#i feel like it's an even trade-off but now i have my own money and can do what i want when i want

[1eos]

what's with ppl acting like if you didn't pick up something as a child then you'll never learn as if you're locked in stasis once you're an adult? it kinda makes me sad bc you spend most of your life as an adult :/ the idea that most of your life you're just miserably unable to do anything new is just so.... bleak

#adulthood does suck but no more than childhood 😭😭😭😭 #like yeah i hate working but as a kid you spent so much time doing nothing waiting for your parents to finish #i feel like it's an even trade-off but now i have my own money and can do what i want when i want

[skzdarlings]

i do ; skz ; felix x reader

requested by anonymous: ' I would love if you could use these prompts...on Felix x fem reader:❛ i love that no one else has seen you like this, that no one else has felt you before, been inside you. they don't get to have you, but i do. ❜❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜I love possessive Felix, istg i would give amything to have him' plus two anonymous requests for: 'i'd say you need someone to put you in your place' for felix.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: look this request was for possessive!felix and so possessive!felix i delivered. he is a little weirdo in this tbh. but i think after all my anti-rich-guy stories, i have earned the right for one problematic possessive mafia boss who throws his money and his dick around hahaha. so yes, possessive!felix, virgin!reader, wedding night, arranged marriage, felix being a criminal boss, insta-love. reader's backstory involves a verbally abusive/neglectful family. explicit sexual content. word count: 4000 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy <3

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Your new husband is astoundingly pretty.   You expected a different face to be waiting at the end of the wedding aisle: harsh, old, scarred.  Maybe, if you let yourself fantasize, he would be handsome in a rugged way. 

You were not expecting Felix.  Slender, delicate Felix with his high cheekbones and freckles, his dark eyes and feather-soft blonde hair.  He smiled a dimpled smile as your father surrendered your hand. 

That surrender was a visual representation of a literal transaction.  You were a bartering tool to save your father’s business.  You knew an arranged marriage was inevitable when a few trades went sour and the company went bankrupt.  The family could only maintain relevancy and safety through a match to someone more powerful. 

Lee Felix is the heir to a very dirty criminal syndicate that blends in high society.  Everyone knows their money is blood-spattered, but they throw a good party and the jewels sparkle the same.

You knew his name long before the wedding.  Of course you knew his name.  But you did not know his face.  You expected a devil, not a vision of divinity, resplendent in white and gold. 

Your heart has not stopped racing since he first lifted your veil and kissed you with lips softer and gentler than your grandest fantasies. 

Now you are perched on a lavish bed in a beautiful penthouse suite.  The walls are windows, externally tinted but offering you a glorious view of the glittering cityscape at night.  You wonder how much of the city your new husband owns. 

Would that be an impertinent question?  It is not as though there is any real charade to play; this is not a love match and there is no sense pretending otherwise.  Enquiring after financial assets is arguably appropriate insofar as business goes. 

Then the door opens and your new husband enters.  All thoughts of business flitter into nothing, an insignificant detail next to your wedding night.  A night with this powerful and beautiful stranger.

“Are you nervous?” he asks in a voice so deep it keeps surprising you.  It suits his angelic appearance in a way, something so captivating about its low tones, effortlessly melodic.  But that melody is coloured darkly in its depth, scratching a shiver up your spine.  When he speaks, it feels like he is trailing his fingers up your back in a curious, searching touch. 

He looks at you with as much depth, dark eyes penetrating as he circles the bed.  He has been nothing but polite, but you can’t help but feel like prey being circled by a predator. 

Even more concerning, you can’t help but like it.  Since the moment he took your hand, his eyes have not left you.  It is almost overwhelming.  You have been invisible your whole life.  No one ever looked at you.  No one ever wanted you.  Your father scared off anyone who tried. 

Felix is not just anyone.  Anyone sensible would be scared of him.

You are also not just anyone. 

“No,” you answer.

“Really?”  He lifts a curious eyebrow. 

You are both in your wedding clothes, all white and gold.  Your veil is draped over a chair in the corner.  He puts his coat there too. 

He never looks away from you, rolling his shirtsleeves up his forearms as he approaches the bed.

“May I ask, why not?” he asks.  It’s a funny question, so polite but only posed because he knows his own reputation.  He knows what you must think of him.  The bloodshed, the ruthlessness, the merciless command he holds over his family’s legacy.  He might look unassuming, but he is not to be trifled with.  That gentle exterior could be unnerving to some people, even more than an outward brute. 

But you have dealt with those brutes your whole life.  An abusive father, cruel brother, an uncaring mother.  Hurt, neglected, ignored. 

Tonight, while you circled the reception to greet everyone, your father and brother pulled you aside.  Your mother had already berated you on the details of your appearance, but they were reprimanding you for every other misstep.

You almost burst into tears, tired and frightened.  You were so afraid you would never escape them.  Even at your wedding, on the cusp of a new life, they were dragging you around, kicking and screaming.

Then you felt a tap on your shoulder.  Bang Chan, one of Felix’s most trusted agents, stood there with a forced but cordial smile.  He looked at you and not your family. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.  “Your husband is asking for you.  Please, come with me.”

Your father sputtered indignantly, unaccustomed to such blatant disrespect for his authority.  Chan said nothing to him, simply offered you his arm.  He also opened his jacket to flash the gun in his chest holster.  Your family had their weapons stripped before entering the reception.  It was a subtle reminder of who was really in charge. 

So your father and brother were left sputtering helplessly as Chan escorted you across the room.  Felix was sitting with some of his men, smiling his bright smile and looking like any happy young groom. 

That sunny face faltered when he saw your morose expression.  His glance passed to your family, a flicker of anger in his gaze.  Then he smiled at you and held out a welcoming arm. 

“Come here,” he said.  “Sit with me a bit.  Please.” That deep voice.  You felt it like a touch inside you. He had recited the scripted vows earlier.  This invitation was his first real address. 

You nodded.  Your legs were shaky from the confrontation, never mind the wobble from your heels.  Your feet hurt.  Sitting would be a relief if nothing else. 

There was an empty seat behind Felix.  It was the type of seat you were usually given: at the back where you could be forgotten. 

Once you were within reach, Felix grabbed you around the waist.  Your breath caught as you stumbled towards him.  He caught you and held you.  Then you were sitting in his lap, your dress draped everywhere, a glittering ivory prize perched safe and pretty on his knee.  He wrapped a possessive arm around your middle. 

It was more than a power play.  It was one thing to put you on his lap and show your family that he owned you now, but it was another for him to frown as he touched the painfully tight pearl belt around your waist. 

“Why is this so tight?” he asked, looking at you with concern.     

“I’m sorry,” you said automatically, in the habit of grovelling whenever someone took a disappointed tone.  “My mother,” you spoke softly, not wanting the rest of the table to hear. 

He leaned closer to you, offering you his ear directly.  A whisper was all you managed, unaccustomed to such attention.

“They’re real pearls,” you whispered.  “Very expensive.  Very fine.  Too fine for me.  My mother had the belt made small so I would remember to act worthy of them.  Sit straight.  Not over-eat.  You know.”

He frowned, his brow furrowing.  Instinct compelled you to soothe that displeasure, laughing like you were not upset.

“It’s all right,” you said.  “She’s right.  They are very fine pearls.”

“It’s not all right,” Felix said.  He looked at you, held your gaze in his own.  You found yourself counting his freckles.  “Do you like it?” he asked. 

Maybe it was his display of power.  Maybe it was his arm around you.  Maybe it was the freckles.  He looked so sweet, so sincere.  You could not bring yourself to lie.  Though you had defended your cruel family all your life, the truth fell from your lips in a rough exhale. 

“No.”  You felt tears in your eyes.  “I know it’s expensive.  I know it’s beautiful.  But I’ve never hated anything more.” 

He held your gaze, your watery eyes in the dark depths of his own.

Then he grabbed the belt by a thin material strand and yanked.  A couple pearls popped right off and scattered.  The rest dangled on the belt, an absurd amount of wealth in his hand. 

Felix tossed it over his shoulder like it was garbage. Then he wrapped his arm around your waist and held you against him. 

You chanced a look at your family.  They were scandalized.  Horrified.  And you breathed easier for the first time in a long time. You have long suffered the oppressive strangle of control masquerading as love.  His protective arm felt nothing like that pearl belt.

So you look at him now.  You strive to articulate all these feelings.  You are not used to speaking and having someone listen. 

“I can’t explain it,” you say.  “Maybe it’s foolish.  But I… I just feel like I was meant to be here.  With you.  Like this.”

Your heart jumps at his expression, a luminous pleasure that brightens this dimly lit room. 

“That’s funny,” he says.  “I feel the same way.”

You swallow as he sits beside you.  Slowly, touch by touch, breath by breath, he is bringing your bodies together.  His knee touches yours, his arm your arm.  He folds his hands in his lap but he is close enough you can count his freckles again. 

“I need to be honest with you,” he says.  “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.  A year ago.  At the winter masquerade.”

You look at him with surprise.  All at once, his eyes come back to you, gazing at you behind a golden bird mask at the annual winter social.  You couldn’t place the handsome stranger at the time.  His hair was dark then, his face in a mask.  He did not speak.  His distinctive voice would have given him away. 

He danced one dance with you, the only person who danced with you all night.  You were later reprimanded for behaving like a slut, even though he touched your waist and nothing more.

“You were very kind,” he says.  “I watched you with the staff.  You were the only one in that whole room to say please and thank you to them – did you know that?”  He sighs and looks away, thoughts travelling beyond this room.  “I came from nothing,” he says.  “My family… we fought to get where we are now.  But I remember, you know.  What it feels like to be the smallest and least important person in the room.”

You sit straighter when he looks at you.  Oh, your heart has not slowed its thunder.  Excitement and affection swirl together in a motley tempest of sensation, touched by his words and yearning for more.  You thought you had been sold to an uncaring bidder, but Felix touches you slowly, like he would a very fine work of art.  His knuckles caress your cheek, the slope of your jaw. 

“I thought…” He looks at you reverently.  “I thought… I would do anything to preserve that goodness.  I would protect it.  Like your family wasn’t.”  His brow furrows now, a shadow of his face.  “They would have ruined you.” 

His hand continues, knuckles skimming down your throat, your shoulder, your arm.  You shiver.   He has a terrible scar, scoring the whole back of his hand.  A stark difference to your unblemished hand, your manicured nails against his calloused fingers. 

He says, “I know what it’s like to be ruined.”

You look from your hands to his face, his handsome profile, the slope of his nose and his soft lips.  He is still looking at your joined hands. 

“I wasn’t always like this,” he says.  “I’d give anything to have my innocence back.  But I can’t.”

He lifts your hand, cradles it between both of his like something precious.  Your breath catches when he kisses your palm, lips soft against your skin.  

“So I told myself, I would do anything to save yours,” he says.  He looks almost… afraid.  An expression you never expected to see on this man.   “So I destroyed your father’s business,” he says.  “It was all me.  I knew he would never give you to a man like me unless he had no choice.  He would have given you away to one of his friends and they would have broken you.  But you were already mine.  So I left him no choice but to see things my way.” 

“Oh,” you say, surprised beyond all words. 

“I wanted you to know before anything… happens… between us,” he says.  “But I understand if your feeling are complicated.  Or if you… fear me.”

Your father has often boasted how many men fear him.  It does not sound like a boast from Felix, rather something lamentable.  His face is shadowed in shame. 

“My feelings are not complicated,” you say.  He is still holding your hand in both of his.  You lay your other hand there, a complete joining. 

He meets your gaze, an intense and imploring stare.

“I’m not my father’s daughter anymore,” you say.  “I’m my husband’s wife.  My loyalty is to you.  My place is with you.”

“Yes,” he says, spoken on a breath.  His smile returns.  “Your place.  I’d say you need someone to put you in your place.  Your rightful place.” 

He springs off the bed like there is lightning under his feet.  He is all smiles and sunlight again, a beacon in the blue dark of this room.  You cannot help but bask in his warmth, bereft in the chill when he leaves your side. 

He takes something from his discarded coat pocket, a case swathed in velvet, soft to the touch.  You hold it, admiring the texture.

He kneels behind you on the bed while you open it.   Inside is the most breathtaking necklace you have ever seen in your life.  When you lift it, the chain is long, designed to sit low, loose around your neck.  No more chokers.  No more pearls. 

“Oh, Felix,” you say, breathless and amazed, then very embarrassed.  You are not used to such lovely gifts.  Even the pearls were a punishment.  “I can’t accept this…” you say, stunned.

“You can,” he says. 

He takes the clasp then strings the necklace around you.  His fingers on the nape of your neck have you shivering.  The necklace clasps in place, then his lips are on your neck, a chaste press that nonetheless lights fire under your skin.  “It was made for you,” he says.  “Like you were made for me.” 

He takes the zipper of your gown between two careful fingers, so slowly lowering it.  It feels like you are unravelling with it.  The zipper reaches the base of your spine and his fingertips dance across your bare skin. 

He steps off the bed.  He looks down at you, his eyes intense but his smile soft.  He touches your cheek, strokes his thumb across it lovingly. 

Then he is sinking to his knees in front of you.  You already feel weak as jelly, but your whole body goes soft and pliant when he gently grasps your ankle, when he slides your painful shoe off your foot and tosses it aside.  He somehow finds every sore spot and rubs it better. 

“This is how it works,” he says.  He is on his knees but somehow his presence looms bigger than you.  You cannot look away from the thrall of his gaze.  “You are my wife.  And when we are out there, I am your servant.”  He takes your other foot and removes that shoe as well.  He massages you gently.  “I will never deny you anything,” he says.  “You can ask me for anything. All right?  I will give you the whole world.  I will give you my whole heart.  In return, I only want one thing.”

“What’s that?” you ask, already breathless.

“I am your husband,” he says, “and in here, you are my servant.  Only I can touch you.  Only I will have you.  All of you.  In every way.  Always, starting from today.  Starting from right now.”    

“Yes.  Yes.  But I – I’ve never done this before,” you say, aching to surrender but fearful he will regret this.  Though you are knowledgeable, you are lacking in experience from years of isolation.  “I’ve been alone for so long,” you say.  “I don’t want to disappoint you.” 

“You don’t,” he says.  He lifts your leg, swoops down to kiss your calf, then higher: your knee, your thigh.  “You could never,” he says, guiding your leg to rest on his shoulder.  He gathers the volume of your wedding dress in his hands and pushes it up, up. 

You almost forget to breathe.  He kisses higher on your thigh.  Then he grabs the thin material of your white tights and rips them open.

“You’re mine,” he says.  “You’ve always been mine.” 

You fall back on your elbows, limbs already quivering as he tears through your underclothes as if impatiently ripping open a prettily wrapped gift.   With your expensive lace panties shredded and your tights in tatters, he pushes your skirts up and out of his way.  You hold them while he kisses up your thigh.  He runs his tongue along the seam between your thigh and somewhere much more sensitive. 

“No one else has done this to you?” he asks.  He already looks flushed.  Desperate.      

“No,” you answer.  You swallow hard.  “Never.”  You know some men do not enjoy providing this type of pleasure to their wives, so you are about to tell him that you have no expectations in that regard—

But then he is on you like a starving man, eyes closed and mouth open and licking through all that wet desire.  You fall on your back, pressing your heel into his back.  He groans, pressing deeper, tongue seeking, swiping, stroking. 

He grips your thighs possessively, holding you in place as he ravages you with his mouth.  He takes you up and over a blissful crest.  It leaves you a drenched and panting mess. 

He stands, wiping his arm across his wet mouth.  He does not look satisfied, eyes still hungry as he climbs on top of you. 

“My wife,” he says, like the word is sacred and impossible, like he thought a man like him could never say it.  “All mine,” he says, running his hands up your thighs, up your waist, touching every inch of you until he is cradling your face delicately in his careful but calloused hands.   

It makes your whole body clench up tightly, your breath stuttering as he kisses you.  You melt into the kiss, so different from the chaste peck of your ceremony.  It is a claiming kiss, the taste of you still on his lips, his moan in your mouth, his chest against yours as those sounds of pleasure rumble through him. 

He tugs down your bodice, then he is ripping through your underclothes again.   When your bodice is around your waist and your chest is bare except for his necklace, you find yourself covering your breasts instinctively.  He takes your hands, not forcefully but firmly, holding your gaze.  His mouth is already so pink and raw from kissing.  You wonder if you look as ravished.  Maybe more.  It makes you whimper, surrendering when he pins your hands on either side of your head. 

“This is mine,” he says, kissing your jaw, your throat, then lower.  “All mine, sweetheart.”

He wraps his lips around a pointed nipple and you feel the reaction between your legs, as if connected by a thread.  Your legs try to close around his hips but he presses down.  The crumpled skirt of your dress is between you, but he feels your thighs clenching, feels you desperately bucking. 

Even his chuckle is a deep sound.  He smiles at you, batting his eyelashes as he licks the curve of your breast.  Your whole body twitches again. 

“Mm,” he says.  “You feel that?  You getting all tight… and hot… just for me…”

“Felix,” you say, you beg.

He sits back on his heels to get your wedding dress off.  It is a flurry of ivory and silk, earning some laughter, then it is gone and your husband is staring down at you.   Again, you feel like prey, like a meal spread out helplessly for some predatory creature.  Again, you like it. 

He is just as impatient with his own clothes.  He does not look away from you while tearing his shirt open.  Buttons fly, forgotten, and he rips the material down his arms and off.  His belt is next, leather whistling through the air then joining the heap on the floor.  He grabs your hand and guides it to the hard shape in his white pants, groaning deep in his chest as your palm curves around it. 

You are so captivated him, by the way he feels, by the sounds he makes, that you are surprised when he touches you too.  Your legs part instinctively, then your thighs twitch to close when you are embarrassed by your eagerness. 

“Don’t be shy,” he says.  “Not with me.” His fingers feel divine inside you, gliding as if through silk, pressing at your walls and making you whimper.  “Yeah, my baby.  So nice… ‘n wet… for me…” he murmurs, more to himself than you. It still makes you clench, like your body wants him deeper, pulling tight around him.   “God.  Perfect.” 

“Aren’t we g-gonna—”  Your eyes drop to his waistband, then up to his eyes again. 

He smiles, laughs, and withdraws his fingers slowly. 

“Oh yeah, sweetheart,” he says, unbuttoning his pants.  “We are.  Be patient.  You’re gonna enjoy this.  Gonna remember this night forever.”  He leans down so his body is over yours.  He kisses you, presses you into the pillows.  When he pulls back, he traces a finger along the necklace, smiling brightly. “The first time I made you mine,” he says, speaking low and soft against your lips.   “I’m going to do everything with you,” he says.  “And you’re gonna want it.  All of it and more.” 

He has you begging for more already.  When he finally is pushing inside you, after so much torturous build-up, you are a breathless, sweaty tangle of limbs.  It feels like he is pinning you to the mattress, taking you so deep and so hard, like your whole body is changing to fit him.   There is a long, slow burn, but you are so wet and he is so careful; it is an ache that gives way to pleasure. 

His arms are around you, holding him above you, making you feel so completely shielded and enveloped.  He starts a slow pace that turns more frantic.  Your hands move all over his chest and shoulders to find a grip. 

“I love that no one else has seen you like this,” he says, grabbing your searching hand.  He brings it to his mouth, kisses your palm, your fingers.  He puts your hand on his shoulder, then he slides his hand under your head to cup your neck, holding you steady while he rolls his hips into yours.  “That no one else has felt you before,” he says.  “Been inside you. They don't get to have you, but I do.“

“Yes,” you say.  “Always.  My husband.” 

“Mm.”  He drops his forehead to yours.  “My wife.” 

You come again but it feels different, starting deep inside you and rolling outward, a full-body spasm that has you crying out his name.  He comes too, holding you against him, his lips on your neck as he says your name. 

Then he kisses you.  Then he lays you down.  He wraps you in his arms and squeezes. 

“Sleep for now,” he says.  “It’s been a long day.  And I want you again.”

“You have me,” you say, nestling in his arms, your head under his chin. 

“Yes,” he says with a smile.  He looks so sweet even while his wicked hands hold your body in a strong, possessive grip.  “I do.”      

#lee felix x reader #felix x reader #lee felix smut #felix smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix x you #felix x you #valentinesdaystories

[embrosegraves]

𝔸 ℕ𝕖𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖

Max Verstappen x Reader  Max just wants to show his love for you 

A pre-graduation gift!

Part 1 of a very fluffy 2 part Fic. I've decided to put all of my Sugar Daddy fics (because there will be more) into their own universe. I dub thee, The Sugar -verse!

Max was a man of his word. This meant that if he said he was going to do something, he would do it. Even if he said he would leave you alone to study. Of course he would pout a bit but he would leave you to do your thing. Most of all it meant that he absolutely would NOT change his mind after he utters the words “I’m going to…” when it came to spoiling you. 

In order to avoid the wrath he was sure to incur from you, he would often say it under his breath or he would think them so as to avoid you hearing them. Because Lord knows what you would make him promise  if you heard the things he was to purchase for you. In his opinion the laptop was nowhere near expensive enough. It made you happy though so he didn’t complain. Too much. 

Now however, Max didn’t see the problem in spending as much as he could on you. You were graduating with your degree after years and years of hard work. You deserved to be given whatever it was you wanted to have. And despite what you said, Max was very aware of his spending habits. Which is why when there was only a month until your graduation, he bought extra cabinets and shoe racks for him to build. 

Closer and closer the date crept up until it was the day before you graduated. Max had made sure that when you came home in the evening, there was a hot bath ready for you to soak in, a glass of your favourite wine and a plate of your favourite dinner meal ready on the bath tray. He was prepared to dote on you for however long you let him. Before you went to bed that night, Max decided that it wouldn’t hurt to give you at least one gift now. 

“Schat, I have something to give you.” 

You turned around in his arms so you could look at him properly. Times like this, when you would just be surrounded by him in comfort, were always your favourite thing. You would probably trade all the money in the world if it meant you could keep Max for yourself. Max wouldn’t make the same trade because that would mean that he couldn’t spend anything on you like he thought you deserved. 

“I’ve already been given so much tonight, My Love.” 

Max frowned a little when you spoke. He hadn’t given you anything yet. What did you mean you had been given so much? Seeing Max’s confusion you elaborated a little. 

“I’ve been given an entire evening to spend around you. I’ve been given all my favourite things and now I get to just lay here with you, which I think is the greatest gift of them all.” 

Max was thankful that most of the lights had been turned off. He could feel his face heating up. He buried his face between your neck and shoulder, giving you a light kiss. 

“I want to give you something you can wear tomorrow.” 

“Max.” Your voice was stern. 

“It’s something small, don’t worry.” 

“Just because it’s small doesn’t mean it wasn’t expensive, Max. What did you buy?” 

“A necklace.” Came Max’s muffled reply. He had been placing soft kisses to your skin the whole time. 

You closed your eyes to enjoy the feeling before you gently grabbed his face and moved it to look at you. Protests of “I wasn’t finished kissing” fell through Max’s mouth as you did. 

“Can you justify it?” You asked. Max looked like a pouting child, but he nodded. 

“I bought it because you’re graduating tomorrow and it’s a simple one so you can wear it every day and not just at fancy places.” It was a simple justification, but dammit he was right. You playfully scoffed but allowed him to get the necklace so he could give it to you. You felt an indescribable amount of love when you saw him get up with a big grin on his face. 

When he gave you the box for it, he sat in front of you like a kid waiting to show their parents a drawing they were proud of. Opening the box, you gasped and covered your mouth. The necklace was beautiful. A dainty gold chain with Max’s initial and your birthstone. 

“Max, this is beautiful.” Your voice was barely a whisper. You could hardly speak. It was simple, like he had said, but it was easily one of the most gorgeous things you had. 

“Will you wear it tomorrow?” Max seemed almost nervous as he asked you to wear his initial around your neck. 

In response you flung your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, tears welling up in your eyes. His arms circled around your waist in reflex to keep you steady. 

“I’m never taking it off.” You breathed near his ear. A few moments later you detached yourself and held the necklace towards him. 

“Put it on for me?”

Neither of your smiles left your faces, even as you eventually succumbed to sleep.

The necklace looks similar to these necklaces I saw on facebook lmao

#f1 fluff #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen #formula one #sugar daddy max verstappen #sugar baby reader #Welcome to the Sugarverse #written and loosely edited and then posted in one sitting

[sethvzekiel]

what could have been | 141 x cold!reader

a passing admission proceeds to completely take over his mind

141 x cold! reader. callsign azrael. gn! reader. mild angst + pining. multiple POV, no established relationship. flashback central, marked in red + italics.

part 1/same AU as this

Long hc/short fic. 3.6k words.

It was banter — really, just mindless chatter to fill the silence on the way back home. Something to wear off the adrenaline from the previous battle. It spilled from lips like loose threads, mindless ramblings about past experiences and feelings and army stories.

Stories like “LT, what do ye mean I wasn’t first place? That was a solid run I just did, solid!” and “When you were our age, Captain, they didn’t have telly,” between snickers and friendly insults.

You were the contractor, not one of them: a position you were keen on protecting as you kept to the far corner of the army plane, typing up your own report for Laswell. The chatter droned on in the back of your mind as you spared only the barest sliver of attention for emergencies. It was only when someone mentioned your name that you looked up from your laptop.

Gaz tilted his head at you, a spark of mischief in his eyes. He’d been getting bold lately, fully confident that he was your favorite comrade. Gaz did always have a sharp tongue, even for Price.

“Have you ever been in love?”

You scoffed, fully ready to get back to your report.

“What are we, schoolgirls at a sleepover? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Someone closed your laptop. Soap.

“No, no, answer his question!”

“Scotsman. Get your hand off something that’s five times your salary, or I’ll remove it myself.”

You were only half kidding; the laptop was six times his salary. Merc money was a lovely thing.

Soap quickly retreated, muttering something about being on the wrong career path and “five times my fuckin’ salary, get off yer arse,” but nudged you nevertheless.

It felt as if the conversation was finally going to move on when another spoke.

“Answer the question, Azrael.”

This was a joke. You didn’t hide your disdain as you glared at Price.

“Really, Captain?”

Price took a long drag of his cigar.

“Answer it and I’ll tell Kate you’re on good behavior. She’ll be over the moon to hear you’re getting some social interaction.”

Unfortunately, he wasn’t lying. Laswell did not hide her hopes of getting you true comrades, not just contracted acquaintances, when she introduced you to the 141 — a hope you’d gone out of your way to quash for a long time. If a false reassurance from Price would get her mind off that ridiculous idea and focus on getting you more kill contracts…

Well, not a bad trade-off for pretending to be friends for one plane ride.

You let out a sigh from deep within your soul, opened your laptop again, and pulled up the report. Almost mindlessly, you spoke whatever came to your mind at that very moment, not knowing how badly it would change the 141.

“Sure.”

God, you could feel the whole plane lean in with anticipation.

“Never had the time to fall in love, but…” 

You mentally shrugged. This was fine to admit, right?

“... I was briefly interested in one of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

You popped on your headphones, leaving the boys to dwell with that answer.

The plane couldn’t have gone any faster.

◈ GAZ

Interested? Like, interested-interested?

There was no getting you out of those headphones—he’d tried before, didn’t end well. The entire task force was stunned silent for a minute, each one picking apart your casual admission and grappling with the idea of Oh God, is it me?

It was Soap who broke first, exploding into a shocked yell that boomed throughout the tiny plane. That shook Gaz out of his stunned silence, but he still blinked rapidly as he tried to comprehend what you’d just said.

Interested. In one of them.

There was a one in four chance that it was him. Five, if Laswell counted, but he was certain that you saw her more as a mentor and confidant than a romantic prospect. Besides, she wasn’t even in the plane. It was between him, Soap, LT, and the Captain, and this was a battle royale he was keen on winning.

Gaz wasn’t blind. He was the first to notice the changing opinions of his teammates on you. Bearing the combined advantage of brains and emotional awareness, things the 141 usually lacked one or the other of, he picked up on Price’s constant attention towards you that increasingly felt less like a professional checkup. He knew about Ghost’s rivalry with you that brought a tinge of tenderness to his gruff exterior as he complimented your skill. And who could miss Soap locking onto you like a missile from day one?

But it had to be him, right? He was the only one you spoke to of your own accord, the one whose name you called when arranging for shared night shifts. The one who’s actually been to your room (he happily ignored the fact that he was just there to fetch a report for Laswell). The one who, at a drunken night out where you’d actually gotten tipsy for once, you’d stuck to like glue, no matter how rowdy the pub got.

Gaz was your first defender in the 141. When even Price was wary of your cold nature and mercenary background, Gaz was always up at arms, ready to express the simple truth that you were just a professional, and Price could look at Ghost for an example, couldn’t he? Always jumping the gun, fighting back even Soap’s teases at your expense simply because you weren’t present to defend your attitude and the unfairness of their assumptions felt real to Gaz. They didn’t see the you he saw. They just had to.

You were soft around him. Safe. And Gaz felt the same way, too. As much as you’d listen to his ramblings of whatever’s going on in his life, he looked forward to your own stories, hanging off of every rough-toned word as you shared your wisdom from past fights and your assessment of his skills, which he’d known was your way of caring for him. Making sure that he’d live long to fight good.

“In another world,” he’d said one night as you watched the last hours of your watch tick away. “Would you be back on the field again? If you had a choice to walk away from all this, live a normal life?”

Back then, your moonlit expression was intense, but sorrowful as you considered your answer. Gaz thought that you were only being sincere in answering him when you’d gazed deep into his eyes, but now, he couldn’t help but wonder if you meant something else when you replied:

“I don’t know. Where would you be?”

“Dunno either. Always wanted to protect people. Make some real change. Don’t think I’d handle being an artist or bloody stockbroker all my life.”

He was so fucking stupid. Why didn’t he actually listen to what you’d said when he was too busy imagining living some alternate life, when you were right in front of him and so close?

You smelled nice.

“Then I’ll follow you back to the fight, Kyle.”

“Aw mate, I’ll look forward to it, yeah?”

The memory, the regrets, and the what-could’ve-been’s swirled in Gaz’s mind and stung at his eyes.

He wanted to look at you again, but he wasn’t going to risk anyone seeing his face right now with how he’s feeling.

He was a bloody moron, and he lost his chance.

◈ SOAP

“Yer taking the piss!”

Laughter was always Johnny’s first response. Little Johnny-boy giggling nervously as his mother demanded to know where he’d been after playing outside until dark. Freshly-recruited MacTavish snickering as he far surpassed the other recruits in exercises, again, to their dismay. Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish cackling with delight and adrenaline as he fired off the C4, lighting up the battlefield with plumes of orange fire.

Laughter was also a defense mechanism: difficult personalities, hard questions, bad days. Heal it or shrug it off, Soap was never one to make things more complicated than they should be.

This laughter… he wasn’t sure if it was one of joy or nerves.

You were interested. Were, he tried to remind himself, but his mind kept on latching onto the ‘interested’ part. One of them—which could’ve been him. 

He was delusional now, flailing around and being the jokester when it was all just an act to hide his inner turmoil. Fuck, did you know that he had it bad for you? It was his fault for not bothering to hide it and trailing after you, but he thought that you already shrugged it off as a joke. Did… did you take him seriously, after all?

Or worse, what if it wasn’t him? 

His glance went to Gaz, remembering how he’d fallen asleep on the truck that one time and accidentally leaned on your shoulder, how you stiffened, then slowly settled down, even adjusting your shoulder for the entire two-hour drive. How, no matter the situation or your mood, you always called upon Gaz with a decidedly softer tone than the one you used on him.

Surely, he wasn’t that attached to you. You were comrades, a passing fancy wouldn’t hurt anything.

He’d never seen LT smile, ever. Part of it’s the mask, but it was clear in his voice and the lack of crinkling around his eyes that smiling wasn’t his thing. But then Ghost and you had that sniper competition, dragged Soap in to referee, and when you hit dead-center for all moving targets, Soap wrenched his gaze away to catch a shine of something in Ghost’s eyes as he watched you.

Friends and professionals. That was all you were, right?

“Good health makes good men, MacTavish,” you said sharply as he sat up on his bed. Soap was forced into the medbay after a particularly grueling op. Long, sleepless nights, absolute hellfire, and blood loss all culminated in him passing out from shock mid-battle. His memories of the exact moment he collapsed were hazy, but he knew that he heard someone call his name in a choked scream.

Was it Gaz who screamed then? He was always the worrywart. Soap scratched his head, wincing as pain flared up his side at the simple motion. He shot you a shining, albeit weak, grin.

“Don’t lose yer head over me, was just the one time.”

Your glare narrowed.

“One time is all it takes, soldier.” 

Fuck, you were calling him ‘soldier’ now? You were pissed. Soap raised his hands in surrender.

“I give, I give. I’ll take my meds a day and all that shite. No trouble from me.”

For a moment, he was expecting more scolding, admonishments of his recklessness or a possible lack of skill. A “stop dragging the rest of us down with you,” considering your pride in your own battle prowess. But he got no such thing.

You sighed, looking a thousand nights older as you did, and he caught the marks of sleepless nights under your eyes. The roughness of your hands as you held his good shoulder. The miniscule caress of your thumb that he assumed (back then) was purely accidental.

“Make good on that, Johnny,” you whispered, gaze drifting off elsewhere. “You have to.”

Your voice was hoarse—why? When you left and the medic had taken your place, refreshing Soap’s bandages, he asked about how long he was out.

“Three days, sergeant,” the medic replied. “And your scary friend insisted on staying here for all of it. Tended to you like one of our own staff.”

“Psh, LT? Knew he was soft.”

“No, no, not the lieutenant. Your PMC friend.”

Without even thinking about it, Johnny laughed.

◈ GHOST

He definitely wasn’t paying attention to the mindless gossip, and anyone who’d say otherwise will have months of latrine duty awaiting them. Gaz calling your name piqued his attention, but only barely, and brought a tickle of amusement when he asked you such a ridiculous question.

He was much less amused at your answer.

It was sarcastic, he tried to reason. Spouting off bullshit to keep the boys off your trail and get back to work as soon as possible. That’s what you’re always like, and that’s what he liked about you.

He also liked your shots. The pride you took in your expertise. The devotion to your warcraft. How you always took his challenges as if your name was on the line. How you’d smirk if you won, or promise comeuppance if you lost.

He liked your loyalty to Laswell — and envied it. You obeyed him and Price, yes, but he would never forget the brief gleam of admiration when the boys asked you about Laswell over lunch. He liked and envied your closeness with Gaz: a sign that you might be a true ally of the 141 after all, but a closeness that he wondered if you could extend to anyone else. He respected your ferocious protectiveness of Soap when he’d (stupidly) collapsed mid-battle, but watching you tend to Soap for nights on end wrenched something awful from within his chest.

You were a shade more casual with Price. According to the captain, you had some snark to you when not in work mode: a privilege Price had gotten purely because you were both friends of Laswell. You bonded with Price like you were fellow leaders, people down similar paths instead of mere colleagues, and when planning missions, you and Price made up a tactical machine to be reckoned with.

It was whenever he’d deliver late night reports to Price’s office, that he’d listen before knocking on the door. Muffled conversation—most of it Price’s, but every so often, there was a quick chuckle that wasn’t his, or a quiet snark followed by Price’s gravelly laughter. The office would be thick with cigar smoke when Ghost was allowed in, but what was harder to swallow was the cigar hanging from your lips that you’d returned to Price, and he’d popped it between his teeth without question.

Ghost was in deep. He’d never admit it to anyone, not even to himself, but he was. That chilling, anxiety-inducing truth nudged at the back of his head as he silently watched Soap cackle and holler throughout the plane while you intentionally ignored them, eyes trained on your report like your life depended on it.

You and the laptop. A familiar sight when he’d pass by the rec room on late nights, where you’d be tapping away at the laptop with stacks of coffee cups and energy bars littered across the table.

“Bloody hell, that can’t wait until tomorrow?” He’d asked, exasperated, by the fifth night.

You took a moment more to work before responding.

“The mob won’t wait for tomorrow. This mission needs to go down tonight.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

He didn’t know why he stayed there with you, sharing the couch as he made tea for two and set a cup beside you without a word. He could have actually tucked in for the night, gotten some well-deserved sleep lest he be grouchier than ever for the next day’s training drills. Or popped open a book if he felt like it. Anything more productive than sit beside you all night as you silently blazed through reports and phone calls, arranging operations that he had no business in caring about.

You were exhausted, but you were determined and alert as you ferried reports on the trafficking ring takedown. The calm, effortless strength in your voice as you spoke—sometimes strongly—with operatives much higher up the chain than you, because you knew what you were doing and were going to see this op to the end. A flicker of silent gratitude as Ghost refilled your tea again and tidied up your makeshift workspace.

A call by the first sliver of sunrise made you sag into the couch with relief.

“Mission accomplished?” Ghost asked.

You slid your tired gaze to him, and this close to you, he caught your tiny, sleepy grin.

“G’job, LT,” you murmured, voice thick with lethargy. “Mmh… needta phone Kate…”

“I’ll do it.”

“Not your op.”

“Don’t think Laswell’d understand a word of what you’re saying right now. C’mon, let’s get you some rest.”

He beckoned for you to stand up, only to hear a soft, muffled snore. You… were sleeping, knocked-out dead, with a hint of your grin remaining, probably dreaming about a job well done. Disheveled, snoring, and surrounded in loose notes and coffee stains, you were far from the cold professional that you normally made yourself to be.

The rec room was no place for sleeping. Soap would be here any minute, booming and hollering as him and Gaz would raid the fridge, again. You needed to be anywhere else.

And if Ghost was going to carry you in his arms all the way back to your room and go through the trouble of arranging for your sudden day-off, then he was going to do it silently, and pretend it never happened when you approached him the next day.

◈ PRICE

That… was a surprise.

While Price was the most privy to your story as your commanding officer and, more importantly, Laswell’s friend, much of your life was still a mystery to him. Laswell only gave him a few pointers: “They’ve had a long life, John,” and “Trust is a double-edged sword for them.”

He could guess when you entered Laswell’s life. It was some years ago, when she was busier than ever, to the point that he’d considered staging an intervention alongside her wife when Laswell refused with fire in her eyes. She was fighting for something, he could tell, but he didn’t know what exactly until she told him about you.

Somewhere in the gaps between what little he knew about you, Price hoped you had some normalcy to your life. Enough memories on hand to look back fondly upon, to carry you through the darker days. Yet he had a feeling that you had little of such memories to yourself. Perhaps, that was why he decided to share with you some of his own.

Foolishness in his youth. Summers from his wilder days. Dreams he’d had and lost, but never mourned—the kinds of men he’d wanted to become before making peace with himself. You understood, somehow: you were an old soul, no matter your age, a wealth of experiences and wisdom in you with just as many unanswered questions.

You can be safe with me, his soul all but screamed in your nightly chats. The doubt and fear and sorrow layered on your shoulders like dust was easy for him to see when he could feel the same thing. You weren’t delicate, not by a long shot. You were one of the strongest people he knew, but there was nothing Price could do to stifle the yearning in his chest to hold you, let you rest in his shadow and believe for once that everything was going to be alright.

“Do you have any interest in living long, sir?” You muttered as Price brought out his first cigar of the night. He wouldn’t be smoking this early in the night, but he had to deal with higher-ups and red tape all day just for some damn clearance. You were the only person he’d actually looked forward to speaking with that day.

“Smoking won’t kill me, Azrael—” You scoffed, then. “—it’s the bloody Pentagon that will.”

“And the UN. And the UK.”

“If the boys don’t get to me first. Where’s my lighter?”

“Here you go.” You didn’t have his lighter, but you had your own up and ready.

“Picked up the habit, did you?”

“No. You’ve lost your lighter enough times that I bought one myself.”

He offered you a gruff thanks and sank into his chair, watching the smoke swirl up to the amber light. You leaned back on his desk, your body barely brushing his—something that he was used to by then that he was second-guessing now.

It was beautiful and terrible, how close his hand was to yours.

Stupid stories made you laugh, but not foolish ones. Your concern for the boys was evident even in simple retellings of the past; a fact that burned in his heart when he noticed. So he told you about how Gaz tried to fix a leaky shower only to explode the entire camp’s plumbing system, he clung to your brief chuckle like a lifeline. The mirth lighting up your face was going to be his second addiction.

“Want to try, soldier?” He asked as he held out his cigar, not for the first time.

“Just this once. If it’s ass, you’re not getting another light out of me.”

He was going to offer you a new one, but you’d taken the one he’d been smoking and casually placed it between your lips, as if the very sight hadn’t made the blood roar in Price’s ears. You frowned at the taste—he laughed, ignored the flush of heat across his body.

A knock on the door: Simon, turning in his papers. He froze when he saw you and Price, and though obscured by his mask, Price knew the lieutenant well enough to recognize the hesitation in his steps.

Why did he do it?—Price wondered now as he recalled that night, how you’d returned the cigar and he, without thinking, popped it right back to his mouth in front of Simon. And why did he feel proud?

But Price had to hold himself in check. As captain, he had boundaries that he mustn’t cross. The team’s well-being was his top priority, that was always the truth of it, and as he watched the boys dwell in the fallout of your shocking admission, he had no place in making this rivalry worse, no matter how he felt about you.

#cod x reader #task force 141 x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader

[keeksandgigz]

lavender syrup (part one of lessons in alchemy)

barista!eddie munson x fem!barista!reader AU

summary: Eddie is the owner of the most popular cafe in his small town, "The Mad Alchemist," you are the owner of the rival cafe "Daily Drug". You obviously hate each other, but when a pipe bursts into your cafe that might take months to repair, your contractor assigns you and your coworkers to work with Eddie in order to keep your job, just until "Daily Drug" is ready to run again. Is tolerating him really that big of a feat?

cw: 4k words, swearing, modern setting, allusions to smut but nothing explicit (yet), Eddie calls reader a bitch a couple times and he's such a condescending asshole but in a hot way, i feel like the sexual tension needs its own tw, Steve is also in this &lt;3

a/n: pls like and reblog and feedback is always so very much appreciated!! my requests are always open if u wanna chat &lt;3

divider by @benkeibear

Eddie Munson wasn’t the type to want much from life. He was content in his little town, managing the coffee shop that kept it alive. From the early morning crew of truckers, farmers, nurses and cops to the 9 am rushes of the corporate job workers from one town over to the yoga moms, the high schoolers after the ring of the last bell. Eddie Munson did not have any big plans for his life. The little coffee shop made him enough money that he was able to take care of his uncle, now retired, and live by himself in a small apartment with his roommate, Steve. 

He got an associate’s degree in business, and after that he opened “The Mad Alchemist Cafe,” a DnD themed rustic coffee shop filled with beakers, lights and plants. The exposed brick the “interior designer” (it really was just a friend who had a good eye) begged him to paint over was instead littered with posters of announcements. He would host poetry slams, band performances, most importantly DnD campaigns he'd have to close down the cafe for in the evenings. For a few years he had also been hosting Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners for those who didn’t have a family to go home to for the holidays. 

He hired his roommate and closest friend, Steve to be the baker. Straight out of cooking school, Steve Harrington took care of the sweet and savory. The thousand- layer croissants that would melt once slightly placed on the tip of the tongue. Airy, buttery pastry that made Eddie's customers sigh with every bite, as they lingered on the wooden bar, conversing with the baristas. The lunch hour crew, asking for meatball sandwiches and messy pasta bowls. He’d make turkeys for the dinners at the cafe, during the holiday season, along with insurmountable potato dishes and stuffing. 

Eddie's life was littered with small sprinkles of joy. Everyone knew him as the kid from the cafe, with his long hair, sticking out of the messy bun he would wear to work. It started off as a joke in middle school, when Eddie's hair was buzzed due to a lice epidemic. Steve had miserably beat him at the arcade. He had grown fond of the long hair though, and added to the mystique of his coffee shop. It was also metal as fuck.

He felt like he was the main accessory to his lovely brick building; there would not have been  “The Mad Alchemist Cafe” without Eddie Munson, something that both staff and customers knew. The cafe would also not have been the cafe without the three years long rivalry with the only other cafe on their side of town, “Daily Drug” that opened a year after Eddie’s. The brand new establishment that started taking customers from him, claiming that their chai lattes and breakfast sandwiches were to die for.

Eddie had not interacted much with you, the owner of the cafe. Your bossy, stuck up and overall terrible attitude were a house trade mark there. He had been in the cafe though, and understood why “Daily Drug” was such an incredible contender to his establishment. The ambiance was different, like a Pinterest board had come to life. The pink and blue tile that decorated the walls as well as the ironic bitchy posters that ranged from a snarky “What are you looking at?” to a direct and curt “don’t be an asshole” decorated the walls. 

It was nothing like the cafe Eddie had imagined, the colorful palette contrasting with the caricaturistic mean and sarcastic ways of the staff, whose bitterness might have actually improved the taste of their coffee, as their lavender lattes tasted way sweeter, the syrup not overpowering the taste of the coffee, perfectly blended with the best milk for the beverage, which he found was almond.

You could have easily spat in his cup, but you serve him with feigned kindness as you make sure to make him hear a soundly “UGH could he be any more annoying?” to a blonde haired coworker, whose name he finds out later is Colette. Colette erupts in laughter as she serves his lavender latte with an egg and sausage burrito with a side of aggressive side eye. You had definitely spat in his drink. 

A fifteen- minute car ride later, Eddie enters his cafe begrudged by his inability to master a lavender latte. The taste of his in- house lavender syrup is too artificial, while “Daily Drug”’s try as he might is a flavor that he had never encountered.

The lavender provides a sweet flavor to the drink that pairs perfectly with the bitter coffee and the creamy taste of the almond milk without the artificial aftertaste. He beelines to the back of the building, to the room he called his lab, setting down his bag on a stool next to him as he takes a bored bite out of the egg and sausage burrito. Hm. Steve's is better. 

He jots down some notes in his journal. Try lemon for lavender syrup. Fennel seed in the sausage. Paprika maybe? Definitely garlic. He should have listened to his uncle and he should have gone to cooking school before he had opened the restaurant. He knew that he had the talent for it, Steve had even asked him to apply together, but he felt like it was not his true calling. 

“Your true calling is bossing everyone around, Ed” said his uncle with a laugh, one of the many sleepless nights he had spent mulling over the cafe during its early days. A knock startles him from his reverie. It's Steve. 

“Hey, didn’t see you come in. Are you still stressing over that lavender syrup thing?” he leans on the doorframe, half smiling at Eddie. He came in too early. Him and Steve were kind of the same in that regard, once haunted by an idea, they would not rest until it was executed. 

“What was it this morning? Strawberry frosting on matcha rolls?” says Eddie taking another bite out of his stale burrito.

"Nah, it's for the Halloween special, I'm trying to figure out the menu. We need to remember to add more nutmeg to the pumpkin spice syrup this year" Steve says, crossing his arms.

"Shit, yeah, I almost forgot. Also, this" Eddie shakes his burrito towards his friend "does not compare to yours by, like, miles. The sausage is too dry and the egg too cooked" Steve shrugs and fixes his glasses with a smug smile.

"Knew it." Eddie laughs at that, then proceeds to scribble in his leather bound notebook. Then the phone rings.

"Hey Steve, do you mind getting that?" Eddie says, not moving his head from the notebook.

"You got it boss" Steve heads towards the phone in Eddie's office.

"'Mad Alchemist Cafe' Steve speaking...Mhm...yeah, Eddie's in...oh shit" at that, Eddie turns his head.

"What is it, what's wrong Steve?" his tone alarmed as he paces towards the phone.

"Yeah no he's here you can talk to him, Jim" Steve passes the phone, making a face, the corners of his mouth pulled as if he were in trouble. "It's Jim" his contractor. Fuck.

Eddie presses the phone to his ear "Hey Jim, what's up?" his tone tense and cautious.

"Hey, kid, I don't know how to tell you this, but a pipe burst at 'Daily Drug'" Jim sounds scared, but Eddie is still struggling to figure out what that had to do with him, other than the fact that he would finally get back his traitorous customers who had gone to the dark side when “Daily Drug” opened.

"Yeah, ok, and that's my problem because?" he's annoyed at the ominous way Jim called at 8 in the morning concerned for his rival cafe's burst pipes.

"Are you sitting down, kid?" Ed rolls his eyes, he's getting seriously pissed off at this whole mystery thing his contractor's getting at.

"Yeah, Jim. Fuck sake just spit it out"

"Alright, alright no need to get aggressive" Jim takes a deep breath in "In order for the girls at 'Daily Drug' to keep their jobs you need to hire them, at least until the shop is up and running again." Oh shit indeed. Jim trails off, waiting for a reaction.

"How long Jim?" Eddie's fuming.

"It could take up to six months, really, the pipe fucked up the whole kitchen so they need to redo the back and stuff, hell it might take a year knowing how slow these fuckers operate" Jim exhales, he's probably shaking. Eddie did not make his contempt for “Daily Drug” unknown.

“Jesus Christ Jim you can’t do this to me. You know how much that- that bitch hates me. Everytime I go there I'm pretty sure she spits in my coffee. I'm actually convinced they all do, Jim" he's spiraling.

"C'mon kid, don't be stupid. That would violate an incredibly long amount of regulations and they would need to close down if it were true. Which I don't think it is" Jim sounds like he's finding this amusing now.

"This is not funny. And- and then what? The owner just comes in here and she starts actin' like she owns the place? We start sharing responsibilities? That's real cute, Jim, y'know that? Incredibly cute." Only then Eddie had notices how hard he had been gripping the phone. And the armrest of his chair.

"Eddie, you're throwing a tantrum. The owner doesn't hate you, they're hired under the agency and I just pulled some strings because I know you and these girls- these girls have families to support and I didn't want to scatter them all across town. I know they will be in good hands, they're not your employees, Eddie. Get it in that thick skull or I'm closing your shit down" Fuck. He's backed up into a corner.

"Alright. When do they start?" He grabs a pen and a piece of paper and scribbles Daily Drug start dates.

"Okay, so we have eight employees. Four of them are going across town, I have that cafe there. The rest are going to you- Virginia, Colette, Chrissy and the owner are all going to your cafe. They start tomorrow at 9 am. Better brush up on those training books, kid." Jim snickers.

"You're hilarious, Jim y'know that?" he quickly jots down the names and the time, stopping at your name for a second, before putting an angry face next to it.

"Aw, come on, kid. Maybe it might be a great way for you all to bond and put this stupid rivalry behind"

"Yeah- yeah no, and then we're gonna ride on the rainbow towards a pot of gold and do a little jig. Of course, Jim. I am healed already. Listen, I'll call you tomorrow after everything- if that bitch doesn't put a knife at my throat, speaking of, I should hide them" he seethes.

"Don't stress Ed. You'll be okay, what matters is that-" Jim never gets to finish that sentence, blocked by the violent slam of Eddie's phone back into its socket.

"FUCKING SHIT" he yells, kicking the bottom of his desk.

"I take it wasn't good news?" Steve leans on the threshold of Eddie's office.

"Steve- God I want to punch something. The owner of 'Daily Drug' in here. She's gonna kill me. Hide the knives"

"If I didn't know you like the back of my hand I'd say you're a little scared of her, Ed."

"Have you seen her? She's terrifying. So mean. I'd be turned on if she wasn't my archenemy" and he does have eyes, he thinks you're attractive. He's fantasized about putting you in your place, sometimes. About shutting your mouth up, see how witty you were after he'd make you go dumb from a few rounds.

He shakes his head. He has to stop.

"Well, maybe you can be nice to her so we can steal her lavender syrup recipe" Steve suggests. And as morally wrong as that sounds, you've spit in his drink before, so what's a bit of foul play compared to an FDA violation?

"Steven you might be onto something, but for now let's just worry about surviving tomorrow- God I know it's gonna be awful" Eddie says. As he said that, one of his employees, Jeff, comes knocking at his office.

"Eddie, the owner of the other cafe is here, she's asking for you." Eddie's eyes widen. The fuck is she doing here?

"The fuck- Okay thank you, Jeff. Send her back here." He dismisses his barista and Steve follows him back into the kitchen.

There is no hiding you're angry. Starting a job at a place where you knew everyone hated you seemed a bit of a cunt move from Jim, and there you are. Heading towards Eddie Munson's office, walking like you own the damn place.

"You look a little too sure of yourself for someone who lost their cafe, sweetheart. What is it, hm? What are you doing here?"

His condescending tone only stokes your anger more.

"I just came here to see the place, see if I have to dumb myself down. Maybe you guys don't know what cortados are" Feigned pity in your face.

"If you've come here to be a bitch you can go right home. One call to Jim and I can end this arrangement as quickly as it started, let's not get like that, m'kay?" his smile is devilish and god it's so hard to not find him attractive even when you want to rip him to shreds for threatening you.

"I didn't come here to bitch. I wanted to pick up our aprons? You guys have cute aprons. At least you have good taste in something" you scoff, and he shoots you a look. Fucking brat.

"Yeah- um" Eddie stands up from his desk and reaches for a box in the corner of his office "I'll give you two each. Try to keep 'em clean, I don't like dirty aprons. I've seen how messy you guys are at the cafe, that won't fly here 'kay? We really value cleanliness and order here"

"How clean can a cafe run by a man really be, huh? that's probably why your lights are so dim" he wants to kill you, but also pin you against the wall and shove his tongue down your throat so you can stop talking.

"You've had a long morning, sweetheart. Why don't you go home and sleep it off? I'm afraid you're letting off all this negative energy here and we don't want that. Not here" his tone's more stern rather than joking "I'll see ya bright an' early tomorrow morning at nine. Please don't come late, yeah?" he winks at you, cueing you to leave.

As you cross the threshold of the cafe you cannot possibly fathom what was it that left you so flustered and with an insatiable hunger between your thighs.

You pick up your coworker Colette on the way to work the morning after, presenting her with a bagel and all your rage directed towards Eddie. 

“No, Col, you don’t understand. He threatened to call Jim for a little remark. You know how insane that is? He’s gonna use whatever sick power he thinks he has over me to make me stay in line. Nope, no sir not with me” you say, turning into the parking lot of the cafe. 

“This Eddie guy really is an asshole, huh?” Colette remarks, getting out of the car. 

“You have no idea, it’s like he thinks he’s the shit or something just because the whole town loves him” 

“Everyone does love me, sweetheart. Good morning ladies, I’d recommend getting in, you have five minutes.” Eddie's right behind you, closing the trunk of his van, wearing one of his dumb satanic shirts. It's black, arms covered by a ratty black leather jacket. His hair is down and a messenger bag littered with button pins is slung over his shoulder, resting on his hip. All it takes is one snide remark and then he's gone inside the shop. 

You don't realize you're staring until Colette pinches the back of your arm, you reach for the affected area. “Babes, not him. Literally anyone but him, you have literally spent the whole car ride talking about how much of an asshole he is” 

“I have eyes, Col. He’s hot, and as much as I’d love to sleep with him, my hatred for this asshole is a bit too strong. I’d probably punch him mid- act anyway” you snicker and follow Eddie inside the store. Virginia and Chrissy are already inside, you shoot them a comforting look and a light touch to Virginia’s arm, who seriously lookes like she's about to cry.

“You okay, Gin?” you ask, lightly elbowing her arm. 

“No, I- I’m okay. Just nervous, also a bit scared. The boss seems mean” she trembles. She's only seventeen, after all. She's been working since she had been able to, if not before. Taking babysitting jobs until she turned fifteen, then just started taking customer service jobs, until she stumbled inside “Daily Drug,” with the extensive resume she had, she had been easy to hire. 

“He’s an asshole, but don’t let him intimidate you. He can’t do anything without Jim’s approval, just remember that, hun” you squeeze her arm as Eddie enters, having shed his jacket, putting his hair up, and tying the purple apron around his waist. A small, golden tag says his name on the right side of his chest. 

“Good morning, ladies. My name is Eddie, the owner of this fine establishment” he bows, smirking. “The crew at “Mad Alchemist” is deeply sorry about what happened at your cafe. We will do everything in our power to make you guys feel welcome for your short stay here” at the mention of “short” his eyes dart at you. You’re not the only one who hopes this bullshit will be short, dickhead.

You step forward, putting your best polite face on. “Thanks, Eddie. We’re extremely grateful for the opportunity to keep working, and we hope to learn from our time here” you say through gritted teeth. Even being that nice to him feels like nails on a chalkboard on your brain. “These are my baristas- Virginia, Chrissy, and Colette, my baker” you point at each of your girls. 

“Oh Colette, you’re gonna want to meet with Steve, then- He’s my baker and pastry chef. I’m sure you both have a lot of things to talk about, and a lot of work to do since our Halloween special will be dropping in a week from today” a taut smile appears on his lips. 

The guy in the back with the gorgeous head of hair and round glasses whom you assume is Steve waves his hand and Colette shoots you an assuring look before she runs to him, disappearing in the back, where you assume the pastry shop is. 

No one to run to now.

"Perfect, shall we begin?" Eddie's voice feels muffled in your ears as he assigns each one of his baristas to one of yours for training. The cafe has just passed its early morning peak time, meaning that in a couple hours you will have a lunch rush. Everything feels like it's moving too fast.

The noises around you become clear again when Eddie grazes the bare skin of your arm. You shiver. Unbeknownst to you, his hand flexes at his side.

"Scared, sweetheart? You look like you've seen a ghost..." his mouth is moving, but you can't understand anything of whatever he's saying. You're unconsciously rubbing the area Eddie had touched, his fingers warm yet rough, from all the times he's had to wash his hands throughout the day.

You haven't noticed until now how thick his fingers are. Suddenly, the feeling of a phantom limb reaching out, wrapping a hand around your throat, gently feeling its way down your neck, your shoulders, your clavicle, down your stomach and into-

"You wanna follow me to my office or what? I have a couple questions for you" Eddie breaks you out of your sick reverie, leaving you a bit flushed in the face, afraid to look at him in the eye.

"Yeah-uh sorry. Lead the way" you say, and suddenly the floor becomes very interesting to look at.

Quickly, everyone gets to work. The girls being taught the house drinks by the guys at the bar, whilst you follow Eddie in his office. 

“I just need to know if there’s any schedule preferences from the girls, just in case there’s any conflict. I was thinking, since the Halloween special will be dropping, one of these days you might need to sit in here with me and I’ll give you a proper training of what that entails. Y’know tastings and such.” His demeanor has switched from snarky to utterly professional, for which you thank whatever entity in the sky, allowing you a break from his abrasive behavior. 

He sits down at his desk and pulls out a notepad and a pen. He looks at you with waiting eyes.

“Yeah, um, Virginia has school during the week and can’t work until after three and she can only work four hours on weekdays, three days a week and usually a full shift during the weekend. Chrissy and Colette can work whenever, but please don’t schedule Col at the early hours of the mornings, she actually cannot function. She’s more useful to you awake” you let out a breathy laugh, remembering Colette putting salt instead of sugar in a batch of banana bread muffins. 

In the meantime, Eddie scribbles on his notepad. You feel uneasy in a room with him without the loud tensions of an argument looming, the blood booming in your ears. 

“And you?” he raises an eyebrow, lifting his face from the notepad. 

“Oh, I’ll just come in whenever you need me. I really don’t mind, I just need a good amount of hours. I um- I have my dad to take at the hospital on Saturday mornings, but I can come after” you say, your face tinging a bright red. 

 He scribbles that down, embarrassment visible on your face as the tension in the room becomes suffocating. 

“Alright, I’ll have those schedules ready by the end of the day. I need you to come in tomorrow through Wednesday. Opening shift Monday and Tuesday, you’ll close with me and Chrissy on Wednesday. Sounds good?” he keeps writing down in his notepad, you nod. He tuts “I need words, I can’t see you nodding or shaking your head if I’m writing, can I?” 

“Y-yeah, that sounds good. Sorry” You feel even more embarrassed, the tops of your ears tinging red. 

“Don’t apologize. Just do better next time” Eddie thrums a ringed hand on the edge of his desk. He's never seen you this docile and it puts him off. He was hoping for some snide remark, but you're looking around nervously, playing with the laces of your apron, which he finds enhances the curves and features of your body. Wondering what you’d look like in nothing but that apron, all the exposed skin of your back, shoulders and– 

“Are we done here?” there she is. The snarky question makes him jump, thanking the desk for covering the lower half of his body. 

“Yeah, I can go train you now, just gimme a sec, I’ll meet you outside” I need to get rid of that boner is what he means, but you don't budge. 

“Fuck no, you’re not training me. Gimme someone else” you remark, crossing your arms. 

“God there I thought you weren’t gonna be a bitch today.” He exhales. “How many people do you see in the staff, huh? It's Steve, Gareth, Jeff and I. Not much of a merry group. You either let me train you or the door is that way.” you can tell he’s had enough of you, which only stokes your fire even more.

“Literally anyone but you. You can train Virginia, I’m sure you have a bit of heart to not be a dick to a literal child. Not that she even needs training, she has more knowledge and better work ethics than you assholes” you spit, and you’re sure Eddie wants to kill you. 

“I don’t tolerate this kind of language in my store. I’m sure that’s what attracted all my customers to your store, but you can shut that filthy mouth in here. Now, you’re gonna go out and wait for me to train you, understood?” he's seething. 

“Or what? You can’t do shit Eddie. I’m not your little employee, you can’t fucking threaten me” you're winded, this argument is stupid and you want to punch him. 

“Alright” Eddie stands up abruptly and stalks towards you. “train yourself then.”

His tone is calm and collected, which makes you tremble. He's close. Really close.

“I wanna watch you crash and burn and struggle to make a dragon’s breath latte. You don’t want me to train you? Fine. Perfect. The less time I have to spend away from your bitch mouth the better my day will be. Recipe cards are on the counter. Have fun” he taps his hand on your shoulder and gives you a pulled smile, then walks back to his desk. 

He's fucking brutal.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson au #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Princess

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Smut (18+), spanking, fingering, PinV, choking, brat taming, slight bit of name calling (slightly dubious to have sex with someone after rescuing them from a kidnapping but we'll ignore that)

Summary: Reader is the daughter of a prolific genral who's been kidnapped while she was trying to party it up with her friends. Ghost and Soap are recruited to rescue her, and soon find out that reader's attitude might be more of a challenge than the gang they're trying to rescue her from.

(No use of y/n)

A/N: I can't get Ghost out of my head and tbh I kinda feel like he'd be so good at dealing with your bratty nonsense if he had to.

- 👑-

You were sure you were going to die. 

Not because your family didn’t have the money, not because there weren’t enough resources  to save you, or even because of your own natural pessimistic tendencies. No. You were sure you were going to die because your father had made it abundantly clear long ago that you didn’t matter to him. 

You weren’t a man. You couldn't carry his title on and you’d grown up learning that that was mostly all he cared for. His legacy. It was one of the few things that cold man spoke of fondly, always lighting up at the mention of your brothers but never you. And as a result you’d grown up living for even the smallest chance at spiting him for it. You partied and drank and slept around with boys that made even your friends curl their lips at you sometimes. 

So, you were pretty sure that once your kidnappers realised that, that could only mean one thing. One of those big guns they were carrying was going to end up pointed right in your face then…bang. 

It was enough to leave you disoriented, you weren't taking in much. Not that there was much to take note of. Your eyes were shoddily covered over with a scrap of harsh, scratchy cloth and you could only see little slivers of things here and there. Your hands were duct taped to the arms of an office chair and your mouth was similarly covered so as to prevent anymore screams and curses.

You watched sets of boots as they echoed around the frigid room, and saw gun barrels and machetes, men roving across a scuffed up concrete floor. You didn’t catch anything that made you want to see more. Especially when you heard the taunts they slung at you in their thick accents.

“Don’t worry precious, I’m sure a spoiled little rich girl like you will get a good ransom, you’ll be home soon.”

“Bet you’re used to guys with big guns like this, daddy’s men must love you.”

“She’s a cute little thing, we should have some fun with her before we send her back.”

“I’ve heard she likes to have lots of fun, bet we’d slip right into her, fucking american girls.”

If the blindfold came off then that would only mean one thing. They were going to make good on the salacious threats they were now casually slinging your way. The fantasies they were now trading back and forth as they returned to speaking their own language. That was a small mercy at least. Not having to hear about how the last few moments of your life would go. 

You could feel your body shaking like an addict in withdrawal and your poor heart was leaping around in your chest like a caught frog. It didn’t help that you were riling yourself up either, imagining what the newspapers would say. Flashing up in your mind like something out of an old batman episode with a blaring brass section accompanying them.

 Daughter of a notable general killed in shock kidnapping

Holiday in Cancun turned nightmare as General’s daughter taken in the night

You couldn't even be sure if you were still in Mexico. For all you knew you were in all those other countries that you’d been too busy crafting a reputation to learn about in school. What were they again? Guatemala, Cuba? You were sure those were somewhere close by. Funny the things the mind distracts itself with when you’re stuck tightly in a chair surrounded by leering wolves. 

If only you hadn’t been drawn in by that tattooed man with the big arms. If only you’d been a good girl and enjoyed your holiday and stuck close to your friends instead of going out on the hunt for attention from bad men covered in tattoos and cologne that smelt like bad decisions. You could practically hear your father’s growly voice echoing through your mind. 

Stupid little girl. 

He’d been saying that for as long as you had memories of him. He’d be satisfied now, you lamented. You’d proved him right in the end, he’d always said your lifestyle would catch up with you and you’d be wishing that you’d just behaved for once sooner or later.  

At the very least, you figured, you wouldn’t have to hear him say I told you so. 

- 👑-

You weren't sure how much time had passed. It could’ve been a few minutes, or it could’ve been hours, but as your breathing grew more ragged behind the tape you knew you were experiencing the last few precious moments you had left. 

The men were sounding more and more pissed off as they rattled off curses to each other, filling the room with sharp hisses. They weren’t getting the results they wanted. They’d even removed the tape at some point and had you screaming out for a video, but apparently that wasn’t getting them anywhere either. They got tired with your cries and slapped an even thicker strip back in place.

You were starting to cry, feeling the stiff cloth go damp against your skin and irritating it further. It was so thick and itchy over your eyes, you wanted nothing more than to pull it off. You needed to see, needed to breathe. You were panicking. You needed out, you needed air, you needed to feel safe again. 

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

You were chanting it in your mind, it rang through your head like a death toll. It seemed like those would be your last thoughts. You’d die panicking and snotty and covered in dried salty tears that mixed into a sludge with your thick mascara.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the-

Thiew.

Crack.

Thud.

Every muscle in your body froze as you heard an alien sound zip through the room. Then suddenly everything erupted.

The men’s shouts turned into screams and barked orders and suddenly you were being wheeled around in your chair in the dark like a shopping cart. You were whizzed past men that were running and crouching into your limited vision, aiming their guns and returning fire as more bullets wailed into the room. And finally you found yourself slamming into a corner somewhere, banging your knees against a rough drywall. 

You screamed behind your gag and listened out as more men hit the ground and the guns grew into a cacophony of bangs. Death’s orchestra played for a solid few minutes, ringing in your ears and distorting the sound of your thrumming heartbeat as it crawled up through your throat and into your head.

You were sure you were going to die. 

The battle raged on for a few moments more until suddenly the men’s shouts silenced and the bullets grew sparse. All you could hear was the echoes of gunfire and shrill ringing from your unprotected ears. 

What was that?

You swore you could hear voices coming toward you.

“It’s alright, lass.”

You jumped as you felt someone touch your shoulder and cursed behind the tape in your mouth as the unidentified man tried to soothe you. It wasn’t until he pulled your blindfold down and you were greeted with his bruised face and ruffled mohawk that you calmed down, focusing your gaze on his icy pale eyes. He wasn’t one of the men who took you.

“I’m gonna take this tape off, ye good wi’ that?”

You frowned at the man, unsure if he was speaking english. You weren’t used to that accent, what was that accent? Scottish? Irish? 

You only had a few seconds to look up at him blankly before he gave up on getting a response and ripped the tape from your mouth, drawing out a scream with it.

“You motherfucker!” you shrieked, feeling a layer of skin peel from your face.

“Easy! It’s ok! What's the sayin’ agian? Best to rip it off like a band-aid, yeah?” he chuckled.

“Not when it’s fucking duct tape over my face, you- you stupid- oh, oh no, my god, oh my god look out!”

You screamed as you caught a giant man emerging through the shadows and through the doorway into the dingy room you’d been wheeled into. A skull mask obscured his face and a massive gun was braced in his hands, he looked as if he could take on an entire army by himself. He was fuck off sized and ready to kill. 

Your rescuer whipped around and raised his gun at your shout, body bracing and ready to defend you. Though, as he faced the hulking behemoth behind him he relaxed and lowered his gun again, cursing you through gritted teeth. Though, he turned back around to you with a smirk.

“He might be a scary lookin’ bastard, but that ones on our side,” he explained, slinging his gun behind him and getting to work on the tape on your wrists. “Sit tight and I’ll get you out of this in a sec, ok?”

“Is she hurt?” the masked man asked, flicking his dark gaze over your slumped body.

“Nah, doesn’t look like it,” the first man replied.

“She is scarred for life actually,” you huffed out, clutching your one freed arm to your chest. “What the fuck happened? Who the fuck are you two?”

“Settle down, princess. For now we need to get you out of here and back to your father, quickly and quietly, yeah?”

His accent was different from the other man’s, though to you it was just as difficult to make out through that thick gravely timbre. That one was definitely english, you thought, it sounded like ones from TV shows you’d watched when you were younger. It made you wonder what the hell the two brits were doing rescuing you when your dad was an American general. 

Did he find them on Craigslist or something?

Typical of him to find a couple of brutish thugs to come fetch you rather than calling on one of the teams that he worked with, you thought sourly. 

Though, as both your arms were free and you stepped onto wobbly feet you grew to appreciate his choice in rescuers more as they both towered above you. Even if they weren’t American they clearly knew their way around a fight.

“We’re gonna need you to follow us and do exactly as we say, ok? There’s still a few men lurkin’ about and if you want to get back to your family in one piece, we’ll need to avoid them,” the first man said, putting his hand on your tensed shoulder.

“You haven’t even gotten them all?” you hissed, escaping from his hold and backing against the cracking wall behind you.

The room was unfinished, crumbling from bullet holes and exposure to bad weather from the open windows. It looked like something straight out of a movie set, Soderbergh eat your heart out.

“We’ve gotten most of them,” the Scottish/Irish man shrugged, reaching around to secure his gun in his arms once again. “Some probably ran off durin’ the fight, but we can’t assume they aren’t hiding somewhere waitin’ for us.”

“Just be a good girl and do as you’re told, ok princess?” the other man growled, turning away from you and walking back out of the room. 

Your mouth dropped open and just as you were about to fire off another retort, it died in your mouth when you heard a shot ring out from the hallway. 

“All good, LT?” the first man called out, ushering you behind him. 

“Solid, Soap,” the other man replied.

Soap?

That’s just great, you thought, you were stuck with a man named soap and his big ape of a friend wearing a spirit halloween special across his face. You could practically feel your chances of survival drop through the ground and into hell. You could feel the hot flames licking at your feet already, biting at your toes. Or perhaps that was the fact you’d been stuck in heels for an inappropriate length of time. Who knew?

“Alright, lets get movin’. Remember to stay close and stay quiet. We don’t know where these guys are hiding,” Soap reminded you. “Stick to my back and we won't let anythin’ happen to you, alright?”

You were out of sass for the time being. You could only nod your reply as you followed his orders, too afraid of him leaving you behind as he started advancing out of the room.

You might have felt annoyed at the fact they were treating you like a stupid little girl, but you were too wrapped up in the adrenaline of the situation to object anymore. You’d heard the gunfire, could still hear the echoes of it pelting through your ears. You knew you couldn't afford not to listen to the two incredibly patronising soldiers before you. 

“Try to keep your eyes up, lass,” Soap whispered, gazing back at you briefly before heading through the doorway. 

“Why do I have t- oh fuck!”

You could’ve thrown up as your eyes connected with the bloody corpses that littered the hallway like flies on a roll of catcher paper. There were so many of them. You could feel the bile fighting its way up your gullet as you stopped against the wall and closed your hazy eyes. Bodies. Actual dead bodies. 

You’d never seen one before. Yet here you were surrounded by them, queen bee of a dead hive. It was too much. Staying up felt like fighting gravity and you were reduced to a pile on the floor in no time, huddled on a relatively blood free patch and stuck still against the rough chalky grey wall to your side.

“Ghost, we’ve got a problem,” Soap muttered, staring down at you with a worried look. 

There were a few seconds of blessed silence where you closed your eyes and everything was ok for a second. You weren’t in a shithole crack den building in god knows where and instead you were back at the hotel, getting ready to go to bed with your girlfriends. Yes. You were going to put on pyjamas and take some painkillers and peace the fuck out till noon the day after.

“Fuckin hell.”

The growl brought you out of your daydream and soon you were looking up at the cold crocodilian eyes of the now named Ghost. Had he expected you to do better in the hallway of a thousand corpses? 

“Alright, princess, up you get.”

You whimpered and expected him to offer you his hand to get you to your feet again, but you were taken by surprise when he leaned over you and enveloped you in his huge arms. You weren’t sure what the hell he was doing at first, but all became clear as you were hoisted over his shoulder and sprawling down his back like a chef’s tea towel. 

“What the hell, dude! Put me down,” you growled out, thumping your fists against his thick layer of tactical gear. 

“Quiet down, sweetheart. It’s not like you’re much use in those heels anyway,” he growled out, tugging on one of your silvery strappy shoes for emphasis. 

“You can’t just pick me up like a sack of fucking potatoes!” you protested, continuing to feebly fail to fight your way out of his grasp.

“Apparently I fuckin’ can,” he chuckled, rumbling in that horrible patronising voice of his. “Now…Settle. Down.”

And with that he started moving again, taking you past the tour of bodies that you’d folded at moments before, stepping through them like you might do through a botanical garden. The men were poked full of bullet holes and some even had knives jutting out of their skulls, but it didn’t seem to phase your rescuers. They were in their element. You were decidedly not. 

You felt like you were going to be sick and wondered briefly what the terrifying man would say if you were to throw up on him. Would he drop you as revenge? You quivered in his arms as he moved through the halls, following his partner faithfully in the shadows, only seeing by the light of the moon in some sections of the house. 

Not soon enough, after being thoroughly traumatised for two lifetimes, you emerged out of the house you were in. Only hearing two more men be taken out before you were free to breathe fresh air again. You cleared out the disgusting smell of coppery blood and gulped in huge breathfuls of clear night air.

Air. Moonlight. Stars. You were in a barren front garden in the middle of nowhere. You could see out for miles toward that inky black sky on the horizon. 

It wasn’t like something out of a nightmare anymore, this was real. And it was a new kind of scary. It was night and it was cold and your shivering renewed again as the giant placed you back down on your feet and let you stand on your own. 

Why was it so fucking cold? 

“You see anyone else?” Ghost asked his partner, sticking faithfully by your side.

“Negative. Think we’re good to move out, LT,” Soap said, giving his surroundings one last careful scan.

“Thank fuckin’ god. Might even get back to the safehouse before mornin’ at this rate.”

Safehouse?

What?

“Um, what do you mean safehouse?” you prodded, feeling the cold start sinking into your clattering teeth.

“It’s a house that’s safe,” ghost ‘helpfully’ provided. 

“I fucking know that,” you said through gritted teeth, “what I mean is, why the fuck are we going to a safehouse? I need to go home. I need to get to an airport or something or like- like you should be calling me a helicopter or something! Why would we go to some safehouse and stay here any longer?”

“Your dad ordered us to take you there once we had you secured,” Soap said, staring over at you with a calculating gaze. “Now are you going to come get in the car yourself or does Ghost need to pick you up again?”

Fuck you.

You didn’t give either of them the satisfaction of answering. 

- 👑-

“He’s doing this to punish me isn’t he? It’s fucking typical you know! Only he would pull this shit, only my dad would find out I got kidnapped and send in two fucking random Englishmen and not even want to get me home-“

“Whoa! Watch it!” Soap shouted, interrupting you mid rant. “You can call me a lot of things, but don’t fuckin’ call me English, sweetheart.”

“English, Scottish, Irish- whatever the fuck you are! Point is he should be here! He shouldn’t be letting me stew in some random safe house with you two…two- two strangers,” you whined, throwing your arms up in the air. “For all he knows you could both be serial rapists!” 

“We’re two strangers that just saved your life, princess,” Ghost grumbled from the front seat. “And if your dad is punishing you, then I think I’m beginning to see why.”

Your mouth dropped like a lead weight and you stared daggers into the mirror, catching Ghost’s cold eyes in the reflection. He was still wearing the mask.

You were driving on country road that stretched almost  limitlessly into the horizon but for some reason he was still in disguise. Not that you cared to see his face! No, if anything, you hoped you’d be out of their company much sooner rather than later for him to reveal himself. Though, that wasn’t going to happen it seemed, so you resolved to make that everyone’s problem. Share the burden of being abandoned to Mexico. 

“In case you haven’t realised; I’m not exactly accustomed to dead bodies and I’ve just come from the midnight showing of night of the living fucking dead here! I should be getting wheeled into a therapists office right now, not getting bundled up into another strange house, spending the night with Micheal Myers and groundskeeper fucking Willie,” you growled out, penetrating your gaze into Ghosts very soul, hoping he’d feel a shred of pity for you. 

However, you weren’t doing a very good job of that. Instead of knocking sense into the big brute you only made him narrow his eyes at you. And to add even further insult, Soap choked back a laugh. Though, he composed himself quickly after casting a glance at the leuitenant and focused his eyes back on the road. 

“You’ve got a funny way of sayin’ thank you, princess.”

And that was the last thing he said to you before ignoring you completely. No matter how much you moaned and groused and demanded to be taken back home, neither of the men would answer your cries. Typical men! 

They left you to marinade in your own self pity - in a dish that was endlessly deep. Afterall, how could your father not appreciate how stressful your ordeal was? Sure, you both had your differences, but you’d have thought that even he would put his malice for you aside on account of an actual real life kidnapping! 

After a few more miles of barren road you found yourselves coming to a small village, and started to slowly roll toward a modest concrete house on the outskirts.

It was two floors high and painted a sandy cream colour, with a small sheltered space to park the car and protect it from the elements. It seemed as if it might just fit you and Soap through its tiny door, the ceilings didn’t look that high. And it was the thought of Ghost being stuck in its old wooden frame that made you finally crack a small smile for the first time since you’d been taken. 

“Any complaints about the exterior before we step in, sweetheart, or would you like to save your scathing words for when you’re inside?” Soap teased as he opened the car door for you. 

“Very funny,” you huffed, smile disappearing you made sure to knock into the door as you stepped out. “Maybe you can go make fun of some terrorist victims next.”

Soap raised his brows, but didn’t bother to dignify you with a reply. He closed the door behind you instead and walked up to house and unlocked it for you, ushering you inside. Not that there was much to walk into. 

There was some basic furniture, a ratty old couch, a table and chairs, a kitchen that hardly seemed stocked and an old orange cloth rug that looked like it had seen better days. The place smelt like old newspapers for some reason, and all in all, it didn’t inspire much hope in you for the rest of the house. And just as you caught yourself thinking that, you knew you’d already proved Soap right. You had many, many, many complaints. 

“Well, I drove. So I bagsy first shower,” Soap announced, trailing off toward the creaky wooden stairs at the end of the hall. “Try not to cause world war three while I’m gone.”

You balked as you felt Ghost brush past you, successfully getting through the door. Who had Soap directed that last order at? Jeuss. You were the kidnapping victim and somehow you didn’t qualify for washing up first? What was this?

Chivalry was truly dead. Though, it wasn’t like they’d rode up in white horses when they’d come to get you, no they emerged through a cloud of bullets and snatched you out of the house like a drug bust they could trade in for on the sly. 

“And what am I supposed to do now, hm?” You said, turning to the man now shedding his gear like a second skin onto the couch. 

He didn’t give you a response though, instead he just finished off pulling the various packs and armaments off of himself until he was left standing in his uniform and mask. He looked a few pounds lighter, but he was still massive compared to you. The equipment didn’t bulk him out quite as much as you’d suspected. 

“Is there a phone I can use?” You finally asked, exasperated with the silence. 

“No.”

He grunted as he took a seat on the couch and rolled up his sleeves, exposing his thick tattooed forearms. You couldn’t help but feel that that was some kind of threat. Though, your suspicions were eased as he shuffled around and crossed his arms around his head, lying down and closing his eyes. 

“So, what? We’re just waiting to see when my dad magically shows up?” You needled.

“You asked If there was a phone that you could use,” he reminded, glancing over at you with slitted eyes. “Why don’t you go get some rest princess, there’s rooms upstairs that you can whine in in peace.”

What!

You clenched your fists at your sides and growled out in frustration. How was it that you were stuck with one of the most insensitive men in the world right after you got kidnapped? In fact it felt like you were being held hostage all over again.

Well you weren’t going to sit there and take it this time!

Before you could think about how bad an idea it was, you marched straight over to the sofa and started digging through Ghosts things. You crouched and moved aside all the smaller pouches and sharp pointy things trying to find anything that might resemble a phone. Though you didn’t get much of an opportunity to look, you were swiftly dragged up to your feet by the masked man and knocked away from his stash. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He barked, not sparing a single decibel from piercing your already abused ears. 

“I need to use a phone! I need to call someone!” You screamed back. “I need to tell people I’m alright. My friends must be worried sick and you’re treating me worse than a prisoner! E-Even prisoners get their phone calls!”

You tried desperately to fight against his hold, and screeched and hit against him like a banshee. However the man was solid, his hands were digging into your skin like a bear trap. And even as you tried to scratch at him, it didn’t deter him any. He just held you against him, making you smell the sweat off of him, the bullets, the smoke, you breathed him in as he pinned your hands flush to your body and screamed out as it became too much.

“In case you’ve forgotten, princess, we’re hiding out in a safe house right now because you’ve just been bloody kidnapped! You can’t call anyone because we need to keep the line clear and wait for word from back home. This isn’t fucking vacation, sweetheart, this is a fucking mission,” Ghost roared. 

You froze at his words. Your body felt like it had been hit by lightning and all of a sudden you could feel the storm in you shifting. All of the adrenaline was draining from you and just like that, you went from fighting like a rabid dog to blubbering like a baby. You broke down in his arms and felt the tears flowing freely back down your cheeks and fell back against him defeated. 

“Oh Jesus,” Ghost muttered to himself. 

Of course you hadn’t forgotten you’d been kidnapped. You were just dealing with it all in the only way you could. it just so happened, that when you fell back on instinct to get you through hard times it would result in you being, well as your dad put it, a massive pain in the ass. You were sure that Ghost would say the same. 

You didn’t even try to compose yourself, you were too upset to think. 

So, as Ghost came to that conclusion too, he decided to take matters into his own hands and picked you up again. Though, instead of putting you over his shoulder this time, he held you tightly against his chest and carried you off into one of the side rooms further into the house. 

The floor protested with every step the big man took and even over your shaky sobs, you could hear the wood below groaning like a zombie. He checked in the first door, and then the second on the wall to the right, coming to a stop when he found what he was looking for. Through blurry eyes you could see that you were in a small bathroom. A messily tiled room that contained an old wooden cabinet, a sink and a toilet. 

Ghost sat you down on the closed toilet seat and pulled some tissue from the roll, pressing it into your limp hands. You looked down at it like it was alien for a second, not sure what to do until you met Ghosts unwavering gaze. You needed to dry your eyes and get control of yourself. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, princess,” he sighed, turning and reaching into the cabinet. 

You gulped down a fat sob that had been threatening to come and sniffled softly instead. As much as you begrudged him, you knew Ghost’s logic was sound. You needed to get a hold of yourself and stop crying in front of him. He was hardly the sympathetic audience for it.

In fact it almost made you laugh when he turned back again and his skull mask caught the light. The hard plastic only served to remind you that he wasn’t going to sit and rub your back and make you feel better about it all. It was like he said, this was a mission for him, and his only concern was getting you out of Mexico alive. 

“There you go, deep breaths,” he said in a hushed voice, putting his hand on your shoulder for a second. 

The warm contact was comforting for a fleeting moment, his hand was gentle yet firm on you before he took it away. He’d fetched a cloth from the cabinet and stepped over to the sink, running it under the water and stepping back to your side. You’d expected him to hand it to you just like he had done with the toilet paper, but instead he took you by surprise and crouched at your level, stepping down from his massive height. 

He smoothed the cloth over your cheeks and down your tear tracks, softly clearing up your sensitive skin. When he’d brought the cloth away and refolded it, you’d half expected it to be a muddied black from your makeup but there were only traces of grey. You’d cried most of your makeup off already. Then, after a few more goes at letting him clear up your face you almost jumped out of your skin when a piercing ring sounded out from the living room.

“Stay here,” the soldier softly ordered, handing you the stained cloth. 

Ghost ducked out of the room, and you lamely held the cloth in your hand, listening out to what he was doing. He silenced the ring, presumably answering the phone he’d secreted away, and for a second all there was was fuzzy silence and the low ringing that hadn’t left your ears. 

“Mhmm,” Ghost grunted, his rumble cutting clear through your tinnitus. “Yeah we’re clear I reckon. Didn’t pass anyone on the way in…no one awake, no curtains twitching…your daughter is-…mhmm…yeah…ok. Well just so you know, your daughter is…fine by the way.”

The gruff man said the last part quietly, and it was that that clued you into the fact your dad probably hung up before he could catch it. He didn’t care how you were, only cared that you hadn’t been killed by a foreign gang. That probably wouldn’t have done his image any favours, you thought to yourself. What man wasn’t able to protect his family? A high ranking general at that. All that mattered was that you were safe and he didn’t have a PR crisis on his hands. How you were doing was none of his concern.

You gulped thickly when Ghost reentered the room and did your best to put on a brave face. He didn’t say anything. He flicked his eyes over your grave expression and took the cloth back from your hands, wetting it under the tap again and handing it back to you. 

“Those must be killing you,” he murmured, gesturing to your feet. 

You startled when he spoke again, not used to having a conversation with someone who’s lips were hidden behind a skull facade. It was quite unnerving when his rasp broke through the cloth.

Eventually though you nodded, looking down at your feet and finally acknowledging all the blisters that had formed where the straps had dug into you. The shoes had been new, you’d been excited to wear them when you put them on earlier. Now, they were just another regret among many. 

“Let’s get them off, hm?”

You nodded again, caught by surprise by the tender way that he was dealing with you out of nowhere. Perhaps out of pity after speaking to the General. You had no way of knowing if he was sympathetic to that type of thing. He was a soldier afterall. They dealt with much worse than emotional neglect and were often oblivious to the cold way your dad treated you. At least in your previous experience of them...

Ghost got to his knees and softly took one of your feet in his hands, turning it slowly this way and that a couple times, until he caught sight of the tiny buckle. He dealt with it like he was diffusing a bomb. 

He carefully took the end of the strap in one hand and lifted the buckle with the other, gently letting the catch come loose. Then he slid the shoe from your foot and repeated the process with your other. You had to do a double take. Was this really the same man that had all but snapped at you like a vicious dog earlier? 

“Thanks,” you whispered, still uselessly holding the cloth in your hands. “Did the General say when we could leave?”

Ghost frowned as you addressed your dad by his title, but quickly fixed his eyes into that familiar cold stare. He thought to himself for a moment before he answered you. He was probably scared you’d kick off again, you realised. 

“He said he wouldn’t get here till evenin’ at least. Said he’d be bringing a chopper though.”

“Ok.”

You didn’t have anything else to say. You’d run out of words, and steam and any kind of fight and all the things that had kept you going before. 

You were going to be stuck with the two strangers until almost the next day. There was nothing you could do about it, no one you could complain to, no one that cared. You might as well just accept it. 

- 👑-

You’d ended up taking Ghost’s advice afterall. You’d finished cleaning up in the bathroom yourself and painfully trudged upstairs with your swollen feet, searching out the first bedroom you could find along the gloom of the lonely hallway. The lightbulb flickered and danced as you’d made your selection, chasing you into the room as it mimicked the gunfire you’d seen flashes of not hours ago. 

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, not like you thought it would. 

You’d been convinced you’d be left sitting like a character in a movie. Painfully watching the walls in the cold silence and mourning the life you could have had if only you came from a loving home. However, as much as you loved dramatics, you weren’t fit to live up to the hurting girl stereotype.

You realised that when you woke up again and the sun was shining through your room like a big bright fuck you. You thought you were getting a moment's peace? Think again. You were going to be awake for the rest of your internment at the safehouse. 

You sighed and scanned the room with your eyes, taking note of the peeling paint and sparse bits of furniture, confirming what you already knew. This room was just as shitty as all the rest. It wasn’t like there was any reason to maintain safehouses beyond being structurally sound and stocked with essentials, but it would’ve been nice to provide some comfort. At the very least they could’ve made it smell better, less musty, less like a place people came to rot.

“You’re awake.”

You yelped when you heard the voice break through the calm and looked over to the door, spotting the looming spectre that stood in your entryway. Ghost. Had he been watching over you the whole time you slept? You didn’t know whether to feel creeped out or grateful for the fact he was so concerned about your safety. 

“I am,” you finally said.

“Good. I thought I’d bring you something to eat.”

Perhaps he hadn’t been watching over you after all. Maybe it had been Ghost’s footsteps that had woken you up. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination, he sounded worse than a herd of cows when he creaked across the floors.

You sat up when he walked into the room and caught a glance at the bowl in his hands. Something to eat was a good description of what he’d brought you. It looked like he’d heated some spaghettios. Not exactly the most appetising thing that you could think of, but given you hadn’t eaten since the morning before, you realised that beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Not that you were often, if ever, a beggar. It was easier for your family to give you unlimited access to money and shut you up than it was for them to spend any time in your presence arguing that you should work for it. 

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking the bowl off of Ghost after staring at it for a few seconds. 

There was a spoon already shoved into the bowl, and when you picked it up, you found yourself wincing at the burning metal. Ouch. Ghost couldn’t have warned you they were hot? You glared up at him, but he was already retreating back out of the room, seemingly content that you had everything you needed.

But you didn’t feel like you had everything you needed at all.

You felt pathetic admitting it, but you didn’t want to be alone. Your ears were still ringing even hours after the firefight had ended and there was nothing to do in that bland room all alone. And now to top it all off it felt much too hot and sweaty. You felt like you might go mad. You softened your features again and called out to Ghost, praying against all odds that he’d indulge you. 

“C-can you stay?”

Ghost paused and turned his head, his skeletal mask caught the golden glow of the sun. It didn't look right. He looked out of place in the sunlight. Though, you knew better than to voice that thought, he wasn’t going to stay if you insulted him again. 

“If you really want me to,” he finally replied, tilting his head at you.

You nodded and watched as he looked around and found no alternative but to sit on the end of the double bed, and sighed as he plonked himself down. The bed rippled with his weight, and you almost let the bowl spill out of your hands, but thankfully caught it before it could drop.

That wouldn’t have been good, you thought. You’d already set yourself on eating it all when it had cooled. You couldn’t go without food any longer or your stomach would be gurgling like an alien. How embarassing.

“Did you manage to get some rest too?” you asked awkwardly, testing the spoon in your hands again.

“Some,” he answered, casting his eyes over you. “Soap traded places pretty quick.”

“What an asshole,” you snorted, lifting a spoonful of pasta to your lips and blowing on it.

“That arshole saved your life, princess,” Ghost reminded you, voice regaining its husky edge. “Show some respect.”

“I didn’t-I mean…I just figured you could’ve probably used the rest, I was just joking…Sorry,” you muttered, resigning yourself to eating instead of talking.

Ghost watched intently as you ate every last spoonful, but you ignored him, finding yourself greedily taking on more and more as you recognised your own hunger. You forgot about Ghost’s scolding for the moment as you felt your hunger pangs rattling from deep within you. Though, you felt a little better after finishing the bowl. You were going to eat so much when you got back home, you thought to yourself. 

You set the bowl down on the floor and looked back at your rescuer, staring awkwardly at him for a few moments. The silence was making your skin crawl. Why wasn’t he saying anything? 

“Do you ever take off that mask?” you blurted, feeling your cheeks heat up as you said it.

Ghosts eyes took on a glint as you’d said it and if you weren’t mistaken it felt like he was…smiling? You bit your lip and looked away from him, focusing instead on a particularly chipped patch of paint on the wall to his left side.

“Why? Do you want me to take it off?” he asked, amusement lacing his tone.

“I just- I don’t get why you still have it on. The bad guys don’t know we’re here, right?”

“Maybe I’m just shy,” he teased, leaning back on the bed, his forearms rippling as they supported his weight. 

You snorted at his answer, folding your arms across yourself. Suddenly you were all too aware of the fact that he was staring at you bare faced, messy haired and still in yesterday’s tiny dress. There was no way that he was shy, and it seemed unlikely that he was ugly under there. He walked and talked like a confident man, like a man that had never questioned himself. How exciting.

“Has Soap ever seen your face?” you asked, picking at the loose threads on the blanket you laid under. 

“Why the sudden fascination?” he grumbled. “I thought I was a big scary serial rapist or somethin’?”

You winced as he threw your words from earlier back to you, it felt like you’d been burned with acid. You realised how stupid you sounded now. He’d held onto that. 

“I didn’t say that you were one, I said that you could be one,” you corrected, sighing at your own stupidity. “I didn’t know who you both were, in fact I still don’t. I guess- I guess I just got freaked out, is all. Do other people not react a little crazy when you go on rescue missions?”

“Other people tend to be more gracious, at the very least,” he snorted.

You winced again.

You really were a princess sometimes. As much as the nickname had been annoying you all night, the soldier wasn’t wrong to call you it. They’d been good enough to put themselves in harms way and carry you through a sea of threats only for you to turn around and return fire, calling them names. 

You put your head in your hands and groaned. You always slung your arrows at the wrong people. Always got prickly with people that tried to help. And they’d helped you more than anyone ever had.

“Thank you for saving me. I know it's a little late, but all the same…thanks for getting me out of there alive,” you murmured, catching a glance at his widened eyes. “And for- um, dealing with me earlier. That was nice of you cleaning me up like that.”

Ghost took a second to recover from you actually thanking him, his eyes staying open and shocked before returning to their usual shadowy state. They looked almost black even even in the sunlight. Though, you supposed it didn’t help they were hidden behind cloth and plastic. 

“You’re welcome, darlin’” he rumbled.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Darling?” you grinned, preening at the warmth in his tone. “Am I growing on you?”

“Like black mould,” he groused, “Can’t get rid of your questions, can I?”

“You did not just compare me to mould,” you growled, forgetting yourself - and who you were facing up against - and shooting toward him with a pillow in hand.

Ghost, cast his eyes from you to the pillow and turned, catching you before you could do anything stupid with it and held you against the wide expanse of his chest again. You were held solidly against him, packed in tight and before you could do anything else, you were disarmed and your pillow was plucked right out of your hands and thrown back to the head of the bed.

“What’d you think you were gonna do with that then, ay?” he growled, his mouth dangerously close to grazing your ear. 

His breath was warm on your neck and it raised a trail of goosebumps across your flesh. You shivered in his arms, feeling his words send a shock through your body, and felt yourself go limp in his bulging arms. Why was he suddenly so much more enticing when he had you pinned down like this?

“Ay?” he asked again, releasing a low chuckle. “You think you can attack me, princess? Think you can do a bit of damage with those little arms?”

“I think I could do a lot of damage if you let me,” you breathed, scraping your lip under your teeth. 

The lieutenant paused and held you very still for a moment, his arms stiffening over your body like he’d moulded to you. Oh no. Had he not liked that, you wondered. Had you just embarrassed yourself again?

“Are you flirting with me?” he asked, voice not losing his amusement.

Oh good. So he wasn’t disgusted with you.

“Maybe…depends on if you liked it or not.”

“And if I liked it?”

“Then, yes, I was.”

You both sat in silence for a second, you stayed trapped in his arms, holding stock still while he mulled over what you’d said. What now? You didn’t have to wonder very long, he released you and turned your body so that you faced him again, balancing precariously on your hands and knees, capturing your face in his hands so that you were forced to look at him. 

“You should be careful who you flirt with, princess. It’s like you said earlier, I’m a stranger in a mask, you have no idea who I am…No idea what I’m capable of,” he trailed, letting your own mind take over the implication he was getting at.

Not that you got the point that he was trying to make. If anything the whole thing was suddenly hotter to you. A rough fuck with the giant soldier that just rescued you from a gang of kidnappers and could pin you down like you were nothing? Hadn’t he sensed your issues from a mile off? Maybe he had, maybe that was why he said what he said. 

“Maybe I wanna find out,” you whispered.

You shot forward and kissed where you supposed his lips must be and, luckily, guessed correctly. You could feel him tense up in surprise before yanking you off of him and pinning you under him, holding your body down against the bed with his sculpted body, his legs caging yours in and his hands holding your wrists like manacles. 

“Give me one reason you want to, other than spiting your father,” he purred, eyes glowing with amusement and curiosity.

So he did know your game.

“You have a sexy voice,” you tried, fluttering your lashes in a way that you hoped would work on him. 

“Fuckin’ americans,” he grunted, laughing lowly to himself. “I want somethin’ better than that.”

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to go fishing for compliments,” you snarked.

With that little comment , you were rolled over quicker than you could comprehend and before you could turn to see what he was doing he slapped you on the ass. It was solid, no nonsense. Enough to sting even though he’d done it through the fabric of your little dress. He wouldn't have to do much to expose you and make it hurt more. He’d just have to flip up the fabric. 

“Answer my question,” he growled, still holding one of your hands captive.

“Because I want you to teach me a lesson…because you’re the first person in a long time that’s had me minding my manners,” you sighed, using your free hand to give your body leverage enough to rut against the soldier's bulging crotch.

“Fuck me,” Ghost grunted, voice losing its sharpness as you rutted against him. 

“That worked?” you grinned, half shocked that it clearly convinced him. 

“You could have any cunt from England, princess, and plenty of em’ would sound like me. You think that they could make you beg like I can?” he questioned.

You were tempted to give him a sassy reply, but already knowing you too well, he hit you with a couple more spanks, this time on your bare ass and finally slipped your skirt up so that he could admire the flesh he was abusing. You gasped as he ran his hands over your cheeks and whimpered when he ran a finger over your slit. You practically feel his eyes glowing like laser sights as he connected with your glistening flesh and paused so that he could dip his finger into you and confirm his suspicions.

“Please,” you whined, praying that he’d start moving it, praying for friction.

“Looks like I’ve got my answer,” he chuckled, removing his soaked finger and slapping your ass noncommittally. “Please what, hm?”

“Please,” you cried out, feeling awfully empty as he’d withdrawn. “Please, I want your fingers. Want you to finger me please.”

“Aw, so cute when you’re all needy, princess. Alright. If you ask me nicely, I’ll give you what you want.”

“I did ask nicely!” you whimpered, feeling your body burning with desire for him.

It felt like he was all you could think of now. The kidnappers and the whole resentment thing you had going for your family was a distant memory and all that remained was Ghost. All that remained was burning lust and a need to have him inside of you, possessing you wholly and taking you for his own.

“You’re such a little brat, princess. I just told you that you could have what you wanted and you just had to go spoil it for yourself,” Ghost said, his voice forging into a chilling point. “Looks like you need to be taught better manners.”

You groaned at his words, but you didn’t get much of a chance to work out what they meant. Instead, his hand rained down hard on your already stinging flesh and he spanked you like it was his next mission. You cried out as the smacks began to burn more and more and wriggled in his grasp, fruitlessly struggling against him and fighting his expert hands to no avail. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you chanted, giving him what you thought he wanted.

“Sorry, what?” he asked, accentuating each word with a slap. 

They were softer than the ones he’d been giving before at least. Like caresses against your screaming skin, fiery with his rough treatment.

“Sorry…for not asking nicely,” you said quietly, hoping to god he’d just give you what you wanted.

“Sorry, sir,” he grunted, running his hands over your hot skin.

“Sorry, sir,” you repeated quickly, sighing as his gentle touch soothed your prickling burns.

“That’s better.”

You hummed as his nails scratched down your cheeks and settled into the bed, feeling like the stiff blankets were transformed into egyptian cotton as your head grew fuzzy. His hands really were quite skilled, especially since he was so easily able to have you howling one second and then had you curling up like a cat the next.

“You wanna do this for the rest of the day or you wanna try asking for what you wanted again?” Ghost asked, his voice softening as he watched you relax.

“Mmm, would rather have your fingers inside me please, sir,” you moaned, smiling contentedly to yourself.

“That’s better…good girl.”

Your masked soldier grabbed your hips in his hands, making you feel tiny as he yanked you up like you were nothing. Yanked you into a half kneeling position as you kept your head pasted onto the bed, not having the strength to bring it up. Then finally, just as you were about to start begging again, spat on his hand and pierced his finger back inside you. 

You groaned at the intrusion and whined as he slowly pumped it in and out, getting you all worked up and turning you into a moaning mess. You were burning for more, your belly tightening as he worked his digit in and out and circled your clit with his other hand like it was an art. You whined and writhed and clutched at the sheets, crying out as he added another finger and increased his pace. You could feel the rumble that caught in his throat reverberate through your chest. ‘

“So pretty. Your cunt’s so wet and you’re clenching on me so hard. What would happen if I shoved my cock in there? Would you cum right away, princess?” he purred.

You whined out at that and felt your need light up anew, could feel it vibrate around your skull and through your gums. Yes. Stick your cock in me. That’s all you wanted, you wanted the big man on top of you, pinning you down and boxing you in like an animal, fucking into you like you were his own personal fleshlight. Fuck. 

“Ohmygod, please fuck me, Ghost!” you cried out, “Please, oh my god please, sir! Please fuck me.”

Ghost chuckled and slowed his pace, bringing his fingers to a near stop. It was like hell, the tingles dampening throughout your body, your high being torn from you. You growled out and tried to claw your way up, tried to face him and see the stupid glint that would no doubt be in his eyes, but before you could he shoved you back down and tapped your ass again.

“We don’t have condoms here, princess. It’s not exactly standard protocol,” he teased. “Doesn’t seem like such a good idea.”

“I don’t care! I’m on birth control and I get checked out by the doctor every month,” you whined, fighting against any argument he could make against giving you his cock. 

“Well…I suppose that changes things,” he grunted.

Thank fucking god! You were sure you were going to d-

“Fuck!”

Your strangled cry pierced the room as he replaced his fingers and thrusted into you, shattering you inch by inch with his massive cock. It seemed endless, it was torturous in all the right ways, the burn that licked through your body like a forest fire. He was huge, not that you doubted that of course.

“That what you wanted, hm? That feel good, princess?” Ghost said, coming to a stop as he filled you completely. “Tell me, how does that feel? I wanna know if anyone else has been able to make you as fuckin’ speechless as this.”

You whined out, scratching at the bed underneath you like a trapped animal and breathed in thickly, wondering if your lungs would ever recover from the events of the last few hours. Wondering how to answer Ghost. How did it feel? Did anyone else compare to him? What stupid fucking questions. 

Nothing compared.

“It feels so fucking good, feels like you’re gonna split me in half,” you gasped, rocking yourself against him. “Need you to move, need to feel you ruin me!”

“Oh yeah? You need me to move? What a slutty girl telling me such filthy things,” he growled, reaching around and grabbing your neck, not quite enough to choke but enough to let you know he was in control. “Tell me, slutty girl, who’s in charge?”

“You, sir!”

“Who gets to wreck this pussy?” he asked, slowly begining to fuck you, rocking himself slowly in and out of you at an agonising pace. 

“You, sir!”

“Are you my little whore?” He asked again, building up speed a little, catching you in all the right places and turning your head to mush.

“Yes sir,” you cried out, feeling yourself coming closer and closer to the edge.

“Good fuckin’ girl, princess.”

You screamed as he upped his pace out of no where and fucked you like it was his job. Your eyes lost focus and your teeth gnashed together and suddenly it was a fight to stay upright as he pounded in and out of you and held your neck tightly in his firm grasp. It wasn’t like anyone you’d been with before, this was a new level of fucking you’d never experienced.

“Fuck!” you cried out again. “Gonna- gonna cum.”

“Yeah? Good, cum for me. Clench on my cock, little slut.”

You moaned out and gripped the sheets underneath you tighter, feeling your whole body shaking as his cock forced you off balnce. Just a few more thrusts and-

It felt like bliss, it felt like a high from a drug you’d just taken for the first time. You came with a muffled scream as Ghost clamped his hand over your mouth and gasped wordlessly as he continued to fuck you. In and out, in and out, it was about all your mind could process as your body zipped and sparked like it had been hit by a thunderstorm.

He kept going like that, absolutely relentless, skewering you and turning you to mush below him, making you feel like dirt at his knees. You were nothing, you weren't any kind of princess, you were just his toy. And you fucking loved it. You loved that he could make you feel like that, but still make you feel so fucking precious as he continued to caress your skin and growl affirmations every now and then.

So fucking pretty.

Mine, princess, you’re mine. 

Feel so fucking good, you’re so fucking good.

You cried out as he put his hand around your throat again and put on some pressure, making you struggle a little to pull in air, but not by much. It felt exquisite. The tremors of your last orgasm were still bolting through you and now another one was building. You felt so good, felt so impossibly warm as you struggled beneath him. Fuck, you never wanted this to end. But you knew you could hardly take much more.

“You gonna cum for me again? Gonna give me another one before I finish? C’mon, I know you have another one in you, princess.”

You whined and felt your thighs shaking like they were going to collapse and suddenly his fingers closed tighter round the sides of your throat. You gasped loudly a couple times, trying to pant out that you were close, but the sound couldn’t quite form in your mouth. Then, in no time at all it was hitting you again, that high, that euphoria. Another orgasm. 

“Fuck!” Ghost growled out. 

You clenching around him had sent him over the edge and all too soon, you were both collapsing into the sheets like falling scaffolding. You clattered down against him and he pulled you close. He bucked his hips a couple times as he finished inside you, grunting a little with the increased sensitivity he felt as you shifted against him. It was divine.

You were both wrecked.

Neither of you said a word as you laid there, both keeping your eyes closed and your mouths open as you panted into the arid empty air. There was nothing to say. You just had to soak in the moment and retreat into each other's bodies, accepting the burning, unbearable heat you were both giving off and enveloping each other in it.

Fuck.

“Is that a better way of saying thank you, sir?” you finally moaned, grinning to yourself as you proved yourself right.

That was one way to teach you some respect alright.

#ghost x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #cod mw2 #cod fanfiction

[tripleyeeet]

THANKS, LASS!

SUMMARY: Rugan finally gets to buy you that drink at the Elfsong... and say his proper thanks.

PAIRING: Rugan & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,252

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), teasing, a little bit of hair pulling if you squint, CONSENT!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, I've never written for this man in my life so if it's bad... just uh... move along, please. Also, thanks to everyone who voted for the poll! I promise I'll do more fun things like this when I'm not so sad and sick. :')

MASTERLIST

-

The pain that resides in your lower back is intense. A torturous shift of muscle and bone pushing itself in all the wrong spots. So much so that as you take that first step towards the Elfsong’s upstairs quarters you can’t help but groan at the impact. Remembering how awful it felt to fight off that horde of elementals alongside Lorroakan’s particularly brutal set of spells. 

At this rate, the only thing you can feel is the need to rest and drink. Both of which somehow manage to pull your thoughts away from the staircase beneath your feet. Or more specifically how increasingly painful each step becomes. 

“You guys still have that gold from earlier, right?” Karlach asks. She’s about two steps in front of you and barely hanging on herself. With her great axe strapped to her back, it’s a wonder she’s still upright considering she probably took the brunt of the fight. 

“Yes, why?” Beside her, Shadowheart looks over skeptically. Even though she already knows why the tiefling’s asking.

“I ran out.” 

“Of course, you’d conveniently run out of money the second we make it to the most expensive tavern in town.” Leaning against the railing of the staircase, Astarion uses one hand to steady himself and the other to flippantly wave her off. All while rolling his eyes before shooting you an unimpressed look. “I swear, all this woman does is mooch.” 

“Says the bloodsucking vampire!” Karlach retorts, prompting Astarion to scoff. 

“You know, comparing an eternal curse to a lack of financial responsibility is rather poor taste, Karlach.” 

“Yeah, well—“

You’re already turning back towards the bottom of the staircase before you can listen further, grumbling under your breath. Moving your aching hands to your face to scrub them down in annoyance as you make a beeline for the bar.

All day they’d been at each other’s throats. Bickering about the littlest things as a result of too much pressure. Even before arriving within the city limits, you could feel the tension of everyone’s problems reaching their climax. And now it was well past the point of boiling over. 

“What can I—“

“Whatever’s strongest, please.” 

Awkwardly, you shift onto one of the barstools, cringing at the pain that radiates through your spine. Trying your best to ignore the exhaustion that settles once you inevitably trade your drink for a few pieces of gold.

“Rough day, I assume.” 

You give the barkeep an annoyed nod, leaning forward to readjust your position. Attempting to alleviate the discomfort by putting more weight onto your elbows as you begin to anxiously sip. The drink overall isn’t bad for what it’s worth. A bit fiery as it slips through your lips and down your throat but still tolerable. Better than most of the shit you’ve ransacked on the road which leaves you somewhat thankful. 

“You an adventurer?” 

As you take another drink, pausing mid-sip to narrow your eyes at the barkeep you can’t help but wonder how he hasn’t gotten the hint. You’re not here to talk —you’re here to drink. To drown in the silence of your thoughts until you inevitably have to come back up for air and wander helplessly upstairs to bed. To wallow in your own pity as you try and decide whose problems you’ll have to face next in favour of avoiding your own. 

Opening your mouth to respond, you’re quickly interrupted by a familiar voice. One that’s low and Northern —a jumble of words you don’t quite catch on account of the speed at which he scolds the barkeep causing him to scoff. 

“He bothering you?”

Glancing to your left, you’re met with Rugan’s familiar eyes. All tired and blue, looking at you with an odd amount of smugness that has you holding back a smirk as you shake your head. “Not anymore.” 

“Good. Ol’ Darvin’s always been a bit shit at social cues, haven’t you Darv?” As he speaks, his volume rises, catching the attention of the barkeep once again who flips him off. 

“Oh, piss off, Zhent.”

All he does is laugh. Lending you a moment to take another much-needed sip feeling your stomach flip. 

“I see you made it back in one piece.”

“Mostly.”

“Rough trip?”

You snort in response, knowing just how unaware he is of how truly rough it’s been. “You could say that.”

“Hopefully no more gnolls?”

“Only a few.” You shrug, watching him nod his head. Noticing the way he pauses his response to take your appearance in full, his eyes darting from the faded bloodstains coating the roots of your hair to the dishevelled way your armour sits on your frame, already begging to be discarded.

“When did you make it back?”

“A few nights ago.”

“And you’ve just now decided to take up my offer for a drink? Tsk, I’m offended,” he teases, his lips pulling down into a mock frown that has you biting your tongue and shaking your head, trying to appear aloof. 

Because if you're being honest, at this moment you’re feeling anything but. Thanks to the way he continues to stare —practically drinking you in like a man devoid of hydration— it feels as though you’ll cave at any second. Something you know you can’t do because there’s work to be done.

“My sincerest apologies,” you reply dramatically, pausing to take the last few sips of your drink before sighing in relief. “Yesterday I was a bit tied up fighting a cloister of angry Sharran’s and today we had to murder a power-hungry wizard. So, the offer sort of slipped my mind if I’m being honest.” 

Unsurprisingly, that piques his interest, prompting his brows to raise and his frame to sort of shift a bit closer. “Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?” 

“How do you mean?”

“Aren’t you meant to relax now that you’re back in the city?”

This time you laugh, throwing your head back —watching as he scrunches up his face in confusion until you eventually settle back down, wiping a stray tear from your eye. 

An act you half expect him to question considering how absurd it looks suddenly erupting into madness. How despite always acting like you know exactly what you’re doing you’ve just shown him otherwise. Granting him what little access you’re willing to release in order to pull him in. 

Which sounds ridiculous when you take into account you barely know the man. Having spoken to him on only two occasions, he really shouldn’t be trusted. Not at least until he’s proven himself an ally like others have. Instead, he should be placed at arm’s length like every other soul you’ve managed to save along the way. Looked at with fondness and curiosity but not faith. Never faith.

“Got yourself into some deep shite, have you?”

The way he smiles after he speaks leaves you questioning everything. The way your body shifts in response —the way your lungs give out and your legs move. The way everything feels warm and taut, forcing your mind to travel to places you know they shouldn’t. 

“Course.” 

“Bit of a troublemaker?”

In response, you shrug your shoulders and grin, unsure how to respond because, truthfully, you’re not. At least, not really. Sure, trouble always seems to find you as of late but obviously you don’t want it. Instead, what you want is peace. A night of no consequence or agenda. A night of song and dance and drink. A night of something other than what you’ve been constantly offered time and time again over these last few weeks. 

Which is why you don’t protest when Rugan merely changes the subject, offering to buy you another drink. Or why you fail to stop after the second or the third —pausing around the fourth to debate going to bed before eventually relenting once more, smiling at the way he pokes fun at your lack of tolerance. 

“Figured a fierce warrior like you’d be able to handle their drink.” 

By that point, your mind is exclusively swimming around him. Thinking of all the ways you could further enjoy his company after this is over. Maybe you could ask him out for another drink. Or tag along with whatever trouble he’ll most likely get himself into again. 

“Give me a break, Zhent,” you chastise, swirling the glass that now sits idly in your hand. Trying your best to tear your gaze from his, knowing that you’re drowning. Slipping further and further into those pretty fucking eyes that look and stare and absorb every single little thing you do. Every new glance making you unnecessarily nervous —a bundle of skittish thoughts and movements erupting over time, forcing your guard to quickly lower. Causing the once-severed connection between your mind and mouth to mend itself in the form of drunken rambles that have him practically on the edge of his seat. 

“You know, I kept thinking I’d miss you when we arrived,” you tell him, glancing over your shoulder to hide the stupid grin that sits across your face at just the thought.

“You don’t say.” He grins back. 

“Mhm. I kept having to tell myself not to get my hopes up.” 

“Didn’t realize you viewed me so highly.” 

“I don’t,” you immediately lie, despite knowing he’s already caught you. Thanks to his patience, charm, and heavy pockets he’s managed to earn at least one admittance of vulnerability, and knowing him that’s all he needs. 

“You know, you’re a terrible liar,” he muses, and although you want to fight him on it, you don’t. Knowing that the conversation would just lead to another ill-performed lie tumbling from your already loosened lips. 

“And you’re too smug.” 

“Well, that’s because I have to be.” 

You raise your brow. “Why?”

“Because pride gets you places. Shame doesn’t.” 

Suddenly, you’re scrunching up your face and leaning forward, placing your glass on the counter between you —moving towards the edge of your chair so that you can explore his features the same way he did earlier. 

Somehow it hardly phases him. Instead of making him sweat as it had previously done to you, you can sense that pride he’s talking about. All the underlying confidence that peaks through his pores, settling between the lines of age that reside around his mouth and eyes. It practically radiates off of him. Blinding you for a good few moments before it slowly fades behind the backdrop of something new. Something far more vulnerable, showcasing itself in the subtle way his eyes dart down towards the hand that’s suddenly found itself around his knee.

“You know, it’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes,” you say, speaking to both him and yourself. Attempting to boost whatever confidence the two of you once had during the flirtatious parts of your conversation. “In certain circumstances, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” 

Looking away, you then press your lips together and go to move your hand, feeling his quickly slip over top and how it pulls you back in again. 

“This your way of granting me permission to be vulnerable, then?”

All you do is shrug, glancing down to see his fingers maneuvering your hand into his. Each digit lacing between the empty spaces of your own so that he can raise it and place a gentle kiss on your knuckles. An act that leaves you utterly breathless as he snorts and says something else. Something you don’t quite catch due to the fact that you’re already six feet below the surface, desperately trying to come up for air so that you can focus on the sound his mouth makes rather than what it might feel like against your skin. Or how it might taste after a long bout of— 

“Oi, you listening?”

“Sorry?”

All he does is scoff as he kisses your hand again, watching your mouth open and close like a fish out of water. Taking you in with each struggling breath until he can feel your sense of stability returning. 

“I said I’d really like to take you upstairs and fuck you, if that’s alright.” 

At that moment, you’re completely speechless. A silent mess of twisting expressions too scared to respond with anything remotely charming. 

As if you’ve been reduced to nothing but a follower worshipping their holy God, eventually all you do is nod and allow your body to be led up the stairs. Patiently waiting for the moment you step over that final threshold of privacy. All while internally wondering if what you’re doing is the right thing because there’s still so much work to be done. Not to mention the fact that everyone’s relying on you to—

“Aye, they can handle themselves for the night, yeah?” 

Practically reading your mind, it’s as if you’re already one. A pair of bodies so tightly wound that by the time you’ve stepped into the room, he’s already working towards that goal. 

Kicking the door closed, he presses into you almost instantly, moving his hands around your frame; lingering on the plushest parts as he inevitably slots his mouth against yours. Barely giving you a chance to think let alone breathe as he leads you to the bed. All while your hands wildly follow his in tandem, wrapping themselves around his shoulders —feeling them tense with excitement as the edges of your arms roughly knock against them on your way to hold his face. 

Caressing his sturdy cheeks as he sits on the mattress’s edge, you then feel him pull you onto his lap, prompting you to smile against him. Feeling the way he gently bites back through the hazy taste of heated ale and desperation. Suppressing the urge to moan at the impact of his teeth taking hold of the skin before pulling back.

“You’re breathing a bit heavy there, sweetheart. Everything alright?” 

You’re tempted to smack him but instead, you resort to merely tucking a hand behind his head to pull at his hair, watching his jaw shift. Feeling the tone of the room change almost as quickly as he grabs your chin. 

“Careful there. Wouldn’t want to hurt that pretty little face of yours any further.” 

For a moment his fingers feel tight against your face, pressing your lips into a pout until he eventually allows the softer side of his movements to return. Then you’re lost to the waves all over again, feeling him guide you to a standing position beside the bed. Watching intently as he follows behind, moving his fingers to the clasps of your armour. 

“Bit overdressed it seems,” he jokes, instantly making quick work of all the fastenings and ties. Starting with your chest plate before making his way down to the belt of your trousers, painfully lingering on the latter. 

“I see that pride of yours is still intact,” you say, moving in to kiss his lips. Realizing just how truly soft they are in comparison to the rest of him. How unlike the arrogance and greed that resides in his voice and hands respectively, there’s a hidden tenderness there. An Achilles’ heel that you’re more than happy to nurture rather than exploit.

Which is something you’re certain he notices based on the way everything changes after that. How, instead of things progressing solely for the purpose of shared satisfaction, they move with care. With newfound attentiveness in the form of slow, curious hands that coast the edges of your torso.

“You know, I never properly thanked you for saving us that day.”

Narrowing your eyes, you can’t help but smile at the sensation of his breath suddenly wafting against your neck. Or how his palms feel dragging down the fabric of your tunic only to tuck themselves against the bareness of your skin, resting just above your hips. 

“Didn’t you?”

Far gentler than you anticipate, his mouth sucks the skin of your neck. His teeth applying a bit of pressure before his tongue darts out to soothe the small affliction. “Not in the way that I wanted to,” he tells you after, kissing that same spot before moving lower and repeating the process. All while digging his fingers into your hips. “Not in the way you deserve.”

There’s a moment when you go to ask him what he means. Not because you’re unaware but because you need to hear him say it. To listen to him admit that what he’s doing is nothing more than an act of gratitude so that after this is said and done you won’t be distracted anymore.  

But then he proceeds to lower himself to the ground, floorboards creaking under the weight of his knees. Thumbs carefully brushing across the edges of your stomach before moving back to your belt. Looking up at you, his eyes are larger and more desperate than you’ve ever seen them before and it’s as if you're back on the shore, wondering whether or not it’s okay to dive back in. 

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

It comes out like a whisper. As your lungs fail to provide the air you need to breathe, you’re left stranded. Wafting through the waves of his hands peeling away the fabric of your dirtied clothes, the only thing that’s there to stabilize you is him. His hungry mouth and broad shoulders —his calloused hands ghosting the backs of your calves as he tentatively kisses the inside of your thighs. And in order to stop the tremors he inflicts from toppling you over, you have to reach down to grab his hair. 

Wrapping your fingers gently around the knot that sits on top of his head, you hear him hum in response almost instantly. The vibrations of his voice brushing against the edge of your cunt. Every subtle movement of his hands and mouth forcing your body to shift uncomfortably, trying your best to alleviate the pressure. 

An alleviation that doesn’t come easy. Thanks to the teasing of his lips eventually wrapping around your clit but failing to do much else. Knowing that good things like this take time. 

(And that a little bit of teasing never hurt anyone). 

“Rugan, can you— oh fuck—“

His tongue circles the exact spot you need it to. Moving languidly around before darting elsewhere and repeating the process, you can feel your insides tightening. The imaginary band within you being pulled taught as he moves his fingers up to brush your folds. Every motion working together to force a moan from your lips. The kind that makes him grin against you, forcing his fingers inside just as shifts to suck your clit again. 

Immediately, it’s all too much. An overload of sensitivities taking over your mind. Suddenly, you feel your hips blindly rut against his mouth while you tug at his hair. Forcing him to work that much harder. Making it hard for either of you to breathe because he refuses to stop.

Even when you can feel him desperately panting against you, he refuses to stop. Running his tongue across every exposed area —embedding the feeling of its efforts throughout every nerve— it doesn’t take long for you to come undone. 

In fact, it’s hardly a minute after you’ve egged him on that he’s pushed you over the edge, remaining completely consistent in his efforts to please you. To show his appreciation in the form of a suckling mouth that continues through the endless waves of pleasure. To graciously thank you over and over until you’re later left limp against his chest after the fourth or fifth round (you’ve lost count) breathing so hard he can’t help but feel smug about it. 

-

TAGLIST:

@oldanimefan @void-singer @gunslingerorchid @littleplasticrat @fistfuloftarenths @kirahlene @killerpancakeburger @charmedslytherin @voloslobotomyservice @cloverthebarbearian @my-favourite-zhent @imgoingtofreakoutnow

#thanks lass! #rugan x tav #rugan x female reader #rugan x reader #rugan smut #summer writes

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

Blah blah blah, massive jerking off motion, sugar daddy Colonel König with a f!reader!30 year old, established sugar baby doing it for a laff fic bullet point idea I've been bullshitting around with under the cut:

Again, bc y'all know me, this is just my fuckin oc dressed up as a reader but yknow what whatever. It’s my maladaptive daydream and I’m generalizing enough to share it.

You’re a doctor of organic chemistry, working in pharmaceutical forensics at a lab that largely deals with multinational jurisdiction drug offenses for various state agencies. The work pays pretty well, as it’s government scale, but it is dull and repetitive.

To get your kicks, you sugar baby casually on a semi-regular to regular basis. It suits you. You’ve never established a meaningful long term relationship, flings come easily to you, and older would-be romancers have always taken interest in you in ways that people from your own age bracket haven’t.

Sex or no, it all depends on who is approaching you, the decision ultimately yours.

And they don’t have to provide monetarily, no. You’re well established, more than that even. Once they understand that aspect of you, they shift their approach, and that’s when the fun starts.

Gifts, trips, concerts, dinners—whatever you want, all of it a discreet text away.

None of your entanglements last terribly long. You’re off-putting, in your way, your mannerisms, your directness. Most of your paramours find that it doesn’t click for them. If you’re having sex, it doesn’t matter how mind blowing it is—usually for your partner, though you’ve had the occasional winner—one way or another it ends. And you have been the one to end it, especially when you feel it growing strained and pointed toward what services you provide your temp partners. You’re no stranger to the sudden and surgical cut.

One such situation leads a Colonel to a spot at your feet.

One of the dudes who wandered into your carousel was Declan O’Conor, of KorTac. He’d been intrigued by your intensity at first, and the sex was some of the best he’d ever had, though you thought he lacked skills in foreplay. He was generally brusque however, and tended to ignore the trade of attention and gifts in favor of his desires, which left you cold and unimpressed.

gonna be real, i left off here like two days ago, and i'm 2 hours into my last work day before my weekend, so i'm not bothering with extra detail, we're wheelin' and dealin' now, lads.

a certain colonel gets a hold of your email through declan, a nanosecond before you dump declan's ass. the timing? immaculate. the colonel could not have done better. isn't he fucking lucky.

he's heard declan bragging about his new bird. she's smart, she's discreet, she fucks like a succubus. she doesn't even want money, or a relationship. shit, she doesn't even care if you're married or have kids, she wants no part of your real life. she just wants fun and stimulation.

well. ain't that just what the colonel is looking for, he lies to himself. könig is almost half convinced you're an escort dressed up as a woman looking for a good time, but what the fuck does he know. and from what he's gathered, the way people approach you is myriad, but you're picky as for how long things go on.

he's drowned at work, has no desire to go bar crawling or trying to pick up a dumbass hobby to try and meet someone, and he, if he's honest with himself, does not have the time to dedicate to an actual relationship, is mildly horrified at the idea of using an app to date, and is approaching his mid 40s. his work is too demanding, he travels too much, he's too burnt out. fun sounds fun.

he shoots off the email.

what he gets in return: "interesting that o'conor seems to be recommending me around, as that's not part of the agreement. but i'll meet you. tell me when you're next in berlin, and we'll set a date. should it cross your mind, bring me something interesting."

smth smth, time moves on, you end up meeting up with him for dinner. he insisted. he knew a place. you hoped like hell it wasn't some overblown officer's club. that shit was always dead boring and full of the most disgusting braggadocio you've heard in your life. testosterone beating off against testosterone, trying to find out which one nuts first.

but, nah. he hauls you to a korean bbq joint that's a real down and dirty hole in the wall, and immediately you're impressed. the food is amazing. it's quiet. he is ENORMOUS, but has an air of cinders about him.

you can tell he used to run off rage, almost solely. it must've burned down over the years, or his fuel had taken a hit that it could never recover from. he's tired. he's looking for ease.

he wears a gaiter covering the bottom half of his face and neck, and you find it curious as the dinner starts, your booth in the far back, away from prying eyes.

thought it was for your comfort. he'd already spoken of your discretion, that he was well aware, and interested in the same. his position in his org is high up, he works with sensitive info, his clearance is big time spooky. things you're familiar with from your own work.

he calls his work security, and you call your own science. it is enough.

he warns you about his facial scarring before the meal begins, giving you the choice to avoid seeing him eat, and you turn down that offer. "i can assure you that i've seen worse," you say, confident, unshaken at what he might be hiding. your history is a darkness, it runs deep, and ruin is not unfamiliar to you.

he seems pleased, or at least mollified, and pulls down the gaiter. the lower half of his face is a wreckage, almost at odds with the wheat colored curls - all shot through with silvery-gray - tied into a tail at the base of his skull, and the blue of his bag-bruised eyes. a botched cleft lip surgery, exposing big, fuck-around-find-out teeth in a scar that leaves him always snarling. rippling burn scars crawling up from his ravaged neck, pulling at the corner of his eye.

at least he will eat, if nothing else.

it is one of the rare times he will allow you to see this.

at the end of the meal, after some good conversation, dancing light around heavy realities, secrets that can't be told, you sit back and watch him with curiosity-heavy eyes, a contentedly full stomach, the foot of your crossed leg hovering in the air between you under the table.

he's pulled his gaiter back up, peeling euro bills off a fat clip he pulls from his pocket, dropping them on the table, overpaying the meal. perhaps the privacy. perhaps the server. perhaps the flash of it.

"i didn't forget," he laughs, voice still higher than you'd expected, but rasping and rough as gravel churning mud and blood.

"apologies. i'm impatient. it is my nature."

"hah. have that in common, then, hm?" he laughs, going for another pocket.

usually, you expect jewelry on the first date. it hasn't been uncommon with the people you run with. perhaps even technology. you were afforded an iphone 14 pro max a month before they'd even come out, but you'd held onto it and resold it later.

and this fascinating könig pulls out a box, as well. you almost feel your stomach sink. you'd been hoping...well. it doesn't matter what you'd hope. and maybe it was foolish to harbor a small, chittering desire that he'd be different, after the turns your conversations took.

he plunks it down on the table in front of you, rapping two long, powerful fingers on the plain lid. it's not even that impressive of packaging. oh, your stomach churns with impending disappointment. sometimes these men end up cheap. you steel yourself, falling into your resolve.

a fossilized horse tooth is what is presented to you when you open the package, as well as a business card for a fossil and crystal dealer. you catch sight of a beaded bracelet on his wrist, carnelians.

"didn't know what sort of science you're in, but figured i couldn't go wrong with a fossil. or a horse. you have horse girl energy."

he's smirking. you tip your head back and cackle, mind flooded with your years on your school's equitation team and the summers you spent trekking across continents with your grandmother by horseback.

the energy shifts perfectly, and you pull your head down, beaming at him. running the toe of your heels up his calf under the table, you roll the fossil-black tooth between your fingers, following the grooves, feeling the age. this horse would've been about nine when it died. not bad for a wild thing. most of them didn't find the miracles of old age.

"what gave it away? the posture?"

"oh ja. jawohl. it's the posture. even leaned back, sit like you're setting your ass in a saddle."

"mhm. sounds like you've done some riding yourself."

"when i was younger, yes. half-sway-backed plow nag, though. nothing so fancy as what people might picture, with the accent."

"not everyone can afford warmbloods, it is true."

you fold the tooth into your closed hand, silence falling comfortable between you. and here it is.

"i think we should find a place for the night, don't you?" you ask, and you can see his mouth pull into a smirk under the mask.

"hah. good thing i thought ahead then. i booked a room--some place nice. you'll like it." his confidence would be off-putting. it should be off-putting. but it isn't. it's almost a relief. it's definitely a turn on. he's not feeling out your approval, at least not visibly.

you were both looking for fun. and perhaps you've found it. at the very least, he is not treating this as a fight to be won. maybe he would not've been crushed or vitriolic if the night ended with nothing further, ever again. you don't know. you let him help you into your coat, and into a cab, and you find your flesh-ripping want yelling louder and louder with his arm draped casually across the back of the seat behind you.

and good christ, does can he fuck.

okidoke, i'm cutting this one here, sry. i will probably continue it more formally (? idk) later once i've worked on some other stuff, but i wanted to get this one out, yeehaw. hope u enjoyed!

#konig #könig #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader #my work #my hcs #??? don't know boss this has just been rattling in my head forever

[novelcain]

Oooooh~ just imagine, once Wukong realizes (and finally accepts) his feelings towards Reader..

He just gradually (and subconsciously) starts trying to Woo her! 😆 doing little things like hunting for the best food MEAT to show he’s capable of providing for her as a Mate, being an✨EXTRA✨show-off when taking down Demons, and protecting the group.. Randomly grabbing her✨princess style✨whenever he sees even the vaguest opportunity to do so. Not to mention all the Demon courting rituals involved..

(Plus of course Sandy’s LIVING THE DREAM!! Egging him on ALLLL the way, like “Oh, I heard elder Sister say she wished to eat (Insert desired Meat here) today..” Because by buddha, he WIlL see his OTP become Canon! DAMN IT!!)

And if Pigsy tries to sabotage Wukong’s endeavors to be Reader’s Mate.. Then.. ~Oh my, would you look at that, for some strange reason Sandy has Pigsy all hogtied~

🎃~

Tripitaka: Please stop you’re supposed to be Buddhist!😭😭😭

Omg Wukong was already a menace when it came to precious items but gods is it so much worse now. He’s in full blown courting demon brain now. Him seeing anything shiny or soft is far to much for his sweet little impulsive monkey brain to handle. He’s stealing from any thief he comes into contact with now and just hiding the bodies instead of trying to negotiate with them. And when Tripitaka and Reader ask where and how he got all this stuff he just says he bought it or traded for it but that’s not ANY better to them because the others know he doesn’t have any money or anything to trade so that would mean that he’s been using his fur to make his own money which is illegal.

But he can’t help it! Every single cell in his body is telling him to woo his potential mate and it’s to the point that his demon instincts are tell him to just steal her away to Flower Fruit Mountain where he can properly shower her in all his treasures like the queen he intends to make her.😌😌

Also Wukong when learns that Pigsy would dare stand in his way of wooing his mate:

#🎃 anon #skittle answers #isekai'd to the west #jttw sun wukong x reader #sun wukong x reader #wukong x reader #monkey king x reader #journey to the west x reader #jttw x reader

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

I hope y’all like my OC’s!! I picked them cuz theyre the closest i have to Vampires and werewolves :) and also because theyre my favorite :)

For those who dont have an account on the artfight but are still interested in my oc’s, I’ve provided the description that i gave them on their pages under the cut off :)

These two are from the story im working on that i hope to turn into a webcomic one day called Where Does The Heart Lie! I hope you enjoy~

Kreios:

Overview:

Kreios is a 6'7" shaggy man who is visibly inconvenienced by most things in his life. He works as a Territory Patrol Captain for his Clan that resides in The Forest of Thieves. He is albino, has depression, is demiromantic/asexual and his personality type is ISFP

His design is based off of the idea of "a sheep in wolf's clothing" to compliment his counterpart, Ivaylo, whose design is based around "a wolf in sheep's clothing". As such, he wears a wolf hide Coat, but is otherwise a shaggy sheep of a man.

Mannerisms/Way of Life:

-Kreios is just gigantic and he lumbers and slouches everywhere he goes.

-He falls asleep randomly even while standing up and when he's asleep, you could put anything near him and he'd hold it.

-He doesn't respect other people much. He's only here to do a job, and when he's done, he goes home.

-When Kreios is in his little apartment, he's either carving, cooking, or sleeping. he doesnt have guests, he doesnt hold parties, he's simply alone. And that's the way he likes it.

-He makes money on the side taking carving commissions from others in his clan. What is usually ordered is a Chess set.

-Kreios is crazy good at playing chess.

-He's not blind nor is he not paying attention, he's a very strategically intelligent man. However, people often underestimate his intelligence because of his aloof nature.

-he is not very visibly expressive due to the hair in front of his eyes and he tends to keep a neutral mouth shape. However if he's feeling inconvenienced, he's gonna hit you with a scowl.

Where His Heart Lies:

Kreios feels so deeply. When he respects, when he protects, when he loves. He does it all with all of his Heart and his soul. If he loves you, you'll know it. He hates hiding any of his emotions and is also terrible at lying.

Dynamic With Ivaylo:

He and Ivaylo were childhood friends, but life kept pulling them apart. Their childhood village was destroyed by an ever-growing empire, they wound up finding homes in different clans in their young adult years, and now they must keep their relationship to each other bottled up even though their territories have moved to be right next to each-other's.

Until their clans can become allies, they cannot interact.

Ivaylo:

Overview:

Ivaylo is a very particular Clan Leader who expects the most from everyone. His clan is made up of those who were cast out of their own clans in the Forest of Thieves for their various disabilities. The first person he took in was a little girl missing the bottom half of her left leg and he now refers to her as his daughter. He has anxiety and mild OCD, is homoromantic/homosexual, and his personality type is ISFJ

His design is based off of the idea of "a Wolf in Sheep's clothing" to compliment his counterpart, Kreios, whose design is based around "a Sheep in Wolf's clothing". As such, he wears a sheep hide vest under his big fur coat.

Mannerisms/Way of Life:

-Ivaylo commands and expects respect from all.

-He is very particular about small details. When he started living in the forest, he couldnt control much, so what he can control, he will do so perfectly in his eyes. His hair may look unorderly, but rest assured it is perfectly quaffed.

if something isn't right orderly-wise in his eyes, he will only focus on that one thing and cannot focus even if he's having a conversation with someone or even fighting

-In a work setting, he is ruthless and cold, but out of work, he is also cold, but in a "leave me alone" kind of way. a lone wolf, if you will. He finds having close relationships with those he feels are his employees is incredibly improper.

-Though he is cold, he is never quick to anger. He keeps a level head always.

-He admires loyalty and is very loyal to ones he loves.

-He is crazy bad at playing chess.

-Ivaylo walks with his head held high.

Where His Heart Lies:

-He wants to make a better life for his whole clan, but mainly his daughter, Calbex, who he refers to as X. All he wants is to live a peaceful life with those he loves.

-Life twisted him into a cold monster, but at heart he's very childish and sports a very impish smile. You can get him to giggle if you compliment him.

Kreios:

He and Kreios were childhood friends, but life kept pulling them apart. Their childhood village was destroyed by an ever-growing empire, they wound up finding homes in different clans in their young adult years, and now they must keep their relationship to each other bottled up even though their territories have moved to be right next to each-other's.

Until their clans can become allies, they cannot interact.

Calbex:

Calbex is his daughter and he loves her so much. She's an eccentric gal, to say the very least. She knew him before he became a very large Clan leader and as such he can show his true self to her, but not completely. She is his daughter, after all, he must be strong for her and critical of her for her to learn to thrive in the environment they're in.

#my art #community post #artfight 2023 #WDTHL Kreios #WDTHL Ivaylo #my ocs

[clone-anon-after-dark]

Just As You Are (Wolffe x GN!Asexual!Aromantic!Reader)

Word count: 2047

Warnings: I’ll say NSFW for mention of having sex to make past partners happy, mention of masturbation, minors DNI

A/N: This is my first time writing Reader who is strictly aroace so I hope I did it some kind of justice. I know not all aroace people express themselves in the same way, so this is just one version I had in my mind. I believe what I write is referred to as a queerplatonic relationship? No pronouns are used for Reader.  There is cuddling, bedsharing, and some sweetness, but not romance in the way a lot of people think about it. I think that touch is great and can be a wonderful way of communicating in all relationships, including platonic relationships, so there are some quick kisses, hugs, hand holding, etc.

You'd first met him when helping Rex with some clones who escaped The Empire. They were all stressed and in need of serious help. You ran into him and Gregor on the lower levels of Coruscant. You were selling some speeder parts to another vendor and they were looking for some specific ship parts. One thing led to another and Wolffe's visits to your shop became more frequent. You liked him. He was quick-witted and kind. You weren't sure exactly what you thought about him, just that he had a special place in your heart. Sex wasn't for you. Romance wasn't for you either, but you loved his company. 

Sometimes he would sit with you while you tinkered in the shop, trying to fix something for him while he waited.  You didn’t give too much away at first, but as you got to know each other, you opened up more and so did he.  Like his brothers, he had been through a lot in the war.  You thought he was brave and thoughtful and still managed to keep a sense of humor after all that.  

Wolffe was there the day you broke down and admitted you needed a fresh start and had decided to sell your shop and find some other place in the galaxy. You apologized, knowing they depended on you, but knew life on Coruscant was getting too dangerous to stay.

"Come with us," he said. "There's room for you and we could use your skills. Besides, I'd miss you if I didn’t get to see you again."

You were shocked at first, but within a week a half dozen clones scoured what supplies and parts you had left in your little workshop. You told them to take what was needed and were able to sell the shop and what was left as-is. Wolffe helped you carry your few personal belongings to the ship he now lived on with some of his brothers. You walked away, at least grateful to have someone who cared.

“Everything will work out,” he said.  You smiled up at him and nodded.  You hoped so.

Wolffe helped you get settled in your own bunk on the ship.  Room was rather scarce, but there was some space for each of you.  You traveled with them, helping other clones escape, but found yourself helping the most with everyday tasks.  Cooking, fixing clothes, knowing when to barter, trade, or flat out buy something, and how to fix items.  These were all things they had never had to worry about before. Food was in the mess, they dropped off their blacks to get fixed if they ripped, and they never worried about money or buying supplies during the war.  The GAR took care of it, even if the food wasn’t particularly delicious or plentiful.

One night, as you sat in the cockpit together, keeping an eye out for any problems on the backwater planet you’d settled on for the night, Wolffe decided to make his feelings known.  He turned to you and rubbed the back of his head before taking a deep breath.

“I care about you, you know.”

You looked at him and smiled. “I know. And I care about you.”

“I mean, I think I am in love with you,” he replied.

You felt butterflies in your stomach.  Somehow you knew he felt this way and you worried that if he knew the truth about how attraction worked for you, he wouldn’t want anything to do with you and you’d lose your dearest friend.

“Wolffe, I…” you thought about where to start, but it was clear his heart was sinking with worry that you didn’t think about him the same way.  You reached out and held his hand.  He slowly let his fingers close around yours as you continued.

“I don’t experience romantic attraction. I also don’t like sex. I have never wanted to have sex.  It’s not you.  I actually… I love you too… just maybe in a different way.”

He let a cautious smile spread across his face.  You were in it now and he hadn’t rejected you yet.  You might as well lay it all out.  As if he knew you needed another bit of strength, Wolffe squeezed your hand a little, reminding you that he was still there with you and wanted to hear what you had to say.

“I may not be attracted to people in those ways, but I definitely have feelings for you, Wolffe.  More so than Rex or Gregor or my other friends and certainly more than I did for my family.  But I understand if that’s not enough.  It’s never been enough for anyone else.”

He held your hand and reached out to caress your cheek with his thumb. “Is this okay,” he asked, pausing just before touching your face, and wanting to be near you but not wanting to overstep.  You nodded and smiled, somewhat surprised by his reaction to what you just said.

“It’s more than enough for me and it’s more than okay,” he said.  “And if you don’t believe me, let me show you.  Give me a chance to love you how you want to be loved.”

You leaned into the hand still holding your cheek.  You relaxed a little, trying to not let old worries bother you.  Right now, you felt understood and embraced for who you were.

It took a little time, but you both slowly had conversations about where the boundaries were.  You loved cuddling and Wolffe was all too happy to welcome you into his bunk. He swapped sheets and blankets with your old bunk so that you could be comfortable with what was familiar, but the temperature on the side of the ship with his bunk was more to your liking, so you moved your stuff over.  

The first night together started a little awkwardly, but you felt so safe when he put his arm around your waist and asked, “Is this okay?”  You assured him it was.  Wolffe was normally so sure of himself and confident in combat, but with you he was only confident when he was sure you were on the same page.  He wanted to get it right.

“Can I kiss your cheek,” he asked.  You nodded.  

“Do you like kisses, Wolffe?”

“Yes.”

You kissed his cheek in return and rested against him.  It felt so right.  You fell asleep together and got some of the best rest of your life.  Wolffe’s presence felt like a weighted blanket - not controlling or restricting, but calming.

A few mornings later he woke up before you and as soon as he realized his morning wood was against your leg, he pulled away.  You woke up from the sudden movement and asked what was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “I didn’t want you to think I…”  He looked down and wasn’t sure what to do.

“It’s okay,” you said.  You rubbed your eyes and laid back down, unsure of what else to say.

“I never want to pressure you,” he said.  “I didn’t want you to think I was.”

“You haven’t.”  You smiled, picked up his hand, and kissed the back of it.  You got up to use the refresher and you both went about your day.  Later in the evening, you found some time together.  Wolffe sat next to you and held your hand. It was becoming one of your favorite things.  Gregor joked that you were attached at the hands instead of at the hips before he got up and walked toward the cockpit for his watch.  You loved that.  Wolffe’s hands were somehow hard and soft at the same time, like him. It felt grounding.

Once you were alone, you brought up his earlier reaction to his body functioning normally and promised him you didn’t mind.  You knew he couldn’t control what his body did while he slept.  At the same time, it felt like you should bring up the topic of intimacy.  You asked if he was really okay with being with you and not having sex.

He scoffed and replied, “My hand and a couple toys have always been enough for me.”

You laughed a little at his honesty, but loved it.  He leaned toward you and rested his forehead against yours.  “We’re close in other ways.”  

“Yes, we are,” you replied with a warm smile.

After a few minutes, Wolffe tentatively asked something that had been on his mind.

“You said before that having a relationship like this has never been enough,” he said slowly.  “What happened? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just curious.”

You bit your lip and moved to lean on his shoulder, still holding his hand.  He gave it a little squeeze.  

“I was with couple other people at different times.  Tried the relationship thing. Someone would get to know me, wanted to date, romance, sex, the whole usual thing people normally do.  When I told them I’m not interested in that kind of love and didn’t feel like having sex with them, they would say they understood and it was fine, but eventually it wasn’t enough.  Especially the last person.  He really pressured me.  At that point, I cared about him and yeah, loved him in my own way, and I had sex with him to make him happy.  It didn’t feel right, though, and the relationship didn’t last.”

Wolffe’s breathing got heavier and you glanced up to see anger on his face.  You pulled away, unsure, and his expression immediately softened to one of care and protection.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said, seeing your uncertainty.  “Far from it.  I’m sorry you felt like you had to do that.  It’s not right.”  He put an arm around you and pulled you close, placing a chaste kiss on the top of your head.  You let out breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“I want to make you happy,” you said.

“You do,” he answered with a broad smile and another kiss to your head.  “You make me so kriffing happy.  You’re enough as you are.”

You only became more inseparable as the years went on.  You came to depend on each other. If anyone asked he would say “we’re together” or “that’s my partner.”  You said the same of him.  He always made you feel special just as you were.  Each night you got into bed together and talked about your day.  You helped each other unwind simply by offering each other comfortable familiarity.  Some night you’d read a holonovel together and discovered you both liked science fiction.

You saw each other through some challenging times, too.  When you were in the Outer Rim and Wolffe’s cybernetic eye stopped working at the end of a mission, he was terrified he lost his sight for good.  You held his hand and ran him back to the ship, reminding him that his other eye was working and he would be okay.  As Gregor and Rex took off, looking for the nearest doctor who could help, you sat with him.  It was clear he was having flashbacks to the war and when he first lost his eye.

“I’m here,” you reminded him.  “I promise it will be okay.  You’re on our ship, Wolffe.  Rex and Gregor are here and we’re going to get you help.”

He looked like a terrified cadet, crying as you held him.  You walked him back to your shared bunk once you were in hyperspace, hoping the familiar sights, smells, and textures would help.

“Please don’t leave,” he asked through tears. 

“I never will.”

Everything turned out okay.  He needed an adjustment to his cybernetic, but was assured it should still last the rest of his lifetime and then some.  That night, you held him, letting him rest his face in the crook of your neck, while you rubbed his back.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said.  “I don’t know why I broke down when I could see out of my good eye just fine.”

“It’s okay,” you replied.  “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve gone through a lot.  I love you just as you are.”

“And I love you too,” he said, “just as you are too.”

Tagging: @kixs-husband @staycalmandhugaclone

#commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x m!reader #commander wolffe x aroace reader #wolffe x aroace reader #commander wolffe x f!reader #commander wolffe x gn!reader #commander wolffe x asexual reader #commander wolffe x aromantic reader #wolffe anon #tcw fanfiction #reader insert #wolffe x m!reader #wolffe x f!reader #wolffe x gn!reader #aroace reader #asexual reader #acespec reader #aromantic reader #cw: mention of feeling pressured to have sex

[soft-for-them]

The cliché of being stuck in a lift with your crush - Spock x plus size reader

Summary: You get stuck in a lift with Spock. Based off prompts 8, 10 and 28 on this list. (Gender neutral because Spock is queer to me.)

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: Not proof read at all, also I changed the wording of the prompts a bit to match the way Spock speaks even though I feel that this is out of character. I haven't written for Spock in a while...

It is getting late, not that giant expanse of space indicated it. The sky is always an inky black filled with glittering stars and rotating planets. From you data pad you can gather it’s around nine in evening aka time to be relaxing maybe even sleeping however the universe has other plans for you.

You’re a red shirt, specifically working as an engineer, though you mostly work more on the smaller parts of the ship like the replicators and communication devices rather than the engines or any part of the ship that Scotty loves. Really you’re a jack of all trades, a plumber and an electrician rolled into one but with the added benefit that you work in space rather than on earth.

It’s a rewarding job and really you truly love it but because of it, that and the fact that you have many non red shirt friends on the Enterprise, you’re often the person called to fix silly little accidents that could have been avoided if people weren’t so clumsy.

If you had a penny for the amount of times you’ve turned a computer on and off or tightened a lose screw for an oblivious friend who thinks they’re about to blow up the ship you’d have enough money to retire early.

Dressed in a long bright pink bed shirt and a pair of boxers that poke out from under the t-shirt hem you slog over to the nearest turbo lift to go back to your room and sleep. Your mismatched socks dampen the sounds of your shoeless feet and you clutch a small tool box to your chest, the allen keys and magnetic screw drivers rattling around inside it.

A friend of yours had broken a light whilst flinging a chair at a ‘spider’, the creature not actually there. When you had gotten there they were in tears thinking that someone was going to shout at them for breaking the main light, their room mate panicking for they had walked into the messed up room and the scared human.

The light wasn’t broken. Sure the plastic covering the strip light had cracked but it hadn’t broke, instead the chair your friend had chucked across the room had slammed the light switch off making them think they broke the light.

For half an hour you’ve been comforting your dear friend, cleaning their room to the best of your ability whilst a nurse looked them over. The diagnosis was that they needed sleep and food so you had got them some food, tucked them into bed and promise to come replace the cracked plastic in the morning.

Now you step into a turbo lift wanting some food and sleep as well.

Your eyes go blurry as you step in and call out you destination, the lull of sleep beckoning you to your soft bed. You don’t notice a figure walk in behind you, their walk hurried. With tired eyes you look down to see a pair of shiny regulation shoes stood close but not too close.

Immediately you straighten up.

His voice calls out his own destination which makes you lift your head up, your round face going flush.

Here you are, t-shirt slipping down on shoulder showing more of soft skin than professional, your chubby legs covered in stubble and goose bumps and your face a frown.

Fuck, you’re not ever wearing shoes.

“Sir.” you greet clutching your tools closer to your chest your eyes wondering up to him.

“Lieutenant (y/n).”

Your face somehow gets even hotter.

For one thing you’re a Lieutenant junior grade not a Lieutenant, that and somehow Mr. Spock knows your first name which you never thought he knew! If this was an old earth cartoon you’d turn lobster red and faint at his feet at him calling your name.

“Busy night.” you say with an awkward smile lifting your tool box up a bit prove your point.

“Yes.” he states firmly, his eye still trained on you as the turbo lift moves, “I have been in many meetings today.”

You’ve never really liked small talk but somehow small talk with Spock isn’t awkward. You have the tiniest crush on the Vulcan for a while and here you are enjoying small talk and long pauses with him.

Your eyes tired and droopy linger on his long sharp features that you dream of only to notice he looks tired too. Not a tired as you but sleepy enough that it shows on his handsome face. His blue make up around his eyes is slightly smudge and the dim lift lights cast a yellow glow onto the out of place black hairs that stick up from his normally neat and tidy hairstyle.

Cold fingers itch to smooth down his stray hairs so much so that you don’t flinch as the turbo lift stalls to a stop, the door not opening despite being at the right floor.

Blinking you snap out of your trance not realising that Spock was staring at you too, neither do you realise the splotches of green blush creep up his pointed ears.

“Damn it! The door’s jammed.” you mutter as you poke at the interface screen doing your normal engineering thing trying to get it open.

You tap many buttons on the screen to no avail.

“We will be here for a while?” Spock asks stepping a bit closer to you.

“Looks like it.” you say prolonging the word ‘looks’ as you crouch down opening a side panel that no one except you and your workmates know about, a cluster of rainbow wires sticking out, “I might be able to override the door system though-“

You look up to the stoic Spock, his full attention on you and totally no on how your thighs press together as you fully lower yourself onto your knees.

“- probably can get it open but I’ll have to get some proper tools to fix it.” Either that or you’ll have to call someone else to fix it, though you don’t tell Spock that.

“That seems a logical plan Lieutenant.”

And there it is! For a split second you see his pretty eyes flicker down your body like he's done many times before.

You see your little crush on Spock is quiet new but you’ve known how he's looked at you for quite some time. At first you though he was judging you, you’re plus size so unfortunately you get the odd disproving look often, but then you’ve recently realised that his ears go green when his eyes catch on the curves of your body.

Or maybe you’re imagining things. Either way you like the idea of such handsome man looking at you like that.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me Mr. Spock-“ you boldly state as you fiddle about with some wires, “- you think I don’t notice but I’m a very perceptive person.”

“You do?”

Raising up, tool box left on the ground, you smile.

“I’m not sure what you think of me Mr. Spock but I know I like you, if that makes you uncomfortable then I know you’ll tell me.”

He steps closer into your personal space.

“The door is not open.” he muses, “I assume it will take a while?”

“Oh!” his eyes flicker down to your lips, “We should get comfy then?”

“Certainly Lieutenant.”

#not proof read #spock #spock x plus size reader #spock x reader #tos spock x reader #star trek the original series #star trek #star trek x reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader

[spookykoolkat]

the red j.m. | chapter three

CHAPTER THREE: PROTECTON

series masterlist | main masterlist

previous chapter | next chapter

pairings: older!joel miller x plus sized!younger!reader

chapter summary: it's been three weeks since you decided to stay in jackson and you realized that your hatred and irritation caused by the man who let you live under his roof may be more than just that.

warnings: age gap (joel is 57, reader is turning 26), inappropriate thoughts, creepy joel if you squint, fluff/nicer joel, and a small breakthrough with joel, MDNI!

wc: 5k

na: HELLOOOOOO omg okay here is the third chapter of the red, my new passion project that i'm currently in love with. i have so many more one shots and ideas that i'm writing, including a request i hope to finish up before next week! i hope everyone is loving this series so far and i hope that you show ur love by reblogging, sharing you thoughts in a comment and liking :P i hope u luv this just as much as i do and hope y'all look forward to more chapters to come! (and oneshots and fics and stuff LOL) ps all love to my plus size girls i love u guys.

THREE WEEKS LATER

YOU

as the days went on, you found yourself falling into the routine of the world you live in now. you decided to stay, and it’s something you hadn’t second guessed either. part of it was nice, living somewhat normally, as normal as you could given the circumstances. It almost felt like a weight off of your shoulders. you could actually get rest most nights without the threat, some nights still being nerve wracking. 

it was your anxiety that kept you awake, your thoughts of depression and paranoia created a difficult defeat. It was hard. and you struggled, just not in front of anyone. your father wasn’t the best father, but one piece of advice you took from him was to never let anyone feel like they have to take care of you, always handle your issues alone because quote unquote, they’ll just throw it back in your face.

the deal was, you get a job while you take a few classes in order to take patrol routes, and the job was the local clothing store that did trades and fixer uppers. you didn’t know much about sewing or making clothes, you just remembered watching your mother sew holes back up after you skinned your knee trying to get away. 

ellie attended school, doing the best to get the education she needed before deciding what her role will be in this society. yours is being a merchant apparently, but you complied. it was money, at least whatever was comparable to money, and you needed it to get your own place. living with joel and ellie was fine, but you realized it was just you and joel most of the time. ellie managed to make her own space in the garage and joel let her, helped her even. he figured it’d be nice to have two different spaces for one another. 

he felt the same about you. but didn’t ever tell you of course. he figured you already had enough on your plate for him not to breathe down your neck until you leave. you saw it anyways though because joel could not help the way his face said more than he needed.

he was used to being alone, until he met tess, then he got used to having someone there and accommodated to living with another person. he hadn’t gotten used to you yet. in the kitchen wearing shorts and a long shirt as you made breakfast, for the three of you until joel would say that ellie was already gone. he would eat his plate quickly, saying a quick thank you and not saying any words as he does the dishes you just made. 

you would tell him you could wash them, that he didn’t have to, but he insisted you didn’t. not with his words of course, he’d just rush to do them before you could finish your plate. you didn’t know what to make of him yet.  

“i got your plate, you’re gonna be late for work,” he would say, taking your cup and plate to the sink to wash. he’d always be right though, you were going to be late on days you cooked in the mornings. but he just seemed to want to be out of your way and as far away as possible from you. you even asked tommy how to go about living with his brother. 

“best advice i can give you is to just do your own thing. he won’t pay no mind to you, like livin’ with a damn cat i tell ya,” he said playfully, but something in you made you believe it wholeheartedly. he truly was like a cat. quiet, reserved, does his own thing, and takes care of himself. you figured, how hard could it be? until actually living with him. now, you’re kind of bothered by the lack of interactions. you were here, you might as well get to know the people around you but he didn’t make it that simple. you didn’t either at first, so you’re patient. 

but then you got in your head. you don’t need to let anyone in, you aren’t here to make friends or share dark secrets. being here made you gain small hope, but it didn’t last once you started thinking again. there wasn’t a way for you to have people in your life and keep them safe at the same time. you realized that everything you had to fight for and protect, you failed. 

but you weren’t the only one still adjusting and battling themselves. joel put up a wall between him and everyone he’s ever interacted with. it was for his safety, and now ellie’s. 

sometimes he’d be surprised by you in the wide living room with a book in your hands after work. it wasn’t that rare you constantly met him in the living room after his shift was up, because by the time he was coming back home you were getting up for work. sometimes vice versa, and sometimes, very rarely, would you and joel be leaving the house at the same time. but still, after almost a month of being in joel’s presence there wasn’t more than 20 words exchanged each day. 

joel didn’t bother to get to know you, he didn’t ask you about anything and didn’t even ask you about your plans to stay or not. he just didn’t want you asking questions either. plus, he figured everything he knew about you was all that he needed to know. 

you would think joel would like to know who was living under his roof, but truth be told he hardly knows the people he calls neighbors. to him it wasn’t his priority to meet new people and indulge in normal life activities like watching a movie or going to the bar they hold in the town. he molded perfectly into the role he and others gave him, which was to protect and hunt. to do his part to contribute to the new making of jackson’s society. in joel’s mind, he wasn’t in jackson to make buddies and go on dates, and he wasn't prowling for anyone either. 

his mind was on survival, and calculating if every decision he makes will heighten the chances of him and ellie, now you, surviving. he wasn’t interested in the get togethers people invited him to, he couldn’t care for the annual small pot luck they have in jackson, all he cared about was making sure jackson stayed safe, that all three of you stayed safe.

so, he put off making friends and love, and focused on ellie. he didn’t need anyone else knowing him and his life anymore than they already do, and he didn’t need a stranger trying to pry his deepest and darkest secrets out of him. 

the thing is, you wanted to know him. even if you were still unsure of him, jackson, yourself─you could admit that he did his part in making you nervous, drawing you to something. you still had a dislike for him though. you couldn’t tell which feeling overpowered which.

jackson was bigger than you thought.. there were at least two or three subdivisions of houses, a school, a church, one bar, one clothing store, one hardware supply, and a small park that was really two swings and an aluminum slide. maria told you as she gave the tour that it took a while to build up, but with time came something amazing. something the QZ or the fireflies could never achieve, it was peaceful. everyone relied on each other, everyone trusted each other. except for three people—the three people who live under joel’s roof. that’s what the three of you bonded the most over, the fact that you all have trust issues. 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

you noticed joel a lot more over the weeks. he was a grumpy man, a man who if he could, he’d get a newspaper with his coffee—straight black, and read outside on his patio as the sun rose. by himself, alone. how he wanted. and you understood of course, you know how it is to want your solitude. but, you also couldn’t help how eager you were to talk to him. surprised at every small good morning, or have a good day you get once and while from him. 

he was sharp and cold with most people, offering a hand to compensate, and helping those who need it. joel realized after a while it’s better to make acquaintances rather than enemies in such a tight knit community, a community that relies on the people within. he couldn’t break that cycle, so he was friendly with those who he got to know. 

you noticed how much stuff he would bring back on his patrolling days. a box full of female hygiene products, a box full of new clothes, or more ammo. you watched from the window as he looked around to see if anyone was looking, and would go to the shed he built that was in the backyard of the house. you wondered what he was doing to get all of these things, but you never brought it up to anyone. 

It wasn’t your business.

you didn’t bother to pry, and to be your usual curious self and ask him about it. you knew he’d shut the conversation down before it even started, and it wasn’t worth it to you. you did make a mental note to bring it up to him eventually. 

a small part of you liked him though. despite the mystery, the coldness, the selfishness, the rudeness, you actually liked joel because he reminded you of you. a small part would be an understatement. you always seemed to be looking for joel. whether it was downstairs, in ellie’s space, or in public. constantly wondering where he was, or if he was looking at you. whether you realized it now or not, his presence brought a certain comfort to you.

you volunteered in the kitchen serving dinner from time to time, and when you did you fought hard to not stare at the miller brothers walking in with ellie. but, ellie didn’t make it hard to acknowledge their presence and notice them.. joel would just nod in your direction, you’d give a small nod back and get back to making plates. you practically fought yourself to not glance over at him, just to make sure he was still sitting in his usual seat next to ellie. and when you lost, you’d look up to his seat just to see his eyes peering over his cup at you.

It was an odd dynamic that left you wanting more from him. you wanted to learn more about him when he had moments of vulnerability, which was only twice over the course of your stay.you only knew he was from austin and was a contractor before everything started. you wanted to pry more, to know him, to know what makes him smile and laugh.  and if you were going to learn about joel, it wasn't going to be through ellie or tommy, or even maria.

you wanted the accomplishment of getting to finally know joel all by yourself, it seemed like a challenge to you. everyone talked, people would ask you where you stayed here in jackson when a local notices that you’re a new face and would end up looking like they saw a ghost when the words, ‘i’m a friend of tommy’s, i’m stayin’ with his brother,’ came out of your mouth. he had a reputation obviously, but you didn’t know the extent. everyone knew joel miller and the little girl, and joel knew you’d get wind of the things people have said and feel about him. 

he just hoped that that’s all you got wind of. 

you were so confused at this new and sudden urge to be around someone all of the time, but it’s happening with joel even if you never act on it. you weren't going to force yourself around someone just because you wanted him near. 

you wanted him to be the one to break first. to talk to you first and ask about you, even act like you exist a little more than he did now. you needed him to feel this way about you, and more. you weren’t going to get hurt, and you weren’t going to let it happen by the commune’s biggest asshole. 

but then you would come back to reality. you realized joel miller had absolutely zero interest in you. not as a friend, not as a person━to you, he saw you as a temporary thing. and you would remember that the feeling of close proximity to joel and knowing who he was wasn’t going to make your life easier. It was a constant battle with yourself, fighting your vulnerability and settling for being the second hard ass in jackson. 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 13TH, 2024.

YOU

it was late at night when joel came home from his interchanging shifts with other people in jackson. you were humming to yourself  as you washed the pile of dishes that were stacked when joel walked in. with everyone trying to get settled, it was hectic. finding a new balance with being the new addition to the home, getting into a regular flow of things. so when you got home from work, you cleaned up as much as you could without moving things around even though you were desperate to. as long as you were here, this still wasn’t your house to mess with. 

you stayed in places here and there, a shelter in waco, texas when your parents traveled there for safety from the QZ, a stranger’s underground hideout the first two years of it, many more people’s homes and abandoned buildings and escaping from QZ’s around the states.but you never failed to tidy things up while you stayed, you couldn’t shake it. you respected your surroundings and were grateful for the people who did extend their hand to you, even if they hurt you and made you regret not killing them.

joel walked in with a hard face and an unhappy sigh, looking towards the open kitchen and seeing you in a long sleeve shirt that’s risen on one side where your waistband carries the old walkman, your hair in a lazy put together bun—a part of him couldn’t look away if he wanted to. still trying to get used to this. 

he had to be honest, he found it hard living in the same space as you. he noticed you getting a bit more hopeful these days, not looking as angry as he does every day, and talking more. not to him, but he watched from afar. always had an eye on you even when he wasn’t around. he made sure tommy looked after you, maria, he even made ellie make sure you were okay. making sure you weren’t completely out of your mind. not more than usual, at least. 

he had something for you. he didn’t know if it was true, if he could be this far gone that he couldn’t stand to be around you because he wanted to take care of you in ways you would’ve never thought of? he hated that you made him feel like he wanted to protect you. he also hated the fact that you could never make him hate you. 

you didn’t notice him of course, you continued to scrub and wash as he came up behind you and tapped you on the shoulder to tell you he was home, sending you to flinch and sigh. you removed your headphones and let them rest on your neck as you turn the knob of the sink. 

“fuck!,” you said, putting a wet hand to your forehead as you tried to breathe in, “why are you always doin’ that? asshole.” 

“watch your mouth,” he tried and you had to stifle a laugh as he plucked a beer can from the fridge and left the kitchen area to sit in the living room. it was always a little funny to see him irritated because of you, you couldn’t lie to yourself. 

“bite me.” you spit, putting your headphones back on and rolling your eyes. 

joel felt so wrong. your responses shouldn’t leave him wanting to hear more of your sharpness. he shouldn’t be curious as to what you sounded like when you laughed hard enough. he shouldn’t want to watch your every movement. 

you were lost, confused, trying to find your way and here he was watching you like a creep from his spot on the couch. he would’ve loved to turn on a tv right now, ignore his instincts and feelings and turn into whatever show was on. all he has now is a dull radio ellie traded with the neighbors for, and he decided to put that on instead. it was a bit rare to find music, good music even. 

by the time he found a soft 60s song, you were done and wiping up the area before drying your arms. you decided to grab a beer yourself, cringing at the dark bottle, and making your way to sit on the couch across from joel. he watched as you lifted the hem of your shirt to wrap around the cap of the bottle, twisting it off successfully. he couldn’t help but notice the exposed skin that was pressing into your black shorts. 

“i uh, never thanked you or tommy. for saving me, bringing me here. i’m just, it’s a lot to get used to. i still don’t know if i’ll stay,” you broke the silence and took a swig of the beer, downing it quickly. 

“don’t thank me, thank tommy.” he said coldly and looked at the burning wood in the fireplace against the wall. It was silent for a bit while joel’s eyes wandered from you to a nearby window, watching the snow fall.  you couldn’t help but think about it, and before you knew it the words were coming out of your mouth. 

“why did you want to leave me there?” you looked to him with the beer in your lap, sitting criss crossed on the couch and your fingertips tapping at the sweating beverage. he looked to you once and looked down and around, sighing. 

“it ain’t personal. tommy and maria, they don’t take people in like that. it shocked me, is all. i just didn’t trust ya,” he admitted and drank his beer, getting comfortable. 

“do you trust me now?” you asked and he kept his gaze on the floor. you didn’t expect a different response from him. 

you kind of sat there, stilled and quietly listening to the music that comes from the radio. he doesn’t watch you anymore, he just drinks his beer until he finishes and lays there with his forearm over his eyes. a part of it feels normal, like coming home from a long day at work and cracking open a beer, going to sleep after and repeat. 

“I’m trying, you know. trying to get my own place here, and work and make connections so I’ll be out of your hair.” you defended even though there was just silence. you felt bad, imposing on a man who clearly wants to be left alone. but he could be less of an asshole.

“I’m not tryna rush you out of here.” is all he says and you notice for the first time you’re actually having a conversation with joel miller. or the equivalent to a conversation. 

“It feels like you don’t want me here. I’d ask tommy and maria for a room but, they’re a married couple and she looks like she’s about to pop. feels wrong to invade their space like that.” you said and drank your coldish beer, not enjoying the foam it created. 

he sighs, sitting up from his slumped position and looking at you while your eyes are on the bottle in your lap. he didn’t speak immediately, so when his eyes trailed over you and your bare legs you could feel the heat from his gaze. It made you squirm a bit, your legs pressing together again as he makes your stomach flutter. you couldn’t help but look at the hand that grips his bottle. 

“It ain’t that either. you’re just,” he sighed again, half lying, rubbing the crease between his eyebrows, “you’re unpredictable, is all. don’t ever know what that mind of yours is thinking, if you’re thinkin’ of hurtin’ yourself or if this is all a trap still.”  he confesses and you form your lips into a straight line. 

you stay silent for a moment, before meeting his gaze. “I don’t want to hurt myself, joel. or you, or ellie. I have no reason to. I just, when you found me i was alone. and i like being alone, don’t get me wrong. but it gets… scary. depressing. I mean I’ve lost everyone, i’ve killed anyone i ever loved because of those fucking things. I had no one who cared if i was alive or dead anymore, and it just got to me.” 

“and i know everyone’s gone through the same thing nd more, it’s just,” you huffed and moved your eyes down to your bottle, “I’ve prided myself in being alone, that i don’t need anyone.I’ve shut everyone out and been so mean to everyone. but for what?” you asked rhetorically. 

you thought about it a lot. what was the point of trying to kill everyone before they killed you first? what life are you living if you aren’t trying to make the best of it? these were questions you asked yourself daily, thinking about how many people you’ve scared off because you felt they were too good for you. too kind, too caring, everything you wanted and needed you sabotaged because in your eyes, you’d rather get the blow over sooner than later. 

“your protection. and it works, it’s jus’  lonely.” he said, stealing the words from your mouth. 

“It’s lonely.” you repeat after him. 

for a moment, you felt yourself warming up to joel, understanding him more than you thought you would. solitude was something the two of you appreciated, but were tired of. having joel and ellie around made you feel less alone, like there were other people who understood how you felt. it’s why you liked talking to ellie so much, she reminds you of yourself when you were younger. she made you feel like maybe there was a chance to make things better for her, like joel wanted. you understood why he didn’t want to throw her in the world of being a protector at so young, she was just a kid. she deserved a chance to be just that. someone like that, someone who has fought and protected themselves and other people for so long, deserves a chance to be the ones being protected. 

“where were you when it happened?” you asked, a new song coming on the radio. you figured maybe now that there was conversation happening, you could try to squeeze your way into his mind even if it’s for thirty seconds.

“bailin’ my brother out of jail. you remember?” he asked. 

“yeah, i was like, playing with my dog. then it was like explosions and crashes and cars. it didn’t take my dad long to start boarding up the windows and doors. but yeah, i remember.” you said and he shook his head, wanting to say something but holding back. he paused, then spoke.

“I’m sorry about your family.” he said and you gave a tight smile, thanking him. 

“I’m sure they’d be proud of you. survivin’ this long. It ain’t for the weak.” he said and that you agree on. you would’ve never made it had you been softer, or allowed yourself to be scared. you couldn’t be though. the two of you sat in silence as the static poured through the song, comfortable, together. he broke the silence first. 

“I found some old cassette tapes in the house when we first got here, if you want them. ain’t got much use for em.” he said, standing up as your eyes followed him. you grew a smile, and he was watching you find joy in little things like old music. 

“yeah, yeah of course.” you said and set the half empty beer bottle on the coffee table, standing and following him to where the cassette tapes presumably are. he ends up leading you upstairs, hitting left at the corner where you turned right all of the time, your doors were down the hall, directly across from each other. 

“I stored em’ in case. I kept everything i found in here, never know when i’ll need it.” he said, and you smiled. he was actually being a softie right now, as soft as he’d get you supposed. 

you appreciated it. more than he knew because you didn’t know how often he’d get this gentle.to a lot of people, this was just an act of kindness. but joel miller is not kind, and you wondered why he was being so nice to you all of the sudden. even if he was being snappy and short with you, he was trusting you to be in his solitary area, at least that’s the way you saw it.

he looked disarmed even though you knew he had a gun pressed into his back, and he looked comfortable. at ease, like he wasn’t expecting impending doom for once.

“It’s called being a hoarder, joel.” he narrowed his eyes on you before going into his nightstand and taking out around five tapes. Donna Summer. Beastie Boys. The Fugees. Bob Dylan. Prince. 

“I love Prince.” you said with a small smile as you grabbed the tapes from him, looking through and inspecting them. you remembered your mother playing his 1999 album throughout the house when you were a small kid. It gave you a bit of nostalgia, and warmed your heart at the distant thought of your mother. It meant more to you than it meant to joel, and he could see it. joel was actually enjoying the fact that you appreciated this niche gesture for you. 

“thank you, joel. I think Queen and Etta James will be grateful for a break.” you joked and the corner of his mouth tugged softly into a resistant smile. still better than no smile. joel glanced at the clock and noticed the big hand hit one, remembering how tired he was all of the sudden. or maybe more so acknowledging the fact that this is the most you and he have talked in a bit. 

“you know you can ask me for anything, right? I mean, you know,” he struggled with the words but with your encouraging eyes, he had no problem continuing, “I’ll do what i can for the two of ya,” he said somewhat kindly, referring to ellie as well.

you wondered now what he truly thought of you. if he still saw you as a burden, a threat, or just someone he lives with. you also noticed he wasn’t too good at expressing his feelings, he wasn’t a visibly emotional person. maybe he really was just too desensitized to everything around him.

“I don’t want to be a bother, i’ve been okay.” you said as you held the tapes with grip. 

“you don’t bother me,” he confessed, “anything you need, a’right?” he said with sure eyes, needing confirmation back from you. now you really couldn’t get a read on him. this was what sucked the most to you. you didn’t want to say it, but he was so bipolar with you. with everyone you saw him interact with, he was just short tempered and selfish. it never changed, he was mean to everyone and anyone who was near. 

but with you, he just avoided you. and when he would come near, he was either angry or neutral. it was confusing to say the least, whenever the time came for the two of you to engage, it was always a surprise at which way the conversation led. It’s like you were able to get a read on him when he interacted with anyone else but yourself.

“yeah, anything.” you noticed you were more breathless than you intended to sound, so you cleared your throat, and averted his eyes.

you realized you stood in his room with a t-shirt as a dress basically, alone with the door shut. It made you nervous, and as your eyes examined the room just to fall on his bed, it made you wonder what it would feel like to be next to him as he slept. you bet it felt warm, cozy, safe. safe in his arms, held away from the world. but then you felt crazy. you don’t even know the guy and you’re thinking about sleeping with him? what happened to collectively hating joel miller?!

you didn’t notice the way he was looking at you until your eyes worked their way up to his, a small blush forming on your face as he basically caught you checking him out. but he didn’t look like he noticed, he seemed too dazed by you to notice you were even looking at him. 

“I should go to bed. thank you again for these, joel.” you smiled sleepily, breaking the small silence. his gaze went back to normal, you seemingly saw the darkness in his eyes fade as his eyes locked on yours again. he looked softer. 

“yeah, me too, and you’re welcome. I’ll see you in the mornin’,” he trailed off, you just nodded and awkwardly shifted out of the room, releasing a breath you were holding.  you finally felt like you could breathe again, like the weight of his gaze was suffocating you.

that night you fell asleep with your headphones on, listening to Protection by Donna Summer, and thinking of joel. 

#chubby #fat girls #plus size reader #plus size smut #joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us spoilers #tlou #tlou series #tlou hbo #joel and ellie #the last of us series #joel x reader #curvy #body positive #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x plus sized reader #tlou fanfiction #joel x reader smut #chubby smut #drabble #smut #fluff #female reader

[laidback-thrills]

EDIT: THIS IS SLIGHTLY OUTDATED. More coming soon.

Hello all!

I've been meaning to talk more in depth about this!!! I put a "read more" bc this is a little long and I don't wanna clog up the tag.

BUT

DSAF CULT AU!!!

My DSAF Cult AU is very canon divergent.

Dave Miller is a fledgeling demon who was once a young nephilim. He remembers very little about his past, but something horrible has made him what he is now.

He has a full, actual Enochian name, but people tend to throw up and shit and die when they hear it, so he chose to go by "Dave" because "It's common! I'm a normal, common guy!", but also because he trusted and loved someone like a father.

His demonic sigil and general telltale symbol is the extremely long sacrificial dagger driven into his skull. No matter what form he takes, he will have it. It can be taken out for a short period of time before Dave begins to have trouble staying corporeal.

Now literally borne with a total inability to feel remorse for his actions, he is a sick and twisted monster that does not know how to control his own extremely horrifying powers. He requires a conduit to channel them, lest he explode.

He was all alone in the world. A freak, even when "disguised" as a human. (He's purple for fuck's sake, he smells like rot and he's scaring people!). Connection eluded him, although it was all he ever wanted, even as a horrifyingly malicious entity. It's very much a similar situation to regular DSAF - he was "abandoned", and now forever seeks

Until some idiot.

Jack Kennedy was a desperate man with a missing family and no future. He was addicted to every kind of substance, heavily in debt, and crushingly isolated.

After uncovering some interesting literature from his shitty Fazbender's Pepperonerie job, he decided that he was desperate enough to follow the instructions in the grimoire. Nothing to lose anymore, and a big goal to achieve. A skeptic as he was, he did not expect the ritual to work, but when it did, it completely changed his world.

Jack did not immediately make a contract with Dave, out of pure shock and wariness, but the fucker stuck around anyway. He was offered a deal and spent a while debating it.

Eventually, it went through.

Jack was granted a demonic boon. Power, money, pleasures of the world, and a chance to put them back together. In return, he traded his body and soul for Dave's services.

The process was painful.

An agonizing death, and a transformation. Dave's sigil burned into his back, and all at once, he was rotten and orange.

Then, the demon ate his soul.

Dave benefits greatly from the exchange too (baby's first contract). He gets a lot of power from it. It keeps him anchored. Gives him something to do. Someone interesting to play with. Company at last, and it's someone that can't run away from him!

Jack is Dave's saint. They are intrinsically bound. Jack is the first person to ever form a contract with Dave— Blackjack is caged inside of Dave, alive and warm, providing him with abilities and power he didn't have before. The Black Dog is loyal to its original master, however, and attempts to return to him. As a result, the soul more or less keeps them tethered. They physically cannot stray too far from eachother.

Post-contract, now armed with the knowledge that more souls = more power, and wanting to actually put a use to their power, they get to work!

With supernatural persuasion and a great gambling streak, Jack gets his start in Nevada. There, they build their empire off of the backs of desperate gamblers who put their soul on the line. Hungry, lonely men, hookers, the desperate and the naïve...all are errant souls that Father Jack will lead right on home.

Dave requires fresh blood for any spell, but demands child sacrifices to perform large spells, but that is quite alright. With the influx of followers, children are not too hard to come by. The death of a toddler, and an unholy miracle is performed— Jack's precious little flock has a home, a commune tucked into the desert.

(It isn't DSAF without a little toddler stranglin'!)

Jack and Dave- they get them good. Victims, converts- they're promised security, "God is dead, but we've got the power to help you!" Father Jack's a friendly and convincing fella, it seems, and after all...his Gospel is very legitimate- why have just faith when you can see your new God? When that doesn't work, there's always fear. Don't believe his word? Why, they'll show you horrors of which you've never seen! Father Kennedy's fun loving, but he's a soulless bastard, and he's not shy about putting the fear of all things unholy into his flock.

Of course, once the sinners are deep enough, it's too late to escape. Father Kennedy has some dirt on them. This lovely community is built on violence, after all, and Father knows exactly what they did to get here, and exactly what they've said at confessional. That, and...who does not fear the erratic demon?

At the commune, the "church" is hidden away in the labyrinthine basement of an invaded Freddy's location. (The management seems...more than willing...) The Pepperonerie is a front, concealing profits and deaths from the government. The Priest and the Demon wash their money, wash their hands, and serve unsuspecting guests pizza with a healthy dollop of propaganda.

When they aren't terrorizing their followers, however, Dave and Jack spend their time together. It is with mixed enjoyment. They find new purpose in each other. Commit horrible atrocities and live it up in V E G A S, baby! They're...gasp...starting to crush on each other? They're also sexily trying to kill each other just a little bit.

"I hate this purple motherfucker...but I want to kiss him on his hot mouth..."

Important note shoehorned in—

Jack does not worship Dave traditionally, the way the other followers do. He does not fear him at all. He recognizes Dave for what he is- a lonely, desperate fool. As far as they go, the demon is on his leash, not the other way around. He only prays when he needs something, in the very beginning. As their relationship advances however, and they commit atrocities that would make mankind pale, Jack becomes a very religious man. Not because he is afraid or respects him as any kind of authority (he does not respect him period), but because he is Really Gay. The way he prays is devout and hungry. Only in prayer can Jack manage to say what he means.

Actually, Dave ends up more worshipping *Jack* more than Jack worships him. It's turned on its head. Dave is sooo down bad and in love, he'll do anything. Anything at all for his priest, his clementine. His obsession is very much comparable to canon. He haunts Jack and everything that he does. Jack is never alone, never truly, because a dark looming purple shadow will always follow him. He steals his things and vies for his attention at all times of the day, because he is so wrapped around Jack's orange finger it's stupid...

"Jump." "How high?!"

Peace, quiet and privacy is an extinct concept to Jack, unfortunately.

TLDR; They're horrible to eachother but are in love and their hands are drenched in the blood of children (as usual) but now it has a gay worshipping undertone.

This is not everything, of course. Next time I talk, i'll delve more into the serious and rather toxic side of their relationship but this is just some stuff i've managed to crank out! Sorry if it's all over the place! I have one billion thoughts. Feel free to ask any questions, too, I'll do my best to answer. There will be more soon.

#my stuff #dsaf #davesport #dayshift at freddy's #dsaf cult au

[fizzigigsimmer]

My fave ballet tube channel out here feeding me plot bunnies for Harringrove Ballet School Au. Just imagine, Billy arrives on campus. Spitting mad cause his dad made him take the bus. Cheapskate wouldn’t even spring for a plane ticket when it’s Billy’s financial aide filling his pockets. He decided halfway there he’s not going to stay. He’s going to hop on the first bus back to Cali as soon as he can raise the money and that’s what he tells Madame Harrington. She may have bought Neil but she can’t buy him. Nobody can force him to stay here - which is true. He’s hoping she won’t want to deal with a runaway and a bad attitude, that she’ll just revoke the scholarship and end this farce for him. Neil will beat his ass black and blue but what else is new. At lease he’ll still have home and the beach.

Madame Harrington doesn’t look happy but she doesn’t get angry either. She makes Billy promise to sleep on it. Sit in on a class, have a real think about what he’s about to throw away. Billy’s not stupid, he knows she’s hoping he’ll see other kids dancing and make some friends and suddenly want to change his mind. It’s not going down like that. And it doesn’t. The class she takes him to is tier one, the advanced class. It’s mostly juniors and seniors but Billy spots a few younger kids and a couple of absolute shrimps who look like they haven’t left the seventh grade. They’re good though is the thing, doesn’t take more than a few steps to see why they’re in here dancing with the big kids. A redhead catches him watching in the doorway and gives him the stink eye.

And then whatever combination they’re doing ends and everyone is clapping, and the instructor calls out that it’s time for their soloist. “Be the swan, Steven. No spaghetti arms!”

The energy in the room just changes, the chatter lifting in anticipation as the students drift back to the edge of the room as a solitary figure steps forward. He’s got good shape. Strong legs - so long - and lean arms. Those fucking tights love him - holy shit. Billy can be forgiven for missing the first few steps he takes while he blinks away the after image that bulge has burned into his fucking retinas. But when he’s capable of seeing beyond it again, he sees this kid - this Steven - floating across the floor in some of the prettiest lines he’s ever seen. He thinks the number from Swan Lake. Thinks Steve-o is gorgeous when he’s not fucking it up, playing to the crowd and losing focus. It’s only a wobble here or there, just minor imperfections.

It annoys the shit out of Billy.

“Who’s the diva?” he asks Madame H. under the sudden swell of clapping and cheering as the boy’s solo comes to an end.

She smiles, a twinkle entering her eye.

“That would be Steve. My son.”

Her son? Wait! That’s Steve Steve? The kid he used to penpal and trade basketball cards with. That’s Steve Harrington?

“Oh yeah?” Billy sneers, hoping to hide how dry his mouth has gone. Challenges with an arched brow, “Teachers son thinks he’s hot shit huh?”

But Madame H. seems unperturbed. She doesn’t tell him off about his language or take offense for her kid’s sake, just keeps smiling at Billy with that little glint in her eye that’s too fond for comfort.

“He’s been best in his age group since he was eight. Makes it hard to keep him challenged. I was hoping that would change with you here now, but if you’re set on leaving I guess I’ll have to come up with something else.”

It’s so stupid. Some reverse psychology bullshit, but damn it it’s working because Billy isn’t as keen on leaving as he was when they walked in.

“You sure that’s what you want?” He asks, barely waiting for the perplexed look to form on her face as he shrugs off his duffel bag. He strides into the room like he owns it, feels the heads turn towards him as his sneakers thud hollowly on the hard floor. The chatter dies as he calls out, “you call that a dance?”

His eyes lock with the boy in the center of the room.

Billy will show him a dance. He’ll show them all.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ballet au #inspiration #Periodicly I drown myself in ballet tiktok and youtube shorts just to sate my craving for this fic #I want it so bad lol but I have to write it first and it’s the worst conundrum ever😭 #Youtube

[nburkhardt]

5 Random Words Fic

Got tagged by @estrellami-1 and @i-less-than-three-you 🥰

Rules: generate 5 random words using this generator and then write something using those words! Tag 5 (or however many you want) mutuals to challenge! (If you don’t like your 5 words, try again. This is supposed to be fun!)

(Challenge/game originally from @a-little-unsteddie!)

My words: Capital, Something, Haste, Bandit & Neural (I’m switching neural to nerve btw)

There was something going on behind his back but he can’t quite figure it out. It was small enough that nothing was actually out of place but big enough for him to even notice anything wrong to begin with. Not that it was wrong per se, it was like something was being misplaced or maybe taken? But it wasn’t anything that important?

Eddie isn’t quite sure what to make of it, but given his place as second in command at the Capital, he needs to know what’s happening.

Wayne could possibly make him doing basic training again if he doesn’t figure out what the issue is.

“I don’t get it, Gare. Have you noticed anything?” He groans, taking a seat next to his friend.

Gareth shrugs, “Jeff and I did another round, found nothing wrong. Whatever is going on, it’s either being replaced immediately or whatever is being taken isn’t important to any of us.”

“You think it’s what, someone stealing?” He rolled his eyes, “Like what, a bandit around here? That’s impossible, Gareth! Ever since Wayne took over, we’re very fair and generous! If, if someone needed help we’d-”

“Look, you keep having that freakish feeling whenever this thing happens. There’s no issues around the place, nobodies dying and it seems like everything is in its place. So what could be going on? It’s gotta be a someone stealing and replacing it!” Gareth crossed his arms, looking at him with a glare, “unless you’ve been playing us and making us look like idiots for your own amusement”

Eddie snorted, shaking his head and patting Gareth’s arm, “I’m not, I swear, why waste our time with a silly game of-”

They’re both jolted out of their seats by the loud alarms going off, they quickly get up and start running.

“Do not say I told you so right now!”

Gareth snorted, throwing up a middle finger behind him as they run.

In their haste to find the others and the cause of the alarm, they failed to notice a person slipping by them and out the door.

They only slow down once the notice not just Jeff, Frankie and Chrissy standing by the main entrance but also Wayne.

“Please tell me no one is dead” is the first thing out of Eddie’s mouth, judging by Chrissy’s eye roll and Frankie’s snort, there thankfully, isn’t anyone dead.

Wayne’s serious demeanor breaks a little by the crack of a smile but still keeps the serious look on his face, “no one is dead, but there was a few things stolen. My boy, aren’t you supposed to be in charge of this problem?”

“Wayne!” Eddie whined, “I am, but everything so far has been in its place every time I check!”

The group all roll their eyes at him, “Not this time, a few pieces of jewelry was taken, your late mother’s ring and my grandfather’s near priceless necklace.”

Eddie’s heart dropped, their family heirlooms?! He could’ve sworn his mother’s ring was locked away in his room! “What idiot had to nerve to steal from us?”

Steve’s heartbeat was fast as he makes his way over to the next town, it’s been a long few hours but he couldn’t handle doing a trade within the capital this time.

Taking these pieces was a huge risk and he knew it but he needs the money. It’s his last time and attempt to make the offer, if the dealer takes and hands the money over to him, he’ll breathe easier and hopefully; his family actually survives.

He didn’t want to turn to stealing but after his siblings got sick, he had to. It was the only way. Their parents are shit and he couldn’t just stand around as both his twin and little brother got the worse and worse. Currently, he hopes at least, Robin is doing a little bit better. But Dustin has been in bed for a week straight now, even their Aunt Claudia can’t figure out what it is.

It was the last resort. He had to steal even if he tried his hardest to replace the items if they were worth next to nothing. Wasn’t too hard to get in and out of the Capital building anyway, with the Munsons being genuinely good and open.

It makes him feel a little bad for all the stealing. But it’s nothing on him panicking at his siblings health.

“I’m sorry boy, but this piece?” His dealer, Rick, jiggles the necklace again “it’s worth the money but I can’t accept it. Everyone knows it’s the Munson’s. I’d imagine they’re already letting everyone know”

Steve hope dies a little as he slumps against the counter, “what about the ring? That wasn’t even in the safe! Come on, Rick, I need the money!”

Rick held up the ring again, it’s a beautiful ruby with black gold accents.

He couldn’t believe it when he saw it, just under a simple glass case with no alarm attached to it. Not even a lock, just sitting on a shelf in the random room he hid in after grabbing the bracelet.

“Yeah this could be worth something, maybe a few hundred.” Rick nods to himself and slipped the ring back in the box, “deal?”

“Just a few hundred? But I need more!” The bills piling on their table back at home was definitely more than a few hundred, “are you absolutely sure about that bracelet?”

Rick opened his mouth, then snapped it shut as he paled. Dropping the bracelet on the floor and shoving the box away from him, “actually, boy, I can’t do either”

Steve looked at him confused, “what? You just said it was-”

He jerked when he was roughly shoved against the counter, eyes widening as he’s met with Eddie Munson. “Gotta hand it to you, managing to steal from us- from me, is impressive.”

“I-”

Eddie shook his head, a small ‘tsk-tsk’ coming out of his mouth. He let go of him and grabbed the box, “This? This is mine.”

His heart was beating fast, that ring was supposed to get him- get Dustin the help he needed. And now it’s being shoved into Eddie’s pocket, “But I need the money!” He blurts out and cringes at how whiney he sounds.

Eddie scruffs and let’s go of him, stepping away and crossing his arms, “oh, for what? Drugs? Payment back to some other shady person? You like all the other bandits and idiots?” He looks him up and down, “sure don’t look like them”

Steve looks away, his cheeks burning and his hands shaking. “Wish it was that simple” he mutters to himself, he wouldn’t be here at all if it was drugs he needed.

“What was that?”

“I said,” Steve shook his head, “I wish it was that simple, look, can I go? Rick wouldn’t take the necklace and you already took the damn ring back.” He grits his teeth, holding back a breakdown he’s absolutely ready to have.

Eddie frowned, seeing the guy tense up and red marks form on his arm from his own hands. “Uh, yeah, but don’t come anywhere near the capital building again. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, yep. Got it.” Steve nodded, blinking hard to stop the tears, already thinking; Not with Dustin’s health issues and Robin’s panicking. “Like I’ll be able to go anywhere” he muttered out, making his way away from his last hope.

He can feel eyes on him as he manages to hold himself together, putting off the inevitable until he’s out of sight and alone. Once he’s completely out of sight of Eddie, he lets the tears fall.

“Good job, Steve, you’re even a shit bandit” he huffs a pathetic laugh as he roughly wipes his eyes, “can’t even make enough to help your brother”

Making his way into the alley, he finds a spot out of sight to continue his pity party before he has to go home and figure out a new plan. Pulling his legs up against his chest, he tries to blink away the tears and hold his sobs in.

Hiding his face in his knees, he doesn’t quite hear the footsteps come up to him. Moving his head to rub his arm against his eyes, he finally notices the feet next to him.

Freezing, he looks up, finding Eddie Munson.

“So, Steve,” Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets, “I’m a little curious, if you were just stealing for drugs you wouldn’t be having a breakdown beside a dumpster.”

“how would you know?” He bites out, “my dealer could’ve left”

Eddie laughs, “yeah, I’m sure this is the reaction someone has after getting their fix. Come on,” he held out a hand and Steve eyed it, “I’m not going to hurt or arrest you.”

That didn’t exactly ease anything but this is a low moment for him, so he grabs it and Eddie easily helps him up.

“So?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smile, “So, what?”

“Why are you out here, you already got your jewelry back and you think I’m doing drugs” he crossed his arms, ignoring how hot his face feels from both his breakdown and the fact that Eddie hasn’t moved away from him.

“I told you I’m curious,” Eddie shrugged, taking a step back only to lean against the wall, “I overheard you say something about being a shit bandit, it got me interested. So, what lead you to stealing?”

Steve mirrors him and leans against the dumpster, looking at him for a second before sighing and tipping his head back. Closing his eyes for a second, “It was my last decision, my parents are shit and my aunt’s job doesn’t pay enough for my siblings. So, I resorted to stealing because my brother is getting worse”

He refuses to actually look at Eddie now, knows the look he’ll get. It’s the same look he’s been getting for weeks now, almost months now. Always “oh you poor boy” and “maybe it’s time to give up” from neighbors and strangers alike because they think Dustin won’t survive.

“Oh man” Eddie whispers and Steve can only hear it because of how quiet it is in the ally, Eddie clears his throat and out of the corner of his eye sees Eddie shift, “Is he sick? Is he dying? That’s why you were stealing?”

“He’s not dying!” He snapped with a glare, his hands in fists, “He’s- he’s going to be okay. I just, just gotta,” his eyes are watery again and he takes in a sharp breath, “he’s not dying!”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Eddie has his hands raised and inching closer to him, “he’s not dying and I’m going to help, okay? I’ll help you.”

He shakes his head, let’s out a laugh or maybe a sob, he can’t tell anymore, “oh yeah? How?”

“I’m not sure, yet! But I can help, come on, let me help you.”

Entering the Capital building in the main entrance is a bit strange, especially after all the times he’s entered by windows and side doors. It was even more jarring to be entering with Eddie Munson.

“Eddie, who’s this?”

He nearly jumped at the new voice, looking behind them to find Wayne Munson coming up to them. He paled at seeing him, knowing he stole from this man and that his nephew is standing next to him who caught him stealing.

“Oh! Wayne, this is Stevie, he’s a new friend” Eddie spun around and pulled him closer to him, “I’m helping him and his brother out”

Wayne only raised an eyebrow at Eddie before looking at Steve, then he looked back at Eddie, “This the one who stole?”

Eddie gasped dramatically, tightening his arm around him, “Wayne! Of course not, I just so happened to catch him having a moment of weakness. Now i’m off to show him around and then we’re going to his place and-”

“Son, you ramblin’ like that gives ya away. What’s going on?” Wayne interrupted him, shaking his head and crossing his arms, “Be honest now”

Eddie felt Steve tense up as he squeezed his shoulders before moving his arm, “Uncle, look. Could we possibly talk about this in my room?”

Wayne’s face grows concerned, looking back and forth between him and Steve before nodding. Eddie smiles and grabs Steve’s hand to lead them towards his room, once inside Eddie only lets go of Steve’s hand to close his door and set the ring back in its place.

“Eddie,” Wayne eyes the ring and then at Steve who’s focus is only on the glass case again, “Ya think I’m gonna believe that ya just helping him out?”

“Look sir, I’m-”

“Wayne, I’m serious-”

Eddie and Steve looked at each other and Wayne shook his head at both of them, “Steve, was it? If ya did steal from us, be honest”

Steve paled and nodded, his heart sinking already. “I’m sorry sir”

“Wayne, we can’t punish him,” Eddie shifted to stand closer to Steve, “I have the jewelry, isn’t- can’t we let him go?”

Wayne sighed, knowing his nephew’s bleeding heart, “Steal anything else?”

Steve cringed, pulling his arms up to wrap around himself, focusing his eyes on the glass case to avoid looking at either Munson. “Yes, sir”

“For good reason, Wayne!”

“How much?” Wayne ignored Eddie and stared at Steve, watching as the boy gripped his arm harder and blink several times, clearly trying to get tears away. “How much did you steal?”

“A few pieces of jewelry, sir.”

Wayne raised an eyebrow and looked at Eddie hand up in question, “and how much did you get”

Steve cleared his throat, “about two hundred, sir.” He avoided their gazes but looked around to catch a peek, Eddie frowning and Wayne sending Eddie a pointed look. “I- I still have it”

“Steve no,” Eddie took a step closer, “Wayne you don’t- Wayne, his brother is sick. He needs the money and the stuff he stole- they aren’t that important to us”

It was silent and Eddie felt his face get hot, he looked away from Steve and back at his uncle, “it’s okay, I swear, the dealer he was selling to is caught- he’s being arrested as we speak. I have the pieces we cherish most back. Now,” he spins back around not waiting for Wayne’s response, “I’m going to help Steve and his family, got it?”

Three Months Later

There was something going on, Eddie can already tell and a smile is forming as the giggling behind him gets louder. He’s not sure what it is but he can’t wait to find out what it is.

The giggling is right behind him and he spins, his face breaking into a wide smile at the brothers in a pose to grab him standing there. Robin and Jeff next to them rolling their eyes but smiling.

“My loves!”

Steve and Dustin grinning wide as Eddie throws his arms around them, holding them close and his smile is starting to hurt his face as Steve presses a kiss to his cheek.

~~~

So. Uh. This wasn’t supposed to be this long and if I keep going it won’t stop. So! Here’s a thing that doesn’t have an exact time period, it’s definitely not set in the 80s and I went and switched roles up. OH AND IMPORTANT INFORMATION: Steve & Robin are a year apart, Dustin is the baby of the family. Don’t ask me what his issue was it was serious tho. Eddie’s a few years older than Steve. They got together only once Dustin was completely healthy. Eddie totally fell first and Steve wasn’t very far behind him. (Eddie also fell harder toooo)

Also I know the ending is kinda blah haha sorry like I said it wouldn’t end 🤣

No pressure tags: @simplebtromance @tartarusknight @zerokrox-blog @steddieas-shegoes @eriquin

TAGLIST:

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @bookworm0690 @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @grimmfitzz @strangersteddierthings

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #nburkhardt writes #stranger things fic #steddie au #seriously sorry for that chopped ending #I was seriously losing the plot #it’s a weird vibe tbh #steve harrington #eddie munson