#headless series fic

[bettyfrommars]

headlessHorseman!eddie x Reader

Welcome back to The Nightmare Factory

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18+ONLY

I had a request from @thiswaytoinfinity for a Headless Horseman version of Eddie, and this is what happened. Reader is AFAB and this chapter includes a surprise guest. Much love. wc: 3.3k

This is part of a collection of blurbs and short fics about Eddie only being able to communicate with you through your nightmares. It can be enjoyed as a standalone, but there is a story being woven through each chapter. Chapters with smut will be marked nsfw, but most of these are just pure silliness and yearning.

"None shall escape the horseman's sight! On your guard, the time is nigh! The Headless Horseman darkens the sky! No matter the realm, it's all the same; I will sear you all with burning flame!"

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You’d been marked by the Headless Horseman.

That much was obvious by the carved jack-o-lantern with a lit candle inside that appeared on your doorstep on that morning, the first of October.

A group of kids from town snickered and pointed at you, knowing that your demise was near, but you held your head high.

You didn’t believe in the Headless Horseman.

It was a fairytale woven by firelight to frighten gullible fools and babies—and you were neither.

You were a teacher now, and a good one at that.  Your students did not hate you like they had the schoolmaster before.  They didn’t hate you to your face, anyway.

You attended the fall festival behind the church that Saturday night, and Jesiah Smith would not leave you alone.  He kept refilling your apple cider, which was nice, but you had no interest in him outside of friendship, and he didn’t seem able to take the hint.  

The guy was standing way too close to you, Eddie observed from the shadows.  

Eddie was patiently awaiting his scene in the dream as if he were an actor waiting for curtain call, but now the extras in your nightmare were getting on his nerves.  It was impossible for Eddie to get to be in all of your nightmares, but he took the opportunities when they came.  

Thank god he could tell you were already getting bored with the people around you; even in dreams you preferred to avoid mundane chitchat.  He slipped back through the dark thicket of forest and mounted the black steed with ease—almost as if he’d paid attention in class this time. The horse with a long silky mane and red eyes exhaled hot air from its nostrils, and in the cold darkness, it looked like it was breathing smoke.

The wind picked up, scattering dead leaves, and you rubbed your arms to warm them up.  Above, the moon was so round and big, and it glowed a pale yellow—in the distance, a wolf howled.  You swore you heard noises from the forest over the sound of the fiddle that people were dancing to.  Horse hooves trotting, a crow cawing, and the low moan of the wind through tight fissures in the trees, singing like a warning.

Jesiah offered you his jacket, but you told him it was time to grab your shawl and go.  

He said he could walk you home, but you said no thank you.

He took hold of  your arm to pull you back, to keep you from moving away, and a horse neighed loudly from somewhere deep in the woods, making everyone’s heads whip around to look in that direction.

“I’m fine,” you assured, snaking your arm away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jesiah.”

There was a blip in time then, and suddenly you were in the middle of the forest, and all of the villagers from the festival were gone. 

 You were all alone.

The air felt cold and damp all at once.  Above you, the tops of the trees made a canopy way over your head like intertwined fingers that carved out a perfect slot for the mood between their knuckles.

You shivered again, but not from the cold this time.

You had no idea which direction to walk in order to get home.

An owl flew off of a branch near you and screeched as its big wings caught the air.

You turned on your heel, noticing a thin path that led into a denser part of the forest.  “That must be it,” you whispered to yourself, taking a few cautious steps in that direction.

Your legs felt like you were walking in quicksand; you kept moving, but were still in the same spot. 

There was a long silence filled with nothing but the chitter of crickets, the type of silence that pounded in your ears, and then you heard a branch snap nearby.  You tried to jump from the spot you were in, but your legs felt like jello.

It was then that you felt the hot, wet snorts of breath on the back of your neck.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the huge body of a horse with a man sitting atop it.

You went to step and tripped, falling to the ground as you actively scurried back and a scream caught in your throat, choking you, making you gasp for air.  

The man was dressed all in black with pale skin and long, curly dark hair.  A long coat, and riding boots that came almost to his knees.  The black horse he rode was one of the biggest you’d ever seen—-and there appeared to be actual fire flickering in its eyes.

You noticed a thick, jagged line like a railroad track around the man’s neck.

“Are…are you the Headless Horseman?” You stammered, feeling like your voice was coming from somewhere outside of your body.  

He cocked the head in question, his voice was deep.  “Do I look headless to you?”

“No,” you managed to whisper, licking your dry lips.  

Eddie’s heart was racing.

He felt like in every dream, the two of you had to start all over, but this time—-your eyes were soft as you gazed up at him.  Almost as if  you found him…familiar.

You watched from a tuft of dead leaves on the ground with your knees pulled to your chest as Eddie dismounted.  

He dropped the reins and took a few steps toward you.  “Listen,” the man cleared his throat.  “I’m supposed to chase you out to the meadow and scare you, but I don’t really want to.”

 “Why don’t you want to?” You stared at him blankly.

Eddie kicked something invisible with his boot, rolling his tongue between his lips. After a beat, he squinted and dipped his head, crossing his arms over his chest.  “You don’t remember me?”

This was starting to feel surreal.  Did you live in the town nearby, or was this a dream? This couldn’t be a dream—-he was standing right in front of you.  You could feel the air moving in your chest.  

You furrowed your brow and tried to think, but then shook your head, disappointed that you could not place him.

With dramatic flourish, the man threw his hands to his chest as if he’d been shot and fell to the ground, catching himself in a push-up position before rolling onto his back in front of you and flopping there.  Orange leaves fluttered against him like lifeless butterflies.

You snorted a confused laugh and looked on, amused, searching his dark eyes as he got on his side and propped his head up on his hand.

“Wait,” you bit your lip.  The memory of him was like a pinprick of light at the end of a long tunnel, but you reached out through your brain as hard as you could for it while Eddie held his breath.

You lowered your gaze to the ground for a second and then returned your attention to him, about to let something out of your mouth that didn’t make any sense.  “Something to do with a ferris wheel?”

Eddie sat up and clapped, giving a fist pump of excitement.  “Yes! Ferris wheel!” He got to his knees and craned his neck to get his head closer to you.  

He was so close to you now, it wouldn’t take much effort to lean forward and kiss him; you had this deep swell of confidence that the two of you had kissed before. 

His rich chocolate eyes were in quite a bit of contrast to his chalk white skin, and his plump lips were pale too; a tiny blush of pink against flesh that refused to warm.  His dark hair was almost black and it matched the thick stitches that clamped down over the gash that seemed to go all around his neck.  

Eddie released a heavy breath and took your hand.

“I want to tell you everything,” he said.

You squeezed his hand back, silently asking him to continue.

There, on a blanket of leaves, under the unblinking, watchful eye of the moon, Eddie told you that he was from another dimension, a place where they created nightmares for dreams.  After a moment of hesitation, while he broke a dry leaf apart with his fingers, he raised his gaze to yours tentatively and admitted that he’d developed a crush on you the first night he saw you.

Nothing about this seemed strange to you, in fact, he might as well have been telling you that he worked for Foot Locker at the mall and was asking you out for a soda.  All perfectly normal stuff.  

A gust of wind brushed back his hair, and a murder of crows took flight.

“It wasn’t just the way you looked; you know.  Even though you are beautiful, don’t get me wrong.  Very, very beautiful, but it was…” he drifted off, a smile breaking his laugh.  “...the little people you made out of potatoes that sat on your desk, and the heavily worn paperbacks by your bed, and the way you slept with every body part under the covers except for your feet.”

You dipped your head shyly, self-conscious that he’d seen you in such a vulnerable state—but you were not at all horrified like you would be if a guy in your world told you he’d been standing over your bed while you slept.  Your reaction was that of someone who was familiar with Eddie and not at all bothered by the information he was admitting.  

Things feel so different in dreams.

He hesitated, trying to get a read on your expression. “Is this too much? Am I saying too much?”

“I..” your thought trailed off as you looked around at the dark shadows that loomed in the clearing.  “Is this a dream? Am I dreaming right now?”

Eddie brought his knee up and circled his elbow around it. He had picked the leaf in his hand clean, down to the vein, and turned the delicate piece over in his fingers.  “This is all we have, for now,” he said softly.

In the distance, a dark rumble of laughter—a menacing cackle—broke the cricket song of nature’s silence and all the birds scattered.

You turned to Eddie with wide eyes.  “W-what was that?”

“Crap,” Eddie lowered his lids for a long breath.  “I can’t believe it’s time already.”

“Time? Time for what?” You mimicked his movements as he stood and dusted himself off.  

The evil laughter continued to bellow as horse hooves pounded in the distance.  Through a break in the trees, you could see something or someone thundering along on horseback.

“Quick, take my hand!” Eddie shouted to get your attention.  He was already up high on the horse, but the ice grip of fear made you freeze.  You caught his hand and stepped into the stirrup, swinging your leg over the saddle behind him at his instruction.  

“Wrap your arms around me and hold on tight,” he shouted over his shoulder as the horse took a few steps, bobbing its head, eager to get a move on.

You did as you were told, pinning your cheek to the tight back muscles that were flexing under his coat.  

Delilah, the horse, was fast and strong and she took off like a shot at Eddie’s command.  “Just don’t look back!” Eddie told you as the wind blew his hair back into your face; it smelled like honeysuckle and campfire.  

Eddie crouched down a bit as he spurred her on, and you kept your body glued to his, your tailbone hitting the back of the saddle.

Faster…faster….

Delilah bounded into the air to avoid a huge tree that had fallen, and you squeezed your eyes shut for what felt like forever until her hooves met the ground again and you were bouncing behind Eddie to the beat of her strides.  

That was when you made the mistake of looking behind you.

Not too far back and gaining at paranormal speed, was an actual headless man atop a mean-looking horse that was even bigger than Delilah.  He wore a long, dark cape that flew out behind him, and he was barreling down on the three of you with a knife in his hand; the blade was long and curved and the steel glinted in the moonlight.

You gulped, knowing instinctively that it was your head he wanted.

“He’s gaining on us!” You screamed into the wind.

“I told you not to look back!” Eddie responded just as Deliah caught air over a fence and landed in a wide open meadow.

“Who is it? What do they want?”

“It’s another headless horseman,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, squinting into the velocity of the escape.  "And he wants you."

“There’s more than one??”  you took the chance to peek over your shoulder again, only to see that the headless man in question was gaining on you.  “Why do you have a head and he doesn’t?” you yelled as Eddie kicked his heels and urged Delilah on.

“I sewed my head back on just for you, baby.”

Eddie coaxed Delilah in a sharp right, bolting across the other side of the field.  Straight ahead in the distance was an old, covered bridge, and Eddie was telling Delilah to beeline right for it.

“Once we get you across that bridge, he can’t touch you,” Eddie said.

“But what about you?” Your voice cracked as the words left your mouth.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll find you again.”

The other Headless Horseman was right behind you now.  He cackled loud and brandished the knife high in the air to let you see that he was serious, and it glinted in the moonlight.

You never doubted for a second that he would use it.

“How is he laughing without a head?” You chanced to ask.

“Oh, he has a head,” Eddie shouted.  “It’s just not on him right now.”

Perfect sense, all of it.  

You were so close to the bridge…so close

But then the other horseman was coming up beside you—

He sliced his blade through the air, missing you both by a hair.

Eddie threw him a dirty look.  “What the hell, man?”

More evil laughter.

The blade came down again, this time, it would’ve clipped your arm if Eddie hadn’t made Delilah swerve in the other direction.

Now, you were headed away from the bridge.

“New plan!” Eddie yelled. 

“Yeah what’s that?” The last word that came out of your mouth was a scream as you saw that the other Headless Horseman was suddenly blocking your path, swinging his arm back, ready to chop Eddie’s head off.

Eddie cursed and Delilah reared up on her back legs as if to protect the both of you with her hooves.

You let out a high pitched wail that pierced the night as you and Eddie toppled from the horse.

You landed in your bed.

Eddie landed in the alfalfa meadow.

Your mouth was dry when your eyes flew open to reveal the calm, familiar bedroom setting, while your hands made tight fists in the sheets.  

It had only been a dream…but how could you still smell the campfire wood of his hair?

You’d never bolted from bed as fast as you did in that moment, scrambling for your pen and journal on the nightstand as you propped yourself up against the headboard.  The tip of your tongue darted over your top lip as you concentrated, writing down everything you could remember from the dream…things he said…the way it felt…

That morning, you drew your very first sketch of him, too.  It was rough, but you got the shape of his mouth correct and his hair, you even put in the details of the thick stitching around his neck that held his head on.

A couple nights went by before you saw him again, and when you did, it would be groundbreaking, because you would remember him for the first time.  

Back in the dream, Delilah resumed a small trot before pausing to snack on some of the grasses.  There was no more tension in the air, no more work to be done, now she could take a break.

On the ground, Eddie rolled onto his back with his arms out and groaned. The clouds gathered in the shape of a hand and cupped the moon in the dark blue sky.  

The other headless horseman was snickering as he dismounted and sheathed his weapon at his side, slapping his leg with the flat of his hand for emphasis on how hilarious it had been.

“Smooth moves, Munson,” Headless Horseman Steve chuckled, his shoulders bouncing.  “I only meant to scare you back in the forest, not start a hot pursuit.”

Still on his back, unwilling to move, Eddie grumbled,  “I should’ve never vouched for you when you came looking for a job, Harrington.”

When Steve finally found the willpower to swallow his amusement, Eddie sat up, patting his arms to release puffs of dirt from the fall.  “What the hell is wrong with you? Did you space out during safety training or what?”

Headless Steve stepped over to offer Eddie his gloved hand to help him up, but Eddie knocked his arm away and stood on his own.  

“Why are you so salty?” Steve's head had been tucked under his cape this whole time, but he procured it now, cradling it in the crook of his arm. “You used to get a kick out of fucking with them.”

“Yeah, well, not anymore,” Eddie mumbled as he picked a piece of grass out of his hair. He turned his back on Steve and strode over to Delilah.

“You want to go back to the factory together?” Steve called out to him.  “Maybe get a drink after?”

Eddie just shook his head before he got up into the saddle and kicked his leg over.  “I’ll catch you later, Harrington.  I need a minute,” and then he clicked his tongue and Delilah moved toward the bridge, to the portal that would take him back to the dream simulator.  

“Sure, man, okay,” Steve said weakly, his mouth moving on the head he had under his arm.  “Good talk.”

Eddie released a heavy sigh as he bobbed up and down to the sway of Delilah’s stride.  He felt like he really got through to you this time, and he wasn’t about to give up.  Even if he had used up all of his chances to appear as himself to you, he’d find a way.  

A big Sasquatch named Saul had ventured out of the woods to see what was going on, and now he stood next to Steve, watching Eddie go.  

“What’s the matter with him?” Saul asked, his enormous body towering above his coworker.  He was covered head to toe with brownish-red hair or fur, so much so that the only way you knew he had eyes was due to the fact that the hair on his face moved when he blinked.   

“Beats me,” Steve scoffed. He was a little hurt that Eddie hadn’t responded the way he’d expected.  It’s almost as if he…cared about the person who was having the dream? But that was silly.  Nightmare workers weren’t allowed to have any connection with their clients.

Steve collected his horse’s reins in his free hand.  “You feel like a beer?” He asked Saul.

“I am thirsty,” Saul responded, twisting to crack his back.  “Just need to let a few more people get a glimpse at me through the trees, and then I can’t meet you back at the lockers.”

-----

Thank you for reading 🧡

#eddie munson #the nightmare factory #nightmare!eddie #eddie munson fic #eddie munson series #spooky season fic #headlessHorseman!eddie #headless horseman

[heatherfield]

♪ I don’t want you, but I need you. Don’t want to kiss you, but I need to… ♪ The heady notes of the music swirled around them, stoking the ache in Brom’s chest as he and Matilda drifted closer together. In some ways, he still felt like he was walking on thin glass, like he needed to be careful with every step in case he shattered this delicate new thing with Matilda—something that he was desperate not to mess up.

Walk Me Home: A "Headless" Fic, Chapter 14 [ read | watch ] ↳ art by @booigi-boi, commissioned by @ilikecrocssuckit – thank you!!

#headless: a sleepy hollow story #headless series #bromtilda #matilda bishop #brom bones #shipwrecked comedy #booigi-boi #ilikecrocssuckit #fanart #walk me home fic #fanfiction #user ilikecrocssuckit #user booigi boi #i can't believe this exists! it happened!! ahhhh XD #finally ready to share whoops #spoiler: they don't kiss in this chapter #it takes a lot longer #abraham van brunt

[jaynaneeya]

After the Wedding

I realize that part of the charm of Brom and Matilda's relationship is that it's not very well defined, and that's great, but since Headless Spirit Week coincides with Ace Week, I had to write a little self-indulgent fic of the conversation I choose to believe they had between the last time we saw them in episode 6 and the beginning of episode 7. And if somehow you're seeing this and still haven't watched Headless: A Sleepy Hollow Story for free on YouTube, please do yourself a favor and get on that. This fic contains spoilers for the first six episodes, nine are out currently, and the finale will be posted on Halloween.

***

With Kat’s mom’s manuscript in hand, Brom and Matilda kept running until they were several blocks away from the Van Tassel estate. When they finally allowed themselves to stop, Brom laughed and let out a whoop.

“We did it! We found some emperor evidence! Ha!”

“Yeah… and we got married,” Matilda reminded him as they slowly headed toward her house.

Brom’s grin faltered. “Oh. Yeah. We did.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t hold you to it,” Matilda assured him. “I just know Judy likes sappy stuff like forbidden love and I figured she’d fall for that. I had no idea she was ordained. Makes me wonder what other secrets people in this town are hiding…”

“You know, I actually don’t hate the idea of being married to you.”

Matilda gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah! I mean, you’re not afraid to call me out when I’m being a jerk, so I feel like you’re helping me become the best version of myself. I think a partnership between us would work really well. What do you think?”

Matilda had only ever really thought of Brom as a nuisance. His presence was just so overwhelming. But he really was doing his best to overthrow the toxic masculinity that had been his entire personality as a teenager, and she respected that. She discovered that she wouldn’t mind hanging out with him more. But marriage?! She’d never considered that kind of a relationship with anyone, least of all Brom Bones. Her favorite part of their wedding was when he didn’t kiss her. She assumed it was because he was repulsed by her specifically, not by romance in general as she was. Surely Brom would never be satisfied with the kind of relationship she wanted.

He was still waiting for her answer. She decided to rip the band-aid off. “You know I’m aromantic and asexual, right?”

Brom blinked. “Um, not exactly, but good for you! I’m happy you found labels you relate to, and I’m honored that you trust me enough to come out to me.”

“So…you don’t have a problem with that?”

“Of course not! Why would I?”

Was he really this dense? Or was he just trying to be woke? “I mean, you’re right, some aroaces are happily married, but married people usually… do things… that I personally wouldn’t necessarily be comfortable with.”

If she’d been looking at his face instead of the ground she would have seen the lightbulb in his brain turn on. “Oh, ew, no, I wasn’t thinking our marriage would be like that.”

Matilda knew she should be offended by his disgust, but she was too relieved. “So what did you envision when you said you wanted to stay married?”

“I don’t know, I figured we’d like… live in the same place and go grocery shopping for each other and hang out a lot and maybe like, hold hands or something once in a while, but no kissing or anything like that. I’m not really into that stuff either, I might be the same as you, I don’t really feel that kind of attraction either.”

She glared at him. That was too much. “Oh come on, Brom, you don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

He actually looked hurt. “Ouch, Matty. That was me being super vulnerable with you. Why would you think I was lying?”

“Uh…Kat?”

He winced. After a long pause, he said, “Okay, you have to promise never to repeat what I’m about to tell you. Especially to Kat.”

“What?”

“Promise!”

“Okay, sure, I promise. What is it?”

“I… only pretended to like Kat because I thought I was supposed to.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, you know, Tassels and Brunts go way back, and in high school everyone else was getting crushes and dating and stuff, so it just made sense. And then she dumped me – which I absolutely deserved, for the record – but I never liked anyone else so I just… kept obsessing over her. To the point that I brought a YouTuber back to life to sabotage the guy I thought was taking her from me. Almost ten years after we broke up.” He chuckled humorlessly. “Pathetic, right?”

Matilda gasped. “Oh my god, you are aroace!”

“I mean… I don’t love labels, but…”

“Right, sorry, not trying to tell you how to identify…”

“No, it’s all good…”

They were talking over each other, not even sure what they were saying anymore, but neither had ever felt more understood.

They had arrived at Matilda’s house. “So. Want to live here, husband?” she asked.

“Yeah, we better, me and the Babes pretty much fill up my old place.”

“Are they going to be okay without you?”

“Oh yeah, they’ll be happy to be able to spread out more. And, I mean, they’re only like two blocks away if we need each other. Still I should probably let them know.” He pulled out his phone. There were five new messages from Ichabod. “Oh daaaang. Kat threw Ichabod out of her house for accusing her dad of murder.”

“Ooh, the plot thickens,” commented Matilda.

“Indeed it does, wifey.”

Normally Matilda wasn’t a huge fan of Brom’s nicknames, but “wifey” she didn’t mind, somehow. “So should we go help Ichabod?”

“Yeah, he says he’s heading for not a drugstore.”

“Perfect, you show him the manuscript and I’ll try a new head.”

“Good plan, wifey. Wow, we’re such a great team!”

Matilda didn’t know whether to cringe or to smile, so she compromised by holding up her hand, which he immediately and enthusiastically high-fived, and together the newlyweds set off to find and help brokenhearted Ichabod Crane.

#headless series #headless spirit week #shipwrecked comedy #fan fic #brotilda #platonic marriage #slightly worried something in the finale will contradict my aroace matilda and brom headcanon #but i'm sure it will be amazing enough that even if it does i won't mind

[astraea802]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Headless (Web Series), Wayward Guide for the Untrained Eye (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Artemis Schue-Horyn & Paul Schue-Horyn, Matilda Bishop/Abraham "Brom Bones" Van Brunt Characters: Artemis Schue-Horyn, Paul Schue-Horyn, Matilda Bishop, Abraham "Brom Bones" Van Brunt, Devlyn Versace(Mentioned), Diedrich Knickerbocker (Mentioned) Additional Tags: International Fanworks Day 2023, Post-Canon Series: Part 2 of The Wayward Twins Summary:

When a dead social media influencer turns up on a livestream in a hamlet called Sleepy Hollow, NY, the Schue-Horyns decide to investigate. (Post-series for both Wayward Guide and Headless)

#new fic! #shipwrecked comedy #headless series #headless: a sleepy hollow story #wayward guide #wayward guide for the untrained eye #ifd2023 #international fanworks day #crossover #matilda bishop #sleepy hollow #artemis schue-horyn #paul schue-horyn

[kateeorg]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Headless (Web Series), Wayward Guide for the Untrained Eye (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Artemis Schue-Horyn & Paul Schue-Horyn, Matilda Bishop/Abraham "Brom Bones" Van Brunt Characters: Artemis Schue-Horyn, Paul Schue-Horyn, Matilda Bishop, Abraham "Brom Bones" Van Brunt, Devlyn Versace(Mentioned), Diedrich Knickerbocker (Mentioned) Additional Tags: International Fanworks Day 2023, Post-Canon Series: Part 2 of The Wayward Twins Summary:

When a dead social media influencer turns up on a livestream in a hamlet called Sleepy Hollow, NY, the Schue-Horyns decide to investigate. (Post-series for both Wayward Guide and Headless)

#headless series #wayward guide #wgftue #artemis schue-horyn #paul schue-horyn #matilda bishop #sleepy hollow #crossover fic #headless shipwrecked #shipwrecked #tin can bros #ifd2023

[none-ofthisnonsense]

I-

#it's not like #i'm writing a fic about #the headless horseman #or anything #nope #headless #headless: a sleepy hollow story #headless series #shipwrecked #shipwrecked comedy #headless horseman

[plutoswritingplanet]

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.4 (final)

a/n: we did it Joe! this chapter officially marks the first ever series i've completed lmao. thank you for all the support on this fic, every like, every comment, every out-of-pocket anon ask.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (like...fr this time), Blood and Violence, Manipulation.

Summary: After the wedding, Husband and Wife work out the intricate web of their relationship.

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3

Gurney looks at you as if you're already dead.

You hide from his gaze, ducking behind pillars, whenever you can hear his footsteps. It's truly depressing, the way your mentor shakes his head, as if, instead of looking at you, he's looking at a coffin. You suppose he might be right, he's the one with the most experience in the Harkonnen area. He's fought them, dined with them, seen their customs through and through. And now, his dutiful little student is about to be thrown into the very same world, he has relayed to you as a nightmarish fairytale. Still, a little misplaced optimism wouldn't kill him. Or just, a sliver of hope, an inclination that you might survive this. 

The day of your wedding rolls upon you like an oceanic storm, all chaos and rumbling. 

Here you sit, your bones locked with nerves, as the servants pack away your things. A futile thing, you muse to yourself. It's highly doubtful the Harkonnens will let you keep any personal items back from Caladan. They'll mold you into their image, until all your hair naturally falls out. The thought would make you laugh, but here's a servant, placing your jewelry into a case, which lands in a bag, which will be transported to the Harkonnen ship by the end of the day.

Your room, the place you've spent all your life in, slowly becomes more and more barren. 

The closet stands empty, so do the drawers. All your trinkets are swiftly transported away until you're left alone in your wedding dress, the only familiar thing between the hollow ribs of your life's sanctuary. Wishing you could fold the entirety of the castle, with the stables, and the horses, and the cliffs, and throw it into the final suitcase, so you can open it up in times of turmoil, and breathe in the familiar scents. You need to leave, right now. Sitting like this, wrenches a dangerous numbness out of your chest. And you can't be allowed to dissapear into yourself. You're an Atreides, you shall wear your pain with dignity, as per your Mother's wishes.

Your wedding dress swishes around you, as you stand up from your bed. It's much more classy, and less of a chiffon catastrophe, than your engagement dress, a welcome change. The veil is embroidered with light crystals and metal plating. It falls heavily over your face, and jingles when you move. By all intents and purposes, it is a dream dress. A dress you'd like to wear for a wedding of your own, a wedding with some dashing gentleman. A gentleman, which in your most private of dreams, has the face of Duncan Idaho, with silver rings braided into his hair. 

Instead, you're left with this monster, so alien and cold. A beast at the center of the maze.

The bull looks at you from the wall. Its horns, smeared with your Grandfather's blood, curl grotesquely into the ceiling. The head is mounted above the doors to the library, a grim reminder of his spectacular death. As a child, you'd spend hours, standing right here, at the entrance, staring at the animal's head. You've always wondered, whether it were the lights playing tricks on your mind, or you saw a shadow of pride in the bull's eyes. 

Did it know who was its victim? The leader of one of the most important Houses in all known universe laid dead at its feet. Did it know what sort of spectacle it produced? What destruction of hubris? You suppose it couldn't, it was an animal, after all. A headless creature, hung on a wall. Still, you stare at it, just like you used to, trying to decipher your own fate from its cold, dead eyes.  

After all, there will be a spectacle, a life-long fight stands ahead of you. Giedi Prime shall be your arena, dead and cold, covered in black. And every single Harkonnen will be your bull, their mere presence a deathly danger to your being. It took one bull to end your Grandfather, you dread to think how many it'll take to end you. There will be blood, you're sure of it. And if things were allowed to go your way, it would flow in rivers upon rivers, through the industrial halls of Giedi Prime. You'd have the entire planet drowned in their blood. Your cursed betrothed, the Baron, the fucking Emperor if you had to. 

The bull laughs at your quiet hate, beady eyes bearing down upon you in an imaginary display of indifference. You huff, cheeks reddened, insides twisted and burning.

That's how your Father finds you. Enchanted by a once living instrument of death. 

He hasn't spoken to you, since your betrothed has arrived, not really. Not like you used to talk. A way to shield himself, you supposed, from the Emperor's order, which will soon enough take his only Daughter away from him. This was your superpower. You could fish out signs of love in every action. 

- Your Mother hates that thing - he comments, as he stands next to you, eyes looking up at the bull. 

- I don't blame her, the sight is quite disturbing. - you reply evenly. 

You've missed him, more than you can possibly explain with words. But teary displays of affections were below you, especially since you're trying to distance yourself, rise above your body, float right out of your head. Perhaps it'll hurt less that way.  Duke Leto Atreides turns to you, and for the first time in a month, you recognize your Father behind this statue of authority. He looks troubled, for lack of a better word. There's much more gray on his brow and the lines of his face are darker, harsher. 

- I came to give you something - he announces, producing a small object out of the pocket of his trousers. 

It's harder than you thought, tearing your gaze away from the bull, but you manage, your eyes landing on a figurine in your Father's hands. Your heart stops, as you recognize the blackened stone, polished to perfection. On a flat disc stands a figure of a Matador, proud and posed. Next to him, a bull, ready to strike. It's cold to the touch, when you take it from your Father, ridges of the small sculpture digging into your palm. 

Jumping in front of danger, for better or worse. Your head starts to hurt.

- Father - the sound of your shaking voice carries through the corridor - How will I ever survive this?

By the way Duke Leto Atreides sucks in a sharp breath, you can deduce the answer. And what a sad answer it is. 

Your Father steps closer, gathering your trembling hands in his, the warmth of his embrace engulfing you like the first sun rays of spring. He squeezes your fingers, tightening your own hold on the small figurine, and his eyes are so incredibly sad, you're convinced they could make any heart in the universe weep. 

- With courage - he says - and grandiose. 

Like a true Matador would. 

***

Your bull stands completely still. 

His pale skin creates a beautiful contrast against the ever present darkness of the Harkonnen ship. It's so much different from your native fleet, all sleek and black, and efficient. Terrifying, but at the same time, strangely beautiful. 

The both of you watch, as the hatch is being pulled up, slowly but surely obscuring all sight of your home planet. Of your family, standing by the docking station like a funeral parade. It's only when you can no longer see them, your life sealed with a click of finality, does your betrothed, now husband, move. 

His hand grasps your upper shoulder, and you jump at the sudden contact. Your confused gaze is completely ignored, as the man drags you through the ship, taking large, hasty steps. 

Hairless faces swish past you, all so similar to each other, you're worried you'll never figure out who is who. The corridors of the ship wind and turn like a merciless labyrinth, a realization daunting on you, that you will never be able to find your way in this place. 

Suddenly, you're faced with a black door, which opens as soon as your husband walks up to it. His grip tightens and he basically throws you forward, watching you stumble through the entrance on weak legs. 

It takes you a second to gather yourself, as you instinctually settle into a defensive stance. The room you're in looks quite different from the rest of the ship. It's much more luxurious, one would risk saying cozy. With a gigantic, round bed filled with pillows, a dark desk, and a deliciously comfortable looking armchair. It all dims in your eyes, however, as you look up at your newlywed.

He stands right at the entrance, blocking the only means of escape with his tall frame.

Both of you are still in your wedding clothes. Your dress hugs your body in a way that is anything but comforting. His outfit is as black and sharp, as all his attire. It exposes his lean physique, clings to his warrior's physique. Terrifying, your brain summarizes, muscles freezing suddenly. Feyd Rautha looks at you with emotions you can't decipher in the low light of his room. Your room. Your marital abode. 

You can't breathe, lungs tighten painfull with the sheer thickness of the air between the two of you. Still, there's a certain power, residing in your bones, an inclination of a fight you're ready to put up, should he try anything. And by the way his brow bone settles over his darkened eyes, your husband seems to understand. What a terrifying thought. The sheer idea of finding a common ground with this awful man makes your guts turn. 

He doesn't even flinch, when the doors behind him slide open. You however, nearly jump out of your skin at the sound, cutting through the deafening silence of the bedroom. With furrowed brow you watch, as three Harkonnen women spill into the room. All of them completely hairless, lips pulled back in feral snarls, as they regard you with an emotion you can only interpret as contempt. Their bodies, clad in typical, Harkonnen garments, flow and slither, when they gather behind your husband, like three hungry lionesses, their black eyes flickering to him, to you. 

- Get her ready - Fey Rautha throws a command over his shoulder, eyes glued to you still, and his gaze drags itself across your body like tar.

This is the first time you've heard him speak since the wedding, and involuntarily, you cringe at the gravely sound. While he stayed silent, it was easy to forget who you're dealing with. But as soon as sound leaves his mouth, you're cruelly reminded of the roughness, and the strangeness of your life's partner. 

The three women stir behind him, hands sliding up his body in a gesture, that is almost too close to reverence. He does look like a young god, like some ethereal being, but you're too distressed to dwell on that thought. Instead, your arms encircle your body, a shiver of terror and strangely, disgust flowing over you, at the mere idea of these women touching you. Then, one of those three strange creatures moves forward. She has a stripe of black running down her bottom lip, and her face twists into a cruel smile.

She says something in a language you don't recognize. Probably a native Harkonnen. A rough bark, her disgusted expression translating the meaning better, than any dictionary would. 

 Still, you have no time to process the foreign insult, because as soon as words leave her mouth, your husband turns. His white hand grabs the woman's hairless head, as one would pick an apple from an orchard, and then, you see a flicker of true terror flash through the woman's face. In a smooth, deadly gesture, Feyd Rautha smashes her face against the wall, the resounding sound of her skull fracturing against the concrete is like the cracking of a whip in your ears. 

That's all it takes, one move, and she falls into a lifeless heap, sliding down the wall. 

A sigh escapes your lips, as your eyes stay glued to her body. You can't see her face. 

Your husband barks something towards the remaining two women, and they scurry towards you, heads hung low, bodies curled onto themselves. You don't know, whether he looks at you, acknowledges you in any way, shape or form. The doors close behind him, as he leaves you in the hands of his... Whatever these women are to him. 

They begin to strip you where you stand. Their hands peel off your wedding dress from your trembling body, and every move feels like tearing skin from muscle. You can't protest, can't do anything really. Dark, thick blood pools around the third woman's head, dripping between the tilled floor, slowly making it's way closer to your feet. 

When they pull you towards the bed, you say nothing. Let them massage your body with some ointment, which smells of heavy chemicals and scratches your throat. 

Their hands are unexpectedly delicate. You suppose they're too scared to take revenge on you, or perhaps, they just don't care. Doesn't really matter, because you do. You really care, despite yourself. Heart squeezes in your chest impossibly tight, when they help you up from the bed, and once again you're confronted with the white corpse in the corner of the room. 

The dress they pull over your body hardly qualifies as a garment in your eyes. It's made of delicate, sheer material, which barely covers anything, looking more like a courtain thrown over a window. 

Is this how he wants you, you wonder. Terrified, bare, always on the verge of something, be it tears or anger. 

One of the women steps in front of you, takes your hands in hers and rubs something into your cold bones. You try to catch her eye, try to decipher how to categorize them, as humans or as creatures, but she swiftly ducks under your inquisitive gaze. That is, until your eyes flicker towards the corpse once again. 

Her hand shoots up towards your chin, dragging you back to meet her onyx eyes. You can see the reflection of your own confused face in the void.

- You- she rasps, her voice a grating symphony of gurgles and growls that stumble over the common language - Soft.

Whether it's a warning, or a threat, you can't fully decide, but it doesn't matter. Those two words tell you more about your future life, than any book, any archived account. This is what the Harkonnens are made of. Sensless violence, outbursts of anger, dark blood. You swallow thickly, and nod, your expression hardening in the woman's eyes. She looks as if there's something else she'd want to say, but her head ducks at record speed, when the sound of the doors opening cuts through the air once more. 

For a longer moment you're completely devoid of words. 

Here stands you husband, some sort of fruit in his right hand, two daggers hanging from the belt on his trousers. His chest, white and (unfortunately) toned beyond belief stares back at you. His unoccupied hand makes a wide gesture, and the remaining two women scurry off towards their third, dead companion. With quick hands, they grab the body and drag it out of the room, letting the door slide closed behind them. Immediately, you miss their presence, unnerving as they are.

Once again, you're left alone with the na-Baron. 

His eyes float freely all over your figure, taking it in with an impassive stare. It's deeply unnerving, the way you're presented to him, the way he organized all of this, tailored it to his liking. You can't help it, the way your body begins to warm before him, skin becoming prickly to the touch, much too sensitive for the strange imitation of fabric covering it. Still, your mind stays sharp, and instinct kicks in, as you take a cautious step back, angling your bady away from him. 

- So, what now? - you ask, voice rough, eyes following his every move. 

And move he does, slowly advancing towards you. His feet, which you now discover, are bare, drag behind him. Grace and danger mix well within his movements, as he circles you, still without a word. You throat runs dry, when he bites the fruit in his hand, dark juice spilling all over his lips, drops rolling down his hands, his forearms. Your stomach churns. 

- Now - again you're reminded of the gravely tones his voice can carry - We consumate our marriage, wife. 

Somehow, your marital status sounds like a mockery spilling from his lips, and he laughs at the way your face scrunches.

- I don't want you to touch me - a lie, your entire body burns for any semblence of friction, but you're determined to keep some dignity.

To that, he nods his head in silent agreement, a gesture, which actually manages to surprise you. The fruit is thrown forgotten onto the floor. It rolls under the bed, and you fight the urge to reprimend your husband. Instead, you bite your lip. 

- I thought you would say that - he murmurs, coming closer, his breath fanning over your exposed shoulder. 

The hair at the back of your neck stands straight, and you crane your head to the side, so you can look him in the face. So he can see the disaproving expression, perhaps he'd feel a fraction of the hate boiling in your gaze. Then, you can feel something, cold and sharp, drag itself from the dip in your spine, all the way up to your shoulder blades. A gasp escapes you, and your entire body shivers violently. 

- That's why I brought these. - Feyd Rautha whispers into your ear, and you can't help but sway lightly in your place, as if his words have the power to physically move you.

Then, your hand closes around a metal object, and you look down to be met with a beautifully crafted dagger. The blade is silver, shiny, and unbelievably sharp. It fits into your grasp as if it was made specially for you, and the possibility almost makes you smile. Then, confusion creases your brow, and your husband flashes you a deadly, black smile, as he steps back a couple of steps. 

He's holding a blade as well, jet black and strangely matte, a perfect antitype of yours. There's a sort of lazy excitement about him, hidden in every movement. It reminds you of the way he'd behave in the arena, while making a spectacle of death for you and your family. 

- I though this would work on you - he muses, twirling the blade in his hand, and your muscles seize with realization. - And it definitely works on me.

The idea is preposterous, utterly scandalous. Using a fight as some perverse attempt at foreplay, your brain swimms with conflicting emotions. 

- You're being ridiculous - you attempt to diffuse the situation, but your husband doesn't budge, rolling his shoulders.

- Come on, wife - he snarls, with a sharp smirk - Don't you want to hurt me?

Something boils inside of you at his words. Some ancient, terrifying anger that you supposed, has always been there with you. From the moment you stepped onto the red carpet, leading you towards your undoing at the altar. Red, like the spilled blood still staining the floor of this bedroom. The rage, which you swallowed down, when you recited the vows, when you let him unveil your face, kiss you in front of the entire Atreides court. Now, it seeped through every pore in your skin, covering you in a tar like courtain. 

You hate your husband. You hate Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Hate him for being your husband, for agreeing to this cruel match. For taking you away from your family, from your wise Father, and your strict Mother, and your sweet Brother. For ripping you away from love, which didn't even have time to properly bloom. Duncan's face dances in front of you like a taunting vision from an angry god, and your fingers tighten around the dagger. 

Feyd Rautha is right. You want to hurt him. You wanted to, before you even met him. 

- There you are - his lips pull back into a cruel, blackened smile of self-satisfaction - I was worried they took away all your venom, Viper. 

You'll show him fucking venom, you think, feet sliding on the floor, twisting your body into a dancing position. Two sets of shields click into life, and suddenly you begin to understand. 

This is your arena. This is your bull. 

This will be your battlefield for the rest of your life, for as long as you're able to withstand it. With courage and grandiose, your Father's voice haunts you, but soon after another echo rises in your mind. Your Mother, your teacher, her whisper slithers from your memory, a passing comment right before you're shipped off to Giedi Prime, when she squeezed your hand so tight, you were worried tendons under your skin would snap. 

Excitement and arousal flow freely from your husband's expression, as he watches yours harden. Something inexplicable settles over your features, a promise. You'll give him a fight of a lifetime, and he'll love it, every single time. It should unnerve you, the way his body lowers itself, like a panther ready to strike. It would've unnerved you some time ago. 

Now, however, it shows you a clear path to survival. This is how you take control.

Cold blood splatters from under your feet, as you jump towards him, a series of measured blows following closely behind. He blocks them, lets some be pushed back by the shield. Then, he's on you, brutal and unhibited slashes fly around your body, and you meet all of them with a blocking blade. You're pushed back, towards the wall, where remains of the previous killing still stain the concrete. Blood seeps into the thin fabric on your body, and you shiver in disgust, as it sticks to you. 

Your husband doesn't notice, his blade leaves a rather deep mark in the wall, as you duck under his arm, and avoid a nasty punch to the gut.

 Plap, plap, plap, your feet carry you through the room, as you try to gain some leverage. The mattress on the bed is surprisingly soft, when you climb on top of it, gaining the advantage of a higher position. An advantage, which is quickly torn out of your hands, as your husband grabs onto your ankle, tugging at it with such force, you tumble down in an instant.

Panic rises in your gut, as the world sins around you, and without really thinking, you let your mind flow into autopilot.

- Let me go! - the Voice tears out of your throat like a landslide, and Feyd Rautha throws himself off of you, his body colliding with the nearby desk. 

Books and papers crash to the floor with the force of his figure. Your head swimms, but you will it away, too focused on survival to care for your well-being. Both of you are panting, trying to recover from this sudden use of ancient magics. 

- I should rip that treacherous tongue right out of your skull - the threat would carry more strength, if your husband's expression wasn't absolutely dripping with unabashed lust. 

Never in your life has someone looked at you this way, and the shock of emotions is enough to pull you right to your feet. Your blade reflects the dim lights of the room, as you raise it high, body taunt and ready. 

- You'll never get that close.

A challenge, which doesn't even have enough time to properly resound in the thick air of the room, before Feyd Rautha pushes himself off the desk. Things clatter to the ground from the force of his movements, and you barely have time to react, when his blade sinks into your shield. Your body flies backwards, falling in heap with his at the foot of your marital bed. The edge digs into your back, your left hand pressed tightly into the mattress. 

He's hovering over you, panting like a wild animal, face illuminated red from below, where, just short of his juggular, your blade licks a stripe across his alabaster skin. His right hand is wedged between your bodies, dagger nicking you under your ribs. And you stay in this position, like a marble statue, your eyes melting into his, frozen in time. 

- You fought well, Atreides - his voice rumbles deep within his chest, and you can't help, but snarl at his words. - We would've taken each other to an early grave. 

Something dangerously close to fondness floods his features at the idea, and your fingers start to unravel, letting go of the dagger one by one. He doesn't have a chance to react, when your blade clatters to the floor, and your hand, now free, grabs the back of his head, pulling him down.

Your kiss opens the gates of hell, and soon, his own dagger is thrown across the room. You can't see, refuse to see, as your eyelids flutter closed. His lips are slightly chapped, but not any less delicious. Left hand thrashes in his hold, until he lets it go. Then, they both find purchase against his sharp cheekbones, and you hold him so tight, you might break his face with your ministrations. 

- I knew it would work - he pants against your lips, you can hear the smile in every syllable.

- Shut the fuck up - you snarl, fingers digging deeper into his skin.

He groans into the kiss, immediately forcing his tongue into your mouth, as his hands work hard to manouver your legs open enough, for him to slot in between. Then, his touch is everywhere. On your legs, he drags the sheer fabric up and down your thighs, as he carresses your skin, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your hips. They venture upwards, to grab at your breasts, they fight their way into your hair, where he pulls and scrapes. 

It doesn't matter, you think, when you hear the fabric tear, and the carefully chosen attire falls from your body. Nothing matters. 

You're boneless and defenseless against this one insidious emotion, which carries your every move, which compells you to arch your back, to reveal your running pulse under his searching lips. Feyd Rautha bites down on your skin, right where your neck meets your shoulder, and you respond in kind, head descending upon his porcelain skin. He shudders under your teeth and tongue, his entire body tensing.

This is how you take control, and you've never felt so greedy. 

His trousers aren't even fully off of his legs, when he enters you, clumsily and with urgency, bare feet sliding on the floor. Surprisingly inexperienced, he chases your core with his entire body, as if the heat of your insides in a completely foreign sensation.Your moan tears at the column of your throat, where his lips leave a trail of purple marks. The covers remains undisturbed, as your husband ruts into you, pressing your back harder against the edge of the bed. It's uncomfortable, it's hurtful, but somehow, it feels perfect for the two of you. Fucking like wild animals, not even able to make it onto the bed.

- I hate you - you repeat, like a mantra, broken voice cascading with every thrust. - I hate you, I ha- 

Your head rolls backwards, when a particularly hard thrust nearly breaks you, but your husband is here to help, his hand grabbing the the roots of your hair, bringing your head down, so you can watch as he performs a magic trick of repeatedly disapearing into your body. 

You're not sure who's blood his hand slips on, but suddenly, you're fully on the floor, your body crushed by his. Nothing stops his wild movements, not the sloppiness of it all, not the hard wails he tears from your body. If anything, the more strain his body is under, the more ferocious he's being. Your hand shoots up, all five fingers digging into his throat, and you're rewarded with an angelic moan, which almost brings you to your finish line. Almost. 

His head leans down into the crook of your neck, where he whispers something in Harkonnen, a gurgle of rough sounds, interrupted by sinful moans. He sounds so beautiful, so conflicted, for a second you consider being gentle with him. Alas, you hate him still.  

Another realization dawns upon you, as your feet kick with force into your husbands backside, to force him deeper, to keep him inside. This is still a fight. You're still on the battlefield, still waving a red flag in front of a raging bull. So, with courage and grandiose, your muscles tense, and you roll your husband over. 

The change in position makes both of you gasp in unison, as you sink down onto him. For a second, everything stops. His lips are red and swollen, sweat and blood mix on his skin, flow down in pinkish stripes. And he watches you, as one would a holy painting of a foreign god. With reverence and utter lack of understanding. You're fully aware the look is mirrored on your face. 

Slowly at first, your hips begin to rock, up and down, in a steady rhythm, that forces a shuddering breath to leave Feyd Rautha's lips. You bend down, to catch it, and because of your greed, you catch his bottom lip as well. The bite you give him is anything but romantic, and his hips jump from the floor, hitting a spot within you, you didn't know existed. He swallows your moan along with his own blood, and his fingertips map the curve of your spine, as you straighten upon him.

Fingernails latch themselves into the skin of his chest, as you speed up, chasing your own release and no one else's. Moans spill from your lips, the concept of shame abandoning your mind completely. Then, compelled by something dark and twisted you drag claw marks down his torso. 

His body shudders, and his hips lift off the ground, fucking into you with reckless abandon. The hold he has on the flesh of your hips is bruising, to say the least, but you did enough damage to call it even. Enough, to make your body tremble and tense up, as climax creeps up on you steadily. 

Like a shark sniffing for blood, he senses the change in your being, and as you tumble over the edge, a silent scream tearing at your throat, he suddenly rises into a seating position. His arms encircle you fully, pressing your sweaty bodies impossibly close, as he too finds his own end. 

It takes him second, to tumble over, filling you to the brim with ink. His head buries itself into your shoulder, inhaling your scent through deep gasps, each eliciting a broken growl from his chest. 

Your bones are gone completely, body relaxing and falling breathless into your husband's arms. After a while of sitting in complete stillness, he moves first. Strong hands lift you up, off of him, and you whine at the emptiness. 

Then, as a last hurrah, he throws you onto the bed, where your recovering body sinks into the soft mattress. It's heavenly, the way you seem to float in nothingness, head swimming from exertion. For a moment you don't even register him climbing into the bed with you, drunk on the fading tension seeping from your every pore.

The lights are almost completely out, yet his skin shines against the black comforter. You wish to see if he's flushed, like he was at the engagement party. Leaning on one arm, his fingers trail around the small wound under your ribs. Dried blood flakes off of your skin, and you shudder again. 

- I - you start, voice completely broken - I've never known hate, until I met you. 

You're not sure why you've said it. Perhaps, in this moment of serenity, truth seems to float to the surface much more easily. Or perhaps you're possessed, or worse, gone completely insane. Eother way, your eyebrows furrow, and Feyd Rautha leans down to kiss your forehead, gently. 

- If this is how your hate looks like - he whispers into your hairline, teeth scraping lightly against it - I dread to imagine your love. 

You'll never find out, you think, but for some reason can't fully vocalize it. 

He says something else, after a while, but your mind is becoming as heavy as your body, and as the day descends upon you in a heap of exhaustion, you fall asleep.

And while your story has nothing but suffering in the future, while there's death and mourning, and years of violence written in the stars for you. Right now, on the Harkonnen ship sailing through space to Giedi Prime, you sleep in the arms of your husband. Whether this strange symbiotic relationship will last, no one can tell, but there is hope, and what else could you possibly need? 

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #dune smut #what a journey my gosh #thank you once again for following the story love y'all

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.7 K Warnings: None. Prompt: You can always count on your friends to have your back. Alt- Making sure James gets to go on that date. This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by sweethearts: @aremuslupinsimp & @profoundpidgeon

Chapter 29: With a Little Help from My Friends

The next morning, the castle was submerged in chaos. With the mess the headless hunt had caused in the Slytherin Common room, most of them had left early and encountered the traps you and Remus had set up all over the dungeons. From dung bombs to stinky mist and firecrackers, the whole thing had been chaos. 

You’d sent Comet, Minho and Nox an anonymous warning in advance, telling them not to rush out of the common room as fast as they could in the morning, and to watch their step. You assumed it had been enough since they seemed relatively unharmed at breakfast. You still had yet to see the boys that morning, they hadn’t made it to the great hall. None of them. It made you slightly anxious to say the least. Severus, Mulciber and Barty weren’t around, and the latter’s roommates seemed unharmed, which was reassuring, they were probably still rolling on their beds.

When you went back to the common room you spotted Remus, he had his wand pointed at Peter while he held his friend’s jaw with his free hand. Peter looked horrified, so you rushed towards them “What are you–” Peter turned his face, he had a huge bruise on his left eye, and his nose was swollen. You winced, the fall from Evan’s hand must have been nasty.

Remus looked relieved with your interruption and took a step back from Peter, taking your shoulder and your lower arm in his hands and pushing you in front of the boy, “You do it instead. You’re better at charms.” 

“Do what?” You asked as he handed you a piece of paper with a spell written on it, “You want me to fix his nose?! Are you insane?” 

“You have to,” Peter said, voice a little hoarse, no doubt from the pain. You shook your head. “I can’t go out like this, let alone to Pomfrey, she’ll assume I was out with Sirius and James for the prank. Can’t get punished, I’ve got a date tonight.” 

You gave him an incredulous look, and then it dawned on you that Peter wasn’t the only one with a date tonight. James would be absolutely bombed when he realised he wouldn’t be able to go out with Lily. 

“But I’m… This is serious medicinal magic Peter, people study for years to be able to do it.” 

“Please,” he begged, he tried to make puppy eyes but his swollen nose and left lid didn’t help him much, he looked like he urgently needed the bathroom instead. “Please, please, please.”

You gave Remus a side glance as if asking him to back you up, but he said,“ If anyone can do it, it’s you luv,” instead. 

You groaned, closing your eyes and bouncing in your place before nodding and grabbing the paper again, rereading the instructions. The text was leaning to the side, handwriting neat, but clearly rushed, Remus’ handwriting. That was at least a little tranquillising, if it had been Moony the one to find the spell, then it must have been a good one. “Have you ever used this one?” 

“Sirius is the one that uses the fixing charm. He’s used it on James before,” Remus reassured. 

“On his face?”  

“On his shoulder,” he said as he shook his head lightly. 

You gave the boys another unconvinced look, “Peter are you sure you–“ 

“Pleaaaaase Vix,” he repeated, a little more desperate this time around. 

You huffed, “This girl better snog you so much you forget about the pain,” you said as you gulped and raised your wand towards your friend’s face. He shut his eyes like he was about to get hit, “Don’t make faces Wormy, it’ll make it worse.” 

“You think–” he started, raising his eyes towards you and looking a lot more relaxed, but you didn’t let him finish his words and cast the spell. He yelped at that, stifling a scream, before turning to you a little crossed, “Oi, where’s my warning?” 

“They say it hurts less if you’re not expecting it,” you said with a shrug, he instantly frowned at that. 

“Did it work?” he asked Remus. The werewolf made a face and Peter looked positively mortified, but then Remus started laughing and passed Peter a small mirror that was sitting on a nearby table.  

The swelling was gone, and the bruise was fading rapidly “You’re brilliant!” He told you as he stood up and shook your shoulders, delighted by how much better he looked already. 

You almost laughed, “I still have some radiant complexion potion, you want a little?” 

“Cosmetics?” he asked with a frown. 

“It helped me with the bruises on my jaw from Monday,” you said, pulling down the collar of the sweater you had been wearing to show your almost spotless neck, not low enough to show Sirius’ still fading hickey. But Remus was taller, and he easily spotted it, averting his gaze as the image of Sirius kissing your neck popped into his head. “Could help yours fade faster.” 

“And it’s not really cosmetics either,” Remus explained, “Technically it would be more of a–” 

“Will it make me more handsome?” Peter interrupted. 

You raised your eyebrows at him, “uhh… It’ll make you more radiant.” 

“Then I’ll take it.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Sure thing Pete,” you said, “by the way, do you know anything about Pads and Prongs?” Peter shook his head. 

“They didn’t make it to our room at all, I think Slughorn took them to McGonagall. She must be livid.” 

Then you heard the door of the portrait open and you spotted the boys, shoulders slumped, dark circles under their eyes, both looking completely defeated as they walked inside. You frowned as Sirius let himself fall on the sofa with a sigh, he had a bruise near his eye and another one on his left cheek. James seemed even more upset than Sirius, but he was in better condition, just some redness near his jaw. 

You looked at them with worry and frowned, the survivor’s guilt gnawing at you. Peter and Remus seemed to be taking the sight of them a lot better than you did. You sat on the table in front of the boys, Remus took the armchair and Peter sat back down on the edge of the sofa, turning his head to look at them. 

“So…?” the shortest asked. 

“We can’t play tomorrow,” Sirius said as he tensed his jaw, “McGonagall said it’d serve us right for picking up fights with the Slytherins. If only she knew.” 

“What?!” you asked, shocked. 

“And we have detention all day, no Hogsmeade either,” Sirius continued. 

“No Lily,” James groaned, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Will the Quidditch match be cancelled then?” Asked Peter with a frown, “two of the best players won’t be there.” 

James shook his head with a sigh, “We’ll call in the reserves.” He then sat up, eyeing you closely. “You’ll be the seeker.” 

You looked attentively and nodded. “I’m not too happy about that,” Sirius grumbled. You looked at him with a frown, ready to argue about being a good seeker when he spoke again, “Barty will be playing beater,” he informed. “I won’t be there.” 

“I can dodge.” 

“Because you have a great record at dodging ,” Sirius said sarcastically, a smile playing on his lips. You gasped and swatted at him playfully, his shrugged in response.

“Marlene will be there, I trust her,” you said in a more serious tone. 

“Yeah, I trust her too, but not the Slytherins. And I have no clue who will play instead of Evan.” 

“He also got punished?” you asked surprised. 

Sirius nodded with a smile. “Slughorn was absolutely pissed, didn’t even let him talk before he started reprimanding him for bringing the honour of the house down or something like that.” 

“Will they let you come to the game, at least?” 

James shook his head, “McGonagall said the team would survive without us for a match. Although, I’m sure she wasn’t too happy about it, it was Slughorns’ idea.” 

“How will you tell Lily about your date?” Peter asked. James just pouted in response. 

“She’ll never, ever give me another shot.” 

“Maybe… she doesn’t have to…” 

“That’s incredibly uplifting, thanks Vixen,” the boy spat a little crossed.

“Shut it, Prongs! I’m trying to help,” you uttered, and turned to Remus. “Remember what I told you about the potion from Slughorn?” 

Remus looked at you, eyes filled with shock. “You surely wouldn’t be considering…” You nodded, a tight smile dancing on your lips.

 “What are you considering?” Sirius asked, feeling a little left out. 

“Polyjuice potion,” you said, turning back to your boyfriend with a confident smirk.

James looked up at you, a mix of shock, and gratefulness reflecting behind his glasses. “You… you’d do that?” 

You shrugged, “I deserve the punishment as much as you do anyway. I’ll take the potion and pretend I’m you while you’re in detention today. That way you don’t have to reschedule the date with Lily.”

“But what if they make them do men’s work in detention?” Peter asked, a little weary.

“There isn’t any men’s work I cannot do,” you said with a scoff. You’d eventually regret those words. 

As you had planned, you had done. You’d gone to your room to pick up the potion and then met the boys in their room closely after. 

“Ready to be me?” James asked you as you stared at the potion in your hands. You threw him a look but nodded, extending your hand to his head and plucking a single piece of hair, before throwing it onto the flask you had used to store the potion. You weren’t sure how long it was going to last, so you had separated enough to recharge its effect in the middle of the day in case it was necessary. 

“Auch!” James complained, “Could’ve warned me.” 

“She’s literally going to take the punishment for you Prongs,” Remus responded a little irked, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea for you to go, especially with your still healing shoulder, but he also knew if he voiced his concern, he’d only make you more determined to do it, even if it was just to prove that you could. 

“Still, you could’ve warned me,” he repeated. You shook your head as you contemplated the potion. You’d never drank it, but the smell was deterrent enough. 

“You want me to do it instead?” Remus offered kindly. 

You shook your head, a tight grateful smile on your lips at his offer. “No, it’s… It’s fine I can do this,” you said before bringing the flask up to your mouth and drinking it. The taste was as bad as the smell. You coughed a couple of times and handed the flask over to Remus who held it as you felt your legs start to wobble and your mind went dizzy. You felt a tingling sensation all over and let yourself fall back onto a trunk. Sirius rushed to hold you up but seemed deterred when he saw the way your skin was bubbling. In a matter of seconds, you were already an exact replica of James. You were still dizzy when you looked at your hands, much larger and stronger looking now. 

“BIoody Mother of Merlin!” Sirius said in surprise. 

“We’ve got two Jameses,” Peter said, looking at you and then back at James and then back at you again, completely baffled. 

“How do I look?” You said, raising a flirty eyebrow towards Sirius. 

“Handsome as hell,” James replied about at the same time that Sirius cringed and said, “Like shit,” just to fuck with James. It earned him a soft punch on the arm. Remus and you were eyeing each other with diverted looks. 

“Asshole,” James said, slightly irritated. “She looks damn well.” 

You really admired James’ confidence. You cooed your head and stood up, “Handsome as hell,” you repeated, trying to make your voice sound a little more like Prong’s. He winced at that, “Oi, I’m trying!” you said back in your tone. You had a man’s voice, in fact you had James’ voice; you had his vocal cords after all. But they didn’t sound quite right. 

“I think I might be able to help you with that one,” Remus said as he pulled his wand up. “Open your mouth and say ahh…” 

You raised an eyebrow, terrible choice of words, you thought. “Woah Moony, didn’t think you’d get so kinky with me,” you teased. “That’s way more of a Sirius thing to say.” And he had, in fact, said it a while ago, before you even started dating him. 

Sirius stifled a laugh, the memory plaguing his mind while Peter was trying to figure out what you meant by that and why Remus had given you the look he had. When he finally understood, he flushed. 

“First you wanted to blindfold me and now…” you pressed, just to see Remus’ reaction. 

Sirius frowned. “When did you want to blindfold him? her, you know what I mean.” 

“When we met,” you said casually, “He said I couldn’t see your secret passages.” 

“And you let him?”

Remus shook his head and scoffed. “Of course she didn’t,” he said matter-of-factly. 

You gave him a pout, “If it makes you feel better, I’d let you blindfold me now.” 

Sirius laughed at your joke and Remus’ eye roll. The fact that you looked exactly like Prongs only made the entire situation even funnier. Remus just looked at you with a stern expression, he was just expecting you to do what he had initially asked. 

You just smiled and stood up, feeling disoriented by the difference in height. You were taller than your boyfriend now, and almost as tall as Moony. You pressed your lips tightly against each other to avoid saying anything, another joke wouldn’t have been wise at that point, you could tell by the way Remus was tapping his feet on the ground. 

Eventually, you stood facing him and opened your mouth “Aaaaaah…” 

Sirius, behind you, had to cover his mouth to avoid laughing blatantly at the way you had followed Remus’ instructions to the T and yet Remus seemed bewildered. Regardless, the boy picked his wand up and pointed it to your face, saying a few words and holding his wand to your face as he pulled it back and to the sides, as if he were calibrating something, which was exactly what he was doing. As he moved the wand your voice started to change. It went from your normal tone to helium inhalation level of high-pitched to sounding like Elvis’. But eventually, he stopped, pulling the wand back from your face. 

“Say something James would say.” 

You narrowed your eyes, thinking of something and then smiled mischievously, pulling out your best impression of James. “Pads, hold your position! Vixen, another backflip! That one was wonky, again!” 

Sirius almost doubled over in laughter while James looked at you with a frown. “That’s not how… Please tell me that’s not how I sound.” 

“Well, not all the time,” you said with a shrug.

“But that’s exactly how you sound when you’re on Capitan mode,” Sirius added with a teasing smirk.

“When I’m on– You gave it a name?!?” 

“It’s so we can separate the screaming captain from our dear ol’ James, it was Marlene’s idea,” you replied. James frowned. 

“You should change,” Peter said, “Can’t go around with a skirt, can you?” 

You gave him a look and then turned your head downwards, “Don’t know mate, Prongs’s got some nice calves,” you said tilting your leg to the side.

James winked at your reply while Remus threw you a clean pair of pants, a vest and a shirt. You unhooked your skirt and let it fall on the floor. “Why are you wearing boxers?” Sirius asked and got a punch from James.

You quirked an eyebrow, “Something made me assume it would be uncomfortable to keep normal knickers on after the change.” 

“Oh,” Sirius and James said, a little surprised. 

“Clever,” Remus said, nodding your way. 

You smiled and shrugged at his words -almost beaming from his praise- and then proceeded to put on the pants and finished changing, “how do I look?” you said twirling around once you were done. 

Sirius looked at you and placed a hand on his chin as if analysing, “Almost perfect,” Sirius said as he turned to the side and took James’ glasses away from his face and walked over to you, handing them over. 

You took them and placed them over your eyes, wincing as you pulled them off almost instantly “James mate, you’re blinder than Tommy.” 

“Tommy?” James asked, confused. 

“From the Movie,” replied Remus, dismissively. 

“From The Who,” added Peter. You wondered if he’d gone to the cinema at some point in his last vacation. James didn’t say anything after that, he still had no idea who this “Tommy” was but he also knew you’d tease the hell out of him if he asked. 

You took the glasses off and used gemino to make yourself a perfect replica, taking the originals, or what you thought were the originals and giving them back to James. You put the other back on and narrowed your eyes to try and see better, you saw Peter extending his arm towards you, “Hand them over,” he said simply. 

You did, and he placed his wand over them, whispering a spell you hadn’t heard yet and handing them back over to you, placing them back on and looking at him surprised “How did you…?” 

“My sister used to make me wear her glasses so I looked smarter,” he said with a shrug. “They gave me awful headaches so I dug through our library and found a spell to make them fake.” 

“That’s brilliant Pete,” you said with a nod. He just smiled and nodded, pretty pleased with himself.  

You took a deep breath and turned back to James “I think I’m ready then. Do I look the part?” 

“Definitely,” Remus said, the rest of the boys nodding in agreement. 

“Well then,” you said with a clap, “Time to go get detention,” you added, looking over at Sirius. 

He let his head fall back and groaned in response, then he looked over at Remus with a charming little smile, “Moony, don’t you want to drink some of the potion and pretend you’re me today?” 

Remus raised his eyebrows and scoffed, “of course not.” 

“You sure? You could use my dashing good looks to flirt around.” 

“No, he couldn’t,” you said with a scoff .“You’re dating me. Even if it wasn’t actually you, he’d only be allowed to flirt with me.” You sounded slightly jealous, which in a way was justified, after all they were talking about your boyfriend’s face. You tried not to think much that Remus “flirting around” wasn’t an image you wanted to see.

“That sounds so weird coming from James’ face,” Sirius said as he looked at you. “Either way, I suppose I’ll get going,” he said with a dramatic sigh, still staring at Remus as he continued walking towards you. 

“Off you go,” Remus said, placing his hand on Sirius’ back and pushing him towards the door, to make him move faster, Sirius turned to you with a pout, the kind of face a kid would give their mother when their brother mistreated him. Meanwhile, Remus gave you the look that said “See what I have to deal with?”

“Hey James,” you said before leaving, he hummed in acknowledgement, “You better not blow your date with Lilly.” 

“Maybe you should go instead,” Peter teased and got a scowl from James. 

You just laughed, “Sorry mate, I can take the punishment for you, but I’m not gonna seduce the girl. That’s all off to you.” 

“She’ll want to marry me after today,” he said confidently. 

You nodded “Remember not to overdo it, you’ll scare her away.” 

When you were done, you closed the door behind you and turned to Sirius. “Where are we supposed to meet?”

The moment McGonagall opened the doors, Peter’s words came floating back to your mind “But what if they make you do men’s work in detention?” followed by your blatant response, “There isn’t any men’s work I cannot do”.

You had regretted those words the moment you stepped into the dirty men’s loo. You were sure you gagged as you walked behind McGonagall and felt the dreadful smell, ever so characteristic of men’s lavatories, “I asked the elves not to wash the bathroom last night. Just for you,” she said, “wands,” she added, extending her open palm towards you, Sirius and Evan. 

“Do you expect us to clean with our own hands?” Sirius complained. Evan said something similar next to him. You would have probably made a joke about how spoiled they both were if you weren’t so shocked yourself. 

“Can I… Can I do something else?” you said as she was about to leave. “I’ll clean the owlery, I don’t care–” 

“Mr. Potter.” She said sternly. You closed your mouth shut, only now remembering you were supposed to be James and not you. “Men up and stop whining, all you have to do is clean the toilets.” Sirius almost doubled in laughter at her choice of words. 

“Minnie please,” you added, using the vocabulary James would have used, or perhaps that would have been Sirius, since the way the old teacher turned over and looked at you gave you the chills, making you unconsciously recoil towards Sirius. 

“Mr. Potter!” She said a lot more sternly now, “It’ll serve you well to stop your silly pranks and occupy your mind with something productive. One more complaint and I’ll make you wash the prefect’s bathrooms and the greenhouses as well,” you nodded, not saying anything more as you watched her walk all the way towards the door, she turned right before leaving. “Pebblier the house elf will be watching over you,” she informed, “so no fighting and no funny business unless you want to help polish trophies tomorrow.”

You gulped and nodded, it’s not that it would be you doing things those things tomorrow, but you still didn’t want to subject James, let alone Sirius, to more torture. Once she was gone, you sighed, taking one of the mops and dipping it in water, holding your breath from the smell still filling your nostrils. 

“What? He’s mopping? I’d rather mop than…” Evan trailed off, looking at the bathroom stalls.

As James, you were as tall as the blond and probably as strong as he was, you just turned to him with a stern face, tilting your head slightly to the side and bringing your hand from the handle to point at your face, “How’s the eye?” you asked calmly, it had been such a simple and yet strong thrеat, Sirius was almost shocked. James would never be that bold. 

Evan swallowed, it hadn’t even been James who punched him and yet the way you had stared at him had somehow made him blech, he huffed after he got back his stance. Evan had never seen Potter be so intimidating, of course, he wasn’t looking at Potter then. Most of the time, James was just an annoying ray of sunshine and jokes. He hoped he’d go back to that soon, he wasn’t sure the thrеatening James would be so much fun to bother. “Fine then, I’ll wash the stalls,” he grumbled after he took a hold of one of the buckets. Evan didn’t want to polish the trophies either.  

Sirius raised an eyebrow, looking at you impressed, he never thought he’d considered James hot, but what you did, had been exactly that. He could almost see you underneath the skin you were wearing, and he started wondering if he too would have fallen for you if you had been a boy. He might have. But then, what did that fucking mean? What would that mean for him? Did that make him– 

You gave him a small complicit smile in return, you didn’t think Evan would recoil so easily, but it was certainly fun to be bigger and broader and to look stronger, it gave you a sort of power you’d never wielded before, and as strange as it might seem, you liked it. Seeing Evan back out after just a look, a look that you probably had thrown at him many times as yourself with no effect, had been interesting, to say the least. Regardless, the funniest part was the fact that you were taller than Sirius, and he looked adorable, even more like a puppy. 

A grumpy, riled up, bathroom-cleaning puppy, but a puppy nonetheless. You wondered if being taller made him feel the same way when he looked at you; if the protective instinct instantly activated with a few inches of advantage to the other person. Not that you never felt the need to protect him in the past. You remembered the time at the park, how you had reacted, ready to take all the blame for him and how neither of the brothers had let you, but this was different. This version of you, the Potter version of you, wanted to hug and coddle him and tell him everything would be all right. 

Either way, it could have just been some of Potter’s innate traits mixing with your own, since you had taken the potion, and it had changed you into him. You started wondering about the implications of Polyjuice too, what kind of things it’d actually do to your body. What about long exposure? If you were actually intermixing DNA with it, and altering not only the way you looked but also the way you thought? Then perhaps it could also change the way you felt, alter feelings and thoughts and give you some of those of the one you were impersonating.

You could probably talk to Lily about it, since she knew a lot about potions. Or perhaps Remus would be a better option since it’d be complicated to explain to her why you had used polyjuice, and how you had gotten your hands on it. 

When you were done with the floor, and the stinky smell had died down just a little (or perhaps your nostrils had gotten used to it) you went on to wipe the mirrors and faucet, while the other boys focused on the urinals and the toilets. You saw Sirius gag a couple of times as he brushed over one of the toilets and almost wanted to help him, but the stinky smell coming from them persuaded you against it. 

While you were cleaning some of the mirrors you realised the potion was starting to fade, so you had to pull out the flask and take a sip. Sirius had given you a wary look, but you just nodded in what you hoped was a reassuring manner and continued with your task. Sooner than later the three of you had finished, and Pebblier, the small elf who had been watching over you, snapped his fingers and disappeared, coming back just a few minutes later with McGonagall by his side. 

She looked at the three of you, Evan was placing the bucket in its place, you were drying the mirror and Sirius had reclined against some of the mops. The witch examined the room in detail, the smell had gone away already, and she had even walked towards the stalls, looking through every single one. She seemed… impressed. As if she hadn’t been expecting you three to do such a good job.  

“Great job boys,” she concluded, “you may go clean up before dinner.” 

Dinner time? Already? 

Sirius nodded and grabbed onto your arm to pull you out of the room. Once you were away from prying eyes he gave you a diverted look, “You aren’t that great at being James, you know?” 

You gasped, “I had everyone fooled.” 

“Evan didn’t say a word,” he countered, “he was terrified from the moment you thrеatened him.” 

You gave him a look and almost winced, “You think I overdid it?” 

Sirius gave you a diverted smile, “You called McGonagall Minnie.” 

“Well, you call her that all the time, I assumed James would…” Sirius raised an eyebrow at you, and you didn’t even finish your answer, James had never been as blasé as your boyfriend. As you continued walking through the halls you spotted a girl, who seemed to be looking at the two, specifically at Sirius, before she approached, standing right in front of you and blocking your path forward. 

“Hi!” She said shyly, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear and looking down for a moment before turning her face towards your boyfriend. You stared down at her, looking a little displeased, you assumed, from the way she gave you a wary look as if she wanted to retreat. She cleared her throat, “Sirius.” 

The boy hummed in response, you noticed a group of girls giggling not so far away from her, and you stared back at the girl, intrigued by what she might do. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name,” your boyfriend said, a mix between polite and annoyed. 

She made a displeased expression at that, “Ugh… I’m Zia, from 5th.” She really was looking at Sirius and completely ignoring you, or well, she was completely ignoring James. Which made you feel a little angry on his behalf too.

“Right, hello.” Sirius said, when the girl still didn’t move he sighed, “Is there anything I can help you with?” 

“I… would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?” 

You raised an eyebrow at that. You weren’t surprised Sirius got girls asking him out all over the place, you’d seen his face, you understood, but you thought everyone knew about your relationship already. 

“Why?” He asked. You gave him a look. That had sounded uncharacteristically cold, and slightly rude. 

“Wh-why?” the girl stammered. “I was just thinking... maybe I could– like a date.” 

You weren’t sure whether to be jealous or just feel sorry for the poor girl, she looked like a deer trapped in headlights, “Sirius is already going out with someone,” you said, a little colder than you intended, to try and protect the girl from whatever cold thing Sirius might have told her instead. 

But her reaction was something you weren’t expecting, she snapped at you, fury in her eyes as if you had said something improper. “But it’s just for now, isn’t it? You aren’t actually dating her,” she said, turning to Sirius. 

Sirius rolled his eyes as if he was used to this, “Even if I wasn’t. I wouldn’t date someone who’s trying to dig into and separate an already established relationship.” 

The girl was taken aback by his answer, even more so when Sirius skipped past her and continued his walk as if she had never even talked to him. You would have given her an apologetic smile if you hadn’t been so flummoxed, but instead, you just chased after Sirius not bothering to give her a second glance. As if she had bothered to say “hi” when she had gone straight after him. 

“Well that was very… brazen of her…” you said as you caught up with your boyfriend.

He sighed, leaning his head against your shoulder like he would if it were you and not James he was talking to. He enjoyed the height difference, actually. He didn’t have to lean his head so much, it was nice. You, as a boy, were hot. His mind crossed over to Remus, how he was slightly taller than James and he wondered how it would feel to lean his head onto that boy’s shoulder. In a romantic way, not in a friendly one, he had to force the thought out of his head, he was not meant to be thinking of Remus that what, let alone with you –his girlfriend– standing next to him. What the hell would he do if you had legilimency? You, on the other side, seeing him all thoughtful, wondered if he’d care that the girls were still boring holes in his back, he probably wouldn’t. “Sorry you had to see that, Starshine.��� 

You looked down at him with a diverted stare, “It was rather rude on your part.” 

“If I wasn’t, she’d think I was leading her on.” 

“You were never rude to me.” 

He gave you a look, “Why do you think that is, Starshine?” He asked with a flirty smile. 

You almost blushed at that, you wanted to reach for his hand, but realised it’d be a bad idea to do it then, with James’ face. You didn’t know this, but Sirius might have actually liked it if you did, even if it would increase his mental issues with the thoughts of Remus he’d been having lately. Eventually, the two of you reached the common room, the boys let you use their bathroom to shower off the sweat and stank from the bathrooms since you still looked like James and you threw yourself in Sirius’ bed, already changed into a pair of pyjamas that were a little tight on James but would be oversized once you turned back. 

“James isn’t back yet, is he?” you asked Remus, the only boy still in the room, since Sirius was in the bathroom and Peter was on his date. 

Remus shook his head and you sighed, you’d be stuck there until Prongs came back or you looked like yourself again, neither of those things seemed to be happening soon enough, “It’s no fun to be James if I’m locked up in his room,” you complained. 

Remus gave you a look, raising an eyebrow at you as he pulled his head from the book he was reading. “You thought it was fun?” 

“I mean, not the cleaning the bathroom part, but… You should have seen Evan’s face after I accidentally thrеatened him.” 

“How do you accidentally thrеaten someone?” he asked, incredulous.

“You give them a nasty look with the height and build of James Potter,” you told him. “I guess I’d be more thrеatening if I were bigger, you’re lucky I’m not as tall as any of you.” 

“Sprite size,” he joked, and you scoffed at his silly little joke. 

“Either way,  it was also fun to be taller than Pads, makes him look a lot more cute and adorable, it was hard to hold myself back from stealing a kiss like I do all the time.” 

Remus huffed a laugh, “Would have started some interesting rumours.” 

“Mhm,” you said, “Must be nice to be big and broad all the time though.” 

“Not when you bump your head onto door frames.” 

“What a drama queen Moony,” you teased. 

“It’s never happened to you. You wouldn’t know how inconvenient it is.” 

“What is inconvenient?” Sirius asked, walking out of the bathroom with just a simple towel around his middle. It was as if he thought you were actually James and not you. Either that or he purposefully wanted to fluster you. 

“Being tall, apparently,” you said, letting your gaze linger just a few seconds before turning your eyes back to Moony, who had been looking at Sirius casually. Although perhaps…

“You certainly wouldn’t know, would you Starshine?” 

You turned back to him, your eyes shining with mischief, “Careful Puppy, I’m still taller than you.”  

“Hmm… not for long,” he said before disappearing into the bathroom with some clothes in his hands. His shirt fell on the floor and you used your wand to drag it towards you, still sitting on the bed. Remus gave you a look but went back to his book, not saying a word. It was a shirt Andromeda had given him as a gift –a Queen shirt– it was soft from how many times he’d used it, but in great condition still. Perhaps he used some kind of spell. 

“Hey Moons have you seen my…?” he asked as he left the bathroom again, he had his pyjama pants on but he was still shirtless. You had his shirt in your hands, a smirk playing on your lips, or James’ lips, you supposed. “Starshine.” 

You shrugged, “It fell on the floor, didn’t wanna leave it there.” 

He narrowed his eyes at you but walked towards his bed, where you sat. You were on the edge, whereas you normally just rested against his headboard, and most of all, you had a rather suspicious expression going on, an expression he’d seen you wear before, slightly different to James’. The second he skeeved in to take it between his hands, you stood and dodged, standing a few steps from him while holding the shirt high above your head. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Taking advantage of the one time I’ll be taller than you, I suppose.” Remus was now looking at the two of you, diverted rather than paying attention to his book. 

“Maybe you just want to see me shirtless for longer,” he teased. 

You shrugged in response, “Maybe I do.”

His head pulled back, his cocksure stance faltering as he tried to process how brazen you’d been with that answer, it’s something he would have done. Regardless he got closer to try and pull the shirt. The difference in height between James and Sirius wasn’t that big, especially not when you compared it to Remus, so you couldn’t trust solely on the extra inches you had. 

Sirius reached his hand up and tried to grab the shirt, and you pulled it just behind you, there was definitely a benefit with getting James’ physical attributes, especially the speed. 

“Aw come on, that’s not fair.” 

You just smiled, daringly. “Come on Puppy, you can do this, can’t you?” 

“I’m gonna bite you next time I’m Padfoot,” he thrеatened playfully. 

“You’d only be able to do it if I still looked like Potter,” you told him with a smile. “Vixen’s too adorable to bite, am I not?” 

“My shirt.” 

“What shirt?” you asked innocently as you threw it Remus’ way.

It fell on his head, and for a second you thought he’d be mad, since he didn’t move, rather, it took him a few seconds to figure out why the shirt smelled so much like Sirius until he remembered he’d used the same shirt last night, and the previous. Fuck, it smelled delightful, focus Remus, he told himself as he took it from his head and held it between his hands. 

He looked over at you, you gave him a smile, and winked at him, an expression so unbelievably yours it was almost shocking to see it on James, all thought there was something in your eyes. 

Remus stood, as if he were to give the shirt to Sirius and your smile faded, he almost laughed but managed to hold a serious solemn face. Just as Sirius extended his hands to grab the shirt from Sirius’s hand, he pulled his arm up again, you smiled, diverted, while Sirius frowned. 

Two against one, there you go Puppy, you thought. Remus, being a lot taller, managed to hold the shirt a lot higher, which forced Sirius to walk even closer to him as he jumped around to try and get the shirt. Remus was having way too much fun to actually process the fact that a shirtless Sirius was brushing onto him as he jumped to get the shirt.

“I could just wear something else, you know.” 

“Yeah, but you won’t,” you said with a smile, you stood just behind him, blocking his hand whenever he tried to reach up for his shirt, still held high above Remus’ head. 

“Too stubborn for that,” Remus confirmed, looking at you with a complicit grin.

Sirius huffed in response but tried again. Remus pulled back and you held Sirius between your arms, but he managed to slip from your grasp and lunged at Remus, who threw the shirt over his head and towards your arms, “Great shot, Moony!”

He winked at you as Sirius crashed onto him, “Okay kids, that’s enough!” Sirius said. Remus enjoyed the closeness a little too much.

“Giving up so soon, Puppy?” you asked with a pout, passing the shirt from one hand to the other. 

“Giving– It’s completely unfair! You’re both taller and stronger.” 

You hummed, “Welcome to my world.” 

“I won’t say you’re short ever again?” he tried, you pretended to think about it for a moment. 

“What do you think, is he being honest?” 

“I don’t know Little Witch… seems unrealistic.” 

You nodded in agreement. “Aww, come on…” Sirius complained, but then he lunged for you, you moved to the side, both of you moving almost in a circle. If anyone were to see the three of you from above, they’d think you had carefully choreographed this dance. 

“Starshine…” He warned. You felt a bit of a tingling in your legs, but for some reason, you didn’t think it was the nickname or his tone that caused it. Remus from behind, notice your ear shrinking. You were changing back. 

You smiled “Come and get it!” 

He did, he skeeved forwards, you intended to crash against him, but Remus noticed you were counting on James’ strength, rather than yours. If Sirius crashed onto you, the real you and not Polyjuice-potion James, then it would probably hurt you. So he grabbed onto your waist, or James’, everyone was confused at that point, and pulled you to the side. 

Unfortunately, he tripped on a pair of shoes, and the two of you ended up falling towards the bed, not before Sirius grabbed onto the box plate of your shirt, and got pulled along with you. There was some thumping, and then complaining groans from the three. 

Remus’ back had ended on the bed, you were on top of him, back facing his chest, and Sirius was on top of you, still half naked, and feeling a lot heavier than you expected him to be. You were quite literally sandwiched between the two boys, it was oddly comforting, even if a bit uncomfortable. 

Remus frowned as your hair covered his face, you were back being you, and Sirius was crushing you against him, Sirius’ face dangerously close to his, it seemed like the longest time before the three of you managed to process what had happened. “Starshine you’re back!” Sirius said as he looked at you with a bright smile, taking the shirt from your hands, using his strength to keep your arms in your place as you tried to wriggle out. 

He gave you a rather satisfied smile as you huffed, “Not fair.” 

“Suck it up,” Sirius replied as he finally rolled to the side. “Can you give her back her voice?” 

You sighed, catching your breath still against Remus’ shoulder until you too rolled off, landing right in between the two boys and slightly pushing on both so you had enough space to lay on your back. “Can’t take me speaking like your best mate?” 

“It’s weird when you no longer look like him.” 

You shut your eyes, Remus’ bed was softer than Sirius’, you noticed as you continued to accommodate in the small space between the two. Your shoulders were all pressed together, but neither of the boys seemed to want to move either. It was warm, it was comfortable. 

Remus fetched his wand from the side with a display of wandless magic that would have been shocking had you been looking and passed it over you, “finite incantatem,” he whispered. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your voice finally back to normal. You took a deep breath, thinking that you’d have to get up now and go back to your room, even if you didn’t actually want to move. “What time is it?” 

Sirius lifted his head to look at the watch, “Almost 8,” he informed, “why?” 

You shrugged, “I probably have to go back soon.” 

“You don’t sound so eager,” Remus acknowledged.

A playful scoff left your mouth, “What with two handsome boys by my side, who would?” 

Remus scoffed and Sirius rolled his eyes, “what a flirt.” 

“Learned from the best,” you said in return and then sighed dramatically. “I don’t want to move, cleaning was so tiring!” you whined, Remus’ bed is comfortable, this was perfectly gracious.

“Should have let Prongs take the punishment,” Remus said. 

You shook your head, “No-uh, wouldn’t want to kill his chance to date Lily and get married and have beautiful children.” 

“That’s a very long story to make up in your head, Starshine.” 

“As if James himself hadn’t outwardly said that that’s what he wants,” you responded with a shrug and changed the subject. “What were you reading Rem?”

“The Godfather,” he said simply. 

Sirius turned his head, “The Mafia book you were telling us about on the train?” Remus nodded. “You haven’t finished it already?” 

He shook his head in response, “I was reading a book she borrowed,” he said, nodding towards you for a second. 

“Dorian Grey,” you acknowledged. 

“Dorian Grey?” Sirius asked, “It’s a muggle thing, isn’t it?” 

“It’s a classic, Sirius.” 

“You’d probably like it,” Remus added. 

“Oh no, he might end up like Dorian,” you joked, “Lord Henry has some rather convincing dialogue.” 

“He’s already like that.” 

“Pair of nerds,” Sirius huffed, “But I don’t like being left out, so I’ll read it.” 

You shook your head with a smile on your face, “How’s the mafia book?”

“Interesting,” Remus replied. 

“Why don’t you read to us?” Sirius asked casually. 

“What?” Remus asked, a little puzzled. 

“Oh yeah,” you said, turning your head towards him, “You have a really nice voice, read to us,” he didn’t look convinced. “Please.” 

“Oblige her Moony, she worked très hard cleaning the men’s loos today.” 

“Yes,” you nodded. “Sirius did as well… Oblige us, yeah?” Remus sighed dramatically but levitated the book right above him, you could see well enough to read by yourself but you’d much rather hear it from Remus’ soothing deep voice. In the end, he couldn’t refuse.  “Don Corleone stood up and put a fatherly arm around Johnny's shoulder.” You were smiling like an idiot, Sirius was too, both pretty satisfied with your convincing abilities.  “I’m going to make this man an offer he can't refuse,' he said, leading Johnny towards the door.” Remus was even making different voices for the characters, ‘“Now, go and enjoy yourself´ He kissed Johnny on the cheek, shut the door and turned to Tom Hagen, who had heard everything…”

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A/N: Well, that's an interesting turn of events, isn't it? I mean, this was James' one-time chance, we had to make sure he made it to that date, didn't we? Also, Remus my love, you're adorable, thank you for exciting <3

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[anundyingfidelity]

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part VI)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.5k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: some suicide thoughts, very suggestive stuff, nudity, sexual tension barely starting, misogyny coming from you know who lol.

Notes: i was eager to drop this so here it is. hope i can make justice to the slow burn/slow sexual tension. aaaa as always thanks for reading!! ily all!

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @soldirboy @deans-spinster-witch

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Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | | Part VIII

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part VI: Don't Lay Your Red Hand On Me

“Where the fuck are we going?” Ben asked, checking the picture outside the windshield.

The sun was already setting down, and there have been hours since you started driving. At least he had been able to see the damn sunset again after being caged for so long.

Despite his questioning look and not trusting you completely, both made it to your car in the middle of the mess of blood and headless corpses around the building, with him naked under the effects of your invisibility powers. Somehow, you still managed to reassure Soldier Boy it was to protect him. In fact, as you guided both out of the place, you were scared of your abilities not working properly to have him covered. The last thing you wanted was the cameras to have a look at him, escaping with your help.

Now, with Soldier Boy dressed in his clothes and you still wiping some of the dry blood from your skin, you drove without a destiny in mind. Just somewhere you could take him far away from Homelander and Vought. He was, in fact, your top priority and needed to be protected, even if you knew you were nothing compared to his strength and abilities, you still had the urgency of him trusting you, to feel like you really cared. And you did care, but for the wrong reasons and those, he didn’t have to know.

“Far away,” you responded, picking up your phone with one hand as you drove through the highway.

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” he insisted, looking at you switching your attention between the device in your hands and the road.

You dialed Grace, ignoring his voice. She didn’t answer immediately. You cursed under your breath and dialed again. No answer anew, just the ring and the automatic voicemail message. Well, fuck. You had to play with what you had.

“Hey, it’s me,” you began the message. “Please call me when you can, I have to inform you of something. It’s urgent, please call me back.”

Ben rolled his eyes, annoyed as fuck for your silence towards his demands. “You’re gonna tell me now what the fuck is going on? You’re a fucking supe and everyone is dead back there! And not ‘cause of me.”

“First, nothing to fear from me. Okay? You’re the one who’d kill me in a blink. Second, I don’t know!” you yelled as a response, clearly irritated. “I don’t know shit! I know we need to run and that’s all. So just shut up and let me drive.”

“Christ on a cross, you women are fucking irritating,” Ben fumed. He saw a cheap motel by the road and he would’ve guessed you were going there because you slowed down and pulled up in the parking lot. He sighed. “Home, shitty home.”

“Got any ideas? Because I’m all ears,” you stopped the engine and got down the car, taking the sports bag with you. The supe rolled his eyes and before he went out, you came right to his half open door. “Stay here, I'll check in.”

Ben shut his eyes, watching you closing the car door with a loud thud, and you left to get a room. He felt the need to storm behind and shout out what he really thought of your stupid ass bossing him around. If it wasn’t because he wasn’t really half the way out of the fucking car, he should have been arguing and insisting for some real answers. But for some reason he stayed back. When you came back after a short time he followed you to a double bed room you’d be using just for the night.

Once you entered, you decided a shower was first thing on the list, and then you had to communicate with Grace as soon as fucking possible. Checking around, you were thankful to find a couple of towels in the bathroom, while Ben settled on his own space, lying down on one of the beds.

He observed you thoroughly as you studied yourself in the dirty mirror hanging on the wall. The disgusting grimace you made told him you were looking for more blood to wipe off. And before he could speak again you turned to see him.

“I'm gonna take a shower,” you announced.

He raised a brow. “Mind some company, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes as you started to unbutton your blouse, his eyes checking shamelessly the little exposed skin didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Don't even think about it.”

And with that, you just disappeared inside the bathroom. The noise of water running compensated both of you for the silence. He turned on the cheap TV to have some noise for himself too, deciding he’d go for a shower after you. Probably if he was in a different mood would have just tried to get in your pants. Ben was getting so damn stressed out. First you took out his weed, then you announced he would have medication for his fucking stress disorder or some shit, and later, agents and employees of the facility just started to die violently without reason. He thought if any of you would be next while you walked him out.

It was too much to handle right now. He needed something to take it all out. Something, anything, somebody. Just to release it the only way he knew: with sexual pleasure. He didn't understand yet what the fuck was happening. Did you really care about him? You could just have left him there to handle everything by himself and run away. Yet, you took him out of the facility and he, once again, had a glimpse of your courage. Maybe a little. And he started to like that. Suddenly, he heard the shower being turned off and minutes later you came out of the bathroom sooner than he expected, dressed in the same clothing, drying the droplets on your face and wet hair.

“I’m gonna get some dinner, stay here” you announced, taking your phone and the room and car keys. “The door will be locked, don’t do anything stupid.”

Ben scoffed, standing up before making his way to take a shower himself. He faced you directly, just a couple of inches separating both of you. Your gaze challenged him to step closer. “I’m not a fucking animal.”

You hummed, without looking away from his eyes. “Sometimes I doubt you.”

“Locking the fucking door won’t do shit, why you keep doing this?” Ben asked, visible confusion on his features. He really looked tired as hell. Tired of your bullshit.

“It’s not because of you. I perfectly understand that, just wait for me here.”

With that, you turned on your heels and left the room. From the other side, you locked the door. Ben let out a deep breath. He knew it was easy to tear it apart, and again, run after you to have damn answers for once. But instead, he decided to calm himself a little and get rid of his clothes. Inside the shower, he let the warm water take care of the burdens he was carrying, without knowing, on his back. He wondered if he’d been better dead by now, if sleeping in a chamber was a greater choice than this, just running along with you, a woman, who just seemed to fuck him up even more instead of playing real like you had promised. If he knew how to kill himself, probably would’ve done it already. He was getting sick of hiding, of being a fucking experiment, to be under someone’s else’s orders… The worst part of it all is that he never had the right to choose on his own faith. Not even his own death.

Out of the room, you were a few feet away from the door you left behind when your phone started to ring softly. An unknown number appeared on the screen and cautiously you answered, making your way to the car, getting inside on the co-pilot seat.

“Hello?” a voice you knew too well started to speak after some seconds of silence.

“Grace?”

The woman on the other line breathed out. “Yeah, it’s me. Uhm, couldn’t attend earlier, sorry…”

“It’s okay,” you shook your head, as if she could see you face to face. “We’ve been compromised. My lab assistants, the nurses, scientists, guards… Everyone is dead.”

“Fuck,” Grace hissed. She sounded exhausted. “Where is Soldier Boy?”

“I took him out, checked us in at a motel. Can’t go back to my old place. Not yet.”

“You have the copies of the project, right?”

For a moment you felt she was doubting you, but you answered anyway, surprised she would even ask that. “I do.”

There was a little silence coming from her. You continued. “I don’t think I told you yet, but… Fuck, I received a visit from Homelander a couple of days ago. He crashed into my apartment… He knows.”

Grace cursed under her breath. “Y/N, we’re playing with fire here.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling your heartbeat raising. “What’s going on with you? Something happened back there?”

“Victoria Neuman came, saying she wanted to talk to me. She kinda threatened my life, and I’m on the run… Now I can make the puzzle.”

“You think they might be working together?”

“Probably. Senator Bishop was found dead, and guess who is running now with Robert Singer for vice president.”

You chuckled. The whole situation was so ironically clear. “Victoria, that stupid, smart bitch.”

“I’m gonna get some information on her, I know some people who’d know more than I do. I’ll call once I find something.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for that. Do you need me to do anything?”

“Just keep Soldier Boy busy. Work on that injection as soon as you can,” she ordered.

You nodded to yourself, taking a look around the empty lot. “Yes, ma’am.”

After a somewhat long time, Ben saw you entering the room and locking the door. You left a paper bag and water on the nightstand by his bed, where he laid down like he was having a nice day on the beach with only a towel around his hips. He noticed you looked down at him a little longer than usual, but he wasn’t going to let that slip. A sleazy smirk formed on his lips.

“My eyes are up here, sugar.”

You turned away your gaze for a moment before looking back up at him again, confident this time as you locked up your eyes with his half-lidded ones.

“Stop the pet names, Soldier Boy.”

Ben stood up on his feet slowly under your eyes following his moves. His muscular frame towering over your figure as the towel fell to the floor, revealing his bare figure to you. He was growing fond of the way you didn’t step back, ever, from him.

“Well, you never complained back there. Speaking of,” he took the bottle of water between his hands and took a sip from it before his green orbs focused on you anew. “I think you owe me an explanation.”

“I already told you. I don’t know shit.”

“Fucking lies,” the supe hissed. “Tell me now.”

You shrugged and crossed your arms on your chest, tired of him. “I have nothing.”

“Sweetheart, you never shut your piehole during our sessions. Don’t back up now,” he dared, stepping closer to you, eyelids narrowing.

Neither Ben or you dared to look away. You had to act like it, for your good. What if Soldier Boy found out that probably Homelander was behind all of it? It was going to be the end of him, his son; the fucking abusive experiment would be gone with a blast. But Vought was still around. It wasn’t just about Homelander or personal payback. It was more than that.

Homelander was barely the tip of the iceberg. And you were afraid Ben would never understand the mission. Would he say yes to use his blood to create even more experiments after all he went through, even if you explained everything? You knew his answer. The next step was getting it from him and it was going to be the hardest thing ever. But you could think of that later. There was nothing that a small cut accident couldn’t do.

“I’m not talking because I have nothing to tell you, Ben,” you lied, looking at him with your brows knitting together. “I wish I knew, but I’m just as scared as you might be.”

“I’m not scared,” he replied a little too fast. “I want to know why you took me out.”

“Why not?” you insisted. “You deserve another chance.”

And I need you alive to find a cure to this curse.

Ben scrutinized your face. This time, he couldn’t read through you. What did he know though, was that he was tired. A burning ache was forming inside him once again and he needed to release it. He was used to sensing your heartbeats, the blood running on your veins, and still now there was no glimpse of you reacting to his teasing. Any other woman would have thrown herself at him, he was used to it. Now, there wasn’t anyone. Just you, paying no attention to his perfectly sculpted body and his cock between his legs. It had to be the fact that you were a supe. Not as powerful, but still. A clear advantage in the cursed world you all lived in. He took in your body, thinking into luring you to give in and imagining how it would be to have you crying under him, moaning his name exactly like numerous women have. Just for the night.

“Don’t think about it, Soldier Boy,” you voiced out, like if you read his nasty mind. “I’m not gonna do that.”

His eyes went back to your face. “Y’know, I used to have lines of women like you during my days. Countless lines of rich whores, waiting to have a good fuck with me. Pretty ladies whose husbands would leave unattended, cute little secretaries, bombshell Hollywood actresses… All of them, just wet holes ready for me. I’d take them all.”

You chuckled at his pathetic little speech. If that was his way of getting you to bed, it wasn’t working. Not now, not never.

“I’m not just any rich whore, Ben. I don’t want to fuck you, you can use the bathroom to take care of your little problem down there.”

You saw how his jaw clenched as he held his eyes with yours.

He smirked. “Maybe not today, pretty thing. But you’ll see.”

“Be my guest.”

Ben turned around, giving you a clear view of his ass as he locked himself inside the bathroom. The sound of the shower running was not enough to cover his moans and grunts as he jerked himself off. You just decided to sleep. There was a long drive waiting for you in the morning.

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy imagines #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys amazon prime #the boys series #the boys tv #jensen ackles fanfiction #soldier boy/ben

[chronically-ghosted]

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

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 8K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, 6:43PM

No, I’m not doing it. I’m not. 

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

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

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

– more liquid –

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

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

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

Tuesday, 8:23PM

OW! Motherf–

– a skillet clattering – 

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

– sharp inhale then a cough – 

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

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

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

Tuesday, 9:21PM

No, fucking– 

Siri – how.do.you.treat.a.burn? 

Calling. . . Burger King . . .

No! Fuck!

Tuesday, 10:49PM

Paul-y! Baby! Paul-ito!

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

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

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

They’ll eat it up. 

Fuck yeah, they will. 

– silence for three minutes and sixteen seconds –

Fuck acting, man. Fuck this place. 

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

Tuesday, 11:52PM

Paul, why don’t we hang out anymore?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a good influence, ol’ Dee. 

Not a good –

 

Wednesday, 1:05AM

Fine, Paul. Fine. 

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

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

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

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

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

We. 

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

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

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

Fuck this downer mood.

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

Goddamn Burger King . . . 

The front doorbell rings. 

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

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

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

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

“Uncle Dee?” 

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

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

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

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

I thought you were a fucking ghost.

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

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

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

This feels a little bit like that.

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

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

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

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

He chews on his lip. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, holy shit, those tits –  

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

You cannot do that to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. Not at all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Certainly not anyone who called him Uncle Dee —

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

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

Nope. Absolutely not. 

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

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

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

“Hey, I’m done. Dee, you still here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you have mayonnaise? Butter?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Probably.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that any of that would be happening with you. 

He wasn’t a complete monster after all. 

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

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

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

“Such a gentleman.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, I can’t believe I said that.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No fucking way, I love this movie.” 

Dieter stilled. “Really? You do?” 

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

That’s gonna be me some day. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The movie goes on. 

Nicholas Cage is Nicholas Cage with a mullet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, that’s a such a good movie.” 

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

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

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

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

You nodded, still not looking at him. 

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

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

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

“Just . . . Nothing, it’s stupid.”

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

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

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

Just the two of us. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowns. You bite your lip and continue.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, fuck.

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

It’s The Look. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DANGER. DANGER, WILL ROBINSON. DANGER.

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

End of Part 1 | Next

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

[mlkbaerry]

Recs for October or autumn themed movies, series, books, fics and movies !

Happy Birthday btw <3

october and fall recs !

🎃★⿻﹒thank you so much for the wishes! october really is my favourite time and month of the year, so here's some recommendations. wishing everyone a very comfortable, cozy and peaceful rest of the year &lt;3

✷ ᵎᵎ ₊˚ movies ﹔ 🏚️

dead poet's society (1989)

clue (1985)

knives out (2019)

to kill a mockingbird (1962)

hocus pocus (1993)

it's the great pumpkin, charlie brown (1966)

the adam's family (1991)

jennifer's body (2009)

bodies bodies bodies (2022)

harry potter series

twilight series

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

✷ ᵎᵎ ₊˚ series ﹔ 🍄

only murders in the building

good omens

my liberation notes

wednesday

sherlock

moomins

gravity falls

the queen's gambit

happiness (tvn)

goosebumps

the haunting of hill house / bly manor

ghosts

peaky blinders

gilmore girls

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

✷ ᵎᵎ ₊˚ episodes ﹔ 🕸️

grey's anatomy - thriller (s10 ep7)

grey's anatomy - haunt you everyday (s4 ep5)

suite life of zack and cody - the ghost of suite 613

brooklyn nine nine - halloween (s1 ep6)

brooklyn nine nine - halloween iii (s3 ep4)

modern family - halloween (s2 ep5)

30 rock - stone mountain

Community - epidemiology (s2 ep6)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

✷ ᵎᵎ ₊˚ youtube vids ﹔ 💀

buzzfeed unsolved / ghost files

headless: a sleepy hollow story

edgar allan poe'e murder mystery dinner party

abandoned disneyland knockoff; nara dreamland exploration - the proper people

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

✷ ᵎᵎ ₊˚ books ﹔ 🍂

one of us is lying (karen m. mcmanus)

nothing lasts forever (sidney sheldon)

something wicked this way comes (ray bradbury)

the night circus (erin morgenstern)

#netflix #fall aesthetic #fall movies #october movie recommendations #movie recommendations #tv series #series recommendations #brooklyn nine nine #autumn movies #only murders in the building #halloween #spooky season #halloween movie recommendations #jennifer's body #dead poets society #goosebumps #peaky blinders #gilmore girls #buzzfeed unsolved #autumn #gravity falls #good omens #youtube #book recommendations #fall books #pieces!

[talesandfluff]

praying to whatever god exists that Headless goes viral on tumblr and becomes the cult classic status it deserves

Here’s the thing about that… it’s up to us. Everyone who’s watched the show knows how good, how polished, how entertaining it is. We know it tells a beautiful story and does it with grace, humor and wit. We know it’s heartwarming, we know it’s got well developed protagonists and beautifully crafted character arcs. We’ve seen it: we know how great it is. WE NEED TO BE LOUD ABOUT IT.

How does something get a broader audience? Loud fans shoving it into their friends’ faces. You need to clutter up the tags with your thoughts, gifs, fanarts, fics, memes, shitposts. You need to tell all your friends about the show. You need to rewatch the show and comment on it and share it with your buddies. Your grandma needs to watch it. You gotta be that obnoxious fan who can’t talk about anything else. Then others will pick up on it and give it a try. And then, maybe, Shipwrecked Comedy will get the credit it deserves for putting out this little masterpiece of a mini-series.

Watch Headless right now.

#headless #shipwrecked #sick of not finding other fans who spam the tags as much as me man #like all i want is just for it to have a bigger fandom #so the creators feel loved and appreciated for their hard work #and also so I have more buddies who understand me

[heatherfield]

Walk Me Home | A “Headless” Fic Chapter Fifty-One

Story summary: Brom and Matilda find their relationship status is more complicated than ever after the explosive reveal of a year’s worth of secrets. How do they navigate their way forward when they struggle to know what’s true? And yet, to their friends, some things couldn’t be more obvious. (Explores what happens in between the climax of the finale and the epilogue of “Headless: A Sleepy Hollow Story”.)

Chapter summary:  Matilda begins to take small steps forwards, but welcomes a break with Brom and their friends at Ferguson lake for some winter fun.

Chapter Characters/Pairings: Brom and Matilda, Ichabod, the Babes, Rip, Verla, Lucretia

Rating: Teen

Author’s note: Somehow this chapter seemed to give me a bit of trouble, even though I've had the idea of a fun skating afternoon for awhile, but it was a bit more tricky to put down in writing. I think it came together, though! As always, I hope you like it!

Link: AO3.org

#headless: a sleepy hollow story #headless series #bromtilda #fanfiction #walk me home fic #i'm really excited for what i have planned next #fingers crossed it all works out

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

A Palomino Christmas

Jack Daniels x f!reader

|| Palomino universe oneshot, out of chronological order as I haven't finished the series yet. Can be read as a stand-alone. ||

{ Fuck Yeah Holidays | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: You spend Christmas at the ranch with Jack. You thought the present you got him was inspired until you see him wearing it - the cowboy way.

Inspired by snowsuit anon and this adorable post (and a super cute nickname for a pony) sent to me by @aynsleywalker.

Warnings: !Ski suit action!, drinking, mention of food, gratuitous descriptions of the male bulge body, dirty talk, safe unprotected sex, feelings so fluffy. These holiday fics are for fun, so not as *rigorously edited* as my regular stories, please forgive any mistakes or plot holes!

Word count: 4.5k

Dedicated to @guiltypleasure-girl who I'm so grateful to have made friends with this year and who, imho, draws the best Jack in all the lands. If you don't already, follow her art page @guiltypleasure-art for the most gorgeous fanart ❤️

It’s always busy in the Stateman’s main kitchen on Christmas morning. The smokey burn of firewood warms the cozy space as the radio blares holiday tunes. Poppy presides over the operations at the head of the table - everything is planned down to the T and everyone has a role.

On any other Christmas day, Jack would be her sous-chef, the one she relies on to keep everyone on schedule and in their place.

But alas, today is not any other Christmas day.

The normally put together cowboy ambles around the place like a headless chicken, leaving a trail of half-completed tasks in his wake. Tequila, in uncharacteristic discretion, follows two steps behind.

He turns off the tap that Jack’s left pouring into the already full kettle, draining the excess water and putting it on the boil.

There’s one slice of bread in the toaster, while another lies forgotten on the table, which Teak slides into the free slot and pushes down the lever.

Jack pulls a jar of pickles from the fridge unseeingly, putting it on the table and walking away in search of a mug under three sets of watching, worried eyes. Teak replaces it with his friend’s favourite strawberry jam without a word.

While the oblivious cowboy’s back is turned, Teak motions his hand and forth across his neck in a slicing motion, mouthing nope emphatically at the occupants of the kitchen table.

On his cue, Poppy clears her throat and speaks up, ‘Jack, sweetie, why don’t you go check on the horses after your toast? The stable boys want to leave work early today after doing their morning rounds.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he answers absent-mindedly, staring down into the empty mug in his grasp as if he’s lost his train of thought.

At that very moment, the toaster pops and Jack practically jumps out of his skin, stepping on Jameson’s paw where he’s lying on his rug in front of the fire, prompting an indignant yelp from the border collie and winces from around the table.

‘Sorry boy,’ he apologises and picks up his toast - burning his fingers - and stumbling over his feet to set his plate down. ‘Mornin’,’ he nods to the others without really registering who’s there.

Jack proceeds to butter his toast with such singular focus that he doesn’t notice when Tequila fills his still empty cup with coffee, only to knock it over immediately when a phone buzzes and his hand flies out to grab his. Ginger and Poppy trade concerned looks as he jumps onto his feet with another apology, snatching a tea towel to clean up the mess.

Eggsy, on potato peeling duty on the other side of the table, isn’t so diplomatic. ‘You’re jumpier than Bambi this morning, cowboy.’

Jack grunts noncommittally and chews on his toast, not rising to the bait.

‘Don’t be so nervous mate, we promise we’ll be on our best behaviour.’

Teak snorts from the kitchen counter where he’s making his PBJ. ‘I don’t know about England, but around these parts, lying on Christmas day is frowned upon.’

Eggsy replies high-handedly, ‘Can’t speak for you, Tequila, but I’ll be on my best behaviour.’

Ginger chuckles as Teak sits down at the table with his sandwich. ‘Ha! I’ll believe it when I see it.’

Jack points a forceful finger at the boys, one after the other. ‘I swear to the baby Jesus Christ, if you two don’t behave yourselves, there will be hell to pay.’

Eggsy snickers. ‘Never thought I’d see the day. Ol’ cowboy Jack falls heads over heels for a bird -’ he screeches when the coffee-soaked rag hits him in the face, which sends Teak into hysterical laughter. ‘Oi! What the fuck, man!’

Ignoring the ruckus, Jack dusts the crumbs from his hands and shrugs on his jacket, grabbing a thermos and filling it up with fresh coffee. With a hurried later, he strides out of the warmth of the kitchen and into the frigid morning air.

Thermos tucked under his arm, Jack rubs his palms together, warming his fingertips with his breath as snow crunches beneath his well-worn boots. The ranch is blanketed in thick snow, a picture-perfect postcard landscape as it is every Christmas. The morning mist has yet to burn off, but he can tell by the peek of blue through the clouds that it will be a fine day.

If your flight is on time, you should be on your way by now. He’d wanted to pick you up from the airport, but you insisted that there’s no point in him driving all the way there when you already know the way. Depending on the conditions, it shouldn’t be long until you arrive.

His list of chores isn’t long this morning - the stable boys will be on duty until lunchtime - but still, he wants to tick all the boxes before you get here. Striding into the heated stables, he says howdy to the grooms and whistles, smiling as dozens of faces appear at the doors, ears pointed forwards in attention, snickering and whinnying at him.

This never gets old.

‘Mornin’ ladies and gentlemen,’ he calls out, wandering down the stalls, rubbing a velvety nose here and pulling on a furry ear there. ‘Who’s ready to stretch their legs this fine mornin’, huh?’

Starting at the end of the stables, he unlatches Bourbon’s door and ushers him out of the stall, then crosses the aisle to let out Tanqueray, Champ’s elderly but still supremely poised Friesian, who clops leisurely towards the exit. Zig-zagging back and forth, Jack whistles, jostles and chats to the horses, all smartly dressed in warm rugs, as they file out down the corridor and into the courtyard for a bit of morning exercise while the stable boys mucked out their stalls.

‘No loitering, ma’am,’ says Jack sternly when Poppy’s mare, Pie, idles in the middle of the building. He gives her a firm pat on the rump to get her moving and whistles at one of the cheeky Shetland ponies who’s snuck into someone else’s stall. ‘Half-Pint! What did I say about stealing your friends’ treats? Shoo, now!’

The stables empty, the echoes of hooves on the concrete ground fading, with Scotch being one of the last to exit. Looping back to make sure there are no dilly-dalliers, Jack’s surprised to find the palomino, who would normally be leading the charge towards the grazing fields, still lingering at the barn doors.

‘Whatcha doin’, boy?’ he calls out.

Scotch tosses his head and steps to the side -

And you appear.

With the biggest grin, you run towards him and fly into his arms.

Your cheeks are wet, the spray of snow powder melting when it hits your skin. It drifts all around you as Scotch eats up the white ground, the thundering hooves muted by the soft cushion of the untouched, overnight snow. The mountain air is sweet and pure and stingingly cold, you can barely feel your face anymore - but it might just be from how hard you’ve been smiling.

You feel like you’re in the middle of a Christmas movie. The lush, green landscape you remember so well from your trip months ago is now all coated in wintry glory, but you still recognise the contours of the land and the mountains. It’s your first time in the saddle since - the whistle of the winds in your ear is a song you remember all the words to, the burn in your out-of-practice muscles all over a familiar old friend.

And you’re happy.

Slowing Scotch to an easy trot as you approach the end of the trail, your breath mists in front of your face as you look down over the ranch, a scene straight out of a classic snow globe, thin wisps of smoke drifting from the chimneys of the wooden lodges dotted across the property.

Gently manoeuvring the palomino to a halt and giving him a pat on the neck, you turn to smile at Jack as he walks up beside you on Whiskey. ‘I’ve missed this so much.’

‘Me too,’ he answers, warm eyes on you.

You give him a sidelong glance. ‘You’ve been here the whole time, cowboy.’

‘I know. I’ve missed you being here.’ He reaches over and pulls your gloved hand towards him, presses a kiss to the back. You want to shuck off the leather and cup his whiskered jawline in your palm, push the well-worn hat off and twine your fingers into his hair -

Later. There will be time for all that later, preferably in front of a roaring fireplace.

You break the moment with an eyebrow arched in a challenge. ‘Race you to the stables?’

Jack grins. ‘You’re on, darlin’.’

Christmas dinner is in the main lodge, which you didn’t use during your trip in the summer. The intimate space is exuberantly decorated in red and gold, a huge, freshly cut pine tree stands proudly by the antique fireplace, a merry fire burning. The table is beautifully laid, silverware immaculately polished and fine china sit alongside holidays-themed napkins. A magnificent feast lines the length of the mahogany dining table comfortably seating eight.

But any kind of decorum stops there.

As the hours tick by and bottles of wine and sherry are emptied, the meal has descended into what Jack warned you in advance as ‘typical Kingsman chaos’. According to the cowboy, the whole Kingsman team comes to the ranch every summer for their annual company retreat, but only Merlin, Eggsy and Harry fly over for Christmas. And while their contingent is small, havoc is an inevitable conclusion where any number of the Kingsman are involved.

Desserts are still being passed around the table - sticky toffee pudding, pecan pie and Yule log - when Teak and Eggsy start to raise their voices and slap the table about British and American Christmas songs. They’re currently yelling - not singing - carols at each other, with Jameson barking excitedly in the background.

Tequila throws his hands up in frustration at Eggsy’s rendition of Twelve Days of Christmas. ‘Why is there a partridge in a pear tree? What the fuck is a partridge?’

Champ and Merlin are having a more civilised but no less intense debate about pies - specifically mince pies versus pumpkin pie as a holiday dessert.

‘Next year, old chap,’ declares Merlin. ‘I’ll bring mince pies with me and you’ll be eating your words, just you wait.’

Jack whispers in your ear. ‘He says that every year, but never does.’

You chuckle and turn your attention to Harry, who’s now insisting that they should put Love Actually up on the big projector screen after dinner, whereas Ginger and Poppy are lobbying for Elf.

‘Why not The Holiday? It’s literally the perfect American-British movie,' you pitch in, which launches another furious tirade of debate at your end of the table.

Jack mumbles under his breath. ‘Because they’re idiots and pointless, festive arguing is a winter sport around here.’

His arm is warm around your shoulders as you giggle into your mulled wine. ‘Is it like this every year?’

‘Yup,’ he answers, really popping the P. With a mild touch of embarrassment, he holds your amused gaze and asks, ‘Too much?’

Tipping your face upwards, you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

‘Just enough,’ you assure him as the corners of his eyes crinkle in the warmest smile.

You didn’t have time to drop off your suitcase at Jack’s cottage, which is a short drive from the ranch, when you arrived in the morning. Instead, with Champ’s blessing, you commandeered one of the guest cabins, all empty in the off-season - which is just as well. By the time midnight rolls around, it’s clear that no one is in any state to make their way back to their respective off-site houses.

Harry and the ladies retired to their borrowed rooms a little while ago, leaving you and Jack to round up the stragglers. You check on Teak, lying face down on the sofa, bundled up in his winter quilts in an aborted attempt to leave. A few steps over, you drape a blanket on Champ and another one on Merlin, who are passed out on armchairs which look comfortable enough to sleep in, socked feet up on matching ottomans. Eggsy is cuddling with Jameson in front of the fire, and Jack feeds the logs to make sure it burns till morning.

It’s bleak outside. Jack shields you from the worst of the winds, tucking you into his side as you trudge across the snow, the early start you’ve had catching up on you. Thankfully, the heating is already on in the cabin when you get there, and he starts a fire as well while you get ready for bed.

When you pad into the bedroom in your pyjamas, teeth brushed and makeup washed off, Jack looks up to see you holding a neatly-wrapped present, a shy smile on your lips.

Standing up from the fireplace, he dusts his hands and reaches for you, palms settling on the small of your back, leaning down to graze his still cold nose against yours. ‘Is that for me, darlin’?’

‘Maybe,’ you reply coyly. ‘Do you want to do presents now or tomorrow morning?’

‘Let’s do it now, I have to feed the horses early tomorrow,’ answers Jack, pecking you on the cheek. ‘Give me five minutes.’

The bed is cold, and you have to steel yourself to burrow into the icy cocoon of the thick covers, missing Jack’s warmth. He doesn’t make you wait long, re-appearing in just boxers, and a big box in hand, switching off all but the bedside lights.

Sliding under the duvet, he yelps when your icy feet tangle into his longer legs, making you laugh. His bare skin heats you up instantly as he wraps one arm around you and pulls you into his broad chest. You feel him hum when he asks, ‘You want to go first, darlin’?’

Blinking up at him, you answer nervously, ‘No - you first.’

He pushes the box your way and you sit up, pretending to shake the package to gauge what’s inside. Jack chuckles, his strong forearms dark against the beige quilt wrapped around his middle. Only his fingers give away his nerves, picking at loose threads in the fabric as you carefully unravel the wrapping paper.

Lifting the lid of the box, your lips part and you stare wordlessly at what’s inside.

‘Jack,’ you breathe. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Gently, you pull out the cowboy hat in tan suede, the smell of fresh leather comforting as you turn it over in your grasp, marvelling at the craftsmanship in the dips and swells of the construction.

‘Try it on, darlin’,’ he says, his shoulders relaxing in relief at your reaction.

You do, and of course, it fits perfectly. Shuffling onto your knees, you crawl closer to kiss him fully on the lips, tilting your head to the side so that his face fits under the brim of your hat. ‘Thank you, I love it.’

Jack arches an eyebrow. ‘You might want to check the box again, darlin’.’

Sitting back on your haunches, you send him an almost accusatory look. ‘You can’t give me two presents, cowboy.’

He shrugs with an insolent grin. ‘I’m a grown man, I’ll do what I like. ‘

Your eyes alight on the black velvet case at the bottom of the box, and you draw it out with careful fingers as if it will break. With one last glance at Jack, you gingerly lift the lid, feeling the hinges creak.

Jack watches you closely, his own breathing suspended as you stare down into your hands, thoughts whirring in his head. Is it too much, too soon? Is he comin’ on too strong? Would you even like it?

After the longest ten seconds of his life, you look up at him with soft eyes and brows drawn, a crack in your voice. ‘Jack.’

He gives you a lopsided smile and reaches for the box. ‘I went back to the same silversmith who made my belt buckle and asked him to make this.’

The chain is delicate in his big, weathered hands. It takes him a couple of tries, but he eventually manages to pry open the hinge of the clasp and holds out the necklace towards you in a question. ‘May I, darlin’?’

Turning around, the bed dips behind you as Jack shifts closer, cool silver kissing your décolletage as he fastens the clasp behind your neck. Your gaze drops downwards, the tip of your index finger testing the weight of the solid sterling pendant in the shape of a flask, Statesman emblazoned in delicate lettering -

A much smaller but exact copy of his belt buckle.

His words draw you out of your thoughts. ‘You like it?’

‘I love it,’ you correct him, twisting around to tackle him into the mattress, your knees around his waist as you loom over him, knocking off your hat so you can kiss him properly. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’

The pendant dangles from your neck, tickling him on the chin as he winds one big hand into your hair, his eyes following as it sways. ‘It looks good on you, darlin’.’

The warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest starts to recede as your eyes land on the present you got for him on the bed. The giddiness you felt when you found it is a distant dream, instead, anxiety threatens to take root deep in your head. If you got something from Amazon tonight, is there any chance that they could deliver tomorrow -

‘Darlin’. You’re thinking too loudly,’ says Jack soothingly, chucking you gently under your chin. ‘What’s wrong?’

You shake your head. ‘I got you a really stupid present. Let’s forget about it - I’ll get you something else.’

His brows draw together in concern as he grabs your wrists and pulls you flush against his chest so that there’s nowhere else to look but at him. ‘Don’t say that, there’s no such thing as a stupid present. Whatever you got me, I’m sure I’ll love it.’

You inhale deeply, chewing your bottom lip. ‘You mentioned a few weeks ago that your leather jacket and fleeces are too bulky and it’s hard to move around in all the layers when it's cold.’

He nods encouragingly. ‘That I did.’

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you reach out and drag the package towards him. ‘Well, I saw this at my local shop, and thought it might help.’

Jack gives you a reassuring smile and leans back into the pillows, grabbing the present excitedly. He pulls you against his side, as if he’s trying to squeeze all the self-doubt out of you, the gift draped across your laps as he starts to unwrap it.

You’re a bundle of jitters when he rips off the wrapping paper with impatient fingers, and the lightweight and puffy blue fabric comes into view.

Jack shakes out the neatly folded one-piece. ‘Is it - a ski suit?’

You nod and point out the black contrasting detailing on the front of the suit. ‘It's light and it's warm. Look at the western design with the single point pockets - I couldn’t not get it for you.’

Jack chuckles, the sound warming you as his arm tightens around your shoulders. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. So simple, yet so clever.’

‘You like it?’ you ask in the smallest voice.

‘I love it,’ he grins, drawing you in for another kiss. ‘Thank you, darlin’.’

Finally assuaged, you sag against him, a yawn creeping up on you as the tension in your body recedes. ‘You want to try it on now?’

Tucking you in, he says, ‘I’ll try it tomorrow, it’s been a long day for you, darlin’.

Putting your hat and his ski suit on the bedside table, Jack turns off the light, his body immediately seeking out yours under the sheets, claiming every inch of you with a leg between your thighs, front plastered to your back, palms under your ratty pyjamas top, splayed across your naked skin.

It’s been too long.

Nose tucked behind your ear, his arms full of you - finally here after months of feeling your phantom weight in his embrace - the night slips away as the snow falls outside.

It’s too warm under the covers when you wake up, even though Jack’s side of the bed is empty. You stretch lazily, the clock reads 8am but the fire is still going strong, he must have stoked it when he got up.

You decide to make some coffee and wait for him to come back before venturing to the communal kitchen for breakfast. While the water boils, you smile as you fiddle with the necklace sitting on your chest, warm and reassuring against your skin.

The smell of caffeine fills the cabin as you sip from your mug, and before long, you hear Jack stomping up the stairs, humming a country tune in his raspy baritone as he approaches the door.

Pouring him a steaming cup, you say, ‘Hey, I made you some coffee -’

You trail off when you turn around.

Your morning brain can’t quite grasp the picture in front of you. Jack’s still wearing his cowboy hat, his nose red from the cold. Vaguely, you realise he’s wearing the present you gifted him - and you congratulate yourself on the fact that it fits him like a damn glove.

The ski suit accentuates his broad shoulders and tapers in at his waist in a flattering cut, the zipper drawn all the way up to the hollow of his throat. He’s replaced the detachable belt that came with the ski suit with his own, the flask bottle buckle popping against the blue.

But the bottom half - that you have trouble comprehending. It takes you a beat longer to realise why.

He’s wearing full-length cowboy chaps over it.

Chaps are essentially leather trousers with the seat cut out, and Jack's wearing them with his belt looped through the straps. You know he only uses them when it’s muddy, to keep his jeans clean. He didn’t wear them at all on your pack trip, but you’ve seen a peek on Facetime in the rainy months in between. And now that you're seeing them in person, you decide that like them - a lot.

Your gaze, slow as molasses despite being completely unburdened by shame, slides all the way down to the triangle of blue framed by the negative space in the brown chaps where - for the lack of a better expression - his prominent endowment hangs heavy at the apex of his strong thighs. Not that you’re trying to look, but you can see the very heft of him through the fabric.

Jesus H. Christ. It’s too fucking early to be sinning.

When Jack realises that you’re staring, he says somewhat apologetically, clearly oblivious to the merry tangent your mind has gone off on. ‘Sorry, I know I’m not meant to wear it this way, but I didn’t want to get it dirty -’

You shake your head hastily. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s - perfect.’

Something breathless in your tone catches his ear, and he tilts his head to the side, one large hand coming to rest on his hip, thick fingers spread obnoxiously wide over the side of the chaps. The beginning of a cocky smile lifts the corner of his mouth. ‘Yeah, darlin’? You like it?’

Leaving your mug on the counter top, you bite your lip and give him your best teasing grin. ‘Why don’t you turn around so I can take a better look, cowboy?’

He arches an eyebrow at your boldness, but decides to indulge you. Voice dropping an octave, he rasps, ‘Better take a seat for this, darlin’.’

You grin and do as you’re told, turning the kitchen chair around so that you’re facing him, running your eyes up and down his frame as he steps into your space, narrow hips swaying to a beat you can’t hear. Hooking his thumbs into his belt, he suddenly turns with a dramatic flourish and arches his back, granting you an unrivalled view of his behind framed by the chaps cut off at the top of his thighs, the ski suit tight against his pert bottom.

‘Enjoy the view, darlin’?’ he asks, grinning over his shoulder at you.

You swat him on one cheek playfully, and when he swoops suddenly into your lap in a classic burlesque move, you squeal, ‘Jack!’

Bending his knees, he grinds into your thighs as you laugh, the ski suit soft on your skin while the leather chaps scrape against your bare shins. Turning around, he reaches up to tug the suit’s zipper downwards in a slow, deliberate course, and he purrs, ‘What say you if ol’ cowboy Jack gives you a proper show, hmm?’

You inhale sharply as the white wife beater underneath comes into view, and you reach up to help him push one side of the ski suit off his shoulder, revealing the firm line of his left arm.

‘Thought that was more of Teak’s thing,’ you quip, licking your lips as your eyes skim down his front to settle on the weighty bulge now straining against the front of the suit, your eager fingers pulling him closer by his belt buckle.

Gripping the edge of the table, he traps you into your seat, his stare dropping to the matching pendant resting on your now heaving bosom, taking in your blown pupils as he grins. ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

‘Aren’t I the luckiest girl,’ you muse, taking off his hat and flinging it onto the table, his hungry stare alone pinning you in place when you drag him down to you by his lapels.

Warm lips part yours and he delves into your mouth, kissing you deeply. The promise of more leaves you chasing him as he draws back with a drawl. ‘You’re about to get a whole lot luckier, darlin’.’

The thick material of the ski suit is almost pillowy as your fingers dig into his shoulders to steady yourself. It rubs gently on your nipples as you rock against Jack, arms wound around his neck while his desperate hands cup and knead the plump swell of your ass, dragging you up and down his hard cock.

‘That’s it, you’re ridin' me beautifully, darlin’,’ he growls into your ear, exhaling hot and heavy as he nips your collar bone. ‘Missed you so much.’

His chaps are slippery under your bare thighs from your slick, and you clench at the sensation of being completely naked on top of him when he’s still fully clothed, only his belt and zipper undone so that he can fuck up into you, the rickety kitchen chair groaning under the weight of the two of you.

‘Missed you too,’ you whisper against his lips, crying out when he hits a particularly deep spot inside you. ‘Yes, yes, harder, Jack.’

Leaning forward, he takes one breast into his hot mouth, one eye on your necklace that’s sticking to your sweaty skin before licking you between your tits and over the silver pendant, the salt sharp on his tongue. He hums, ‘You wear it so well.’

‘I won’t take it off, ever,’ you swear, throwing your head back when he scrapes his teeth against the column of your neck, so full of him that your knees quake.

‘Good,’ growls Jack, thrusting harder into you, making your breath stutter. ‘Keep me with you, darlin’ - always.’

You smile, fingers curled into his hair, stealing a tender moment as your noses bump and eyes meet with the easiest promise you will ever keep. ‘Always.’

Notes: Am I allowed to pick favourites? I'm not? I'm doing it anyway -- this is my favourite out of all the holiday fics, no question! I'm so soft for cowboy Jack and his darlin' 🥹 We've been spending time with just the two of them so far in the series, so it was really fun to explore the group situations, especially with the Kingsman involved!

I hope you enjoyed this fluffy interlude. Wishing you all a very merry Christmas and thank you so much for reading ❤️

#jack daniels x you #jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x f!reader #kingsman golden circle #fuckyeahholidays #‘tis palomino season

[quazies]

I just wanted to come by and commend you on the awesome new episode of lil pootis, and especially thank you for the engiespy content blowing up my dash 🙏💕 The sweet and gut-wrenching BLU Engie and Spy who must have been missing each other dearly as Spy’s head was in purgatory over at RED, while his headless body was just sadly sitting in the freezer...ahhh!! (Also sweet how BLU Spy has a good relationship with his son BLU scout.) I do indeed hope they can retire together. 🥺

🫡 growing the engiespy army any way I can..

but seriously I think the first engiespy fic I ever read was yours (i love monster au stuff so it was right up my alley) so thank you🙏🙏🙏

We will definitely see them again at some point in the series!

Lets hope that retirement is coming soon!!

[thebibliosphere]

Hey Joy! I hope you're doing alright and your spoons have started to recover from your last migraine

if you have extra spoons or just want to open it up to your community, I have questions about erotica and amazon.

Is there any content that amazon nukes that isn't implicitly part of it's TOS or written rules? For examples I guess:

Knots in erotica (were-anything, dragons, etc.) I heard from a friend that they don't allow this so they're trying to work around this by calling it everything but a knot.

How 'steamy' is too steamy? I know for non hetero they gloss over a lot of them but I guess what keywords did you have to avoid to not be shadow banned on their algorithm

I read up a little on what kinds of cover pictures were acceptable and that's just, weird but I guess color blocks and silhouettes are all in right now (It's erotica, why not have somebody in a questionable pose?!?)

And I guess this final question is a little outside what your book series did, but non humanoid love interests (more akin to Shape of Water and other love interests that look less like humans). What does Amazon expect the writers to avoid (aside from writing them in general) and what goods ways are there to put tags, the blurb, etc?!

Thank you Joy, and community, you rock!

So, for the most part, provided you stick to the TOS with Amazon, you're fine. However, the Amazon censors are human and have their own biases you have to contend with. Amazon also recently purged their dark romance category, which was an actual thing, presumably in an attempt to look squeaky clean despite romance and erotica being the backbone upon which KDP is built. Yay, sanitized capitalism...

I'm not aware of 'knotting' being banned, though it probably depends on whether you're writing straight or queer erotica and which human you get on the other end of the screen when it comes to final approval. There's a well-known problem with a homophobic censor on the weekends (Fuck you, Carlos, 🖕) who seemingly tends to knock back LGBTQ+ content on a whim. Hilariously, he knocked back the Fluff version of Hunger Pangs the first time I submitted it for approval. I didn't make any changes to the file and reuploaded it on Monday. Problem solved. (This also happened to Chuck Tingle about a year ago, though I can't seem to find the thread atm.)

When it comes to het-content, you can start the book with dubcon, and likely, nothing will happen. Queer content, you will want to give yourself a longer build-up to avoid getting knocked back. I've heard that censors stop reading after 20% but don't quote me on that. Putting certain content after that mark may be a way to avoid getting certain things picked up. When it comes to the algorithm, don't tag it like fic. Things like Shifter Romance, Monster Romance, and Gay Romance are acceptable (or whatever category you are in), but DO NOT tag it the way you would fic. A list like gay, shifter, knotting, BDSM, kink, tentacles--whatever-- is not how the Amazon algorithm works. Avoid putting trigger/content warnings anywhere inside the book as well. If you want a comprehensive list of content tags for your readers, you'll need to do what I did and have a specific page on your website listed at the front of your book, but you'll also want to keep that page inactive on your website until the book gets approved. These are the hoops we jump through to let our readers make informed choices... Also, don't tag it as queer anywhere. You can't even use 'queer' in reviews on Amazon anymore. 🙃

The reason you're currently seeing the trend of vector art and whatnot is twofold: one, it's cheaper than hiring models or paying for certain licensed content. Secondly, it's to avoid being flagged as erotic because we live in the bad place where everything must be sanitized for advertisers. You'll still see the odd headless hot-abbed torso, but it's safer to have non-explicit content on the cover. If you want a good example of how to code something as erotic without using explicit images, take a look at Katee Robert's covers. They tend to have a symbolic image framed in the middle surrounded by darkness with very vibrant colors--usually an electric purple, red or green.

In terms of content, in theory, as long as you are sticking to the TOS, you're fine. As for tagging, I sort of already answered this with how to tag via website links, but as for how to write blurbs, you're going to want to phrase it as something hintingly vague. For example: After an accident at work, Merissa finds herself plunged into an alternate fantasy dimension ruled over by the merfolk of Atlan'titsia. Captured, she is brought before the mysterious Prince SexyMonster, who claims her for himself. Bound and displayed as an oddity in his court, she is torn between her desire to return home and to learn more about this strange new place where desire rules supreme, and the rules are not at all what she expects... Or something to that effect. Don't ask me. I'm rubbish at blurbs, lmao.

Anyway, it's been a minute since I contended with Amazon's uploads, and some of this may have changed. If it has, I'd be curious to know what has changed. I hope some of that helps, though.

Also, before anyone starts ragging on Amazon for any of this, the TOS are pretty universal across the board. It's just more evident with Amazon because it's often the only place indies can afford to publish.

#long post #amazon publishing