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scoonsalicious · 14 days

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Unwanted: Chapter 21, Unacceptable - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, allusions to sex, hypocritical Bucky, discussions of alcohol use, hangovers

Word Count: 1.4k

Previously On...: 🎶Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you! You got high on molly, and brought Steve to your room!🎶

A/N: The morning after.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

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You woke up the following morning completely hungover, but in good spirits, nonetheless. You had had an amazing time at your party, and not even Bucky and Jade's surprise appearance could have put a damper on your evening. And, if you had told yourself yesterday that you would wake up with Steve Rogers in bed next to you, you would have laughed in your own face.

Life certainly was surprising.

Sometime in the night, your handkerchief top had gotten all twisted around you, and was no longer doing much to cover your chest, so you discarded it and grabbed Steve's button up shirt from where he had tossed it on the floor, putting it on to cover yourself and laughing when you saw it completely covered the skirt you were wearing. The man was massive. You stood up and stretched, your body aching from all of the previous night's physical activity.

Looking over your shoulder, your gaze fell across the giant super soldier spread out on his stomach in your bed, his blond hair tousled and going in every direction.

"Take a picture; it will last longer," he murmured, not opening his eyes.

You laughed and crawled back onto the bed to sit next to him. "Rise and shine, Stevie," you sang.

"Not so loud," he groaned, putting a pillow over his head.

"Awww, has poor Captain America been felled by the evil Asgardian liquor?" you teased. "If only the Nazis had known your one true weakness. World War II would have ended so differently."

"Never again," Steve moaned, rolling over onto his back.

"See, I feel like you say 'never again,' yet there's always a next time," you joked, poking him in the side through his undershirt. "Come on, up and at'em, Cap. I gotta get ready to leave for Atlantic City."

Steve's eyes flew open at the mention of the mission. "Oh, shit," he said, sitting upright. "I need to make sure your fake IDs and documents are fully ready before you go!" He jumped to his feet, scrambling to put his shoes back on.

"Language, Cap," you teased as you walked him to the door.

You opened it for him, and he stepped out, then turned around to look at you. "Are we good, Pocket?" he asked, worry stretched across his brow. "I know last night was... Well, it wasn't our usual. I just want to make sure we're okay."

You leaned up and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek. "We're golden, Stevie," you murmured. "Thank you for last night. You were great. Really." He smiled before pulling you in for a tight, one-armed hug.

"Thanks, Pocket." He kissed the crown of your head. "I'll see you in a bit." You closed the door behind him and let out a content sigh. You would not have anticipated ending last night the way you did, but you had to admit, you weren't upset with the way things had played out. You moved back into your room and grabbed your duffle bag out from underneath your bed. You still had a few hours left before you and Sam were scheduled to leave for New Jersey, but you hadn't yet packed a thing.

After a while, a knock on your door caught your attention. Smiling to yourself, you went to answer.

"Sorry, Stevie, you're not getting this shirt back any--" your voice faltered when you saw that it wasn't Steve standing at your door, but Bucky.

And he looked like shit. His eyes were rimmed in red, and he was still wearing the same clothes from last night. His face looked haggard, as if he hadn't slept. But the most noticeable thing of all was the hard set of his jaw.

"Are you trying to kill me, Pocket?" he asked with a voice that was rough with agony. "Did you really want to get back at me that badly?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Barnes," you said, your own voice clipped. You put your arms across your chest, feeling the need to cover yourself. The motion only served to draw Bucky's attention to what you were wearing.

"Is that his fucking shirt?" he growled, and for a moment, it was a sick mirror of the night the two of you had first slept together, but then you realized immediately-- this wasn't about you. It was about Steve.

"Relax, Barnes," you said, rolling your eyes. As if, for once, he truly gave a shit about you. "I'm not trying to seduce your boy to my dark side of the Force. He's still your best friend."

"Like hell he is, now!" Bucky shouted at you, and the ferocity of his words caused you to step back. Bucky advanced on you, stepping further into your room. “For fucks’ sake, (Y/N)! I asked one thing of you! I begged– if you ever wanted to sleep with someone to hurt me, I’d hate it, but I’d understand, but I told you if it was Steve it would fucking kill me!”

Bucky had never, ever called you by your real name before, and the sound of it from his mouth felt like a slap in the face. You'd told him how much you'd hated it, because it was the name your mother had given you, that you shared with her, and that version of you had died when you were finally able to escape from your old life.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” you said, and you were amazed you’d managed to keep your voice calm. Cold, emotionless. “How many times did I beg you to stay away from Carthage? How many times did you reduce me to a crying mess over her, knowing how much I despised her and what she was doing to us? But you just had to fuck her, anyway, didn’t you?

“And even now, you still rub it in my face and expect me to have any fucking respect for you? How dare you show up to my party with that filthy cunt by your side? Were you trying to embarrass me in front of everyone who actually cares about me? Do you get off on watching my heart break? On causing me pain?”

“I didn’t go to the party with her,” he said. He’d lowered the tone of his voice now, but it was still full of anger. “She showed up, kept following me. Asking me to be with her. I couldn’t get her away from me all night! I wanted to talk to you, to apologize, but I didn’t want to cause a scene, to take attention away from you.”

“Oh, well, my fucking hero, then,” you said, slowly clapping. “Forgive me if I don’t leap into your arms with gratitude. Seem to find myself out of fucks to give where you’re concerned. Can’t imagine why.”

“Because you’re with Steve now?” Bucky asked, his voice dangerously low.

“Who I do or do not sleep with stopped being your business the second you decided to stick your dick in that bitch,” you told him.

“It’s my business because you’re still my girl!” he shouted at you. You were sure Jade was having the time of her life listening in on your conversation right now.

“Really?” you asked him, stone-faced. “Fucking really?! You need to go, Barnes." Your voice was cold, steady, and you were proud of yourself for not shaking the way you were shaking inside. "If you think I'm trying to steal Steve from you, you can go talk to him about it. I don't have anything more to say to you." You moved to the side of your door, holding it open for him, expectantly. He ran his hands through his hair.

"This is just cruel, Pocket," he murmured.

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" you asked him.

"Do you care about him?" he asked. “Or were you just trying to get back at me? To hurt my feelings like I hurt yours?”

"I believe you'll find I wasn't thinking about your feelings at all, Barnes. Now go away, before I have FRIDAY call Thor to kick your ass out of here." He looked at you before he left, and his expression was completely broken. If you hadn't been so angry at him, it would have made your heart shatter into a thousand pieces. But that sympathy belonged to a friend, to a lover, you didn't have anymore.

Finally, with a dejected sigh, Bucky walked out, leaving you to shut and lock the door behind him, though you knew that, if he really wanted to come back in, the flimsy lock would do nothing to stop him.

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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barefoothighlander · 1 year

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mary on a cross - until it sleeps

-simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

-warnings: descriptions of violence, mdni, slight stalker!ghost, male masturbation, mentions of alcohol, unwanted male attention, mentions of smut

-word count: 4.5k

-summary: you've recently moved to manchester, while looking for jobs you come across a run-down pub looking for bartenders. upon meeting its owner simon, you find out there's more to him than meets the eye. mercenary au

next chapter fic masterlist

a/n: okay so the poll isn't over but this au was winning and I got too excited to write it.

Simon woke up to light peering in through the bedroom window, turning his head to glance at the woman that lay beside him in bed. It wasn’t rare that he went home with someone, usually some woman who had come to the pub alone and he ended up chatting with to kill time. To him, these hookups were simply a means to an end, an easy way to get rid of some stress, most times he’d sneak out of their flats before they woke up, praying they wouldn’t come back to the pub for some kind of confrontation, and they usually didn’t. The time spent with his hookups was almost the only source of sleep he’d get, spending his days at the bar and his nights on the streets or rooftops.

He gathered his scattered clothes from the floor quietly, hoping not to wake the sleeping woman whose name he couldn’t remember, carefully dressing and making his way to the front door, descending the stairs and walking out onto the streets of manchester. It was unusually warm for April, with barely a cloud in the sky, a welcome change from the constant rain that the city usually endured, the pub wasn’t far, maybe a couple of blocks, he’d shower when he got there, his own flat residing directly above the pub. The walk was short, Simon occupying his time by watching all the people wander the streets, going into shops or chatting together, he reached the pub, unlocking the door and heading up the steps to ready himself for the day.

You were utterly lost, the city streets a maze to you, you’d lived in the city for close to a month now but you spent most of that time unpacking and organizing your flat. It was modest, to say the least, the best you could afford, but it had a decent bathroom and kitchen, and you were determined to make it feel like a home. Decorating it with plenty of rugs and throw pillows, even having a small open cupboard designated to your collection of mugs, your building was mostly occupied by elderly people and their small dogs, you weren’t central to anywhere but there was a nice coffeeshop across the street which you frequented.

This morning you woke up in good spirits, determined to have a good day after the weeks of stress endured by your move and your ex-boyfriend, you had decided to make the move after finally breaking up with him, 4 years of your life spent being belittled by him and you finally got sick of it, choosing to put as much distance between you and him as possible, but you were running out of money, whatever you have saved up quickly depleting, so today, you had to find a job.

You had ventured to a handful of different shops around the city, giving your resume to anyone who would take it, hoping that one of them would call you back. Yours were exhausted and you heard your stomach start to grumble, facing forward you notice a small pub tucked between a flower shop and a boxing gym, deciding it was as good of a place as any to grab something to eat. Ushing through the heavy doors you’re met with the heavy scent of wood, cigarettes, and whiskey, setting yourself down on a stool at the bar, looking around for any sign of life. It was early but it also wasn’t rare to see a few people littering the pubs around noon. Calling out to anyone who might be there you turn your head at the sound of a door opening, standing up from your stool only to have your entire body freeze.

Your eyes locked on a large blonde man, he was wearing a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but he was massive, tall enough that you’d have to crane your neck to look at his face, his hair was damp, but what you notice first was the number of scars scattered over his arms, some shallow and some deep, all drawing your eyes to the large tattoo on his forearm, black and white but with a heavy amount of detail. Before you could make out any of the markings his deep voice rang through your ears.

“Can I help you love?”

You pull your focus to his eyes, they’re a deep colour in this light, as a smile pulls at your cheeks.

“Yeah, I was just wondering if you serve any food here?”

He shakes his head a little, staring down your form. “No, just drinks, sorry”

You don’t know why, but you feel inclined to stay here, even if it meant enduring an empty stomach.

“Any scotch?” you ask with a tilt of your head

He nods, urging you over to the bar, as you sit down he pulls out two glasses and a bottle of brown liquor.

“That’s bourbon,” you state

“I know, better than any scotch you’ll have in this town”

You laugh a little and he looks up to meet your face, smiling slightly to himself. He slides the glass over to you and you take a small sip.

“Not bad,” you say, he nods in agreement “So do you own the place?”

“Yea, bought it a few years back, needed something to do”

“And it’s just you that works here?”

“Most nights, sometimes I have a friend come and help out if there's a football game on, too many people for just me”

“So you’re looking for bartenders,” you ask, eyes widening

“Not particularly,” he says furrowing his brows oh. You bow your head a little and continue sipping on your drink.

“You new in town?”

You nod your head, “yeah, moved here about a month ago, need a job” you say as you huff a laugh to yourself.

“You don’t want to work here,” he says as you look up quirking an eyebrow, urging him to explain. “It’s a dingy old pub, always full of rowdy old blokes, not exactly a great position for a pretty young girl”

You smile, “I can take care of myself, I bartended in college, you should see some of the fights that break out during the Superbowl”

“Believe me doll, Americans are nothing compared to English folk,” he says, finishing his drink before placing the glass below the bar.

“C’mon, give me a shot, if I screw up you can fire me, I won’t be mad”

He stares into your eyes, thinking for a minute, weighing the options in his mind.

“We open at 1 and close at 3 am, can you be here tomorrow?”

Your face lights up and Simon can’t help but smile.

“Yes, I can,” you say, almost jumping from your stool. Simon nods his head.

“I’m serious kid, you mess up my pub and I will fire you,” he says, knowing in his head that it’s a lie.

You’re beaming with joy as you stand up and turn to leave. “I promise you won’t regret hiring me” Before you can leave he shouts over to you.

“Oi, I’m Simon by the way”

You turn and give him your name, and he smiles and waves you out. You practically skip out of the pub, making your way back to your flat, glowing with the joy of a successful job hunt. While Simon stands alone behind the bar, he can’t wipe the smile from his face, you’re just so different from anyone else who comes into the pub, like a physical ray of sunshine, a stark contrast to the environment he stands in. He finds himself repeating your name over and over while cleaning the bartop and preparing for patrons, he’s never felt that calm with someone before, usually keeping conversation to a minimum when people approach him, but you pulled answers from him so easily, he doesn’t know what it is about you that has him taking his guard down, but he’s sure it’s going to get him into trouble.

You wake up the next morning early, you don’t have to be at the pub till 1 but you want to get there early to get some sort of lay of the land, chucking on some denim shorts and a top you make your way, stopping first to grab a coffee for both you and Simon.

When you get to the pub you walk in and find Simon sitting at a table, flipping through papers.

“Good morning” you beam, placing the coffee infront of him, he looks up at you the down to the drink.

“What’s this?”

“Didn’t know what you liked, figured black was my best be” wrong

“I prefer tea” he states plainly as your smile falters a bit, “but thank you”

“Should’ve figured, people aren’t big into coffee here” you say, sitting across from him.

“You’re early” he says, turning his attention back to the pages

“Yeah I-” you stop for a second, looking at his arms, he has a bandage wrapped around his forearm and his knuckles are pink and swollen. Noticing your stare, he pulls his arms off the table to his side. “I just wanted to get a feel for the place before starting”

“Well there’s not much to it, pretty much everything in the front, extra of everything is kept in the back there, and the back stairs just go up to my flat”

“You live above the pub?” you ask

He takes a beat, “Yeah, makes it easy to get to work”

You giggle a little and he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips.

“So you’ve bartended before?”

“Yea about 3 years total”

“Can you pour a pint?”

“Of course”

“Show me.” he gestures to the bar, you make your way behind it and grab a glass. Stationing yourself at one of the taps you begin to pour.

“That has to be the ugliest Guinness I’ve ever seen,” he says with a smile, you scoff in defence.

“Here let me show you” He scoots his body behind yours, eyes locked on yours. He grabs another glass and gives it to you, holding your hand as you grip the glass, mind suddenly fogging from the close contact. His hands are rough and large, they encapsulate yours. You can smell him, he smells clean, but there’s hints of cigarette smoke and amber. He grabs your attention by pulling the spout down, tilting your hand to hold the glass at a 45-degree angle before allowing the ale to fill the glass, turning it back upright before stopping the pour, letting it settle, then topping it off.

“There, that’s a proper pint,” he says, placing the glass down, chest still pressed to your back. You turn your head back to look at his face and he stares at you for a minute, then quickly breaks focus moving away from you. Chills cover your body at the sudden loss of contact.

“You should probably wear something a little less revealing as well,” he says, gesturing to your shorts “Men around here can get quite crude”

“It’s alright, I’m sure you’ll just beat up anyone who messes with me,” you say jokingly, but he would he’d do more than just beat them up, he nods and smiles in response.

The two of you fill the time making light conversation, it’s mostly you talking but Simon asks a lot of questions, he wants to know where you’re from, what you studied in college, why you moved here.

“Um, I just had to get away from a guy,” you say sheepishly, he nods in understanding and doesn’t pry more, but he can sense a hint of sadness in your tone when you talk about it.

“So what about you, why a bar owner,” you ask

“Left the military and needed money”

You laugh, “Seriously, that’s all I get”

He grins, “There’s not much to it, I served for over a decade and when I left everything was just so quiet, needed some excitement and I guess I got that in the form of old drunk men shouting at a football match”

A few minutes of silence pass, you continue cleaning tables, “what’s your favourite movie?”

“Huh?”

“Films, movies, what’s your favourite?”

“Uh, I don’t really watch movies”

“Come on, everyone has a favourite movie, it doesn’t have to be some super macho pick, just, what’s your favourite?”

“Only one I can think of is Harry Potter”

“You’ve seen Harry Potter?”

“Yea I took my nephew to see it a while ago”

“Awh thats sweet, do you see him often?”

His smile fades and he turns away from you, “No”

You bite your cheek at the feeling that you’ve overstepped. Finishing your cleaning in silence before the bar opens and people start to fill in. The night was busy, people in and out, constantly running around to bring drinks, thankfully Simon helps you out a lot, pouring drinks and dealing with most of the rude customers. By closing time you’re exhausted, your hair is a mess and your feet are sore. Setting yourself down in a chair after wiping all the tables, you watch as Simon cleans a few glasses, stacking them neatly behind the bar.

“So, am I getting fired”

Not a chance in hell, “no, you did pretty well” he says

You smile wide, turning to face the ground and blushing to yourself.

“Listen I’ve got some stuff to take care of, so you can take off now if you’d like”

“Oh no, I’ll help,” you say standing to move towards the bartop

“It’s mostly financial stuff, super boring”

“Oh, alright, well I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you say, smiling to him

“Yea, have a good night doll,” he says before turning back to his task.

You gather your things and start walking home, the streets are dark and few street lights guide your way. You still haven’t memorized the route and end up taking a few wrong turns, ending up in an unfamiliar alley, cursing to yourself you turn around before two dark figures come into your line of sight. You feel your breath hitch, quickly making your way out onto the street, you turn back and the men are facing you, picking up your pace, anxiety starts to flood your veins. You hear the men shouting something at you but the sound of blood pumping in your ears is too loud to make out what they’re saying, rushing your way down the streets, the men continue their pursuit. You stare ahead and continue, turning back when you notice their shouting has ceased, you stop in your tracks as the men have disappeared. Confused you look around, maybe they just gave up, you collect yourself and continue home, making it safely to your flat.

You set your things down and lock the door before stripping your clothes and entering your shower, taking your time to clean all the sweat and spilt liquor from your skin. Stepping out in a towel you walk into your bedroom, noticing your open window, you move closer and glance out the window, the alley behind your flat is dark, used mostly to hold dumpsters, but you swear you see the figure of a man leaning against a wall. Mind freezing you panic slightly, shutting the window and closing the curtains before turning to your dresser to pick out something to sleep in.

Simon stumbles into his flat at 4am, his body fatigued, stepping into his bathroom he glances at himself in the mirror, his face covered by his balaclava, only his eyes can be seen. He takes a deep breath collecting himself, before washing the blood from his hands and cleaning his cuts. His knuckles were raw and red, he wraps them loosely and sits on the edge of the tub. He had followed you home, he didn’t mean to but when he left the pub and noticed you taking a wrong turn he wanted to make sure you were safe. Following slowly behind you from the roofs of the buildings, he didn’t want you to see him and get scared, he never wanted to scare you. But when he noticed two men following you he couldn’t just stand by, quickly descending a fire escape to sneak behind the men, grabbing one by the throat and breaking his neck before removing the knife from his belt and placing his hand over the other man's mouth to keep him quiet, and stabbing him in the side of his neck. He pulled the two bodies into the nearby alley and positioned himself so he could see you. Making sure you got back to your flat safely.

He stood outside and waited to make sure you got in, he didn’t mean to watch as you undressed, it made him feel perverse, but he couldn’t find the strength to tear his eyes away, the way your breasts sat, the curve of your ass, he felt his pants tighten at the sight, quickly turning his gaze to anything that would distract him before, occupying himself with his own thoughts.

It was late, you were home and safe, he should’ve left, but something in him couldn’t, he looked back to the window only to find your towel-clad body staring back at him, he froze, there was no way you could tell it was him, his whole body was covered and it was dark. He watched you quickly shut the window, removing any sight he had on you, Simon huffs a breath to himself, a silent get-it-together, before leaving and making his way back to the pub.

The next morning you woke with a strange feeling, you couldn’t shake the sight of the man in the alley, you make your way to the window and pull back the curtains to look out. Exhaling a breath of course no one’s there, you shake your head, feeling foolish and start getting ready for the day. You had a few errands to run before work, some tidying, and a little bit of shopping considering you had barely anything to eat in your fridge.

You finished rather quickly, finding that you still had 3 hours before work to kill, you decide to explore the streets in the safety of the daylight. Finally figuring out the quickest route from your flat to the pub, and checking out a few of the small shops that scattered the streets. You engaged in small conversation with the vendors before checking your watch, 12:30, shit, you had to go, thanking the man at the coffee shop for your drinks you made your way to the pub.

You step into the pub but see no sight of Simon, calling out his name.

“In the back” you hear

Making your way to the back room you find Simon looking over inventory with a glass in his hand.

“Little early to be drinking no?”

“Not here it’s not”

You nod to yourself, extending your arm to hand him a hot tea.

“Didn’t know what you liked, just got some milk"

He looks up at you and reached over the accept the beverage before twisting to grab a few sugar packets behind him, dumping 3 packs into the drink. Your eyes widen at the sight.

“Never would’ve guessed you took that much sugar in your tea”

He laughs and shrugs his shoulders. The two of you exit the back room and situate yourselves across from each other at a table, both enjoying your drinks before you break the silence.

“So something really strange happened last night,” you say, Simon stops sipping abruptly, looking up to lock eyes with you, shit she saw me

You continue, “These two guys were following me on my way home and then I turned back and they were just gone” He doesn’t say anything, just keeps watching you.

You take a beat, “then I swear I saw this guy outside my window, but I don’t know, it was dark, was probably just tired or something” you say, shrugging your shoulders

Simon puts his drink down, trying to think of a response.

“Maybe, I mistake trashcans for people sometimes in the dark”

You laugh, “yea maybe”

He remains stoic, sipping his tea. The two of you finish your drinks and fall back into the same routine as the previous day, serving drinks, trying to mediate arguments between drunk patrons. Simon finds himself smiling while watching you engage in conversation with two men, you seemed passionate about what you were saying, throwing your head back in laughter at something one of them said before one of them places a hand on top of yours, Simon stops what he was doing and takes a step towards the 3 of you, stopping when he sees you turn to pour the man another drink. What am I doing, he feels so protective of you and he doesn’t know why, he’s known you less than a week yet he can’t keep his eyes off of you, he shakes the thoughts from his head and moves to the back room.

He spends a few minutes gathering extra liquor to replace what’s missing from the wall before he hears a glass shatter and you yelp, dropping the items and rushing to you he finds you standing over the bar sink, hand dripping blood.

“What happened?” he asks, hand reaching for yours, inspecting it before turning on the tap to run it underwater.

“Glass slipped, cut myself trying to catch it”

He scans your face for any signs of pain or worry but you’re composed, turning to the men in front of you, eyeing them over accusingly, you pull your hand from the water and reach for the medical kit beneath the bar.

“Here I’ll do it,” he says, holding your wrist in one hand whilst using the other to grab some gauze and wrap to dress the cut.

You chuckle to yourself, “Almost seems like you do this often” you comment watching how quick and precise he is with his wrapping.

“Yeah something like that”

He finishes wrapping your hand and you thank him.

“I’ll take over up here,” he says, nodding to you to move away from the bar, you oblige and occupy yourself cleaning up tables littered with empty glasses. The two of you close the bar early as there was barely anyone there by midnight, you offer again to stay back and help Simon clean but he refuses, telling you to go home and get some rest, so you do. Walking your route home on edge, anticipating any sort of unwanted follower but none come, the walk was short as you descend the stairs into your flat and once again prepare for bed.

Simon’s night wasn’t as simple, like the night before he had made sure you got home safe, thankfully this time he didn’t have to kill anyone, but he did find himself lingering at your window again, this time higher up on a set of stairs so that the darkness of the night concealed him. You had neglected to shut your curtains, whether it was ignorance or intention Simon didn’t care, not when he had a perfect view of your naked form, moving around your bedroom he watched as you put on some underwear and a loose t-shirt to sleep, silently wishing it was his clothes you wore to bed, he watched as you dozed off to sleep, sometimes jostling a little in your sleep. He found comfort in knowing you were safe, that he was the one to ensure your safety, before long he found himself getting a little tired, dropping down from his spot to make his way back to his own flat. Simon was no stranger to being awake for a long time, the military ensured that, and he used it to his advantage, easier to stake out a target when you aren’t dozing off, but something about your presence, it brought him peace, he found himself wanting to fall asleep, only to dream of you, your eyes, the way they crinkle a little when you smile that smile, it lights up your whole face, he can’t help but feel his body untense at the thought of your smile, always kind and warm, everything he wasn’t.

He made his way back to his flat without issue, stripping his clothes off before stepping into the shower, standing under the steady stream of warm water his mind wanders. Your face, the smell of your hair, your soft hands, he feels himself growing harder at the thought of your soft hands touching his body, he reaches a hand down to stroke at his length. Your body, the warmth of your skin against his, the curve of your ass, his mind continues as he begins pumping his hand along his length, small groans leaving his mouth. Your tits, how they would feel when he held them, how perfect they would sit in his large hands, rough hands teasing over your hard nipple, the moans you’d release, only for him. He braces his free hand against the tile wall, quickening his pace, he imagines all the noises he could make creep up from your throat, your whimpers, how you’d squeeze him when he told you how good you felt, how he’d make you scream his name while he buried his cock deep inside you. A strangled moan leaves his lips before he starts shooting warm ropes toward the floor of the shower, he takes a minute to collect himself, evening out his breathing. Fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking these things about you, not when you were so innocent and he was so corrupt, he needed you, craved you, but he couldn’t have you, if you knew anything about him you’d run away and he’d never feel your presence again. He’d be fine with never knowing your touch as long as it meant he got to keep you in his life, but God did he want to touch you, every time he saw you he had to fight the urge to press you against the nearest surface and plant kisses all over you, marking you as his.

He stepped out of the shower, turning on the news to try and distract himself from his thoughts only to see the reporter on his screen talking about how more bodies had been discovered in the streets of Manchester and how the police had no leads. He shook his head, he never feared being caught, not when he was so careful to remain unseen, but then, he had nothing to lose, now, he has you, he can’t won’t lose you, not to this, not to some immoral past time, he had to get more creative, the police can’t find any more bodies.

He lay in bed, watching the screen, feeling his eyelids grow heavier before turning to his side and drifting off to sleep. He’s woken abruptly to the sound of his phone ringing, he turns to check the time, 6am, he looks at the screen and answers the call.

“Hello?”

“It was you, I know it was you”

Shit

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silverwolf122 · 1 month

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Lady Gotham is an eldritch villain.

She was here from the beginning. She wasn't always a city spirit. Once, she was known as the Darkness. The Lady of Loss. Goddess of Madness. Mistress of the Night. Or at least she was a part of her. When a warlock tried to make a deal with her here, on this land, extort her for more power, many millennia ago, long before what history would consider the foundation of the city, she was summoned and but a small piece of her being remained. Her essence was seeped into the soil, her darkness soaked the rivers, her madness poisoned animals. She didn't paid it much of her mind. She was Ancient, and vast, and bored. The whole plane of existence was hers to manipulate, to trick, to corrupt and drive mad. What was but a small piece of land?

She was here, consciously, when 'the first founders' of decided to develop the land into a large city. The Waynes, the Kanes, the Elliots and the Cobblepots. Oh, she remembers their names. Or their families, at least. Oh, the amount of greed in their hearts, so close to her, how could she not pay attention. The endless void that they tried to fill. It was beautiful. She didn't had to do anything. Her mere presence affected humans. Nudging and pushing, people to the edge. Only for them to make that final step of no return. She admits, she was enthralled with the beautiful performance that took place before her eyes. The more she paid attention, the more she was THERE, the more others, who would please her were drawn to the place.

The Gotham City, the city of crime, the home of the most insane, nightmarish, cruel and vicious humans that Earth had to offer. All drawn to the place. To her. At least 80% of people here were criminals. Be it the serial killers, minions, the minor thieves, or the Grand Supervillains. And other 20? Well, she needed someone for them to robber. Or to challenge them. Oh, and she loved when humans tried to resist. To 'clean', to save, redeem, rebuild. Oh, it was so funny, when they tried. They couldn't understand. That the criminals were HER people. That she was enjoying it. Only one could understand her. Her champion. Her Jester. Her Joker. Oh, he knew how to make her laugh. How to do the best performance that she couldn't even thought of. But the Bat, oh the poor Bat always stops it. He infuriates her. He fascinates her. So close to madness, but he resists. So close, and so far from breaking, she can't comprehend it. And the part that frightens her... He inspires others. He protects, resists, avenges, and it draws others. He teaches them how to resist. How to deny HER. Deep inside, she is afraid. Like people were afraid. Like criminals become afraid. Afraid of the Bat. She tried to end him, but her Jester refuses to do it. And others seems not to be able. Too strong, too smart, too skilled, too many steps ahead.

She tried corrupting his allies. To leave him alone. She was able to get the white knight. Her new two-faced toy. Her Jester tried to give her the commissioner, but he endured. What a pity. She almost get one of his birds, but his influence and training stopped the bird from failing. Her claws are deep in his mind, but day after day they fight for the Hood. She won't let him go, oh no. They are bound. And the Bats is so, so hurt by it, she almost wants to keep it like that. For them to keep fight for him and it paining the Bat, but leaving the hope that the Hood would return to the nest. Only for her to keep crushing this hope again and again.

Yet, she is afraid. Afraid of the Bat. He took her darkness and made it his weapon. He stole her night and made it his time. He received her madness, when he was but a boy, and forged it into his resolve. She is afraid. The human now, but what if more later. The signs she can see. After his end, that wouldn't be the end. What if he will take more? More of her. Will take her? Her title, her power, her place and her land?

"You are afraid!"

Who is here?

"You are right to be."

NO!

"You are just a criminal. You are no more than that. And all criminals are cowardly and superstitious."

#batman #lady gotham #Gotham City #DC #city spirit #dp x dc #kinda #Red Hood #two face

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mangoisms · 10 months

Text

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter two: it’s getting late | read chapter one

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.5k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

━ a/n: would be lying if i said this was for tim's birthday tmrw. it was rlly just because the reception to chapter 1 was so lovely and i also did this with my other tim fic—posting chapter 2 early, i mean. but we'll just have to work with this. happy early birthday tim you are annoying and i want to study you under a microscope <3

You expect Red Robin’s appearance to be a one-off thing.

It is not.

Instead, the next day, you get Black Bat.

It jolts you from the phone call you’re having.

“—understand the temptation to tell them to screw off but I really don’t want to get… shot…”

You trail off, watching, wide-eyed as your newest vigilante customer steps into Circle K.

Black Bat cuts an imposing figure, her suit made up mostly of inky black material, with a few accents of gold, the Bat symbol on her chest standing out the most. Her black cape flutters behind her, moving like a shadow. She looks the most like Batman, you think, with the cowl and the pointed ears. Except the eyes of the mask are black and the bottom of her face is completely covered—stitched closed. Considerably more creepy, you think, goosebumps breaking out over your skin. Though that could be the fan you have on, fluttering your hair as it makes a slow rotation.

“Hey, did you die or something?”

“No,” you mutter, watching, your heart starting to pick up as Black Bat comes up to the counter.

You aren’t sure what you expect, but it’s not—

“Do you have Red Bull?” Her voice is low and melodic. Not befitting of her… general aura.

Wordlessly, you point to the refrigerators at the back.

“Thanks,” she says, then she turns and walks away. You can only see the top of her head and the pointed ears of her cowl. A second later, you hear the suction-y sound of the refrigerator door being opened.

A voice calls your name from the other end of the line.

Your best friend, Stephanie Brown, who gave you a call to see how your summer break has been treating you.

“Sorry,” you say, clearing your throat. “Just got distracted by something outside.”

“Something outside? That’s not reassuring. At all.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Like I was saying, I’m not gonna tell them that. It’s tempting but like I said, I don’t want to get arrested or some shit.”

“The charges wouldn’t even hold. It’s a free country. I can tell a cop to fuck off if I want to. That’s my god-given right.”

“I appreciate the spirit, but I don’t think the GCPD would agree with you.”

“Well, the GCPD can kiss my ass.”

“You and me both, Stephie. You and me both. So, how’s, uh, Metropolis?”

“Metropolis is Metropolis. Brainiac nearly took control of the city yesterday but what’s new? Mom’s having a good time, though. Even if things are way overpriced over here. I mean, seriously. Eight bucks for a cup of coffee at this place we went to today. They’re crazy.”

Steph babbles in your ear for a few more minutes. Long enough for Black Bat to reemerge from the aisle, two cans of Red Bull and a bag of Takis and a pack of sour gummy worms in hand. You wonder who the second person is. Red Robin, maybe?

He’d been odd about the hot chocolates. Odd in general. But that’s what you get with these vigilante types.

No matter. You quickly focus on your current situation, giving Black Bat a small, embarrassed smile and pointing at the phone crammed between your shoulder and ear, mouthing Sorry.

You shouldn’t be doing this on the job and you should’ve told Steph you had to go but quite frankly, you need the assurance of another person with you. Even if said person can’t do anything and is across the harbor in Metropolis on a mini-vacation with her mom.

Black Bat shouldn’t give you trouble about it. You hope. She just scares you a little more than Red Robin. Which is silly because he’s a guy and probably more potentially dangerous but. You know. Her suit is just… too similar to Batman’s, and he’s the one who scares you the most.

Still, Black Bat just shrugs and waves a hand. “It’s fine.”

You nod your thanks, then scan everything and bag it. She pulls out a twenty dollar bill from her utility belt and you give her the change, which she promptly puts in the tip jar. A kind gesture, really, considering the twenty is a bit of an overshoot for her total, leaving you with a nice tip.

You guess that if anything else, at least it’s nice that these vigilantes tip.

After dropping the receipt into the bag, she takes it and waves at you.

Mystified, you wave back.

Then she steps out, cape fluttering behind her.

“Anyway,” Steph says on the other end as you focus on her voice again. “It’s pretty fun but I miss home. Can’t wait to be back in the city. We’re hanging out as soon as I do, by the way. How are things with you?”

Oh, you can’t keep it in. You have to tell her.

“I saw the Flash two days ago.”

But she misunderstands.

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “I saw that in the news. ‘Cause of Trickster, right? Bet Batman wasn’t happy about that.”

“No,” you say. “I’m saying I saw him. Here. At Circle K. He dropped in to grab a bite to eat. I know you and Tim absolutely refuse to believe me when I say he visited me and that we’re friends—which, by the way, he totally reaffirmed when I saw him—but he was here.”

“We’re jealous, that’s all,” she says. “Just don’t want you running off with the Flash thinking he’s cooler than we are. Which, to be clear, he isn’t. Not me, anyway. Tim is up for debate.”

“Well, you’re about to be a little more jealous.”

“And why is that?”

“Because since he visited, weird shit has started happening.”

“Weird shit is always happening in Gotham. What is so special about this weird shit in particular?”

“Oh, he said something stupid to Red Robin—Red Robin came in a little while after he did, I guess they were working together to track down Trickster—anyway, he was talking about how I’m… scared of the Bats—”

“Are you scared of the Bats?”

You throw up a hand, though she can’t see it. “I have a healthy amount of fear and respect for them—and on that note, please don’t tell anyone else I’m telling you this.”

“Of course.”

“Right, well, Flash was just ragging him, you know? About how he has a better relationship with me, someone who doesn’t even live in Keystone or Central, than the Bats do.”

“So?”

“So,” you blow out a big breath, “Red Robin showed up yesterday to get some hot chocolate—”

“Hot chocolate?” Steph asks, disbelieving.

“Yeah. He said it was a better alternative to coffee. Guess he’s not into energy drinks. Weirdo. The whole thing about it—weird. Like… I don’t know. He was just acting weird when he was asking if we had any.”

“… That is weird,” she says, an odd note to her voice. She clears her throat. “And then?”

“I knew why he was doing it so I told him he didn’t have to come around ‘cause he and the others obviously need to uphold a specific perception, right? Then he was all, Well, what does a civilian like you know about it? Can you believe they unironically call us that?”

Steph laughs. She laughs hard.

You wait it out, not entirely sure what or why she is laughing so hard but it’s not the first time she’s ever done that, so you can just let it go.

“Okay,” she giggles. “Sorry. Keep going. What else happened?”

“He left. But then, y’wanna guess who just showed up right now?”

“Who? Batman?”

“God, no. It was Black Bat. She was nice enough. Gave me a big tip. Creepy suit, though.”

“What’d she’d get?”

“Two Red Bulls, a bag of Takis and a pack of sour gummy worms. Wonder who that second Red Bull is for. And the snacks. Red Robin realizing hot chocolate in June is weird? Hard to imagine him eating Takis, though. He’s probably like Tim, saying they’re ‘too hot’.”

Steph laughs again for a while.

“Oh, god, you’re killing me,” she gasps out when she calms.

You shake your head, rubbing your finger over a scratch mark in the counter. “I don’t know what is so funny but sure.”

“So, then, what? You think you’re just gonna some more vigilantes? ‘Cause it’s only been two so far.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you grumble. “But it’s two. When previously, this has never happened.”

“True! Well… any preferences? For who comes next?”

“Anyone but Batman, thanks.”

Your next visitor is not Batman.

It is, in a turn of events that makes a little more sense, the Signal.

A few days after your call with Steph, things are fine, until your manager posts to the team group chat about wanting someone for an afternoon shift, saying someone quit unexpectedly. Not one to say no to some extra cash, you latch onto the opportunity—even if it’s an admittedly questionable idea. You try not to work weekends to let yourself recuperate from sustaining your not-so-great sleep schedule.

Anyway, you feel and look like a zombie, but you get your work done.

“I can help the next person in line,” you call.

A tall, broad-shouldered stocky older man with long blonde hair and blue eyes behind coke-bottle glasses steps up, armed with two large cups of coffee. The scrubs he wears clues you into some kind of healthcare position.

“Hi, did you find everything—”

The door opens, your eyes automatically flickering to the movement, and your voice cuts out sharply as you realize who it is.

The Signal stands there a bit awkwardly for a moment as all of you look—the blonde man at the counter and the other man waiting in line.

“Hey, you!”

You flinch, tensing, already fearing a confrontation as the other man steps forward, pointing at the Signal. The one in question tenses, shoulders rising, like he’s preparing to fight. You hope not. That would be a lot of paperwork for you. It’s the manager’s, technically, to report any damage done by vigilantes, but they always give it to you or the other employees on the floor.

But it is not as you feared. Instead of picking a fight, the man… thanks him?

“You’re the Signal, right? Right? You saved my son a few months ago from some muggers following him home from school. Thank you, man. Seriously, I can’t thank you enough. He wouldn’t be here with me if it weren’t for you,” the man says, holding out a hand.

“Hey, man,” Signal says, reaching out to shake his hand. “It was nothing. I’m glad I was there to help.”

“Are you here to buy something? Let me cover you. Please. It’s the least I can do—”

“Oh, you really don’t need to—”

“That went better than expected.”

The soft-spoken voice brings you out of your thoughts and you belatedly realize you still have a customer to take care of. But when you look at him, he is watching the Signal try to tell the other man that he doesn’t have to pay for him, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” you say. “Good thing. Signal’s a good guy.”

He turns back to you as you scan the cups of coffee, pulling out a wallet.

“He is,” he agrees easily—meaning his words, too, a genuine conviction you don’t hear often associated with the vigilantes of the city.

Signal manages to hold firm on not needing the man to pay, repeating that he was just doing his job, and thankfully, the man accepts it with good graces.

You quickly get your current customer wrapped up while the Signal steps into the chip aisle.

You pass him the receipt. “Thank you, have a good day.”

He sends you a small, handsome smile, picking up the cups of coffee. “Thank you, you, too.”

The one after him steps up to pay, talking jovially with you, spirits still apparently lifted at seeing Signal and being able to thank him. It’s a nice moment, you think, and you make sure to respond in kind.

The door swings shut behind him just as Signal re-emerges from the chip aisle, holding a can of Monster Energy and a bag of chile picante Cornnuts. The combination is… surely something. You let yourself slip with it, too, because you’ve personally heard a lot of good things about him. The fact that he works during the day helps his case, too.

“I need the energy,” Signal says, seeing that thought in your face; he doesn’t sound mad, though, just vaguely amused. His suit is filled with more yellow tones, still intimidating but not as much in the daylight, a helmet of sorts leaving only his mouth exposed.

“It’ll definitely give you… something,” you say, chuckling as you scan both.

He pats his stomach. “I have guts of steel. Don’t worry about it.”

“Not a problem as long as I never have to hear ‘guts of steel’ ever again. Jesus. Is that just a natural thing of your biology or is it evolutionary-based?”

“This life isn’t for the faint of heart or stomach,” he agrees, passing you a five dollar bill. “Adaptation is key.”

“I bet.”

Signal laughs, taking his change and dropping it into the tip jar. You smile, too, shaking your head slightly.

“Have a good day.”

He tips his Red Bull at you. “You, too.”

Guts of steel. You nearly can’t believe it.

You pick up your phone, finding your conversation with Tim. You and Steph are hanging out tomorrow, so you’ll tell her about it, then. She asked him, though, and he said he was busy. Too bad. But that doesn’t mean he gets out of being subjected to those words, either.

no joke signal came in to buy a monster energy and cornnuts (a questionable combo) and when he saw me judging he said he has guts of steel

meta related do you think???

makes sense to me. you have a gene inside you that gives you literal powers i think they shouldn’t be having digestive issues/ibs like us common folk do

Your three texts, sent in quick succession, deliver. You bite the inside of your cheek as you see your previous ones still unanswered. It’s been like that for the past few weeks. Not him ignoring you but a bit of a dry spell going on in your messages that was only broken when you told Steph what happened and decided you had to tell him, too.

It’s not his fault. The dry spell from before or the lack of responses going on now.

You started the first thing. So, it’s more your fault than anything for all of that. Steph’s talked to him, though, and she’s never let up on anything amiss…

You groan quietly, dropping your phone on the counter and burying your face in your hands.

Too complicated. Too much.

It never used to be like that but… things changed recently.

You, mostly.

You met Stephanie Brown your second semester at Gotham University.

Taking your required elective, you chose Intro to Psych. She was doing the same. Though, being a social work major, psychology was practically a cousin to it.

The professor for the class turned out to be a total dud. Rambled during lecture, refused to give out study guides, and while he would give out hints as to what material might show up on exams, his questions were trick ones. When people complained, he said some crap about being in a higher ed setting and needing to do better because of it. Like his class was some 300 or 400 level course and not a literal intro course to a large and burgeoning field of study.

But classes are expensive, so, you couldn’t drop it. Refused to, really, knowing you would face much more difficult classes later on, ones you knew you might need to drop and try again. So, you weren’t going to waste the money on this type of class.

Steph was of the same thought.

She sat next to you in the lecture hall. You two didn’t talk until after the first exam and everyone was upset about their grades, the exams having been handed back at the end of class. Your shared frustration brought you together, mostly as you two were ranting about it, you packed up and wound up leaving class together, the both of you just too caught up in your anger to realize you both needed to go in opposite directions for your next class.

You initially agreed to be study partners, to cover more ground that way. But Steph managed to worm her way to your heart by the end of that semester.

Your astounding lack of friends helped, too. Even if things had been that way since your junior year of high school, even if you wanted things to remain that way to protect what little remained of your heart, the loneliness hit you harder than you thought it would when you started college.

And Steph was nice and funny and listened to you and paid attention to you and you… were so very deprived of those things, so it was nice in the beginning, but then you realized, to your own horror, that you actually wanted her to stick her around, that just as she knew nearly everything about you by the end of the semester, you knew nearly everything about her, too, and you wanted to know more, wanted to be there for her like she always was for you.

You have that and more now and you are so very lucky because of it.

Tim, though?

Tim was something else.

Steph told you she had a friend visiting.

Just that—that she had a friend visiting campus and she ‘hoped he could find his way to the computer workstation on the fourth floor because as soon as I sit down, I’m not leaving for anything other than to use the bathroom or some kind of world-ending event.’

It was a particularly grueling paper she had to churn out—twenty pages, heavily research-based with the kind of statistics that made your head spin.

Working at the front desk of the Martha Kane Library at the time, you humored her. Told her good luck and that you’d keep an eye out. The second part was a joke, of course, because she never said who was visiting her and how could you know if she never said anything?

You and Tim Drake wound up finding each other, anyway.

Well, more like he found you.

It sounds sort of romantic, right?

It’s… well, it’s certainly something.

“I’m just saying,” you’re telling him, totally neglecting your homework and the other duties you have at the front desk (you know this last part is especially true by the way your coworker, also at the front desk, is side-eyeing you but come on, there’s no one in line, so it’s fine!). “It’s a solid movie.”

Tim Drake gives you a comically disbelieving look. “A solid movie? It’s—it’s gaseous.”

“Did… you just make a physics joke? About the three states of matter?”

Tim turns an attractive shade of pink. “It’s four, actually, and, uh… yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Steph is right. You really are a geek. Anyway. Cloverfield still sucks.”

“Your opinion is automatically negated by the fact that you think the Final Destination movies have any kind of substance to them.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. I just think they’re good ‘cause of Mary Elizabeth Winstead. You probably think the Transformers movies are actually good, don’t you?”

He looks offended. “Don’t insult me. We hate Michael Bay in this house.”

“Sure.”

“But I do think Bumblebee—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Bumblebee is good for a change, we all know it. You’re probably one of those Nolan stans, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think any of what you just said are real words.”

“Oh, they’re real alright. Nolan stans are constantly on his dick, they’re all like, ‘Nolan is so deep and thoughtful and there is no one else like him.’ Wrong. I could find ten of him in the movie industry.”

Tim narrows his eyes accusingly at you. “Steph said Interstellar is your favorite movie.”

“It’s his only good movie.”

“Don’t count out Inception like that.”

“Never seen it.”

“Wow.”

“You know what you sounded like just now? A Nolan stan.”

Tim actually grins at you and your stomach flutters at the sight of it. It’s that that had drawn your eyes to him. The cute but confused looking guy loitering around nearby, systematically checking his phone and glancing around—presumably for a map of the confusing and ancient library. With dark hair, pale skin, and pretty blue eyes that make you feel unbearably seen, Tim Drake is a sight for sore eyes. Your eyes, to be certain.

Of course, you also know he’s here for Steph. That he is the friend she spoke of. And also the ex-boyfriend. That reminder sobers you considerably.

Kind of funny, really.

Much can be said about Tim Drake.

The adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. The kid who snuck into No Man’s Land on a dare and had to be extracted by the US military after his father made a fuss about it. Then later, became controlling shareholder at Wayne Enterprises for whatever reason, boosting him into a very powerful position. Then he got engaged. Then he was shot—he was meant to be killed but obviously, it hadn’t gone that way. All this at seventeen.

But eventually it petered out. He stepped down. Engagement broke off. He recovered. Now? He does some work for WE. That’s all that’s known to the press, anyway.

It’s like you said. Much can be said about Tim Drake.

But most of your impression is from Steph. He plays Warlocks and Warriors sometimes. Is a bit of a computer geek and has built his own PC for gaming. Hits the skatepark every now and then. Likes to spend time tinkering on his car. And… has strong opinions on movies.

Above it all?

He is her ex. A good friend now! But still. That fact remains.

“Anyway,” you say, adjusting your notebook, textbook, and bag of pens just to do something. “You’re here for Steph, right?”

“She told you?”

“Well, she’s obviously told you stuff about me.”

“Steph won’t shut up about you,” he says, seeming more amused than annoyed by that fact. “I can’t imagine it’s the same with me.”

“I know enough.” Like the fact that he is her literal ex-boyfriend. Even if Steph says their relationship wasn’t the greatest, had some very questionable decisions on both their parts, and ended a bit dramatically… he’s still the first person she ever fell in love with. She told you that much. “She’s upstairs on the fourth floor. Hit the elevators over there, then when you get to the fourth floor, turn left, then another left, and the computer workstations are on your right. Can’t miss them.”

“You should watch Inception,” he says, instead of acknowledging literally anything you just said.

You arch an eyebrow challengingly. “You should watch Interstellar.”

He taps a finger on the counter. “We should do both. You, me, and Steph one of these days.”

“I hate to say it, but that sounds like a good idea.”

Steph’s voice scares the shit out of you. You bang your knee on the desk, cursing.

Tim looks unruffled as she comes from the side—the direction of the elevators, joining him at the counter and nudging his shoulder as she goes. He nudges back. They keep the contact.

“Sorry, Stephie,” you say. “We got preoccupied.”

“Arguing,” she corrects, but she doesn’t look upset about it. Instead, her cobalt blue eyes twinkle with something you can’t quite identify as she drops her chin into her palm.

“We weren’t arguing,” Tim says next. “We were lightly debating.”

“Of course. My cute little movie geeks. I think Duckboy’s right, though—” Tim groans slightly and mutters her name in annoyance; she ignores it “—we should get together and see them.”

You scratch your cheek. “I don’t know. Finals—”

“—are not for another month. I say let’s do it.” She looks at Tim and jabs a thumb at you. “She needs more friends.”

“Stephanie, please.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Timothy needs more friends, too. Friends from, say, the other half.” She smiles mischievously, a joke known only by the two of them.

Tim, for his part, rolls his eyes but says nothing in protest.

You don’t need more friends. More friends is actually a very bad idea. Letting one person get close was bad enough. Another person? Hell, no…

But the look on Steph’s face tells you that you, quite frankly, have no say in the matter. And the way you and Tim ‘lightly debated’ movies for a solid half hour tells you, too, that it’ll be too easy for you and he to become friends.

You decide to shelve the issue for now as Steph tugs him away, promising you that she’ll arrange for things.

Maybe it won’t pan out. Maybe he’s actually horribly arrogant and conceited. (Though, if he’s friends with Steph, the likelihood of that is admittedly low.)

You don’t know. All you know is it’s dangerous to let yourself get close to someone else.

But that’s all rather dramatic, isn’t it?

And it didn’t turn out how you wanted—you met Tim in the first semester of your sophomore year; your junior year just ended this May. You’ve been friends with him for a year and half. Steph for two. No end appears to be in sight. But you’ve compartmentalized. It’s just two people. That’s fine.

It’s totally fine.

Even if it’s two people to match the two others you lost when you were fifteen. Like a repayment for the pain.

(Or a way to double it.)

But you lost your parents in the earthquake.

Scientists called that a once-in-a-lifetime event.

There are plenty of things going on in this city that could cost your friends their lives but… it’ll never be as devastating as the earthquake.

The earthquake where you nearly died after a piece of metal pierced your thigh, barely missing your femoral artery, and you spent the entire time from after the earthquake, when they dug your body out of the rubble, and to when they decided to exile the city, in a coma from the infection.

By the time you stabilized, you were on a helicopter to Blüdhaven, the rest of the city in a panic to leave, and your parents were officially gone by that point.

They couldn’t even find their bodies in time.

It took almost three years before they did. The year in which the government turned a blind eye to the city and cast it away, then another two years to rebuild, to sift through the ruin and destruction, to find the bones of the ones left behind since they were decomposed by then, and identifying them was an even more arduous task.

You only managed to receive the catharsis of burying them when you turned eighteen.

You might tempt fate by saying this but even if you lost either of them, the fallout would never beat that. A blessing, in that way.

But even you hate to consider the possibilities of them leaving you. For anything.

They won’t.

Everything will be fine.

It has to be.

reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @peachesona @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @kikis-writing-service @sweetistic @soundsfunbutno @ginevraxrogers

[if you'd like to be added to the taglist (or removed), let me know here or in my inbox! ^_^]

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x you #red robin x y/n #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfam x y/n

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theflyindutchwoman · 7 months

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I am responsible for a life that is in jeopardy, and I will do whatever I have to to save her, do you understand?

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 2.11 - Day of Death

The juxtaposition of these two scenes - Lucy being buried alive and Tim going feral - is so powerful and haunting… They might not be together physically in those moments, but you can still feel how their own actions are being driven, fueled even, by the other. Lucy is trying to hold onto his training and her faith in him, knowing instinctively that he will do whatever it takes to find her.. And Tim is ready to burn down the city in his search for her, spiralling… But you can also see how the other's absence is starting to impact their spirit as well. They're both trying to remain as calm as possible, but there's no one to ground them...

That image of the dead tree looming over the grave site gives such an eerie and disturbing atmosphere to the scene… And so is the visual of Lucy, looking all bruised and battered. She's clearly terrified, wounded, probably still feeling woozy… But most of all, she's being defiant. She doesn't scream, she doesn't cry, she doesn't beg… She refuses to give Caleb that satisfaction, to play his mind games. And in return, she even manages to turn the tables on him, getting under his skin… and forcing him to alter his plans. That might seem inconsequential in that moment but, in the end, that's what saves her : without all her efforts, the team would have been too late. She bought them and herself some time. And that's why Tim repeatedly makes sure to remind her that she saved herself. Nyla was absolutely right in her assessment : Lucy is a fighter. She's pushing through her fear and relying so much on psychology and on her training. The way she manages to compartmentalise is so incredible. Her strength is unreal… She's remembering what Tim taught her, focusing on the procedure to calm herself down. She throws her ring as a breadcrumb for him : he once told her that the most important thing she needed was her eyes, her cop eyes. So she leaves something behind for him to find, because that's something else he taught her : she's never alone. The faith she has in him… And even her last words to Caleb are pure defiance… And true. But seeing her in that barrel is so distressing. That last shot of her trying to regulate her breathing, to stay calm and not panic is so poignant… She's on the verge of breaking down and it's so heartbreaking...

And she's not the only one : Tim is also close to reaching his breaking point, but in a very different way. He's going in a downward spiral, unravelling, with no one there to reign him in… Lucy is usually the one who can get through to him. And in some ways, this is so reminiscent of the old Tim, the one we met. Only, back then, he was punching walls or lashing out at detectives when Isabel got shot… here he is being almost unnervingly calm when he threatens that man. He has finally a target to vent his anger and frustrations to. He doesn't yell. He's not reacting, he's being very deliberate. And that it is more terrifying. He is absolutely ready to cross a line for Lucy. Remember when she told him that he was always on the right side of the law? That was when he considered for a brief moment breaking the law for his wife, before changing his mind. But now? He will do whatever is necessary to get Lucy back alive. Right or wrong. Jackson is so shocked in the background : this is a side of Tim he has never seen before. Angry? Yes. But this cold anger? No. That's the thing : Tim's reaction here is far more similar to the one he had when his wife was in danger than when his best friend got kidnapped by a cartel… Not to mention that this scene is also quite close in tone to the ones where Wesley was threatening carter members for Angela or making a deal with Elijah. Both men were ready to do whatever it took to save the women they love… Except that only one of them was married. Guilt might be a powerful motivator, but this isn't the only emotion fueling Tim here. Love was a part of it, romantic or not. He just didn't realise it yet. And it kind of makes you wonder how he would react now that they're together...

Lastly : the way both Melissa and Eric conveyed all those emotions is nothing short of brilliant. Those images of Lucy in the barrel and Tim threatening to pull that guy inside out are some of the most memorable ones from the show and they did a phenomenal job in their portrayal, the micro-expressions and the voice… They elevated the material so beautifully.

#the rookie #chenford #chenfordedit #lucy chen #tim bradford #2.11 #Anatomy of a scene - Chenford Edition

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ancientgoddessofegypt · 4 months

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ADVICE FROM YOUR SPIRIT TEAM ; ANGEL NUMBER EDITION: CONGRATULATIONS.

Feeling inspired. Wanted to get an intuitive read for you guys who feel the urgency to know what it means to see these numbers.

Whichever numbers call out to you just embrace the message. It's time to feel good about ourselves and our spirit guides wants everyone to know that we've been doing the best we can. So here is my intuitive message for the collective. I hope you enjoy!

111 - Congratulations. You've made it passed a big chapter. In this new era, you'll be focused on prosperity, great health and great sex! Lol, jk on the sex bit. However, you will be going through growth and transformation during this next era. You'll have to choose between your priorities and what used to work in the past. Is it goals or partying? Will it be the booze or will it be the vegetables ? You decide.

Have fun with this new journey. You don't always have to go out and have fun. You can have fun journaling, making that garden, enjoying the moon when it comes out in full bloom. Spread your wings this time.

222 - You've made it. This is a time to join new groups and go to those events you've been telling yourself you'd go too. New friends, partnerships and breaking of generational curses is a theme for this group. Be patient, be yourself, be honest, and be vulnerable.

For anyone this may apply to, trying a new sport such as basketball, football, or even hockey will bring out that motivated spirit you carry.

You've made this beautiful bed, you'll get to lie in it this time with someone you can truly adore ;)

333 - Benefits for the ones who chose this number is celebration will be often for you. You'll be out with groups cheering away does mimomas. Having more fun with new people. New experiences awaits. Traveling will be certain for you in the future. Road trips, trips near the beach, boat rides are something i noticed for this group. Congrats!

444 - Determination & Exploring. This is your moment. You should embrace the new physical activities awaiting you. I dont mean just working out, or trying some new sport that could possibly break your ankle. This could be for the ones who never go outside, and have been hiding all these amazing talents in the dark. Its time to break wind and show people you have a gift. Its your time.

555 - Travel. Explore. Motion Picture. Success - You might have to go overseas if you chose this number. Maybe not a new country but a new city far from your hometown. Read more books, enjoy the scenery and explore the universe. This is your moment. Get to it!

666 - Sensual beauty. Luxury. Go relax. You need time to get your self together. Spend time getting your nails done, get that massage. Get something you said you'd save up for but hardly ever do. Its okay, self care is important sis. Get to it.

777 - This is a beautiful journey Im picking up for this group. You guys definitely will be on the road in the near future. Either alone or with someone new. This is a spiritual journey. It will seem magical. You have to let go and let things be, ok? Just relax. This show is for you.

888 - Pick yourself up. You got this. Its time to go on that daily jog. If you have to force yourself to do it, please do so. Make room for the weight that your shedding off this era. It's time to build up your self esteem, your endurance and your physique. This group might of had a eating problem in the past, or maybe some health problems. This number is asking for you to choose yourself. Choose what works and leave behind what doesn't. What do you see for this new reality of yours? You decide.

This is still good news for this group, your spirit team just wants you to NOT. QUIT. To never give up. Its good because you havent, you're a tough cookie. They just want you to want more for yourself. The root chakra is significant with this group. Do more walking and writing in journals to help figure out what are some roots that need picking out. Have a blessed one!

999 - Beginning to an end. New chapter. Congrats. You made it to the finish line darlings. Where would you like life to lead you? Would you take that bus and go on a random adventure? Go to the movies, its time to do something exciting. Do research on some new hobbies, as well as something that seems 'dangerous'. It's time to build up your stamina with a whole new life. You should try that dance class, you might come out a master in the long run ;)

I hope this helps! Have a good weekend everybody.

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thekingofwinterblog · 5 months

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Soul Eater Episode : 39 - Totally Uncool

Soul Eater has a number of great episodes, with the crowning jewel the series had being the finale to Maka's second fight with Crona.

However there is another episode that in my opinion is easily the second best, that being episod episode 39, where Crona's finally snaps regarding betraying Maka and the rest of the main cast to Medusa.

It's a very great episode, but the single best part is the way it connects both Maka and Crona rejecting their abusive mothers, just in different ways, while also using that to strengthen the bond between the two of them.

The first critical moment of this takes place in the early part of the episode, where Crona(Who is reeling with internal pains about Medusa, and betraying everyone) and Maka have a conversation where Maka bares her soul to Crona... Sort of.

Both of the two of them have massive, massive issues with their respective abusive mothers. While Medusa is an abusive mother who forces her child to dance to her tunes, and gasslighting Crona to believe nobody except her will ever show "forgiveness and kindness" Maka's mom instead very deliberately fought her exhusband for custody... Then after having achieved this symbolic victory over her husband, she took off, and abandoned her own child, only making contact with her through one sided postcards despite having every opportunity, and frankly a duty as Maka's legal guardian to look after her own kid.

Both of these women left deep, deep mental scars on their own children, just in different ways.

With Crona it is very, very obvious what Medusa has done, and is doing to her own child, as the episode is very much about confronting the effects of that abuse, but with Maka it's a bit less spelled out, and you have to read the subtext.

Maka puts her mom on a pedestal, mentally projecting her as a perfect woman who can do no wrong, not really being able to addmit to herself that her mom has left her and is not coming back. She instead projects all her frustration about everything to other people, more speciffically at the closest male figures in her life, Spirit and Soul.

It's a deeply, deeply unhealthy way of handling cope, and fuels a lot of her character flaws through the series, with both her relationahip with her father(Who though a terrible husband is not exactly the worst dad in the world) and her partner Soul being painted by hyper agression, a short temper, and a mental inability to give them any benefit of the doubt.

Interestingly enough, though chrona doesn't really push the point, it is Crona who is the person in the series who come the closest to realising directly just how fucked up Maka's relationship to her mom actualy is.

The most interesting part of their conversation though, is when Crona asks Maka what her best memories of her mother is, which Maka replies was when she divorced her dad, at which she saw her mom at her coolest.

This is a really, really fucked up thing to say for any child... But when you actually break it down, it gets even worse.

Maka blames her father rightfully for everything that went wrong in her parents marriage... But this divorce was a deeply fucked up thing. Her mother fought with her father for custody and won... Not because she actually wanted what was best for her child, but just to spite her husband. She wanted to rub it in that she won, and got the single most precious thing she could take from him... And having achieved this goal, she left, leaving her daughter behind in the same city her exhusband lived in, and effectively acting as her father anyway.

Its not exsctly clear why she did this. It could be that despite Maka's rose tinted glasses about her mother, her parent never actually loved her back nearly as much as she did her. It could be that she secretely came to resent her kid for a variety of reasons. Or it could be that she simply was too much of a coward to confront and live with the remains of her broken life, so she abandoned the most obvious reminder of that life.

Regardless, despite Maka's assessment that this was the coolest thing she ever saw her mother do, while the divorce itself was justified, what she actually did with it was the cowards way out, and left her daughter with a shit ton of issues, which she frankly was nowhere near able to recover from by the time the anime ended.

Regardless of her intentions though, her baring her soul to Crona about her(in denial) feelings about her mother does not help Crona, who still runs away from Death city, and has a breakdown of sort(a much smaller one than the one that will immediatly follow) after leaving the city and wandering to find a place to be alone.

Feeling completely alone, guilty, and with a massive case of selfloathing, selfhate and fear of rejection, Crona essentially shuts down, while thinking about happier days, the days with Maka and the rest of the gang.

It's here in this sandpit that Crona finally loses it due to guilt and lays it all out as Maka and Soul catch up.

Crona at first rejects Maka's request to come back home with them, angrily shouting that Maka doesn't know anything about Crona's real self.

It is here that Crona really, really loses it and lays out everything, poisoning Stein, still following Medusa's orders, the words, the tone and body language making it abundantly clear that Crona is absolutely wracked with self hatred for all this.

What Crona wants in this scene is for Maka to come down there and reinforce everything that Medusa has ever said, every lesson ever drilled in through long, hard, abuse. That Crona is a horrible, horrible person, who does not deserve sympathy or forgiveness, who frankly cannot be forgiven.

It's not what Crona actually wants deep down, but it is what the horrible words being said should logically lead to. It is the easy way out. The cowards way out.

And at first it seems to work, because Maka gets absolutely pissed, and storms down there to confront Crona directly, with Crona not offering a hint of resistance... Only for Maka, rather than punching Crona in the face for betraying her, instead say this.

Maka calls Crona out, but not in the manner she has so often done with her father or Soul.

Instead, rather than act with anger, or rage, lashing out because she feels angry and betrayed, she forces Crona to confront the fact that Crona neither wants to be a bad person following Medusa's orders, nor is completely devoid of virtues, quite on the contrary.

Maka is in this moment, doing the exact opposite of what her "Cool" mom did with her.

After experiencing a brutal, hard betrayal from her husband, rather than take the risk of opening herself up her heart again to anyone, she instead left her old life behind, and after one, final display of anger and rage, she left her own child behind after lashing out at her husband.

She took the cowards way out.

Maka does not take the cowards way out. Instead, after experiencing betrayal from a person she loves and understands, she makes the concious choice to take the hard road. To embrace the seeming madness that is opening her heart again to that person and risk facing betrayal again, despite Crona's words.

Its an extremely powerful moment, not just because it serves to show Maka's growth, how much Crona really means to her, but also for how in the end it ties her thematically to Asura, and the ultimate point of the series. Bravery and madness are two sides of the same coin.

It is madness to open yourself up to someone else, to bare your heart and soul, knowing fully well that action can lead to betrayal and hurt unlike any other... But it is also something that only those who are brave are able to do.

It is something Maka's mother, and Asura was never able to do... But Maka did, and through that, she's able help Crona begin the road to actual recovery as well.

#soul eater #maka albarn #crona gorgon #meta #episode 39 #desert #maka's mother #medusa gorgon #croma #soul evans #spoilers

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somnambulic-thing · 8 months

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Siren Song

been sitting on that draft for ages. Eddie x afab metal vocalist!reader not really proofread, E18+ CW: concert setting, heavy pining, he comes in his pants :3

Words: 782

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And what do you do after graduating highschool when all you want to do is play your fingers raw on the guitar or get your ass kicked in moshpits while your eardrums got blown into the stratosphere?

You move to the city and try to get by doing jobs that not fully annihilate your dignity and dedicate every free minute to the music.

And while Eddie had hoped to find a crowd where he wouldn't stand out like a fucking lighthouse on fire, he didn't expect to be welcomed in the scene with such open, heavily tattooed arms.

He gets invited to shit all the time, soon he has to choose between this concert or that house wrecking party on the same night and four months in, he gives notice to his three shitty jobs because that one dude he met at that grindcore show two weeks ago remembered he as looking for something in the business and called around for him to let him know about that free position as stagehand at that venue that fit almost 3000 people and was notorious for picking newcomer bands as support acts who quickly became established names in the local scene and past their borders.

The job is hard but the crew starts to feel like a family very soon. Eddie would have never dreamed of finding a job that made him want to hang around on his days off.

Eddie had spent hours convincing Jeff to move here too after graduation and the time has finally come. He’s now sharing a space with his best friend and they can finally make music together again and that has to be celebrated.

The lineup this Saturday consists of bands he’s never heard of but his colleagues insisted he would enjoy the show and since Eddie gets an employee discount on drinks and wants to show Jeff his domain and introduce him to a few people. So they head out to the venue in high spirits.

They sit at the bar with some of Eddie’s 'new' friends when the opener begins. The intro is a long instrumental thing that starts with low and slow notes on the guitar that then give way to distortion, almost like static and Eddie is already zoning out of the conversation. It’s engaging, almost like a finger that curls in a heavy rhythm to lure him in, calling for him to join the crowd. He asks Jeff if he wants to check out the band, but Jeff is good where he is so Eddie slips off the bar stool and makes his way towards the stage.

The moody angry mystic sound urges him to move faster, to step fully into this moment, into the realms of sound, and command him to surrender to this sonic adventure. It’s like a fucking siren song and then he rounds the corner and backlit in bright white floodlights out of the fog emerges his siren. You.

He’s starting to push through the crowd when your voice hits him like a gut punch and god how badly he wants you to knock him out. Every hair on his body is pointing towards you, pointing him the way home and in his hurry he bumps shoulders and collides with elbows but he barely feels it and it all fades away when he finally reaches the stage.

He’s front and center now and it takes all of his willpower to not keep going, to not hoist himself up and lie down to your feet. And as if you knew of his dilemma, you come to the edge of the stage, you lean in on your crowd, voice swelling, louder and louder and suddenly you are so close so close so close and he will surely die if your eyes will meet him but oh what a way to go on from this life.

The music grows impatient, signals a nearing release and you stomp your foot on the monitor box right in front of him. Heavy black boots stomping the rhythm of the song right in front of his face and he will break his neck looking up at you like that, like he was witnessing the return of a goddess and missing one second of it would doom him for eternity. Oh, the way your music moves through you as if it’s an extension of your body and have his fucking jeans always been so tight?

You throw him around like he’s lost at sea and he can’t but mourn the air leaving your throat going to waste; he wants to inhale what touched your vocal cords, wants to live on the ether that fuels your voice.

And then you throw back your head, strobe light exploding like a violent halo around you and you scream like you’re made out of thunder and lightning and Eddie comes in his pants before that fucking song is even over.

---

soundtrack inspiration for the music !!!not for the actual people!!! for those who care

#eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x you #my fic

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differenteagletragedy · 5 months

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No thoughts, just Our Life Swap AU.

A couple of days ago someone requested a swap AU in which Baxter is MC's neighbor, Cove is the friend who lives in the city and Derek is the boy who stays for the summer and I have not been the same since.

Here is the first thing I wrote about it, and here is another!

"Do you know what RV stands for?"

"Yes, Baxter."

"I believe you may think you do -- a common misunderstanding is that it stands for 'recreational vehicle.' In reality --"

"Shut it, little boy," Liz called down from the loft.

You smiled at Baxter, and he returned it. You were in an RV that your moms had rented, headed for a quick camping trip to Redwood National Park. You and your best friend were sitting on the couch in the little living area of the vehicle while your moms were up front, taking turns driving.

Baxter had been making up stories to pass the time, and it seemed that Liz had heard one too many.

"My apologies, Elizabeth," he called up to her. "I forgot you don't care for whimsy or fun anymore."

"Why are you even here?" she replied.

He had been in good spirits, chatting away, but that seemed to have brought him down. He shot a quick smile at you, then looked away.

Your parents had invited him along -- after five years of the two of you being nearly inseparable, he was often invited to family outings. Your moms always made sure to include him too because his own parents weren't the kindest people.

At first, Baxter's parents had refused. They didn't like your moms, for some reason you'd never been able to figure out. Luckily, a business trip came up for his father and they decided to give in to his relentless requests to accompany you, knowing that their only child could make things difficult if he wanted. It was easier for them not to deal with him on the trip.

Their loss, you thought.

Before he could get too lost in thought, you leaned over and nudged his shoulder. He nudged you back, a smirk reappearing.

"Don't mind Liz," you told him quietly. "You're here because you belong here."

His smirk turned into a full-on beam.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That night, you'd arrived to your camping spot at the park, but it was too dark to explore. But the next morning, bright and early, the five of you went out to see the sights.

Your moms led the easy hike on one of the trails, and Liz wandered behind them. You and Baxter brought up the rear.

"This is amazing," he said in genuine awe, looking up at the trees. Every once in a while, he would pull his attention away from the scenery to look at you warmly.

"Was it like this in your old town?" you asked. You knew he'd lived in Oregon before moving to Sunset Bird, and he'd talked about missing the trees.

"No, not quite," he answered. "There were forests, but nothing like this."

Before you could say anything else, Liz fell back to walk in line with you. You gave a preemptive eyeroll.

"Is this up to your standards, rich boy?" she teased.

"I'm having a very nice time," he replied. And it was true -- too nice a time to start his usual bickering with your sister.

"Good," she said. "Because once you officially join the family, this is the kind of sickening wholesomeness you're in for."

"I could think of worse fates," he told her, shooting you a glance.

You'd been nursing a crush on Baxter for a while now, and comments like that made you think sometimes that he had a crush on you, too. It was almost enough to make you say something, but your sister's teasing would really turn relentless then.

Liz hung back, teasing you for a while longer before getting bored and going back up to your moms. After a few hours, with a lunch break tossed in, the hike was over and you were back at the RV.

Your sister promptly went inside and shut the door behind her. Your moms laughed, but then Baxter approached them.

"I was wondering if it would be all right if we went on another short walk," he said, looking back at you. "Not too far, and I'll be sure we're back well before dark."

They had a moment of silent communication, then you saw your ma give a slight nod.

"All right, but not too far," Mom said. "And stay on the trail."

"Absolutely," Baxter said. He held his arm out to you, and you took it. Then you were off.

"Why did you want to come back out?" you asked, trying to sound casual even though you were buzzing with excitement. You tried to keep the hand that held onto his arm steady.

"I thought it was too nice of a day to end so quickly," he said. "I wanted more time out here. More time with you."

You blushed, and he smiled fondly at you.

"Why do you say stuff like that?" you asked before you could reconsider.

"Why wouldn't I?" He seemed genuinely confused. "It's lovely here. You're a lovely person." He leaned closer to your ear and said, "My favorite person, actually."

Your cheeks grew hotter.

Baxter laughed, then said, "You're also adorable."

It was a little forward, even for him, so you decided to take the opportunity to bring up something you'd been wondering about for a while.

"Can I ask you something?" you began.

"Always."

"Why haven't you dated anyone?"

He didn't say anything right away, and you didn't have the nerve to look at him. But out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw his own cheeks turning pink.

"I was just wondering," you added, "since you sort of flirt with everybody all the time."

"Do I?" he asked with a laugh. You did give him a look then, and he said, "I don't actually, you know. Not at school."

"Really?"

"Really."

It was your turn to pause. He went to a private school while you went to the public one, but you'd just assumed he was the same way with everyone else that he was with you.

"I'm polite," he explained. "I try to be friendly. I can't help being a little bold. But I don't ... you're the only one who gets this version of me."

You were trying to figure out how to respond, but nothing came. Your thoughts were racing with this new revelation, and before you could say anything, he stopped.

"It'll be getting dark soon," he said. "Time to go."

Baxter turned around, making a show out of offering you his other arm, and you laughed as you took it. Perhaps sensing the tailspin he'd put you in, he went back to joking around for the rest of the walk back to the campsite.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After a fun evening with your family around the campfire, it was time for bed. Your moms went back to the bedroom, Liz stretched out on the couch and Baxter spread out his sleeping bag on the floor while you climbed up in the loft.

You tried to go to sleep, but your thoughts were still racing over everything Baxter had said. After a while, when you heard Liz's soft snores get into a steady rhythm, you peeked over the edge of the loft to see what your friend was doing.

You knew he was a night owl, and so you weren't surprised to see him lying on his stomach, reading a book he'd brought with him in the bright moonlight that filtered in through the windows. But you didn't expect him to look up at you just as you'd started watching him.

"Go to sleep," he mouthed at you, grinning.

"You first," you mouthed back.

He gracefully pulled himself out of his sleeping bag and slinked over to the ladder to the loft. He climbed it so that he was eye level with you, and said, "Can't sleep?"

"Doesn't seem so."

"Would you like some company?"

You gave him a confused look. He smiled softly and told you, "I'll tell you a bedtime story."

Intrigued, you scooted back against the wall, making room for him. He climbed under the blankets, laid out on his side, folding his arm under his head for a pillow, and started telling his story.

It was complete nonsense, as most of his stories were. There was something about mountain lions, and Bigfoot made an appearance. But as he went on, trying his best to make you laugh, he kept inching closer to you. A few times you were bold enough to do the same, and by the end you were pressed close.

"Can you sleep now?" he asked, his face just inches from yours.

"I can try."

#our life beginnings and always #our life #baxter ward #our life baxter #olba baxter #baxter x you #baxter x mc #baxter x reader #baxter ward x mc #baxter ward x reader #baxter ward x you #our life swap au #i will write literally any moment from this au it has consumed me

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rukia-writes · 2 years

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Buddha x (fem) reader

🎰 Casino event 🎰

Warnings: 18+ no minors 🔞, BDSM, breeding kink, sex toys, sir and daddy kink, role play (bunny),

Buddha’s girl.

Is what everyone in Valhalla called her, “Buddha’s girl”.

Buddha could be headstrong, however if someone wanted something from Buddha the best way was to go thru (Name). If he wasn’t showing up for meetings? Get (Name) to say something. It didn’t matter, the sure fire way to get Buddha was (Name).

Everyone knew it.

It all started when Buddha went to the casino and resort.

Buddha wanted to relax, as if he didn’t do that already, still he believe he needed a break and of course his friend Sakata Kintoki suggested going. Without another word, the two left for the new casino and resort, and once they got there the two had fun.

Buddha wasn’t too fond of the other gods being there, but that didn’t stop him from having fun.

Buddha was happily relaxing by the pool, laying down on a lounge chair with his hands behind his head and enjoying the sun being out.

“Buddha! Look what I found!”

Buddha heard his friend’s call his name, waking up from his nap Buddha sat up groggily as the sun kindly hurt his eyes a bit. But once he could see he was not expecting, a group of women in “those sexy bunny outfits”, is what Buddha called the outfits. Kintoki had a big grin on his face, believing this would make Buddha happy.

However.

“What did you find?”

“Don’t say that, they’re fans. So, I bought them to you.”

Okay.

At least they were cute and Buddha didn’t feel like turning them all away and so he decided to have a bit of fun. However, a little fun turned into half the night for Buddha and Kintoki playing at the casino. While playing Black Jack at a gambling table Kintoki did notice his friend still at the slot machines with a cute “bunny” still. Being obvious, Kintoki made a teasing face before going back to his game while finding his friend still playing games with just one woman.

As the days passed, Kintoki found the woman’s name and found out she worked at the casino of course, and popular among the guests. Kintoki could see why, shy, curious, and high spirited all in one and if Kintoki could see it Buddha saw it as well. As well as a little innocent, an area that Buddha liked to tease a lot. Buddha played it off like he wasn’t interested, however when Kintoki simply said her name Kintoki had his attention.

Giving her candy was another hint, as Buddha was a bit biased. Kintoki didn’t notice, but Buddha also gave her the biggest tips.

Not to mention, this was supposed to be a bro-cation. Kintoki would have to “hunt down” Buddha but every-time he would be with (Name) at the slot machines, pool, or out in the city. Still, Buddha denied he was interested in her. Buddha couldn’t deny it anymore when Kintoki caught him texting.

No. Buddha never texted.

No way.

“Man, you are whipped!”

“You don’t even know who I’m texting.”

Buddha covered his phone screen as he laid on the couch, the two were staying at hotel the casino had which was “a bit luxurious” Buddha called it. Kintoki grinned as he made bunny ears with his index fingers making Buddha frown as he was caught.

“Can’t get one over you, Kin-Chan.”

“Well, what are you going to do? Is she single.”

“She’s single. But there’s no rush. We can take our time.”

Buddha stretched out on the sofa with a smile on his face while Kintoki just agreed with him, after all Buddha had a good head on his shoulders. Now if he could just get him out and about they would be on a roll.

So, every year the two would take a vacation to their favorite casino and Buddha always kept in constant in contact with (Name). However, Buddha started to have his vacations were more frequent than before and of course Buddha wouldn’t stay at the hotel but at (Name)’s place.

Buddha liked staying at her place, calling it “A calming place.”

The two became rather close over time, chatting over snacks, talking about what was going on in Valhalla, watching movies, taking walks and naps. Any movie with kissing Buddha would shield her eyes in a teasing way, saying “Gotta shield you from the naughtiness.”

As if Buddha was pure himself.

“Say, how would you like to go to my meetings for me?”

Buddha found the meetings the gods would have to be boring and would scarcely attend them. So, why not see if (Name) would go in his place? And of course the sweet and innocent (Name) agreed to do so. Zeus, wondered who she was and was informed by Hermes that she was Buddha’s assistant.

Well, that was fair.

The gods didn’t mind either as they knew her from the casino and the sweet smile she had helped. So, (Name) was Buddha’s assistant whenever a meeting came up she was there, a message from Zeus? She read it for him.

Buddha gave her snacks and whatever she wanted as payment.

One day, however Buddha was surprised and pleased to see (Name) wearing a similar styled shirt that Buddha wore except the symbol was switched with another bunny symbol, a call to her sexy bunny outfit she wore at the casino. Buddha’s response was that of pure joy as he said “that’s hot.” Even feeling the fabric and surprised they were the same, pinching her cheeks saying “You’re the cutest bunny ever.”

That compliment made (Name)‘s heart skip a beat.

It’s true, Buddha did some innocent flirting all the time but as of recently the compliments and flirting had become heartfelt. However, the two were becoming quite close.

“Buddha! (Name)! I have something for you!”

Kintoki had arrived on a hill with gifts for his friends, both were relaxing underneath a tree and watching the clouds. Both were pleased to see their kindhearted friend, especially with the gifts. Kintoki had given Buddha Kintaro Candy, and gave (Name) a rabbit doll.

Kintoki had found the doll in town as there were many kids wanting one at the shop, and so Kintoki just bought it for (Name) out on a whim. Of course, (Name) loved it and thanked Kintoki, saying it was the sweetest gift ever. Buddha did tease her a bit, saying she was too mature for a stuffed animal. Ignoring Buddha instead as she puffed her cheek a bit as a pout while (Name) gave all her attention to Kintoki.

It was amusing, as Kintoki found out the next day that Buddha had bought (Name) a six foot bunny. Kintoki just didn’t know if it was because he wanted to make amends for his remark or because Buddha was a bit envious of him getting (Name) a gift.

Kintoki kindly leaned towards the second option, as he knew Buddha was teasing and didn’t mean it. Thinking to himself, a six foot bunny was just being over the top. However, when he saw his friend having a room neatly filled with stuffed bunnies he knew Buddha was behind it. The valkyries would pay a visit to (Name)’s “office”, mostly Goll, Hlokk and Alvitr. Buddha would give candy to the valkyries and they gladly took it.

As the years passed Buddha and (Name) were one in the same, and everywhere you saw one you saw the other.

Most people in Valhalla assumed maybe there was a little more going on than just Buddha having a sweet and cute assistant. Some, just thought they were rather innocent as Buddha liked to do whatever he wanted and (Name) was along for the ride.

That is until the day Ragnarok started.

After round six Buddha escaped the infirmary to the same tree he sat near before Round 6 started. Claiming his injury were fine, however his injury still gave him trouble and he considered stayed in the infirmary longer. As a matter of fact, (Name) was looking for him although wanted some peace and quiet. Not that (Name) was a bother, but everyone wants alone time.

“…Oh. Oh!”

While enjoying the warm sun and leaning against the tree while sitting down Buddha remembered that he had a “little” bet with his beloved (Name). Before round six started the Buddha proposed a deal, a risky gamble, if he won his fight Buddha wanted a surprise from (Name) any surprise would do. (Name) was more concerned with Buddha losing and losing him forever to Nifheil. However, Buddha reassured her that he would win and that he wouldn’t be defeated.

Whether it was Buddha’s cockiness or reassurance she agreed.

Now, Buddha had won and all that was left for to wait and see what his sweet (Name) had in store for him. Thinking to himself it could be something yummy as candy or perhaps popcorn. That would be nice.

Then again, maybe it was something naughty.

Before Buddha could think of something naughty about (Name) his injury seemed to scold him for it, as he clutched his injury in pain.

“You should have stayed in your room, Buddha.”

Buddha knew that voice and tried to play it off as he looked back to see his sweet (Name) with a worried look on her face, the “sexy” bunny outfit was a nice view from Buddha’s view. “A lovely view” Buddha thought to himself with a smile he playfully welcome (Name) to sit beside him.

“Is this my surprise? It’s nice.”

Buddha was feeling rather playful as he watched (Name) sit beside him, getting a very quick look at her breasts and then proceeding to be his easy going self. The two had a good conversation about recent events until (Name) kindly asked Buddha about the video she sent him.

Buddha was eating some candy he had nearby but stopped briefly when he heard “video”, with his mouthful he uttered out “What video? Hold on-“ it was rather difficult to make out but (Name) was used to it and just as Buddha quickly reached for his phone (Name) stopped him by placing her hand on his, a bashful smile was on her face and Buddha was confused at first but got a knowing smile on his lips.

“What sort of video is it? Speak, girl.”

“It’s just a video, why don’t you wait until later?”

It was (Name)’s turn to be playful and it only made Buddha want to see the video that more.

“Okay, I’ll watch it later. But… can I get a little peek?”

“…Peek?”

Buddha calmly pointed to her chest, it was Buddha’s favorite place followed closely by the thighs. Buddha would sometimes say he wanted to between them to whenever he was frustrated with something, Kintoki would tell Buddha he’s becoming a bit more whipped as telling him stop would be pointless as he Buddha did he what he saw fit or say.

“Well…okay.”

Slowly pulling down the top of her corset Buddha’s attention was solely on (Name)’s chest, regardless if he could only see with one eye at the moment. His thoughts were “Finally, finally.” Buddha was certain he was hearing his heart beat in his ears as he wanted this for a long time and just as he was about to see what he wanted both heard “What are you two doing?”

Quickly hugging (Name) as to cover her up he saw Kintoki with a innocent curious expression, obviously not seeing what transpired.

“We are hugging, hugging her does it look like?”

“Oh, well. I didn’t know. You shouldn’t be out here Buddha, the nurses are looking for you.”

Buddha and (Name) eventually separated from their hug when she lightly tugged on his shirt. The three chatted for a bit and Kintoki did ask why (Name) was wearing sexy bunny outfit as he hadn’t seen her wear it in a long time, to which (Name) responded with a smile on her face that she had made a bet. Kintoki kindly read between the lines but he didn’t want to assume wrong so he simply smiled and told her she looked pretty and (Name) bashfully thanked Kintoki. Buddha then asked Kintoki for a favor, of course with Kintoki being loyal Kintoki agreed without having Buddha saying anything else.

(Name) found that to be Kintoki’s “cutest” trait about him and once she heard that Buddha wanted for Kintoki to bring him Siegfried she offered to go with him while Buddha wanted her to stay with him for once. Nonetheless, he let her go with his best friend but before the two left (Name) gave Buddha a hug and then softly whispered in Buddha’s ear about the video and that seemed to please Buddha for now.

Kintoki found the two hugging suspicious and thought they were up to something.

Once the two left, Buddha stretched out and enjoyed the peace and quiet again. Until curiosity got the better of him and he quickly grabbed his phone. Buddha politely scooted the birds away as he had a feeling the video was not (Name) saying “Hello” to him, the birds chirped perhaps in protest but Buddha scooted them away again just to be sure.

Buddha was right, it wasn’t a sweet video.

The opening consisted of (Name) congratulating Buddha on his victory and that she was very happy he would be here in Valhalla longer.

“So, I’m sure you wanted a surprise from me and so I wanted to let you know some surprising things about me. Um, well I have a crush on you and I’ve had one for awhile.”

Yes, (Name) was wearing the outfit that Buddha liked so much and watched how flustered she was when confessing as she played with her bunny ears the whole time. For Buddha, this was art in motion for him, a gift bestowed upon him and he wasn’t about to fuss. No, he was enjoying the way she confessed to him ,the camera at the time, that she liked his easy going nature and his carefree attitude. It was the way he felt like she was riding his cock with her being there.

The more she confessed she liked the more she let “slip” out, confessing how she liked his muscles and how she wanted to feel them one day. Well, Buddha wanted to see her breasts which sounded like an even trade to him. While the video was rather sweet in confession Buddha was hot and bothered and injured. Cursing the fact he was still healing he wanted to do some confessing of his own and by the end of the video (Name) had another surprising confession to make.

“I guess I owe you a surprising fact about me, and that would be that I like to play with toys.”

“….Well duh, you have a room-Oh!”

The birds stopped what they were doing and looked at Buddha when they heard Buddha yell “Oh!”. When Buddha saw the bunny shaped toy. Muttering to himself that this was a surprise but it certainly welcome. Hearing “I’ll see you later Buddha” with her blowing him a kiss Buddha was a bit taken back as he muttered over and over again “Where the rest of it?” Then mentioning how he wanted to see more until he took a deep breath and leaned against the tree with his arms behind his head.

“That was still good.”

Closing his eyes and enjoying the sun and the clear sky, while thinking to himself how he wanted to use that toy on his precious (Name). Definitely, thinking how he wanted to tease her with it while having his thick cock inside her making her squirm in pleasure. The thought alone made Buddha want smirk a bit, then he wondered if he could ask her to get a bunny vibrator because he had some ideas for that.

“Maybe she already has one.”

Buddha made a dragged out “ooo” sound following it up with a “Naughty girl” while the image in his head of her using the vibrator on her made him nod his head in agreement as though it was “official”. Buddha’s imagination was all over the place from using toys on her to simply fucking her against whatever.

Bed. Wall. It didn’t matter.

Buddha had a lot of naughty things to say to her when they would, soon, let themselves into their lustful desires. A breeding kink was definitely itching at Buddha as he envisioned fucking her from behind while he held her right leg while whispering in her ear how sweet she was and how he wanted to treat her like the princess she was. How he wanted to fill her delicious cunt to the brim with his cum and how he wanted to see her round with his children. After all, bunnies are one of the most fertile animals.

“Now what toy could I use on her?”

Buddha didn’t know if he wanted to spank her with “bunny” whip or his hands which would work just as good as they were good in size. Vibrators, handcuffs and whips. Buddha wanted to use it all, however Buddha also didn’t know if he wanted to be handcuffed or if he wanted to handcuff her.

Again, both ideas sounded great.

What about butt plug ins? Did she like those? Did she have one?

One with a cottontail would be absolutely perfect.

Buddha had it all thought out.

The sexy bunny costume stayed on while Buddha used both the vibrator for her cunt and the butt plug in for her ass, while edging her to her breaking point. Of course he reward her, she was his sweet “bunny.”

Buddha wanted to be so sweet to her while also being so naughty and now that he knew how naughty Buddha wanted to play along. But it would have to be his way of course, there was a lot of positions he wanted to try.

Why not both? Both ideas were good.

Buddha wanted her to call him “Sir”, if not he would take “daddy” as a back up. Nothing in between, one or the other. Not to mention, he always envisioned her face in pure ecstasy and lust. It was what he enjoyed the most. Watching her lips say his name over and over made him nod his head again as though it was official. Buddha had a lot of thoughts for his tongue as well, from licking her nipples to eating her out until he was finished.

Sometimes, Buddha would imagine her being the sweet and submissive, while other times he imagined her being a top and telling him to shut up and be a “good bottom”. Buddha didn’t know what he liked best, both was fine with him.

Decisions.

Those breasts.

Buddha wanted to also have his cock between her breasts too, from giving him blow job while having his cock between her breasts to simply giving her a tit fuck while telling him “Keep going, my tits are all for you.”

For him.

No one else.

Buddha waited years for (Name)’s confession and he could wait a little longer for her to get back. As he too, had a surprise for her when she returned.

🎰Rukia-Writes🎰

#ror x reader #record of ragnarok x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #buddha x reader

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sheep-from-rad · 2 years

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Following the quiet creator post i was wondering how they would react if they heard the creator cry for the first time like....they had a bad day and they were playing Genshin as a way to calm themselves and the characters heard them cry??

Crying. Something that is normal but they fear to hear. You see crying is a response to almost everything such as happiness, loneliness, sadness, and yeah, pain. They hope it’s not a response to pain. If it is happiness and then they can understand it, crying due to extreme happiness happens from time to time.

If it’s loneliness or sadness, it’s fine as well. They will make sure to do everything inside their world to raise your spirits up whether it be loots doubling or chests suddenly popping out of nowhere.

The whole Teyvat was silent but not the same silence they heard when you first spoke. It was the silence that seemed to hide a raging storm. Who heard it? Aside from the whole Teyvat, the abyss heard it and yes even the ghosts of Enkanomiya are startled when they heard you cry.

If it’s a cry of loneliness, the cast will make sure to do their best to please you with their fighting. If it doesn't work, they can rely on mobs and their double drops. Characters like Ganyu will take it to herself to take notes of the times that you have cried. Crying is normal but too much just indicates a bigger problem.

They will take it upon themselves as a mission to make you smile. Your favourite characters will show up everywhere. Talk to them and they will give you a small reward. Venti in front of the Cathedral will give you a bunch of Cecilias. Klee was suddenly running around Mondstadt trying hard not be caught by Jean. Kaeya and Diluc are now at Angel's share bantering.

Arataki and his gang will show up at Inazuma and will purposefully mess with Kujou Sara to make you laugh. Even the elusive Yaksha, Xiao, will show up near Mt. Tianheng for idle talking and pretending to be watching the area. If you open the menu and see Paimon in her animation, you will see her smiling and waving at you as well!

Teyvat itself will work alongside them! Suddenly the fruits you get on exploring are doubled. Crystal flies flock around you and are easier to catch. Oh there was a thunderstorm when you exited a city? Well, not anymore!

Then there’s the cry that they will never ever want to hear: The Cry of Pain. If all of Teyvat is self-aware or awake, then working together to break the specific codes that binds their tongues and prevents them from speaking will be led by Albedo himself. They can’t break the wall that separates you from them but they can at least do something that makes you aware that they are self-aware and adore you right?

Masterlist

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strawbebehmod · 2 months

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Ok I've had enough of this "Alastor doesn't know about gay stuff" I keep seeing around. As a history nerd I honestly can't take it anymore.

Kiddos it's time to learn you a few things. First of all, compared to subsequent decades,

The 1920s were incredibly gay

Was it still illegal to perform homosexual acts, yes. Were gay people still abused and lost jobs for being gay, and were even socially excluded from cishet white society? Oh absolutely. Did most individuals have to stay closeted? Duh. But you know what wasn't a wide spread thing yet? The medicalization of homosexuality. Conversion therapy wasn't fully approved of by psychiatrists until the 40's. Crossdressing wasn't considered mental illness, scandalous, yes, but not mental illness. The haze codes were not implemented yet, and the combination of prohibition, the two decades prior of progressivism, and the horrors of world war one left the youngest generation with a rebellious spirit and a desire for breaking the law. And if you lived in a big city, being LGBT in the twenties was often better than being LGBT in the 30s, 40s, or even 50s.

Young rich kids would seek out queer cruising spots in cities as a form of tourism. Harlem was famous for it's yearly drag balls, and many of the most famous black artists at the time were infact lgbt. Broadway and Hollywood were full of individuals who people knew were not entirely straight. Hell, jazz was born in red light districts home to black queer people. In places like New York there were people famous for being openly gay and despite sodomy laws police would not care in the slightest about them.

And though the South was as fucked as it ever was with Jim Crow Laws and the race riots, New Orleans has always been one of the more progressive cities in the South and has always had a very large gay community. Between the inherit campiness and debauchery of Mardi gras to being the birth place of jazz, to new Orleans being the easiest place to get away with breaking prohibition laws in the south, Alastor as a mixed race black radio host playing jazz in New Orleans in the 20s ABSOLUTELY is familiar with the LGBT community of the time.

The thing is, the language used by the community at the time was so fundamentally different that alastor would not know what you are talking about if you spoke to him about modern LGBT issues. The pride flag did not even exist yet. Gay still meant happy to him in his age. "Bisexual" at the time was more akin to the term "trans" than being attracted to multiple genders, and transgender didn't exist yet as a word. But if you called yourself "a confirmed bachelor" he would understand you were a man who liked men. If you called yourself a "fairy" he would know you weren't cis. If you were a woman and told him you liked sapho or Peter pan, he'd know you liked women. And if you were wearing lavender, or a green carnation, a red bowtie, a violet (if you were a woman), or were a man with a peacock feather in your ensemble he would give you a knowing nod. He's not ignorant of the lgbtq. He's a man out of his time. He speaks a different language entirely to modern gay slang, so it seem he doesn't know anything about it. But he does. Gay and trans people have always been a thing and as a radio host, literally being on the forefront of mass media at it's beginnings, in arguably the best decade to be gay in the 20th century before the 60s, in a city so comfortable with what was considered debauchery that it gave birth to "devil music" and embraced it before anyone else, yes he knows what they are. He just doesn't have the modern language to express it.

#alastor hazbin hotel #1920s #lgbt history #rant #hazbin hotel #he would be confused as hell if you asked him where to find a gay bar to pick up twinks #but you ask him to take you to a saloon where all the fit young sailors hang out and he could instantly give you directions

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justtoomuch · 1 year

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Do you have any headcannons or just general vibes you wanna share about the "Leon rescues Ethan in Louisiana" Au? I gotta admit, it's seems like a really fun idea and I'd love to know more about it

Sure! Leon was actually sent to the Baker Estate to rescue a highly esteemed journalist but when he got there he was forced to shoot that person who has become infected. He's now devastated because that was kind of his only job, but he finds Ethan and changes his objective because he just wants to save a single person and if there happen to another civilian around then that's who he's saving. They form a sort of Leon-Ashley situation through the Baker Estate except Ethan doesn't want to just sit back and be a victim so he tries to fight as well but Leon won't let him.

They argue a lot, with Leon trying to keep Ethan on a short leash for his protection and Ethan rebelling against that. Then they have a major fight where Ethan points out that Leon wasn't even initially there to save him, and proclaims that no one is willing to help him save Mia. He eventually chooses to separate from Leon (against Leon's will) to go find her, but he fails to save her and has to kill her.

Leon eventually finds him and comforts him in the best way he can (he's not very good at it but it comes from the heart, he knows what it's like to lose people, and especially to be the person who had to pull the trigger.) He convinces Ethan that the best thing to do is to get up and save himself because that's what Mia would have wanted for him.

Ethan agrees and they reunite. Leon tries to raise Ethan's spirits by giving him more agency and letting him defend himself, despite his own fears of failing Ethan.

They are both captured by Lucas who prompts Leon to either sacrifice himself or watch Ethan die. (Wow thematic stuff! Leon has to evaluate whether his desire to save people has to do with wanting to make the world a better place, or is just a result of his pride.) He doesn't have to make the decision because while Lucas is talking to Leon, Ethan breaks free and impales Lucas through the chest with a metal pipe. (Now that's metal af.) They both make a run for it.

Leon is impressed by Ethan's resourcefulness and they escape the house on a boat, eventually getting airlifted by a BSAA helicopter. Ethan is taken into BSAA custody and Leon argues with Chris about that. Chris says that there's a low chance Ethan will be integrated back into civilian life as he has too much information. This reminds Leon of how he had been forced into being an agent after Raccoon City. He asks Chris for the BSAA to retrieve Mia's body for a proper burial.

Leon attends the funeral and stands across from Ethan, watching him and his family mourn. He decides there that he's not going to give up on Ethan and calls Chris, asking him to be a part of Ethan's transition into whatever his life is going to be with the BSAA. Chris agrees.

#lethan #leon x ethan #re7 #resident evil biohazard #resident evil

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rosewaterandivy · 2 months

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the four times you degraded yourself with the blight of Williamsburg (and the one time you escaped unscathed)

part of the everyone but you universe e.m. x f!oc reader, NSFW / MDNI, reader goes by esmé, warnings are cursing and vague smut - my usual brand of filth with some badly repressed ~feelings~ w.c.: 5.2K tagging my cheerleaders @powderblueblood and @jo-harrington who dealt with my hyper-fixated ass all day. 💜

PART THE FIRST: “Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now, you stupid fucking bastard!”

Of all the things you do for your best friend, being stood up by a the blind date you’d reluctantly agreed to has got to take the top prize. You’d been ready an hour ago, all dressed up with nowhere to go— the new dress you’d scored at the sample sale completed wasted on a dipshit who couldn’t bother to send a text about running late.

Checking your phone for the eighth time in as many minutes, you jolt at the unexpected sound from your buzzer. Having already kicked off your heels, you step to avoid them as you make your way to the door and press the button.

“Yes?”

“Yeah, hi, it’s me. Can you buzz me up?”

You sigh, not even a hint of an apology for wasting your time.

“I’m going to need more to go on than that, Son of Sam.”

There’s a pause, long enough for you to hope that maybe he’s thought better of it all and walked away already.

Alas, no such luck.

“Right, my bad. I’m Chrissy’s friend? Eddie.”

In lieu of a verbal response, you simply press on manicured finger to the button and buzz him in.

A few minutes later, he’s at your door and definitely not dressed for dinner— torn jeans, doc marten’s that have seen better days, a threadbare black t-shirt, topped with a leather jacket.

C’mon, Chrissy’s voice chimes in your head, Give it a chance! I worry about you all alone in the city now when Jay and I aren’t there.

And, in the spirit of not breaking the promise you’d made to your best friend, you do give him a chance.

He’s not terrible looking, you suppose. Maybe a bit unkempt, but he’s a writer not a stockbroker.

Eddie takes a long look at you after you turn to let him inside the apartment. And Chrissy did not tell a lie when she’d talked him into this, you were definitely his type— a bona fide smoke show with curves in all the right places, and a biting wit just simmering beneath the polished surface you’d cultivated.

Watching as you slip back into your heels, which only bring you near his shoulder once on, he thinks back to Chrissy’s pitch for this set up.

“Ed,” she began, settling herself into their favored booth at the all night diner just off of Berry Street. “She is my best friend, so do not fuck this up.”

He blows a raspberry and tosses his menu to the side, “I thought I was the recipient of that particular title.”

“You know what I mean.” She rolls her eyes, smiling as the waitress approached to take their orders. “I’m serious, Munson. I think she could be it for you— she’s in publishing, graduated top of her class at Columbia, whip-smart—”

“Lemma stop you right there Chris.” Eddie sets his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “This chick—”

“Esme.”

“Right, her.” He demures with a wave of his hand. “She sounds swell, a regular Sandy Dee.”

They nod in thanks when the waitress returns with their drinks.

“But is she, y’know.” Eddie raises his brows mischievously.

Chrissy blinks.

“You’re such a pig, Munson.”

Back in your apartment on the Upper West Side, you swipe through the booking app on your phone with a shake of your head. Eddie, having made himself comfortable on the couch, crosses his legs and rests his feet on the coffee table.

After your third sigh, he finally pipes up.

“What’s the matter? Miss your reservation at Dorsia?”

The snort you let out is unladylike but well warranted considering the only reason you’d missed said reservation at Serafina was solely because of the man making himself comfortable on your couch.

“Not quite,” You allow, sending off a quick message to the maître d’ at UnPublished. Maybe they could take a walk-in. Tossing your phone into your bag, you make toward the door. If you left now, you just might be able to snag a table according to your sources. “Why, d’you need to return some video tapes?”

The night only devolves from there. He’d arrived on his bike and your dress would not accommodate sitting on the back of a motorcycle. But the cabs were few and far between and Uber was out of the question with the current surge pricing. He suggests ordering in and you, foolishly agree, only to return from changing into something less restrictive and a bit more casual, to overhear him on the phone making plans with a person named Trinity, of all things, for, oh, about an hour later.

His voice had taken on what you’re appalled to discover is his attempt at seductive— low and soft, “Yeah, I’ll think of something. Don’t worry about it. Are you wearing the—”

What a fucking idiot.

You sincerely doubt that Trinity has a lingerie chest of La Perla, Agent Provocateur, and Eres at her disposal. Not that Munson, the cretin, would be deserving of any of it.

“Oh,” You chirp from behind him, enjoying that he jumps slightly at the sound of your voice. “Don’t let me keep you, Neo. By all means, free your mind.”

His exit is less than ideal; caught red-handed, Eddie makes no apologies for his behavior, but instead decides to double the fuck down, and somehow make this disaster of an evening out to be no one’s fault but your own.

So, while the book you lob against the door at his hastily retreating form isn’t as on brand as your earlier banter would suggest, you find it’s fitting all the same: Less Than Zero.

PART THE SECOND: always the casket, never the body.

The wedding was beautiful, as to be expected.

A perfect spring day in Manhattan, flowers in bloom, sun shining with a soft breeze that passes by as it pleases.

Not that you were enjoying any of that, at present.

God forbid the maid of honor have a flute of champagne at the reception, or kick off her heels for a minute before being swindled into some bridal party bullshit.

Which is how you are graced with the presence of Munson in an elevator to the bridal suite.

“Everything up in the room?”

You nod, clutching the bag in your grasp. Trailing behind him as the elevator doors open.

“Not having a panic attack, are you?”

“No,” You croak. “M’fine.”

He laughs at that, “Right, because it would be awfully inconvenient for the MOH to slack in her duties.” He pulls out his phone and taps out a message before shoving it back into his pocket.

“Jus’ gotta decorate the bridal suite and then you can get back to drinking yourself into oblivion, right?”

He says this under his breath and more to himself than to you, but it stings all the same. And you’re far too exhausted to snap any scathing retort back, anyway.

Entering the bridal suite, he takes the bag from you and walks with purpose to the bedroom. The maids had been by, clearly, and the various bags left by bridesmaids had been stowed at the font desk. All except for yours, the overnight bag was right where you’d left it earlier by the door.

Eddie grabs the chilled champagne from the fridge, finds an ice bucket and begins to fill it up. Bringing both along, he stepped into the bedroom to find you decapitating roses and scattering their petals on the bedspread. You glance up as he places the champagne, ice bucket, and two flutes on the bedside table.

“Did you see where I left my phone?”

He smirks and pulls it from his left pocket, “Swiped it from the head table when you went to the bar.”

“Huh, thanks.”

The rest of the night passes with a blur— dancing, toasts, the whole nine yards. With Chrissy and Jason sent off for the night, the reception dwindles and the liquor takes its course. You float more than walk to the bank of elevators, or at least it feels that way.

And, as luck would have it, you’re forced into sharing yet another elevator ride with Munson.

"Are you okay?"

You whirl around. "It's impolite to sneak up on people," You snap, but feel a rush of relief. It's Eddie. Just Eddie.

"It's impolite to bitch at someone who came looking for you to see if you were alright," He volleys back, his brows furrowed. "You were kind of, uh, stumbling to the door there."

"And what are you here to do, Munson?" You ask, scathingly. "Fix me? Offer me the shoulder of your rented suit to cry on?"

"I'm trying to be your friend," He says lowly. "We promised – "

"The wedding's over. Stop using Chrissy as an excuse."

He takes two steps, closing the distance between you. "Maybe I needed an excuse. Every time I talk to you, you snap at me, and it ends in a fight, and we don't get anywhere."

You lean back against the wall and cross your arms loosely.

“We were never really friends, Munson. We both know that.”

“Esmé.”

“And we don’t need to start now.”

It’s just so infuriating. So, okay, look— Eddie knows he fucked it up. Knew it the second he took that call in your apartment and has known it every second since, like Chrissy would ever let him forget. And there’s no excuse, so he doesn’t know why he bothers trying.

He’s not used to having nice things. He’s not used to having his ass handed to him or having someone keep up with his rapid fire thoughts. He’s never had a filter, and he’s never been lucky enough to catch the eye of someone like you.

“Munson,” You prompt after a prolonged pause.

He glances up, maybe seeing for the first time how lonely you are.

“Is the concept of meaningless sex hard for you to comprehend?" You ask. Your voice sounds strange to your own ears, high and breathy.

"Is that really – "

"Yes, it’s all – "

"That's all you want?" He talks over you. "That's really the only thing you want?"

"It isn't just what I want," You laugh, cool and unfeeling. "It's all I can offer."

And maybe his heart breaks for you, just a little.

Because you both know you deserve so much more than that. Or, at least he realizes this. Wants to find every guy or gal that wore you down and treated you like dirt, including himself, he wants to rip them three new assholes and stuff ‘em full of bullets.

"Fine," He says, lips ghosting against your own. “If you just want to fuck, then fine, we can fuck."

You gasp softly against his lips. "Munson," You mumble, not quite a protest. His hands are clutching at your dress, pulling the fabric up, slipping his hands beneath the hem to touch your skin.

"Meaningless sex," He mutters as his mouth drops to your neck, trailing kisses down the column of your throat. "S'what you want…"

Your back hits something strong and solid, and then Eddie's hands are hooking under your thighs, pressing you onto the low counter in the hotel room. Vaguely, somewhere at the very back of your mind, you wonder if he was always strong enough to do that, and his fingers hook into your lacy underwear, tugging.

Grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, you yank him closer, moving your legs apart so he can stand between them. "Don't contact me," You say, biting his bottom lip. "That's the rule. If this doesn't mean anything – "

"Shut the fuck up," He breathes, his mouth trailing down your neck again.

PART THE THIRD: wouldn't know a good thing if it came up and slit your throat.

You ended up in Brooklyn.

No rhyme or reason to it, just didn’t have anywhere else to go.

The Carvers were snug in a birthing suite at Lennox Hill, safe in their newborn bubble. Zoë Lux Carver having made her scheduled arrival at 3:27 A.M. on the morning of May 3rd. You’d been trying not to fall asleep in the uncomfortable plastic chair just outside Chrissy’s room. Doing everything from pacing the polished tile floors to hunting down some truly terrible coffee from a machine a few halls away.

Munson comes running down the hall, wallet chain jangling against his sweatpants clad leg, leather jacket hastily thrown, and hair an absolute mess. As if he didn’t think about what would be socially appropriate attire for meeting one’s goddaughter.

“Is she here yet? Did I miss it?” He’s heaving slightly, reminding you that he was never athletically inclined, never the most into physical fitness. Though, to hear Chrissy tell it, Munson can certainly outrun most people, if presented with the right motivation to do so.

“No, you haven’t missed it.” You try to sound dismissive, an attempt to guilt him for his tardiness because Carver had called him hours ago at this point, but instead your voice comes out soft, and to your disgust, maybe a bit endearing.

Perish the thought.

And not twenty minutes later does Zoe arrive earthside.

It’s a sobering experience for you. To be confronted with and realize that despite all of your professional success, you’d always somehow be playing catch-up in your personal life. Never quite measuring up to the Chrissy Carver American Dream.

A harried Jason comes out of the delivery suite to tell you that she’s here, that mom and baby are doing well. His voice is so bright, you almost don’t recognize it. He speaks quickly, arms flailing as he nods back toward Chrissy’s room, but you don’t hear a word he says, don’t latch onto the fact that he’s probably invited you to go back and meet the baby.

Instead of following Jason, who had hugged you all of five minutes ago, maybe for the first time ever, instead of maybe lobbing a bon mot and bringing you back to earth, Munson cautiously pulls you toward him.

“I’m going to hug you now,” He tells you, “And it’s going to be a nice gesture, comforting if you will. And it would be ideal, if you could refrain from injuring me in the process so.” As Eddie closes in, you can feel the heat radiating from his body. “Time to retract those claws, kitty.”

And yeah, he’s warm and it’s… well, nice. The spicy, bohemian scent of his cologne and the faintest trace of tobacco couple with a soft sigh to remind you that you’re not the only one who can’t measure up.

“One day,” He says, devoid of his perpetual scorn and ridicule. And then, he rests his head atop yours and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to revel in his warmth.

So, yeah. After meeting the baby and laying eyes on Chrissy, the newly minted mom, you found yourself face down, ass up in the Brooklyn loft of one Eddie Munson.

It’s just a fuck, that’s all it ever is between you two— what happens in Brooklyn, stays in Brooklyn… or Uptown… or Hawkins. You don’t have to talk, not at this point when you’ve had enough of each other to commit it to memory.

There are rules, of course. Just the garden variety stuff: no romance, no calling or texting, no soft words or slow sex, and absolutely no kissing … on the mouth. Munson is, shockingly, okay with it— boundaries work for him as does getting his dick wet on a semi-regular basis.

As much as it pains you to admit this (and it truly does pain you), he’s a pretty decent fuck. Sure, it was touch and go there for a minute, but he’s a fairly quick study. Knows when to go hard and when to ease up, keeps those hygiene wipes you prefer in his bedside drawer, washes his sheets on a regular basis, and then he’s got those fingers that drive you positively insane.

So, when he’s buried to the hilt and your legs are shaking after an orgasm or two, it takes you a minute to realize that things have taken a decidedly different turn.

Eddie’s turned your face toward him ever so slightly, and his hand is gliding up your jaw, fingers slipping into your hair.

"No," You whisper, fingers curling tighter against the sheets as you pull back. "No, no, you can't - you just kissed me."

"You kissed me," He says, and then he kisses you again.

Your eyes blow wide. What, when!? Have you lost it so completely—young, dumb, and full of come—that you had somehow missed the fact that you’d gone and kissed Munson?

"Stop it," You gasp. "Stop." You’re very sure that that's what you want, for him to stop kissing you like you’d ever given him permission to do so, but your body disagrees. For some idiotic reason, you can't stop leaning back toward him, and his mouth tastes like something you could grow to crave more of.

"Vance," He sighs. Eddie leans his forehead against yours, and you’re frozen for a moment, just breathing. "Please shut up," he adds, infuriatingly polite.

"Stop it," You say again, offended, but he claims your mouth with his again and you can't find it in yourself to resist, not even when he coaxes your mouth open and your tongues brush. Shivering a little, you allow him to lay you back against the sheets.

His hand smoothes down your side, knuckles brushing against the side of your breast before his hand slides further down, curling around you hip. "God," He breathes. "You are somethin’ else.”

"Stop," You say again, but this time you just breathe it against his mouth, pressing into him.

Eddie groans, fingers digging into your skin, and your heart starts to pound.

PART THE FOURTH: always a godmother, never a god.

You peek out from behind a stone wall in the entryway of the church and into the chapel, checking to see if everyone’s seated.

Once upon a time, you had never heard of a town called Hawkins, Indiana. And you were all the better for it. But once Zoë arrived, the newest addition to the picture perfect family of Chrissy and Jason Carver, change had reared its ugly head.

Gone were the weekly brunches and dinners with Chrissy (and all too frequently, Jason), meandering through the farmer’s markets on the weekends, sleepovers in the living room of your apartment with take out and pints of Ben & Jerry’s.

No, instead, your best friend and her baby relocated back to her hometown of Hawkins, seeing fit to drag you out to this rinky dink excuse of a town for your goddaughter’s christening. Not that it’s her fault that Chrissy and Jason opted to move back home, but you’d had plans for Zoë back in the city. You suppose all those donations to the Nightingale-Bamford School were worthless now.

“Nice dress.”

You start, a hand flying up to your heart. You scowl and turn primly on your heel.

“Thanks, thought it would go well with the baby.”

He smirks, lips tilting up to one side as he eyes you up and down.

“It’s a liiiiittle sheer, donchta think? I mean, we are in a church.”

“Surprised you haven’t gone up in flames, Munson,” You volley back.

But before things can get ugly, Chrissy and Jason arrive with Zoë and the reverend. She looks positively adorable in the bespoke christening gown you’d insisted on paying for, the cutest pink bundle of joy all swaddled up in billowy cream and ivory fabrics.

At the appointed moment, Chrissy gently passes off Zoë into your waiting arms.

“We are honored with the privilege of being here today to witness and support in faith the baptism of Zoë Lux Carver.” The reverend begins, “I hereby charge Esmé Vance and Edward Munson with the responsibility of seeing to the spiritual welfare of this child. I will now ask you a series of ceremonial questions.”

Eddie is only somewhat distracted by the cut of your dress, how your tits look close to spilling over the neckline of your it, and the way the you appear positively poured into it. So he’s not quite paying attention to the reverend when he asks:

“Edward Munson, do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces that rebel against God?”

There’s an awkward pause and few errant coughs from the congregants, that is until you jab the heel of your shoe into his toes. “Munson.”

"Ow; fu-huh-udge, Vance!" He hisses and backs up instantly, staring at you. "What?" He winces as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

You purse your lips and sigh. "What is wrong with you? Did you get a lobotomy?" You hiss impatiently.

"No, I – " He says again. He’s pretty sure his second toe is bleeding. "I thought…"

“He asked if you renounced Satan, really shouldn’t be that much of a head scratcher.”

It’s only then that he realizes Jason and Chrissy are staring daggers at him. Shit.

“Hmm, right. Yeah, I renounce him.”

You roll your eyes as the reverend move on to your ceremonial question, replying much more punctually than Eddie had.

Despite Munson’s near blaspheming, the rest of the celebration goes off without a hitch. A tasteful lunch organized by Jason’s parents back at the house, a few photos snapped for posterity, and one or two healthy pours of cabernet split between Chrissy and yourself.

Of course, none of that accounted for winding up at Munson’s door down the hall from yours.

Eddie stares at you for a moment after he opens the door of the bedroom. He's in plaid pajama pants and a worn gray t-shirt, his eyes bleary. His head tilts to one side. "Hmm," He mumbles.

“Munson.” You whisper, hoping he’ll hop to before Zoë’s midnight feeding and Chrissy’s inevitable discovery of whatever the fuck this was. Embarrassing? Shameful?

Desperate, at the very least.

"I will impale your other toe," You say pointedly. "Don’t test me."

“Hey, no,” He mutters, still sleep addled. “None of that.”

You bite your lip and resolve not to look down at his bare feet. "You haven't invited me in."

Eddie glances back up at you, and there's something else in his eyes, deeper than the confusion and the sleepiness. "I thought it was a dream," He mumbles. He turns around, limping slightly as he heads for bed.

He leaves the door wide open. You wait for a moment before you walk in and carefully shut the door behind you.

You swallow hard. "I'm sorry.”

He slips back under the sheets and straightens up. "What for?"

You blink. "For your foot," You say slowly; it should be obvious.

He scoffs, but doesn't reply.

"I just want to sleep," You say softly after a moment. Thank you for letting me stay, you almost say, but don't.

Eddie waves a hand across the bed. "All yours."

You can't stop remembering the days when Munson burst into your life, when arguing turned into banter, when he'd tease you over comma placements, and who fell off the bestseller’s list. You can't stop remembering nights in bed, when his laughter rang into your ear against the quiet of your bedroom, when his voice was the last sound you heard before falling asleep, when you thought about him too much and you'd gasp to clutch the phone a little tighter and not, repeat not, think about what it could be like if he was there with you instead of all the way in Brooklyn.

You can't stop remembering the night you came home with him and the way you fell into his bed, the way his hands slid under your skirt, the way he whispered yes, you into your ear.

And you can't tell him, because all you are to each other are reluctant acquaintances due to forced proximity. Two people who under every circumstance and known law of the universe should not be within two hundred feet of each other, thrown together by their best friend, bound forever through their goddaughter.

There’s no way you could bring yourself to say it, and no way he’d understand.

But you can kiss him, so you do.

CUTTING ROOM FLOOR: sense has chased you all your life, but you’re faster.

“Look, Chris, I’m sure that everything is going to be fine,” You mutter, following your best friend through the labyrinth of her white-picket fence suburban sprawl of a home. In one hand, you have a bag of uninflated and atrociously pink balloons, in the other is your phone that hasn’t stopped buzzing for the past half hour.

And, shoving aside the pink and glitter monstrosity that has taken over the Carver home, you find it difficult to believe that Zoë is turning one. That it’s been an entire year since you’d held her in your arms at the hospital.

“I know Ez,” Chrissy sniffles, already going to pieces just as the party begins. “I guess I’m just a little—” Desperately trying to keep her emotions at bay, Chrissy stops short and abruptly turns to you.

You fold the smaller woman into your arms without thought and hug her tight. Chrissy’s emotional outbursts are something you’ve had to adjust to over the past year. She cried for days after leaving New York and moving back to Hawkins. And, after veritably running what amounted to a gauntlet to secure a reputable and reliable babysitter, on Jason and Chrissy’s first night out since becoming parents, the tiny blonde had checked her phone excessively and begged her husband to blow off their reservation to go back to Zoë.

“Hey, listen to me Cunningham,” You smile and set her back a pace, hands on her shoulders. “Zoë is one lucky kid, and she is so loved.” You turn her around to see the piles of presents on the kitchen counter, a cake that’s perfectly iced and decorated on the island at the center of the kitchen, and the living room which has been transformed into what you can only hope is Jason’s worst nightmare— pink glitter and streamers and balloons that float up to the rafters on the ceiling.

And it startles you, a little, to contemplate the lengths you’d go to in order to ensure the little girl’s happiness. How much you’ve grown to care for, what Munson jokingly (you hope) refers to as “the little freeloader.”

Chrissy squeezes your hands tightly, cheeks coloring with the slightest embarrassment at her teary outburst, before she’s swept off by a neighbor or friend, someone in her mommy and me yoga group, maybe.

“Hey, uh,” An all too familiar voice draws you from your thoughts. “I think they’re cutting the cake now.”

Eddie’s leaning against the doorframe of the nursery, wearing the same black shirt he had worn to your non-date, looking hesitant and understanding, his brown eyes scanning Zoë’s nursery, likely reflecting on all of the time and effort it took to make the room come together. You know for a fact that Eddie and Jason assembled all the furniture, a very moody and exhausted pregnant Chrissy’s version of the ‘get along’ t-shirt.

And he’d come away with no less than four fingers “accidentally” hit by the hammer. While Jason had no fewer than five things (shelves, electric screwdrivers, hammers, plywood, and a leg of the crib) “dropped” on his feet.

“Do you know what flavor it is?”

The look he gives you is flat and incredulous, as if you’ve insulted is intelligence by daring to assume that he didn’t.

“Vanilla,” He says, pulling his hair into some semblance of a top-knot. “With the stuff in it.”

Funfetti, you mentally correct him, your inner voice pretentious despite yourself.

“There was a hoard of kids jonesing for it,” He continues, “So if you wanna slice…”

“No, I’m good— let’s go,” You offer, a slight smile on your lips as you pass him in the hallway.

His shoulder brushes yours as your descend the stairs into the screaming kids and chaos down below. The cake, which is funfetti with pink frosting according to Jason’s mother who corrects Eddie no more than three times about it, is a huge hit with the kids and adults, alike.

Zoë smears her first slice of cake all across her face with chubby little hands. Photos are taken, people are posed and prodded as they await the flash and prompt to “look over here!” There’s several of Jason and Chrissy flanking their baby girl. You and Eddie are roped in as well, Zoë and her biggest fans. Eventually, Jason and Chrissy set aside for photos of just you and Eddie with their daughter, as she smears bright pink frosting all over Eddie’s shirt and the laugh that slips up your throat is more of a cackle than you’d like.

“We’d like to propose a toast,” Jason declares, after all the guests have left— after their parents have been shuffled off into their cars, and Zoë has been put to bed. The four of you sitting on the living room floor with various hues of pink dotted along skin, clothing, and hair. Chrissy passes out flutes of champagne, as if they’d planned for this, that is until Munson swipes the bottle like the greedy bastard he is.

You briefly wonder if they’re about to announce that they’re having another baby, and blanch at the thought. Two babies under two, how in the hell—

“Well,” Jason begins, “It’s been one hell of a year and, honestly, Chris and I couldn’t have made it through without your help.” He pauses looking both you and Eddie in the eye, and it’s oddly sincere? Eddie’s uncomfortable cough breaks the tenuous calm.

Later, after Chrissy has deemed the living room and kitchen livable once again and everyone has said their goodnights, you wind up outside a familiar door.

"And if I kissed you again - " Eddie says and stares at you for a long moment, trying to read between the lines.

You glance up at him, lips in an almost-smirk. "Don't be presumptuous."

He smiles at you and your heart flutters. "I would never.”

"Munson," You cut him off. "Don't assume that you know what I want."

His hand is on your cheek then, fingers brushing against your hairline, and his kiss doesn't take you by surprise, not even for a moment.

"We won't talk," He breathes against your lips.

"I hate you," You whisper, your hands landing on his shoulders, your resolve toppling to the floor. "I hate you more than I've ever hated anyone."

He has the audacity to laugh. "You're still talking."

"You're still kissing me," You mumble.

"Are we compromising?" He wonders teasingly.

"You and me?" You laugh, head tipping back as his lips trail down your neck. "Impossible."

In the morning after you leave for the airport and say your hushed goodbyes to Chrissy, Zoë, and Jason, just when it feels like you’ve lived a million years since the last time you’d found yourself in his arms, there is a message from Eddie Munson on your voicemail.

"You left," He says. He doesn't sound bitter. He sounds normal. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm not surprised.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #modern!eddie #f!oc reader #fic: eby

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