing more about your lives, interests, and aspirations.

Dean eventually returned, laden with an assortment of herbs and artefacts. You were so engrossed in your conversation that you didn't even hear the door open.

"Got everything we need. What'd I miss?" Dean's grin widened as he surveyed the room, sensing the intimate atmosphere he'd stumbled into.

Sam cleared his throat, a faint flush of embarrassment tingeing his cheeks. "Uh, we finalised the spell... Y/N here kindly offered up a beer."

"Yeah, we were just winding down... Are you a true crime fan too?" You asked with a playful smirk.

Dean's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "True crime, huh? You've been holding out on me with that one Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"No need to explain, Sammy. Just remember, if you ever need pointers on a real hunt, I'm your go-to guy." Dean winked and headed to the kitchen, focusing on arranging the herbs and artefacts he'd gathered.

You and Sam exchanged a glance—an unspoken acknowledgment of the moment you had shared, now shelved in the wake of the imminent task ahead.

Chapter 4

#ao3 fanfic #history on your side #fanfic #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #spn #supernatural #x reader

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