#it worked for about a week before he turned out to be way too good at stuff and everyone just kind of ended up in awe of him instead

[joelsgreys]

flutter

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

#tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #fic: snapshots

[teddybeartoji]

彡 THE WORST PARTNER IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD

☆. contains: satoru gojo x gn!reader; con-artists au, crack, satoru is a little shit what's new, he also calls you 'baby' how sweet of him, hm? wc: 1.2k

on the other side of the wall, music and laughter mix together almost perfectly. the people are having fun, they're drinking and chatting, joking about the latest super cars and 'boring' paintings. rich people.

a bead of sweat rolls from your temple.

the setting sun paints the room you're in a beautiful warm orange. the big windows invite the sunrays in with open arms; they hit the mahogany wood furniture and you're a bit jealous. a bit of dust falls from the ceiling and you have to focus on not sneezing.

"ugh, we make such a good team!"

...

satoru gojo.

"we– fuck, do not!" you grumble at him through gritted teeth. "you literally left me– to the cops last time, dipshit!"

"but you got away!" he chirps back rather gleefully and the desire to punch him is suffocating.

careful as to not raise your voice too much, you whisper-shout at him. "just barely!"

"well, don't sell yourself short, babe! you do know how to work a tight spot!"

...

it hurts. his stupidity hurts your brain. squeezing your eyes shut, you shake your head at his joke. "can you– be like a normal fucking person? never say that again."

your knees about to buckle from below you and you're also losing your balance alongside your patience. it's rather hard to hold a 6'3 man up on your shoulders.

who could've guessed?

more dust falls onto your nose as satoru works on unscrewing the vent in the ceiling. it's painted gold. because why wouldn't it be, right? rich people are insane.

"what do you mean?! you were in a 'tight spot' and you got out of it!" it's sickening how genuine he sounds. "get it? it's called a tight spo— "

"could you possibly– stop saying the word 'tight'?" you grip onto his polished shoe that's sitting on your right shoulder while the fingers of your other hand dig into his ankle. "and could you possibly do this any fucking faster?"

he has ruined your suit with his dirty shoes and he has ruined your mood with his stupid jokes. you hate him.

he simply laughs at your annoyed tone "almost there, baby, almost there."

you try to make him explode with your mind for calling you baby again, completely and blatantly ignoring the butterflies that now occupy your stomach. you're just a bit nervous about the job, that's all. they have nothing to do with him. nothing at all.

you hear him shuffling around, mumbling something to himself as he reaches over to the last one, but while he doing so – he ends up putting way too much pressure onto your right shoulder which in turn makes you take a wobbly step forward. satoru's hands grasp onto the wall beside him in an attempt to help you regain your balance.

"c'mon! steady now!"

"shut the– " with furrowed brows, you glance up at him. sensing your gaze, he looks down at you with the prettiest smile. no, wait. just a smile, just a smile. fuck, you really hate him. "fuck– up!"

he gives you a quick wink before continuing his work and you avert your gaze. you can already feel the bruises blooming under your suit and shirt, reminders of his touch for the continuing weeks.

"you're way heavier than you look, gojo."

the sound of his gasp, makes your eyes roll back into your head. "are you calling me fat?"'

"yes. are you done?"

he tsks at your sharp answer and pockets his mini screwdriver. "so rude. and yes, i'm ready." as he speaks he takes the cover from it's place and slides it inside the vent. "be strong now!"

refraining from barking back, you divert all of your focus onto your core muscles and thighs. satoru lodges his one leg onto one of the fancy tall cabinet and you the uneven weight almost ruins you both. holding onto the wall with your now free hand, you observe him climbing up into the vent. the leg on your shoulder shakes and wobbles, threatening to run off but satoru doesn't seem to mind. you're sure he's having fun. the shit.

he manages to get his hands inside the vent and he's now trying to jam his whole body through the hole. his foot finally rises from your shoulder and he almost hits you in the face with it as he swings it around, supposedly gaining momentum for a final push. you sigh and brush off the dirt and dust from your suit.

you look around the room as you wait for him to turn himself around in the small vent. the sun warms your skin and you take the moment to enjoy the band through the walls of the room. exquisite paintings hang all around you, hugged by dark wooden frames, they rest in the shadows. specks of dust land on your nose and you look up.

he's grinning.

oh no.

"satoru..."

your warning does nothing but excite him even further.

"oh? ...not gojo?" his smile stretches. "but you love tight spots! i'm sure you'll find another way in, babe."

you're going to kill him.

deeply breathing in through your nose, you give him the biggest and also the fakest smile in the word.

"satoru, baby..." you hate how smug he looks. you want to wipe that stupid fucking smile from his face.

"you know that i just love tight spots and that's exactly why... you should pull me the fuck up!" your whisper-shouting turns into a full bark and satoru giggles behind his hand "right. now! i don't wanna find another way when a way is literally in front of me!"

his eyes twinkle at you when he realizes you actually used his own joke against him. you're so fucking hot. and you're especially hot now that you're glaring at him with a puffed out chest. he's having the best time of his life.

"that was good. that was really good actually." he winks at you as he moves to grab the vent cover from behind him. he places it back over the hole with a painfully slow pace, surely just to make you suffer even some more. he's sick. he's still visible enough for you to see the infuriating smile on his lips as he plays with you. "you did take my keycard though."

right.

he's as bratty as they come, as pretty as they come. petty! petty...

and this is his little payback. you're going to burn his house down. preferably when he's still in it. he gets on your nerves like nothing else. his eyes fucking sparkle from between the metal bars of the vent cover and your fingers curl into tight fists on your sides.

"i hate you."

"you'll get over it, baby. i'll see you later, yeah?"

his pearly whites flash at you one last time and then he's already climbing over the cover, heading straight for the room where they keep the goodies. without you.

...

a dusty suit, sweat, aching shoulders and pure, unadulterated rage.

you need a new plan.

and a fucking drink.

#how he convinced u to do this i don't know #but then again he does have the best puppy-eyes known to mankind doesn't he... #anyway everybody say hello to con-artist!gojo #i have many ideas for him hehehehe #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo drabble #gojo fanfic #gojo oneshot #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru drabble #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru oneshot #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo drabble #satoru gojo fanfiction #jjk gojo satoru #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #con-artist!gojo

[loveshotzz]

I have to know what would we do to spoil our old man on his birthday 🥺🥺🥺🥺

we’d spoil him rotten 🥺

here’s semi spicy 18+ blurb about giving our favorite old man a massage on his birthday ♥️

(this blurb is for my au All I Really Want Is You but can be read as a stand-alone. Steve is 43 and fem!reader is 31 requested so long ago by @joekeerysmoles 💕) wc:600

The rose oil that covers your hands makes your fingertips glide over his broad freckled shoulders with ease. Eucalyptus hangs thick and heavy in the warm air, crackling from the wooden wicks inside the candles that provide the only light in his room. They help the nerves that still flutter even after a year of saying ‘I love you’.

Steve lays flat on his chest underneath you only in his boxer briefs, the gold Gucci emblem around the waist band shimmers in the low light. Your knees sit on either side of his hips, dipping down the plush bedding of his new king size mattress. A 43rd birthday gift to himself, while you sit in nothing but the thin red lace of the one you got for him.

Leaning forward with a smirk, your lips ghost across two of your favorite moles that dot the back of his neck, the tip of your nose tracing the shell of his ear.

“Happy birthday old man.”

Applying just enough pressure up the dip of his spine, you earn a low moan from him that vibrates deep in your core. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to rock your hips and chase it.

“Honey,” his voice comes out muffled from around the tops of his hands,“I wish there were words to describe how good this feels.”

Giggling with a chest full of pride, you catch a flash of his white teeth, stubble covered cheeks pushing up at his favorite sound. One of his big hands slips out, shoulders flexing with his movement as he reaches back to squeeze at the soft dough of your thigh before disappearing back to where it came from.

A content sigh escapes from between his pink lips as your focus shifts to his neck, your fingers digging at the tense muscles under his gold chain. The metal glistens with oil every time it catches the glow of the flickering candle, while your thumb and forefinger knead behind his ears.

“Shit, baby.”

Huffing with furrowed brows, he readjusts so he can turn his head to the other side. The movement slides you forward, creating just enough friction to bite down on your bottom lip. The dull ache between your legs becomes even harder to ignore, and you wonder if he can feel just how wet you are.

“Yeah, is that the spot?” You coo all sticky sweet, working it with even more focus. He sucks in a sharp breath, his teasing kisses all night spurring you on.

”God, fuck - yeah, yeah, right there.” He groans loud enough to drown out the sounds of The O’Jays vinyl playing downstairs, your thumb finally loosening up a hard knot.

His whole body melts under your touch, the hard lines of his face relaxing while the blunt ends of your nails scratch at the silver hairs hiding in the nape of his neck. Letting go of his long work week with deep breath, the movements have your hips rolling on their own, his oiled sun kissed skin making it too easy to do again.

He hums knowingly, relishing in the soft tug of his hair loving the way you squeal when he flips himself over. Big hands grab at your hips to keep you in place, the effects of your massage had on him becoming obvious nestled between your thighs.

There’s still no preparing for the sight beneath you, and despite seeing it almost every day, you still can’t believe he’s yours.

His soft hair is a tousled mess of auburn and silver on top of his head, begging you to drag your hands through it. The five o’clock shadow that peppers his strong jaw is at your favorite length, and sometimes you think he grows it out a little longer just for you. His gold chain that hangs off his neck fits like a choker, no longer lost in the thick patch of chest hair that you swear has a few more gray curls inside of it after today. Letting your hands wander his chest, your gentle touch makes the subtle muscles of his abs twitch. Perfect teeth biting down on his full bottom lip, watching you in awe.

“You know I hate my birthdays? Always have.” Steve hums, warm palms gliding up your thighs, squeezing at the soft dough before digging his long fingers into your hips, “Now I wish it was every day with you lookin’ like this, pretty girl.”

”Who says it can’t be?” You grin, running your slick hands back up his pecs, nails scratching in the coarse hair there.

Leaning forward, you fix his chain bumping the end of your nose with his, rolling your hips slowly, you feel him twitch inside the soft cotton of his briefs.

”It certainly feels like it,” he whispers with a smile against your lips.

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #all i really want is you #older!steve harrington #it’s 1am of course i’m posting a blurb about him

[feelbokkie]

i'll be here for you

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

genre: sick fic, angst

pov: 2nd person

description: Seungmin can tell instantly from your voice that something is wrong, so he drops everything to take care of you.

pairing: bf!seungmin x gn!reader

warnings: hospitals, swearing, mentioning of food and eating, open ending, talking about weight, reference to death

word count: 3,054

a/n: allow me to be self indulgent and dramatic and over exaggerate for a moment.

©feelbokkie (2024) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

Mong, mong. Mong, mong. 

You sluggishly pull your phone out of your pocket, sitting as you do so. You let out a long, shaky sigh before plastering on a smile and answering the phone. You’re not sure why. It’s not like he can see your face through the phone. But maybe smiling will trick the rest of your body into thinking everything is okay.

“My Seungminnie!” You cheer into the phone, your face winces in pain from the sudden movement.

“Hi Y/n,” You can picture the small smile that’s slowly creeping onto his face vividly. “Did you just get home?”

“No,” you lean your back against your headrest. “I got home earlier than I thought I would. I read the end time on my schedule wrong.”

You can hear the chaos in the background. Changbin’s voice booms over everyone as he yells about something to do with Minho and Hyunjin. You can make out Felix’s faint laughter too. “You should’ve called me.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt practice. If I called you, you would have worried. How’s dance practice?”

“Hmm, Minho hyung has glared at Chan hyung twice, put Hyunjin in a headlock, and threatened all of us with various cooking styles about six times. He’s going to be sending me to you as soup.”

“Soupmin doesn’t sound too bad. Tell him to send side dishes,”

“Speaking of which, did you have a good lunch today?”

“I did,” You lie. “What about you? Did Minho let you eat or is he punishing you guys for not picking up the choreography?”

“We nailed 2 songs so he treated us. I had kimchi-jjigae!”

“You’re going to turn into kimchi-jjigae at this rate. You had it almost every day this week.”

“You just said you’d like Soupmin! ...Ugh, hyung, get off,” you hear a loud slap and some more laughter through the phone. The background laughter and chatter quickly becomes distant. “Sorry, Chan hyung lives in my bubble. What did you have for lunch?”

Click!

You assume that Seungmin had enough of whatever is going on in the practice room and left to talk to you somewhere peaceful. “Just some leftovers... I had some rice from dinner a couple of days ago so I make kimchi fried rice with some chicken.”

Seungmin is quiet on the other end for a second, “What did you really have?”

“I just told you,” You sit up, shifting your phone to your other hand and pressing it against your ear again.

“You’re hiding something. A couple of days ago you said you had pasta. What did you have for lunch today?”

“Kimchi—“ You double down.

Seungmin lets out a loud sigh, “This is a silly thing to lie about. You know that, right?”

“I’m not—“ You pause as the pain in your stomach reminds you that it's still there. “Fine, I just had some soda for lunch.”

“That’s all?”

“I told you, I wasn’t working as long as I thought—“

“You’re not eating properly and I can tell by your voice that you aren’t sleeping properly... Are you sick?”

“Probably,” You give up. When Seungmin has his mind set on something, it's difficult to argue with him.

“What do you mean ‘probably?’”

You bite your lower lip and run your free hand through your hair. “It’s nothing,”

“What’s going on?” It's subtle, the way his voice wavers with worry. If you weren't tuned into most of his habits, you would have missed it.

“Seungmin—“ You try to say calmly, wincing in pain as you lean back down against your headrest.

“Don’t try to lie or play it off. Something is wrong,” His voice raises an octave. You're not sure you can remember the last time he even slightly raised his voice at you. Even in a joking manner.

“…Fine." You squeeze your eyes shut, your current position only worsening your pain. "I just haven’t been feeling well lately.”

“What do you mean?”

You pause, contemplating how much you actually want to tell him right now. “My stomach gets upset. It’s fine though, probably just a bug.”

“And it’s causing you to not eat or sleep?”

“It only hurts after I eat. Well, it hurts in general now but if I eat it hurts a lot. Except for pho for some reason. But I can’t eat that all day every day,” You try to sound light and calm so that he doesn't worry more than he already is.

“You said 'now.' How long has it been hurting?”

“A while,” You mumble, playing with the hem of your shirt.

There's more movement in the background. You hear a faint scoff before you hear Seungmin huff as he presses the phone to his ear again.

“Have you gone to your doctor?”

“I called. They can’t see me until next month. But they said they’ll call me if a closer appointment comes.”

“Urgent care?” He suggests.

“They’ll just have me sit in the waiting room for hours and then spend 5 minutes with me before prescribing me antibiotics. Which is good and all but I know that's going to do fuck all if I can't even eat with the pills.”

“If it’s that bad, they’ll prescribe you something else.”

“Unlikely,”

You can practically hear the gears turning in Seungmin's head on the other end while he tries to come up with another solution for you. You're almost certain he's come up with all the same solutions that you have, none with promising enough results.

“What about the emergency room?" He tries again.

“For a stomach bug?” You chuckle, holding your stomach to attempt to control the apparent throbbing your stomach.

“A stomach bug wouldn't last that long. And you're not eating or sleeping. I don't know what else to do." His voice cracks. He's not trying to mask the panic in his voice for your sake anymore. He sounds as scared as you feel inside.

You squeeze your eyes shut again and rub your free hand over it. "Let's say I agree with you taking me to the emergency room. We'll still be there for hours--"

"I'm a pro idol. Plus my mom is a doctor,"

You've never known Seungmin to abuse his privilege as an idol, even at times when he should have. Especially when he should have. The fact that he's even insinuating that he'll use that part of his life if it'll help you is both heartwarming and intimidating.

"Don't involve your mom in this--Look, it's fine. I'm fine."

"It's not--" You hear Seungmin mumble a string of swear words that you're not sure you've heard him utter before.

"Seungmin? Hello?"

The background noise starts up again. This time, you hear Jisung scream singing loudly in the background as Hyunjin laughs. You hear some rustling in the background and finally a zipper. You pick up Chan's concerned voice, low and deep as chaos ensues in the background. You hear Seungmin tell him that he has to go, 'a family emergency' he explains. And then you hear Minho's soft voice as the noise in the background dies down. And then more rustling and zippers before the faint yet familiar jingling of keys.

"Seungmin!" You call out again, hoping he can hear you now that the room is quieter.

You hear a faint, 'one second' from Seungmin before he clears his throat, "I'll be there in about 20 minutes. Get your stuff ready."

Click

He hangs up before you can even try to argue with him that he doesn't need to leave practice to check on you. You let out a long shakey breath as you toss your phone on the bed and let yourself slump over from frustration.

***

"I can't believe you called your mom," You mutter under your breath.

Your arms rest firmly across your chest as you sit up on the examination bed in the emergency room. Seungmin sits at the foot of the bed, watching your every move. Like you would try to bolt if his eyes left you for even a second. You've thought about it.

"If you saw how pale you looked, you would have done the same thing. What did you want me to do?"

He looks so unlike himself. This is the first time you've seen him so disheveled, even after a dance practice. His usually neat hair points in all different directions from him running his hands through it. His windbreaker is zipped all the way up to hide his wrinkly, sweaty t-shirt. His face is darker than it normally is, showcasing whatever is running through his mind.

"Not call your mom!" You whisper. The emergency room beds don't offer you much privacy, only a curtain separating you from other beds. There's been a man screaming in pain in one of the makeshift rooms since you walked in. "I told you specifically not to,"

The sterile stench and bright lights from the room are starting to make your head spin. You feel bad taking up a bed when you know some people need to be examined more than you.

"I'm sorry but if you saw me in the state you're in, trust me, you would be calling anyone who could help. You lost a lot of weight too. I don't think I can even pinch your cheeks without it hurting you."

"You're overreacting," You scoff, rolling your eyes.

"You look like a sickly Victorian child,"

"Seung--"

Swoosh

Seungmin quietly gets up from his spot on the bed and stands next to you, resting his hand on your shoulder. Your doctor from earlier walks back in, nurse behind him this time. Her forced smile does nothing to distract from the dark bags under her eyes. You can tell how exhausted she is just by looking at her. She looks how your brain feels.

"I just finished talking with my attending. We both agree that you may have an ulcer. However, we cannot be sure without further testing. You have a few options but we recommend..."

You started to zone out, relieved that their first suspicion is an ulcer and not something more serious. An ulcer is treatable and the fatality rate is relatively low, based on what you read when you first started feeling sick.

"...admit you."

"Excuse me?" You tilt your head to the side, confused about what you just heard. You feel Seungmin's grip on your shoulder tightens, nails practically digging into your shoulder.

"Like I said, we do have a few other concerns so we believe it's best to admit you while we run a few more tests to be certain." The doctor repeats.

"But you just said that it's most likely an ulcer." You uncross your arms, your hand instinctively reacting for Seungmin. He grabs your hand with his free hand, refusing to let go of your shoulder.

"Yes, but some of the symptoms you're experiencing also align with other ailments so we would like to admit you for a couple of days while we do thorough tests," she explains, flipping through the papers on her clipboard.

You turn to Seungmin, whose face is clamped shut and eyes are fixed on the doctor. He's been doing well, keeping his composure for your sake, but now he looks as pale as you probably do. You try to focus your breathing so that maybe, just maybe, your heart will stop threatening to pound out of your chest. If it does, however, you're in the perfect place.

Seungmin's hand slides down from your shoulder to your back, rubbing soothing circles as he continues to talk to the doctor. You can't hear what he and the doctor are talking about, your ears are acutely aware of the swooshing of the blood from your heart.

You wanted it to be nothing. It's one of the main reasons why you put it off so long, playing it off as common stomach issues so you wouldn't have to go to the doctors and have them find something wrong with you. But it's inevitable now. There is something.

"It'll be okay," Seungmin whispers. Normally, you can read him like a book, but right now, you can't tell if he's reassuring you or himself.

~~~

You stare at the words on your phone, absorbing none of them as music plays loudly from Seungmin's headphones. You can't even register what song is playing right now, your mind too full with thousands of thoughts plaguing every quiet second you have.

Seungmin left you his headphones and phone charger before he left to get you some things from home. He stayed a while, being a quiet yet comforting presence while you got admitted. He sat, holding your hand as a nurse drew your blood, humming softly to distract you for a little bit.

He didn't want to leave. Not at first, but the two of you quickly realized that you couldn't ask anyone to get what you needed from your apartment. Seungmin has the only remaining key and you argued that it would be too much to ask one of the boys to come to the hospital to pick it up, get what you need from your room, and then come back to the hospital. So Seungmin went himself.

You were put into a private room, which you know is probably Seungmin's doing, but right now, you would prefer to be in a shared room. Just for the comfort of knowing that you're not the only person in the room.

Hot tears roll down your face, as your mind plays all the worse possible scenarios like a movie. You can't skip it, each scene is worse than the first, stressing you out more. You rest your head on the TV tray, trying to get your body to stop shaking and the images from popping into your head.

"Y/n?" You feel the cool air rushing to your ears and Seungmin's panicked voice, "What's wrong? Are you in pain?"

He sets down the bags in the chair next to your bed and tries to get you to lift your head so he can see your face.

"N-no. I mean, yeah it hurts, but that's not why I'm crying." You whimper, lifting your head and looking at Seungmin through tears.

You can't see it, how red and swollen Seungmin's eyes are. Even if you did, you know he'd tell you a little white lie about allergies. You hate how this is affecting him. It's one of the reasons why you didn't tell him in the first place. Because you knew he wouldn't be able to do anything to help, no matter how much he wanted to. You don't even want to think how badly he'll suffer if it's something serious.

"It's okay to be scared," Seungmin whispers. The remainder of the sentence lingers in the air between the two of you. Unspoken but understood.

It's okay to be scared. I am too.

"What if it's something serious? And I waited too long and,"

Another unfinished sentence that doesn't need to be completed for the two of you to understand, this one heavier than the last. Its weight quickly soaking up all the oxygen and light in the room, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe it's whatever has been slowly killing you from the inside finally putting you out of your misery.

"Maybe it's a parasite," Seungmin suggests, his normally steady voice breaking. You finally look up to face your boyfriend. You're bet with the top of his head as he's turned away from you, looking at the ceiling. His hair is neater than it was before, still slightly wet. He's now wearing a light grey hoodie with matching sweatpants.

"That's disgusting," You sniffle, a smile smile appearing on your face.

Seungmin, still not looking at you, lets out a loud and long sigh. "But you're smiling, right?"

"Because you're an idiot,"

"A smile is a smile. I'll take it."

Seungmin tilts his head down and rubs his sleeve-covered hands over his face before turning his attention to you. His eyes are glassy and red. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach at the sight of him.

"It'll be okay," You whisper, taking Seungmin's hand in yours. It's more for your comfort than his.

"Whatever it is, I'll be here. Okay?" Seungmin says loudly, squeezing your hand tightly. "So lay your burdens on me,"

"I can't ask you to do that. You're getting ready for a comeback--"

"You think I would be able to focus on that if you're...if something is wrong with you?"

"I've seen you seen you separate Kim Seungmin the idol from Kim Seungmin my boyfriend."

"Yeah, when we're having a fight or something. But not for things like this. I already talked to Chan hyung. I didn't tell him everything, but he understands that you need me right now."

"Seungmin..." Your voice falters, any argument you could think of dies in your throat.

But he's right, you do need him. You've been shouldering the burden of your pain alone for too long, you're not sure how much longer you can last. He was gone for one hour and you completely fell apart. And that was just at the thought that it might be something serious.

"I have to call my parents," You breathe, calming down a little bit.

"I can help you with that," Seungmin replies softly.

"And I need to let my boss know I can't come in."

"I'll help with that too,"

"...But right now, I kinda just want to lay down with you,"

"I can do that too," Seungmin gently climbs into the hospital bed next to you, carefully watching the IV in your hand.

Once he's settled, he pulls your head down onto his chest. You freeze for a moment. It's not usual for Seungmin to initiate physical contact like this. Especially when a nurse can walk in at any moment. But the slight tremble of his body and the pounding in his chest let you know that he probably needs this more than you, so you relax into his touch.

"I love you, Y/n," He mumbles out, just like he did the first time he said it.

"I love you too, Seungmin," You breathe into his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie.

"I'm here," He says loudly this time. "It'll be okay,"

"I know,"

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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[grandlinedreams]

|| i regret nothing I need Cooper Howard viscerally both pre and post Ghoulification

|| notes: semi Canon compliant, spoiler-ish for end of s1, semi-shifting pov, Lucy is adorable but baby girl you will be chewed up and spat out pls grow more spine, Dogmeat has never done anything wrong ever, godbless Cooper having a southern accent bc that's my accent, yeah, gonna do a sequel to this and a prequel on Coop and reader's first meeting, ok bye

|| warnings: weapons supplier!reader, couple of allusions to cannibalism, reader is not specifically gendered, NSFW ㅡ fingering/touching

“Where are we going?”

Not for the first time today, or even the last week, Cooper questions why he's letting the Vaultie (“Lucy,” she informs him primly, “my name is Lucy.”) tag along. The dog, at least, is a good, reliable companion. Dogmeat trots dutifully at his side, her tail wagging as he stops to glare at Lucy.

“Supplies, Vaultie,” he tells her, relishes the flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Need supplies or we'll both be knee deep in shit.” He pauses. “More than we already are.” 

She mumbles something he doesn't care to catch as he resumes walking, rolling his eyes as he adjusts his hat. He knows he could stand to be a little more sympathetic with the bombshell she's still dealing with, but he can't bring himself to ㅡ not when his daughter might still be alive out there, somewhere. (And his ex-wife, who he's pointedly trying to not think about too much.) 

Lucy is blessedly quiet for a good while, all the way until they get closer to where they're going. Cooper doesn't need that piece of shit vault-tec device on her arm to know where he is, but Lucy says it anyways.

“It's a town,” she mumbles at the cluster of ramshackle buildings, surrounded by the clustering of trees so much like Filly ㅡ but isn't. “Is thisㅡ”

“Yes,” he answers, “now shut it and walk.”

Lucy huffs. “I don't know if you've realized neither of us have means to pay for anything,” she protests, “but the general rule ofㅡ” 

“Vaultie.” If looks could kill, she'd be six feet under. He's never had much patience, but she’s already reached the bottom of it and keeps digging. “Shut the fuck up about your goddamn rules. If you haven't noticed, nobody up here gives a damn about playing by what's wrong and what's right.” He gives her a meaningful look. “Now if you don't want me to leave your ass to whatever comes along next, you'll be quiet and let me handle it.” 

Lucy's mouth shuts with an audible click, and Cooper turns on his heel to resume walking, Dogmeat at his heels. 

Like Filly, the center of buildings bustle with the day to day of so many others, the cacophony of animal sounds along with chatter ㅡ Cooper spares Lucy a brief glance to watch her struggle to keep up and scoffs to himself, shaking his head as he continues.

He knows where he's going, a little shop shoved between two others, narrow but deeper than the other two, because he's been here before. Several times, actually. Which accounts for the familiarity with which he strolls over the threshold and leaves Lucy and Dogmeat to follow. 

There's the jingle of what might be a bell over Lucy's head when she follows, blinking at the interior. Neat and tidy, or at least as much as can pass for such things on the surface ㅡ rows of weapons and other assorted things on shelves and stands. 

Lucy watches The Ghoul rap his fist on the counter. “I know you're here,” he calls, “you never leave this damn place!”

She expects whoever it is to come scuttling out with the tone of voice he uses and being as accustomed to his rougher attitude, and she listens to the clatter of something further in the shop.

“If that's your greeting nowadays,” comes the answer, “you can fuck off.” 

To Lucy’s surprise, The Ghoul husks a laugh instead of offering another threat. Footsteps approach, and Lucy blinks at the person who rounds the corner. 

“You,” you accuse, finger almost into his chest, “thought I told you I was done dealing with you if you couldn't work on your manners.” 

Lucy stares, and watches as you turn towards her and raise an eyebrow, eyeing her with unrestrained curiosity, then at Dogmeat. “A vaultie and a dog,” you say, then glance back at The Ghoul. “So, taking in strays, huh?”

The Ghoul grimaces. “Guess so.” He clears his throat. “Need supplies again, sweetheart.”

“Figured as much,” you say, arms folding across your chest. Lucy decides she likes you, because you're standing up to him ㅡ and he's letting you. “Take it you have no way of paying, again.”

Lucy wants to tell The Ghoul I told you so, because he can shit on all her little rules all he likes but the surface still deals in keeping the scales balanced. You have to eat too, so it's fair that you're expecting payment in the nonexistent caps they have. The Ghoul, on the other hand, tries a different route. 

“Oh come on now sugar,” The Ghoul wheedles, tone almost what could be considered as sweet. Playing at a gentleman for the way he leans against the cobbled together counter, even goes as far as to take his hat off and place it down. “Don't be like that.”

“Don't you sugar me,” you counter with an attitude that honestly startles Lucy for both the lack of genuine bite or answering hostility from The Ghoul. This isn't the first time you've met, she realizes, and is also quietly a little horrified to register that this almost sounds like flirting. “You're a pain in the ass, you know that?”

The Ghoul almost grins. “At least I'm consistent. Besides, you know you miss me when I'm gone.” 

You snort, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. Lucy feels a tiny bit uncomfortable with the atmosphere, like she's watching something she shouldn't be privy to. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you answer, bustling around to shove several fabric wrapped packs into his chest and giving him a meaningful look. “You owe me.” 

It's definitely flirting now, Lucy notes as The Ghoul's face lights up in a way that's still entirely human, tracking your movements with something far softer than anything she's ever seen from him. 

The turn towards her and head jerk to her and Dogmeat is as clear as dismissal as she's ever seen, to make herself scarce ㅡ so she does, but not before she catches the peripheral glimpse of the way you let him reach for you, almost melting into him for the way he moves to undoubtedly murmur something. 

That something is not the sweet words of a long time lover, but it's probably about as close as you're going to get with things the way they are.

 

“Anyone causin’ you trouble lately?” 

You roll your eyes. “Besides you?” He gives you a look, and you shake your head. “No, and even if there was, you know I can handle myself.” You turn to throw him a teasing look over your shoulder. “Don't tell me you're getting soft on me, old man.” 

It's Cooper's turn to snort, even as he moves to follow you. There's a sort of peace to watching you sort through boxes of shell casings and bottles of powder, letting his gaze drift over your body. 

When you turn, he doesn't even bother to hide the way he's watching you, and you arch an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he returns. “Can't I admire you?”

You roll your eyes. “I'm too expensive for you, Cooper.” It's a playful taunt, one that incites a little flare of something in his eyes as he approaches, the jingle of his spurs as he comes to loom over you, cages you in against the shelves of “inventory”. 

“Really now,” he drawls, leans in, eyes predatory dark. A lifetime ago, you might have been scared. But the wastelands made no qualms about beating fear out of people just as quick as it snuffed out life all together. “Here I was thinkin’ I might get a discount.” He reaches, thumbs at your bottom lip with his gloved digit. “What's the askin’ price, sweetheart?” 

This close, he smells like the wastelands and sunbaked leather, with a little bit of blood ㅡ but you don't mind. Never have, not sure you ever will. Not when it comes to him, anyways.

He's a dangerous man. A man with a reputation that's well-earned, spoken in hushed whispers and anything but nice. But you let him slot a leg between yours, lean in, press his lips to your hair. You smell like gunpowder and hot metal, grease stained fingertips and more than a couple bruises and scars for your efforts. 

Sometimes Cooper contends with the idea he might need you just as much as he needs that chem that keeps him sane. Admits it here and there, quietly to himself when he wanders in, squashes it down that he makes the trips sometimes just to make sure you're still alive. Not like he'd know if you were, till he sees you. Not sure what he'd do if he someday came up and found you gone. No note, no goodbye ㅡ quick and quiet, the cruelty of the wastelands.  

“Didn't answer my question, darlin’.” He mumbles, lips to your cheeks now. Soft skin, kept carefully with rationed doses of radaway and a healthy heap of keeping your cute little self out of business that doesn't involve you. “Come on, I asked you real nicely.” 

You hook your fingers in the loops of his belt, pull him closer. He can feel the jump of your heartbeat under his lips, now at your jawline. A soft, shaky inhale. Selfishly, he wants to keep you. Steal you away, greedy to keep you for himself. Hates the idea of whatever scum that rolls in that you have to deal with on your own. You can handle yourself, he knows that. 

Doesn't stop that little piece of him that's still truly Cooper Howard from worrying. But he knows better than to think he can protect you, because he can't. So he does what he can.

Your skin is soft under his teeth, forgiving to the nip of them, the blooming blossom of pink that reminds him of strawberries. The noise you make is just as sweet, and he wonders if you'd taste like that, too. 

“I'm waiting,” he prompts between little nips, mouth curving against your flesh when you grip at him tighter. There's a lot he could do to you, and not a lot you wouldn't let him. “Don't tell me this big ol’ cat’s got your tongue, little songbird.” 

Your lips part, and he expects either a sparky response or a soft plea for what this is tilting towards, partaking of something far softer than anything he's used to nowadays ㅡ  but you’ve always had a taste for throwing him for a loop, and you do it now. 

“Take me with you.” 

That snaps him out of his little hazy, touch-greedy daze, enough that he pulls away to look at you properly. “Repeat that?”

“You heard me.” You tug at the loops of his belt, eyes steely, expression firm. “Take me with you. Tired of this shitty little outpost. Figure it's time to move before I get myself into trouble I can't get out of.”

Cooper laughs. “Think you're runnin’ straight into that fire by askin’ what you're askin’, sweet thing.” A warning and a plea, mixed mish-mash in his words. Part of him wants you to stay here. Concrete, much as it can be, where he knows where you are. Other part says it'd be easier to watch your back if he saw it all the time. 

“That's not an answer, Cooper.” 

He snorts, softens at the edges again, a little sadder as he reaches to stroke your jawline, leans to bump his forehead to yours ㅡ radiation warm against radaway cold. “Wanna make sure you know what you're asking for, darlin’. I ain't your babysitter. Got my own shit to do.”

“I know.” There's that fire in your voice, the kind he loves and hates at the same time. “Wasn't asking for you to babysit me.” 

He swallows roughly. Lets his hands drift up your sides, tug at the tuck of your shirt, underneath to drag sun-worn leather against the soft skin of your abdomen. Relishes the way you shiver, leaning into his touch. “Can't promise nothin’, you know that.” 

Your smile promises the same kind of heartbreak his own words do, the kind rooted in the reality that the world doesn't deal in any absolute but death, and sure as shit won't give happy endings. Not anymore. “I know.” 

Cooper can't think of what to say to that, at least anything he's ready to, so he kisses you. Your lips are too soft against his, the warmth of your mouth reigniting that greedy, needy, human thing inside him. He pulls, digs his fingers into your soft, pliant skin, and he takes.

Takes what you willingly give him, hand over hand with nothing but that pretty little smile of yours. He muffles your gasp as he wedges his leg a little firmer, coaxes the part of your legs with a rough husk of, “just like that, dollface,” and delights too much in the sound of you moaning for him.

Hushed, quiet enough that there's no reason for Dogmeat or Lucy to come back yet (he doesn't know what they're up to nor does he really fuckin’ care at the moment), he lets himself indulge in the pleasure of your body against his. The sweet little sounds, half-gasped as he mouths at your neck, hitched to something almost like music as his hands wander. 

Pauses long enough to bite at the tip of his glove and tug, one then two, the bare, radiation scarred wander of his fingers over your body. It's selfish, the way he covets every little twitch and jump of your muscles, the choked gasp as he guides you into rocking against his leg. 

“You're so sweet for me, sugar,” he coos, syrupy as he picks you apart meticulously, piece by piece. Fingers still far too good at what they do when he replaces his leg with the press of them against you, remnants of a past life for how well he gets you to whimper his name. “Like ambrosia.” 

His fingers stroke, deceptively gentle, working over your slick, too-hot, achy skin until you’re panting and gripping at him, pleading for a relief only he can give you. And that’s exactly how he wants you, where all you can see and think of is him. 

The expression you make when he finally lets you come might truly be the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very long time. Headier than the Jet, dizzying and making him swear as he jerks his clothed hips against yours, breath sharp in his chest. 

“Gonna be the death of me, I swear.” He bites at your neck, digs a little harder, scrapes his canines into your sweet, yielding flesh. He could devour you, take bite after sweet, sweet bite and actually test that theory about the strawberries. Crack the cage of your rib, feast on that beating yolk of heart that thumps so hard in your chest. 

“Gonna let me do it, sweet thing?” He rumbles against your ear. “Let me have it all?” 

Your eyes flash, lips pretty and swollen as they part to answer ㅡ and the bark of that damn mutt ruins it all. At least it's a warning for you both, because he's stepping back and letting you fix yourself with surprising speed as Lucy and Dogmeat return, an expectant look on the fuckin’ vaultie's face. 

“Well? Got what you need?"

Cooper snorts, tracks you instead of answering as you press your hand to his for a second, gone around the corner. Lucy frowns when you return, pistol strapped at your hip and a bandolier slung over your shoulder like his, broad pack strapped to your back. Like you planned for this.

And you did, he notes, but it hadn't been contingent on his agreement. Idly, he notes he never did answer you, not really. But he just hums, then turns towards Lucy, who looks between the two of you, confused. 

“Yeah,” he finally answers, “got what I need.”

#ㅡmine. #fallout series #fallout x reader #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader

[coolprettyleo]

my soul has changed? - will smith au

wc: 1.4k

tw: depression, suggestion of an ED, awkwardness? mean girl.

will smith x oc celebrini sister!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

april celebrini was in a point of her life where everything felt still. she was pretty sure she was suffering from depression and it was a cycle she didn't know how to get out of.

she would wake up, go to school, go to work, and then sleep. she was lucky if she fitted a meal in between that meant she had lost tons of weight.

she had been a pretty healthy teen, she played hockey up until high school alongside her brothers; but when the time came to play college hockey, she got no offers. contributing to her depression.

it was a sport she held so much love and dedication, she couldn't understand why she hadn't been good enough? I mean her brothers were good enough, they got college offers. macklin was even projected to go first overall, so why couldn't she?

those were thoughts that were constantly haunting her mind. if she found something to forget them they would flood back in, like if they wanted her to be a lifeless doll she had been feeling like.

her family had been really worried for her. she had finally seen her brothers after a year, at the NCCAA playoffs and it only caused them to worry more.

flashbacks

april knew that macklin and aiden were gonna bombard her with questions as soon as they were alone. they could hardly recognize her. growing up she was always a smiling person with a big personality and now she was about forty pounds lighter and was a ghost of the person she used to be.

"april what's going on" macklin said shutting the door behind him.

"what do you mean"

"cut the bullshit. I know your not okay, you barley answer my text anymore, what's wrong"

"it's nothing mack-"

"no it's not nothing, maybe I can fix it-

"you cant 'fix' it"

"and why not-"

"because I don't know what wrong with me!"

that had been about two weeks ago. she just didn't know what to tell her family. she really didn't understand why she had been feeling that way.

she was currently at work where she was a barista in a cute coffee shop. she honestly loved working there, she had got the job when she was in high school and had kept it till college. seeing as she didn’t move far away for college, choosing to stay close to her parents.

she often wondered if she might be happier if she moved away just like everyone else did, just like her brothers did. but it would always end in her telling herself; that it's not worth dwelling on.

it was currently six am and at this time of day there weren’t many customers. the cafe was always busy mid day when people were looking to find somewhere to study.

so she was surprised when she turned the open side around, to find a boy waiting outside to come in. a boy who looked a lot like will smith.

april wasn’t an idiot to hockey, she kept up with it a fairly good amount, so she would have to be living under a rock to not know the guy who dominated the ice at her brothers rivalry school.

that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to act like she didn’t know him.

he reached for the handle and took a look at her before turning as red as a tomato and blushing,

“hey, are you guys open?” he asked nervously, mentally slapping himself because he just saw her turn the sign around, to ‘open’

“uhm yeah I’ll be with you in a sec” she told him.

will couldn’t help but think her voice was cute. she had a rasp to it that made him want to give her everything she’s ever wanted.

april finished up, putting the coffee too brew and turned to the counter.

“okay! order when your ready”

“uhm. i actually never been here before… any recs?” he asked after a moment nervously scratching his neck.

“well I get a dirty chai, but considering my brothers hate it, you might hate it too… I guess you might like a frap?” she told him, a little too monotone.

“yeah okay” he told her again nervously. he found her to be breathtakingly beautiful.

he paid and stood back as she got to making the drink.

“you from here?” will asked hoping to make small talk.

“uhm kinda. I was born in Vancouver but moved here when my dad got a job”

will panicked. oh god was she still in highschool

april must of saw the worry on his face because she added,

“that was a couple years ago, im eighteen now” she said smiling at his face. something she didn’t do often anymore.

“oh, i’m eighteen too”

“oh yeah, what brings you to san jose, school?” she said innocently knowing very well he was drafted here and was most likely here to work on development.

“no. I”m came to meet with some people here. I go to boston college” he answered. april starting to not feel so bad because she saw he didn’t want to right away say he was a hockey player.

“far from home huh”

“yeah, i’m literally across the country from everything and everybody i’ve ever known” he told her wanting to slap himself. did she need to know that!?!

“i’m sorry. it’ll get easier” she said remembering her brother had been homesick too but utimatly started feeling better after some time-- as she handing him his drinks and gave him a sympathetic face.

“yeah i hope so, i should be moving here soon, if everything goes right” he said as he took a sip.

“hey this is good!” he said taking another sip as april smiled. something that will thought looked amazing on her.

april smiled at him remembering the fact her brothers liked that drink. boys were so typical

“i’m glad… and hey— if you ever need a friend in town my names april” she told him as she held her hand out to him to shake.

will starred at it for a moment before he quickly met her hand.

“will” he told the girl with a smile.

they were cut out of there moment when two customers walked in.

“I should get back to work. i’ll see you around will” she told him as he smiled a nodded and walked right out.

say something! ask for my number! do anything!

april felt really dumb after she basically just presented herself in a silver platter to the boy and he didn’t finish his part in asking for her number. he had definitely rejected her in the nicest way someone possibly could.

meanwhile will got into the Uber with a gitty feeling. she seemed really cool and having someone to hang out with other than his teammates was going to be so nice.

he was midway into the meeting with some general managers when he realized he didn’t even ask for her number.

“oh my god” he mumbled as he came to the realization

"i'm sorry?" one of the GM's said confused.

“uhh— I said I was excited to join the franchise!” he covered up, feeling like an idiot.

hopefully she was still there after the meeting.

the meeting had gone a little to long for his liking and as he raced down to the coffee shop he hoped she was working a long shift.

he opened the door to see a blonde girl who looked old but yet looked young, and a taller boy with curly hair working behind the counter.

“hi. is april working today?” he said breathlessly

the blonde eyed him for a moment before smirking,

“I don't recall an april ever working here...my name samantha though” she said with a face that will knew was a face of someone who was lying.

“yes there is, she helped me earlier-"

“if your here to file a complaint against her, I can totally help you then,” she said

“no she was great— wait, you said you didn’t know an april-“

“your looking for april” the other barista cut in

“yeah she was here earlier, i was hoping she was still here”

“she got off like two hours ago but i can give you her number!” the curly haired boy told will. he was one of aprils friends and he wasn’t going to ruin this opportunity for her.

“you totally can’t do that!” the blonde girl said in a nasally voice.

“shutup samantha. go take candy from a baby or something” he sassily told her.

she rolled her eyes before walking away to wipe a table down.

“sorry about her, here’s her number— good luck!”

“thankyou so much” he told him as he thought about what exactly to text the pretty girl.

both april and will not knowing the epic love story they were about embark on.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

hi guys! i hope this is kinda good, dont feel shy to send in ask and au thoughts… i like never get any but im so open to it!!

#nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey fic #will smith hockey #bc hockey #gabe perreault #ryan leonard #will smith hockey x reader #jacob fowler #bc eagles #will smith hockey x oc #will smith hockey imagine #april x will #gabe perreault x reader #nhl #hockey imagine

[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 7

2.3k | angst, drinking irresponsibly If Simon could do it all again (part 1)

“You don’t look good, sir.” The sergeant stood at attention, looking straight into his lieutenant’s eyes.

Simon had to commend the balls of Kevlar required to walk right up to him to point the fact out unprompted, but that was why he liked Sgt. Eric Jefferies the most. You had no time to waste when you raced with death on the regular - he would tell anyone they didn’t look good.

He knew he didn’t - it was the same bland face he had the pleasure to look at in the mirror each day. Annoyed, but not surprised by the darkening circles under his eyes, stark against his pale complexion. It didn’t help that he nicked himself in the jaw shaving that morning.

“Dining hall, sergeant,” he grunted.

“You’re barely eating, Riley,” Lt. Ramsay said, the same bloke who’d catch him sneaking back to his room. “You know you’re contributing to the food waste when you don’t ask for seconds, yeah?”

It was true, and the table chuckled, but Simon continued to shove whatever was on his plate into his mouth. It was enough to not starve.

“He never leaves his room anymore, not even on the weekends,” another lieutenant quipped, but was promptly elbowed by the officer next to him.

That, too, was true.

Simon had nowhere else to be, like how it always was before his mum came to Hereford. These days his flat was too empty and cold with the hole in his chest. He never came back after that night.

It wasn’t like he was thriving in his quarters either, but it was still a little better – at least it was untouched by you. Though his nights were dreamless at first, he kept waking, and waking until the dreams started.

It was a glitch in the universe, wasn’t it? That the memory that played in his mind to insanity was the last time he saw you, about crawling back to your door with limbs that didn’t feel like his, vision swaying with the lights, coming on and off, his heartbeat ringing in his head.

It’s not supposed to end this way… I want to try…

He sighed at another disturbed night. Tea would slow his mind. Instead, he found the box of Darjeeling you gifted him to take back to base. ‘So we can have the same tea over the phone,’ you’d said.

Was there a way to escape you, make you stop haunting? He needed an exorcism.

He put it back in his drawer. One day, it wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.

And the nightmares came back. It was once, then twice, and thrice a week of waking up in cold sweat in the dark.

Simon’s performance slipped. There was a reason sleep deprivation was a popular torture method. He requested sleeping medications - his career was the last thing he had and he wasn’t about to let it go. Any unrestful sleep interrupted by the vivid images his sickly mind conjured up was still better than no sleep at all.

Quitting you was impossible when the thoughts still followed. If pushing you away didn’t work, maybe basking in the memories would, even if it hurt more. Aching for your warmth, the scraps of it, he’d go anywhere you’d been to see your ghost. The pain was better than the void.

“You lads are volunteering at the soup kitchen this Saturday,” he announced to Sgt. Jefferies after hours.

“Saturday, sir?”

“It’s good for you. Reminds you why you’re doing all this.”

“Can’t tell me what to do,” he teased. “You’re not my L.T. on the weekends.”

Simon’s stare didn’t waver and the other bloke’s smile dropped.

“Copy, sir. I’ll tell the others.”

When the four burly SAS soldiers entered the kitchen, chatter and clanks stalled as all eyes turned to them.

“May… May I help you young lads?” one of the middle-aged ladies said.

Simon recognised her from his last visit, but he quickly realised this was a silly idea. He was out of place, knowing no one there.

He flashed half a smile. “Just wanted to give a hand. Got any lifting to do?”

The lieutenant and his sergeants hauled the food items to the kitchen, including the bread which he taught his sergeants to half and butter. They were offered to peel potatoes, but Simon decided it was wise to leave it to the pros instead.

People still avoided his gaze while his boys exchanged pleasantries with the other volunteers; Eric even got called handsome by the group of older ladies he impressed with his strength as he hefted the sack of potatoes. While the night was as pleasant, it wasn’t the same if you weren’t there to hold his hand and laugh at his jokes.

When the boys invited Simon to the pub at the end of the night, he said no. He thought he was ready, but even after weeks, coming back to his flat was just as sickening.

The silence pierced. Despite all the lights flicked on, the place made his skin crawl, the space too vast and empty. But he didn’t become a lieutenant from succumbing to his emotions.

As he lay in bed, he recalled that you too slept there once. That the mattress once dipped with the gentle weight of you, but unlike the bed that bounced back, you’d left a lasting imprint that disfigured his soul.

Simon wondered what you were up to, if you knew he was there drowning, miserable in his cold room. He couldn’t decide if he preferred your door to be closer or further: closer so he could catch a glimpse of you without meaning to, or further so he wouldn’t be so tempted to go over and get on his knees.

You said begging only reduced you to nothing, but for you, he’d beg and beg. There wasn’t much to lose when he wasn’t much to begin with. He was a stray for a reason.

He tossed and turned, and was granted a wink of sleep before the same bloody dream flashed in his mind.

I don’t care how hard it gets…

He sat up, feet thudding on the floor as he rubbed his face with a heavy sigh. It was always that one moment, like a broken record. Why couldn’t it be you on a night out, or kissing you on the kitchen counter, or simply, you smiling? It was a curse. If only the heart could follow where one’s feet went.

With no plans on coming here, his sleeping pills lay on his desk at base. He looked through the cabinets to distract himself, finding various bottles of dusty, unopened spirits he was gifted. They weren’t his cup of tea.

So he packed, to get his mind off you, from spiralling and digging a deeper grave for itself.

It was time for a change. With the accommodation he was provided, he never needed to rent, but he did anyway in case his mum ever needed the place. It was a good call he did, but with the divorce on the way, keeping it was pointless. He’d rather spend the extra money on his mum and nephew.

Yes, he came to remember- not to forget, but you wouldn’t leave, would you? In the dead of night, when he pulled the hoodie he’d forgotten about out of his wardrobe, he decided he’d had enough of his bloody flat and drove back to base.

He still had another weekend to before his next deployment, a two-month mission. He’d finish packing then.

“You’re right, sir, it feels good volunteering.” Eric grinned at his lieutenant. “We’re going again tomorrow. Also one of the ladies is introducing her daughter to Sam. See you there then?”

Never again. “Dining hall, sergeant.”

Simon was a fool for not finishing his lunch sooner and bolting, instead lingering for the announcement. With how atrocious he did on his tests, he must have been beyond high to still hope for a miracle, that despite everything, he still had a chance at a promotion.

He didn’t make to the top 3.

Amidst the wishes from the table, Lt. Ramsay’s turned to him. His grateful smile faltered.

Simon’s fists clenched. It was supposed to be him, his. But who was he to be mad. It was the fruit of his incompetence. He knew this was coming. Things were going to shit. The unforgiving truth was staring right at him mercilessly: he had nothing else.

He left for his office.

“Sir, sir!” Sgt. Jefferies called. “We’re heading to the pub tonight. Come with us.”

He gritted his teeth. Word travelled too fast.

“Let’s get out of the base for a bit,” he continued when he caught up to his long strides. “It’s the last weekend before we ship out.”

Simon eyed the display of vibrant bottles behind the bar as he listened to his sergeants’ orders, the names foreign to him. Above, the telly showed a rugby match rerun no one paid attention to.

“Jefferies, how much you reckon it takes me to get pissed?”

He chuckled. “You, sir? At least 10,” he said before taking a swig of his beer.

“Nah, 15 sounds more like it.” Richie, the designated driver for the evening piped up.

Sam downed his first two shots, hissing as he slammed the glasses on the bar. “Agreed. Do you know how much he lifts?” He nodded at Simon’s biceps, bulging under his loose black shirt.

It was a genuine question. Simon didn’t want to get pissed, he only wanted to forget. He didn’t mean to go over his limit he had no idea was at seven.

Drunk Simon was a weeping, blabbering mess. It didn’t help that he was massive, because his sergeants had trouble getting him to the car before Richie drove him to the address of his flat he barely managed to gurgle out before passing out.

“Sir, you’re paying for the bloody cleaning if you get sick in my car!”

Why did he think this was a good idea? He was never a drinker, barely even touched alcohol socially. It was the poison that turned his dad into a demon, and it too became his downfall. The only thing he thought he would always have – his resolve, let him down too. He’d lost you, his mum whom he was supposed to protect, his future, and now his dignity.

Desperation was a lethal sentiment.

And that dream came again, that he stumbled to your door. Legs wobbly, his vision in and out as the world spun in slow motion.

“Luv… Luv, it’s not supposed to end like this,” he slurred, the same line he always opened with.

A marionette, a prisoner in his own head, it was a loop he couldn’t escape. The awful show had to commence to end the same way each time.

“I’m sick of losing and I wouldn’t know what to do when you leave, after how much you’ve given. Instead, I left when you needed me. I should have been there for you, gone through all this with you, no matter how hard it got.

“If you would give me a chance, I’ll quit the SAS. I’d start all over again. I’ll butcher the carrots and apples with the bloody peeler, I’ll let the steakhouse mess up our reservation and eat a dozen soapy tacos… If you ever show up at my door with your pie again, I swear I’d kiss you, not scare you. And I’ll never let go. If it has to hurt, I want it to be you.”

The door clicked open, and like how it always went, it meant the dream was coming to an end.

“You make it worth it,” he muttered as his vision faded.

…

Simon gasped for air, this time staring up at blinding lights. He shielded his wet eyes, chuckling to himself.

“Bloody hell, I think I’m sick on the inside.”

“Only your past, but you are not your past.” Your voice echoed in the distance.

His body was too heavy to move. “Could you forgive me, for all of this?”

“Could you? You need to forgive more than you need to be forgiven.”

He laughed as another tear slipped.

Simon woke on his couch, still in his clothes from the night before. Dreaming of you always drained him, leaving him hollow and out of touch with his body.

He sat up with a groan, rubbing his face as the dizziness settled. He didn’t remember much after getting dragged to Richie’s car. Judging by the gnarly bruise on his arm, he probably fell last night, but he was glad he found his way back to his flat in one piece.

Stumbling to the shower, he hissed when his toe stubbed one of the boxes on the floor. It was a horrendous decision to drink so much, still having to pack the rest of his stuff. He leaned over the sink, staring at his bloodshot eyes.

His sergeant was right. He didn’t look good. He never did. What the fuck are you doing to yourself, Riley?

With his hair damp, he made his way to the kitchen. As he realised he’d packed all his tea stash in one of the bloody boxes, a series of knocks echoed in his flat.

He grumbled. It better be important for someone to disturb his peace, especially with the pounding of his head. He couldn’t be bothered putting a shirt on before he swung the door open.

It was you, a pie in hand like the first time he met you all those months ago.

“Hi, is Simon in?”

His heart lurched as he crushed you in a hug.

“Thought you said you were going to kiss me.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @eve-lie @lyenera @luvecarson @jaguarthecat @knight4xmas @unwrittenletter @mxtokko @reaperxxxxzz @footyandformula @opalesquegirl @audisive @sparrowgalaxy @fanficreblogs @strawberrystargal @damalseer @onlineoutcast @alright-i-guesss @maresoleil @mehjustalasshere @rrtxcmt

#call of duty #cod #cod fanfic #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty angst #cod angst #call of duty x you #cod x you #female reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley angst #ghost angst #neighbor!ghost

[luvaurae]

Simon “ghost” Riley x reader 🫶🏼

This is my first tumblr post, go easy on me 🙏 I’m not sure how it sounds or if I like it or not, sorry if there’s typos ‼️

You and Simon had been together for about 6 months now. Normally Simon was deployed and sent away to work for 3-4 months (depending on the job.) which wasn’t the best. You always had to sit in your little yet cozy apartment without his presence, and sometimes when you needed him most, he wasn’t there. When you were in the shower, he wasn’t standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist. When you were in bed, he wasn’t spooning you and keeping you warm. When you cooked dinner, you had no one to serve it to except yourself. Obviously you loved him, but it was so hard to get up for your own work in the morning without him groaning and saying things like - “..five more minutes luv’ .” Or “.. jus’ call work n tell em ya sick, please dove?”. But you knew his job was important, and it helped the both of them with rent and food shopping.

———————————

As you jangled your keys into your doorknob, trying your best to shove it in as your eyes fluttered open and shut. You had just been on a six-hour shift at work and felt as if you were going to pass out every time you moved any part of your body. Eventually you managed to open up your apartment door, shutting it and locking it behind you without even turning back. You dropped your bag to the floor next to your shoe rack before making your way into bed, taking off your coat as you do so. You awkwardly rub your eyes before hopping into bed with your work t-shirt and your panties, pulling the blanket up trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. As soon as your head hits your pillow, you’re out cold. Snoring, not so quietly. You’re positive the whole of the building can hear it.

It was about 5:05pm.

You woke up to the sound of your door opening. It couldn’t be Simon, could it?.. he told you another week? He texted you and said specifically “captain said another week lovie, I’m sorry.” You shot up from your bed, not making a creak. You tiptoed into your closet, where a wooden bat had been lying against the wall (it was the one your dad gave you before you moved out.) you wrapped your hands around the handle as you opened your door, slowly yet carefully. Sweat building up within your palms, yet your grip on the bat extremely hard. You manage to tiptoe out of your room, the rest of your apartment still dark as you heard sounds coming from your kitchen. You gripped the bat with two hands before running into the kitchen and swinging it at the figures head, you told yourself you got a pretty good hit. Yet as the light from the refrigerator shines on the figure.. it was Simon. Of course it was.

———————————

“I’m so sorry baby. I didn’t know it was you.” I say shakily pressing a cold freezer pack wrapped in a cloth onto Simon’s head as he rested on our bed.

“Don’t be sorry dove. At least I know ya know how to protect ya self’” Simon’s says in his deep British accent, giving off a small chuckle at the end. I felt horrible, yet at the same time proud. And honestly it felt a little good to get him back for not having much time to spend with me.

“How come your back so early? And why didn’t you text me?” I say pulling away the ice pack from his head and placing it on my side table as I now tuck myself beside him in our bed.

“I dunno, and I knew i shou’ve but I didn’t want to disturb my Angel in er’ beauty sleep.” Simon gives another chuckle. God sometimes I had forgotten how beautiful he was. I smile at him as my head rested against the pillow, now just staring at him as I take in his features. For a moment I was in my own world, just thinking about how gorgeous he was.

“I missed you.” I say in a slightly tired and grumbled voice as I snap out of my trance and close my eyes.

“I missed you too, luv.” Simon gives me a soft peck on my shoulder before turning off the lamp and spooning me, sliding his arm underneath mine and pulling me close to him so that his warmth radiated me.

#call of duty #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley x reader

[hellfirenacht]

C'mon, It's Just One Night (Part 1)

Summary: After getting a fake love note in your locker, you ask Eddie to help you mess up some bullies plans. 

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, sfw, fem reader, reader wears a dress at one point, mentions of bullying, actual bullying, two-shot

Master List

Work Count: 3.7k Words

You ain't seen nothing yet....

The thing that always confused you about jocks and popular kids was that they always assumed that everyone else was dumber than them. Girls would come up to you and give you a compliment that was clearly not sincere and when you thanked them just to get them to leave you alone they would giggle and think that you believed them. Guys would ask you on dates as a joke and you’d roll your eyes and try to ignore them, even as they tried desperately for your attention for their own amusement. 

Thankfully, there were certain perks that came with being in the Hellfire Club. Being associated with Eddie “the Freak” Munson meant that as long as you were standing near your friend, you’d mostly be left alone. You’d sit with him at lunch, try and walk with him to class in the hallways, and in general just tried to avoid any jock that looked particularly bored. 

However it had been quiet over the past few weeks, too quiet for your liking. Honestly, you were almost missing some of the backhanded compliments because it at least gave you a chance to blow off some steam outside of Hellfire. Well, something out there heard your wish and that’s how you found yourself watching from the other end of the hallway as two boys shoved a note in your locker, snickering to themselves. 

Well, this should be entertaining at least. 

They didn’t even try and look around to see if anyone was watching them, too caught up in their own scheme to realize the person who’s locker they were messing with was watching them from just a few yards away. 

“-’s gonna be so funny.” laughed one. You didn’t even know their names. There were so many people at this school that how were you expected to keep up with everyone when you didn’t even speak to them?

“Yeah, she’s gonna be embarrassed and we’ll get a free show out of it.” laughed the other one. 

You were right there. How was it that you could be on their radar for this shit and yet still remain completely invisible? 

The two turned around and you pretended to be throwing something away in a nearby trash can quickly, so that they wouldn’t realize that you had been staring at them. 

“There she is, we gotta go!” you heard one say in a voice that you assumed was his idea of whispering as the two scampered off while trying to hold off their laughter. 

You gave them a generous thirty seconds to get away before making your way to your locker and opening it up, grabbing the note and reading it over. It took everything you had not to burst out laughing right there, and you were just going to throw it away when you had an idea. 

Tucking it into your pocket, you smiled and made your way to the drama room for Hellfire as you started making your own plans for what you’d just read. 

“And with the Dwarf’s golden pick rightfully returned to him, I think this is a good stopping point.” Eddie said, finally sitting back in his chair. He’d been really revved up today, jumping around the table and getting in everyone’s faces as he described what was happening. He’d nearly rammed his head into yours at one point and you had barely managed to lean back enough so he didn’t. 

Eddie was always revved up, always ready to put on a show. He wasn’t afraid to be loud or call out the bullshit of what was expected. Eddie would jump on tables, get in people's faces, declare himself King Freak. 

He was perfect. 

...For your plan. Nothing more. You knew he’d be on board when you explained what you wanted to do. He was perfect for... that. 

As the rest of the club filed out, you stayed behind to help clean up the leftover soda cans and break down the board. You were also stalling because you didn’t want any of the other members to witness what you were about to ask of Eddie. 

“Your Scottish accent is getting better and worse at the same time.” you said, handing him one of the minis. “Sometimes you nail it, and sometimes I don’t think you’re even trying to say anything legible.” 

“It’s better than your character's accent! Is your tiefling from New Jersey or trans-atlantic?” Eddie laughed, shoving his notes unceremoniously in a folder. 

“Why do Dwarves need to be Scottish anyway?” you ignored his question, fully aware that your accents were no better. “I think you should mix it up. Make Canadian dwarves or something.”

This is how Hellfire usually ended, with the two of you joking around and talking about the session and making fun of each other while you tried to get hints about what was to come. He never gave anything away. 

You blew out a few candles and Eddie went to readjust the lights. You reached into your pocket and pulled out the note. 

“So, Eddie.” you started, turning to him. “Remember how last month I helped you study for Mrs. O’Donnel’s midterm and you got a solid B?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed and he stopped what he was doing to look at you. Under the multicolored spotlights he looked... you never had the words to describe it. He just looked like Eddie. The Eddie that should be playing guitar on stage or the Eddie that kept your attention so easily and rapturously when he was running his games. You weren’t ready to say that to his face yet, despite the contradiction of what you were about to do. 

“I remember.” he said, walking over to you and crossing his arms. “I take it you aren’t just bringing up a fond memory of us to reminisce about?”

“Not a chance.” you looked into his brown doe eyes. “It’s time for you to pay up.” And with that you handed over the note. 

Eddie took it with a slight tilt of his head and unfolded it, scanning the contents. 

My Dearest, 

I’ve been watching you for weeks now, enraptored by your beauty. I’ve been too shy to talk to you, but now I want the chance to confess to you. I’m in love with you, and have been all year. I don’t care if everyone thinks you’re some weird Satanist freak because I’m into that. Please be my date for homecoming and meet me at the school at 7:30 pm.

-Your secret admirer  

“It’s not really a secret if you’re handing this directly to my face.” Eddie said, looking up from the note. “And you spelled ‘enraptured’ wrong.” 

“I found this in my locker.” you said, ignoring his comments. “Some jocks think they’re being funny and are clearly trying to pull some sort of prank to humiliate me.” 

“Think it’s a Carrie situation?” Eddie asked, looking over the note again before handing it back to you. 

“They don’t have the guts to get any pig's blood.” you shook your head. 

“So what does this have to do with me? You know that Hellfire doesn’t do school dances.” He said. “I thought we were just gonna blow it off, and Corroded Coffin is gonna do a secret show at the Quarry.”

“Eddie, all your shows are secret.”

“Not true, we have recently gained another groupie. There are now a grand total of six drunks that regularly listen to us play.” Eddie pouted. “Six and a half if you count the cat that’s been hanging around the Hideout.” 

“Yeah, okay, remember me when you’re famous.” You said. “Listen, I need your help. I’m coming to you wanting to cash in my favor. I need the Freak to help me out here, Eddie.”

“For what, exactly?” His eyes narrowed, but you stood your ground. 

“If I show up to homecoming, something's gonna happen. The best case scenario is that I show up and they ignore me and laugh while I wait for this fake person to show up. The worst case scenario ends with pigs blood and me learning I have telekinetic powers.” You explained. 

“So why even bother going? I thought we all agreed that Hellfire doesn’t do school events.” 

That was a good point, and you were making a gamble on this. Eddie didn’t do school events, and tried to make it a rule for his club as well. That didn’t go over well when Mike insisted that he was going to take his girlfriend Jane to homecoming, and everyone finally came clean that Lucas was playing both sides of the field and playing basketball AND doing Hellfire. 

You had to admit, Eddie’s face of disappointment and disapproval was pretty funny. You felt bad for the guy though, he avoided anything school related like the plague outside of this club. Eddie had boasted that he’d never gone to prom or homecoming, and had been skipping any pep rally since his second senior year. 

“You agreed that you didn’t go to events. I never agreed to anything.” you said firmly. “I only agreed to show up every Friday and wear the Hellfire shirt.”

“And again I ask, what does this have to do with me?” Eddie pushed. 

“Be my date for homecoming.” you said. “My fake date. I want you to get to me before they have the chance to.”

Eddie froze for a second, a thousand emotions flashing through his eyes at once. You’d seen this look countless times when one of his players had thrown him a curve-ball and he had to scramble to figure out how to make it work for the game. 

“Your fake date.” he said slowly. “So you want me to- what exactly?” 

“I want you to show up and pretend to be the person who wrote this note.” you explained. “I’ll pretend to be thrilled, you get to be seen with a cute girl at a dance, the gossip train gets something to talk about, and the jocks get their plans foiled. Everybody wins.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes at your plan. “Or you could just not show up at all and just come help us set up for the show.” He said. 

“But that’s not fun.” You pointed out. “Besides, if they think we’re together even just for the night then they’ll leave me alone. Probably”

Eddie looked skeptical. 

“Please?” you leaned closer, making your eyes wide as possible. “Eddie, these dicks have been on my ass all semester. I can’t go two weeks without getting asked out as a joke or having some meat head yell about how his “friend thinks I’m cute”. It’s fucking annoying, and ignoring them has done jack and shit.” 

You saw the stone look in his eyes falter and his shoulders ease up. “You’re really serious about this?” he asked. 

“I am.” you confirmed. “You do this for me, and you can have full creative control. Show up in your Hellfire shirt, hell you could show up in your pjs and I’ll pretend to be thrilled that you’re my secret admirer. We’ll make sure that we’re seen, then we can go to the quarry. We don’t even have to stay for fifteen minutes. Just show up for me, Eddie. Please.” 

Eddie took a deep breath and rubbed his face with his hands. “Fifteen minutes. All I have to do is show up and pretend that I’m your secret admirer and then we leave. Right?”

“Right.” You promised. “That’s all I need.”

Eddie sighed deeply and grabbed his jacket and threw it on. “I am never asking for your help studying again. You drive a hard bargain.” Despite his words he had a grin on his face. 

“I’m going easy on you, if you had gotten an A I’d be demanding that you show up in a full tux with roses.” you teased. “I’m talking about the full cheesy school dance treatment. Corsage, first dance, all of it.”

“Don’t even start, you’d have to get me to completely ace her whole class to get that kind of treatment.” Eddie grabbed your shoulder and started pushing you up the stairs. “I wouldn’t even know where to get a tux.” 

“I think you’re supposed to rent one.” you laughed as the two of you made your way out of the drama room and closed the door. “I, however, will need to actually buy my dress.”

“You’re really gonna get a dress for this? We’re only going for fifteen minutes.” Eddie pointed out. 

“Oh, would you rather me show up looking terrible?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You really wanna show up and fake-confess to me looking plain and like I don’t care?”

“You really want to sell this, huh?” Eddie laughed. 

“It’s the only way I can think of for them to stop.” You said. 

The two of you made your way to the parking lot. Eddie walking you to your car. 

“Remember Eddie, you have full creative control over how you want to do this.” you said, getting in the driver's seat. “I don’t care how you show up, just go loud.”

“Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson would never disappoint.” he said, closing the door for you with a flourish.

You were going to get a dress for this. 

No, you weren’t, you were only going to be there for fifteen minutes at most. 

But your mom would want to take pictures and be thrilled you were even going. After all, you’d avoided it during your first four years of high school. 

And you wanted to. 

That was the real kick in the pants for all this. You wanted to go to homecoming. You wanted to have a night to dress up and look nice and have fun with your friends. Unfortunately, only the freshmen were going to the dance, and as much as you loved Mike, Lucas, and Dustin, you didn’t really think you’d have a lot of fun with some kids a good five years younger than you. Hell, Mike and Lucas had actual dates and Dustin had a long distance girlfriend! 

You’d be the single person in the group and that didn’t exactly put points in your favor for sticking around for the dance. The rest of Hellfire didn’t bother going to these kinds of things, as this town made it clear that school events were for normal people who enjoyed normal things, whatever the fuck that meant. 

As much as you denied ever wanting to go to homecoming or prom, you knew that you wanted to, and you knew who you wanted to go with. 

On the bright side, at least you’d get your secret wish now, even if it was for fifteen minutes. 

Eddie had made it clear since the first time the words “school dance” were uttered in his presence a few years ago that he wasn’t going to even entertain the idea of showing up. Those nights were dedicated to one shots or longer sessions for Hellfire. So for the past few years you had skipped out on any dances in favor of at least telling your beat up journal that you had technically spent prom or homecoming with Eddie Munson. 

You walked into the department store that you knew had a sizable selection of dresses, took one look at the price tags, and walked right back out. It was insane to spend that money on one night of dancing, let alone fifteen minutes. 

Besides, where else would you even wear a dress like that? You laughed at the idea of showing up to Hellfire, with your shirt on over whatever you would have picked. That’d be stupid. 

....

But it’d also be funny. 

You walked back into the department store and ignored the front and center mannequins to hit up the clearance rack instead. Even as you browsed, you were still trying to convince yourself that you didn’t need to buy something for this. Eddie was probably just going to show up in his old faded DIO shirt and some old jeans (maybe the ones that had that hole in the butt that showed his boxers when you stood behind him, if you were lucky). He probably wouldn’t even brush his hair. 

You had a choice to make. How much of an effort did you want to put into your appearance for this? Should you follow Eddie’s approach and just show up as normal, or should you allow yourself an indulgence in the Cinderella fantasy? What did you want, and what did this revenge situation call for?

You wanted to look nice. You wanted to tell your journal that you had a date with Eddie and that you looked good and that those asshole jocks didn’t even recognize you. Wouldn’t it be better that way anyway? No matter what Eddie looked like when he showed up, the point would be made clear; you were off the market (as far as anyone would be able to tell) and Eddie Munson had gotten the girl. No, not the girl; a girl. Being the girl implied that you were someone that Eddie had an interest in. 

Dresses of different lengths and cuts and colors started to blend together as you indulged in the fantasy of matching your dress to whatever Eddie was going to wear. You flipped through the dress rack while you mentally flipped through all the shirts you had seen Eddie wear in the last few weeks. He favored darker colors most times, the main exception being the white Hellfire Club shirt. 

“Dark clothes don’t stain as easily.” he’d explained before. 

You kept flipping through the racks of last seasons’ fashion, trying to find something that you could wear. Halfway through you considered giving up and just showing up in what you would have worn to the quarry if you hadn’t planned this whole thing. 

You need to commit to the bit. You reminded yourself. These jocks are expecting you to look pretty and then try to embarrass you. Don’t half ass it.

Sucking it up, you made your way over to the normal racks. Your mom had given you some cash to buy yourself a nice dress, but you had been hoping to just buy something cheaper and save the rest to buy off of Eddie later. 

You walked out of the store, bag in hand, with a receipt showing a number that made you feel sick. You reminded yourself over and over it was for you, Eddie, and your mom. 

“Are you sure you have the charisma for this?” Gareth asked. “You always roll shit with any charisma roll.”

“Gareth, I don’t know if you know this, but rolling a die and saying that I’m trying to do something is different than actually doing it outside of the game.” you said as the two of you made your way into the Library. You had it on good authority that this was the jocks study hall period, and you wanted to really sell your plan. 

“I still don’t get why I have to be part of this. I’m not even going to homecoming either.” He grumbled. “This whole thing is stupid. You should just come to the show instead.” 

“I can do both.” you waved him off. “All I need you to do is let me talk at you-”

“You do that anyway.”

“Yes, but this time I need you to pretend to be invested.” You explained. “You let me talk about how excited I am for homecoming and to meet my secret admirer and I use my powers of being able to leave school during lunch to bring you McDonald’s tomorrow.” 

Gareth couldn’t argue with that, no teenage boy could resist the sweet temptation of greasy fast food in the middle of the school day. It was more than a fair trade, even if Gareth didn’t see the point in this. You just really wanted to sell your plan. 

“Remember, all you need to do is ask me who I’m going to Homecoming with.” you reminded him. 

The two of you walked over to where the group of basketball players were goofing off and not really studying, and the two who had slid the note into your locker started nudging each other and snickering to themselves. 

“So who are you going to homecoming with?” Gareth asked, his line delivery stiff and unnatural and disinterested. You had to fight with yourself to not roll your eyes at the lackluster performance. 

“I don’t know!” your voice was a little higher pitched at the response, trying to emulate the cheerleaders you’d seen giggling in their groups as they gossiped. You pulled the note that you had been keeping in your pocket. “I got this note asking me to meet them at the dance, so I have no idea!”

You continued to gush to the disinterested Gareth how excited you were to be asked to go, and speculating on who it could be. The entire time, your friend looked like he’d rather be smashing his head against the table than listen to you talk about this, which was honestly more fun for you than the jocks reactions. 

From the table behind you, the normally loud group of boys were attempting to be quiet as they snickered and nudged each other. You wished that Gareth would try and talk a little more so that you could stop talking to eavesdrop on them. 

When the jocks started getting louder again, that’s when you dropped the conversation. They weren’t interested in hearing anymore and so you weren’t either. 

“So what was the point of that?” Gareth muttered, making his way to the exit of the library. 

“I don’t want them to forget about me. If I’m gonna be completely honest, I really just expected them to totally forget they left something in my locker about this.” you adjusted your backpack, following him out. “I’m committed to the bit.”

“Sounds like you’re just asking for trouble.” He shook his head. 

“Maybe a little.” you sighed. “Eddie and I are graduating this year and I don’t want to look back at my time here and think that I just took the bullshit that was given to me. I just want them to get off my ass for the rest of the year.” 

“Do you really think it’ll work?” 

“Only one way to find out.” 

Part 2 It's Gonna Be A Night We'll Never Forget (Coming Soon)

Dividers By: @strangergraphics

Tag List: @somethingvicked @ladysilence @leelei1980 @seexyyprincess @rosebudsgarden @ghcstpyre @crocwork-clockodile

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

[everybodyshusband]

teaching a skill

mushy may ; day twenty two !! (approx. 860 words)

read under the cut or on ao3 :)

Aeon flops down dramatically onto the couch, only narrowly avoiding clocking his head on Mountain’s blanket-covered hip bone. “I’m so bored.”

Mountain hums. “Want to sit with me and read, bug? You can come under the blanket with me,” he sing-songs.

“Nooo,” Aeon moans. “I’m so hungry I can’t focus on anything which makes me bored but I can’t do anything because I’m hungry.” He glances up at Mountain and whacks his shoulder when he sees the earth ghoul smirking. “Don’t laugh at me, Mounty, I’m dying.”

Mountain sighs and puts his book down. “You wanna help me cook something then? I was going to make brownies later but I can make them now to give you something to snack on.”

“Please!” Aeon practically yells. “I’m gonna starve to death…”

“Come on. Up you get, buggy.” Mountain stands up and holds his hands out, pulling Aeon to his feet and leading him over to the kitchen. Aeon stands and watches as Mountain opens up drawers and cupboards, pulling out bowls, measuring cups, assorted ingredients and his old beat-up recipe book. “Alright, all we have to do is follow this recipe and then in about an hour, we’ll have some delicious brownies for you to eat. Are you ready?”

Aeon nods but… “I’ve never baked anything before, I– I don’t really know how to do it.”

“Hey, that’s alright,” Mountain assures him. “I’ll help you. I’ll set up the scales for you while you have a flick through the book and find the brownie recipe. I’ll be under the sweets category.”

Aeon shoots him a thumbs up and picks up the book. It’s one that Mountain has compiled himself from magazine cutouts and handwritten recipes, some passed down from the ghouls that came before him and some new creations from the earth ghoul’s own mind. By the time he’s located the brownie recipe, Mountain has set up the scales and is already beginning to measure out the flour; it’s no surprise to Aeon that Mountain remembers the measurements by heart, brownies are a once a week occurrence at least in their pack.

“Ah, perfect, thanks, Ae. Do you want to take over from here? I’ll be here helping the whole time.”

Aeon nods. “Yeah, sure. Thank you, Mounty.”

He gets a pat on the back and a kiss on the top of his head in response. “You’re welcome, bug. Now c’mon, Dew messaged and asked if I could make him something to eat. Lazy bastard doesn’t want to lift a finger and bake them himself even after I told him he could do it himself if he wanted them that badly.” Aeon turns to Mountain, eyebrow raised. “Fine,” the earth ghoul relents. “I said I’d be happy to and that I love him very much and did he want sprinkles and melted chocolate on his brownies?”

Aeon snorts. “That’s more like it,” he laughs. “I was getting worried for a second there, Mount.”

From there, the time passes quickly. Mountain jumps in to help or give advice whenever the quintessence ghoul asks for it, but for the most part, Aeon is doing well without too much guidance. The only real trouble comes when it’s time to decorate them; Aeon has no idea how to do that without messing up all his hard work by making them look atrocious.

“That’s half the fun,” Mountain argues. “Plus it’s endearing if they look a bit shit, and personally I think they taste better if they don’t look all fancy,” he confesses. “We’re only dripping on melted chocolate, you’ll be fine, I promise. Here, watch me do the first tray and you can copy that for the second, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Mount.” Aeon watches intently as Mountain dips his spoon in the melted chocolate and picks up a decent amount of tempered chocolate on the end of it. The earth ghoul spins it around to stop the chocolate from dripping and Aeon is surprised that when Mountain reaches the tray of brownies he just… goes for it. The chocolate drips every which way and covers the brownies in a messy drizzle that Aeon can’t deny looks absolutely delicious. When it’s his turn, he does the same, opting for a slightly more uniform pattern than Mountain’s but the earth ghoul assures him the slab still looks more than edible. The two of them take it in turns with the container of sprinkles, covering their squares in the colourful blobs.

They cut the trays into brownie-sized pieces and compile both batches into one big container, making sure to set some aside for the two of them—and Dew. At a nod from Mountain, Aeon grabs one out of the container and takes a big bite, eyes widening in delight at the flavour. “I made that,” he says with his mouth still full. “I made that and it tastes so good!”

Mountain grins taking a bite of his own brownie “Yeah you did! It’s really good, well done!”

Aeon smiles widely, stuffing the rest of the brownie into his mouth gleefully. “We gotta go find Dew,” he urges. “I wanna go brag that I can cook and he can’t!”

#mushy may #day twenty two !! #aeon ghoul #mountain ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #husband ficlets

[p1stach1oss]

Valentine (c.g)

“i blinked and suddenly i had a valentine”

a/n: inspired by valentine by laufey! this is really bad but i have nothing else to post so this will have to do. me and  @gr7mes did laufey inspired fics so go look at hers 😋.

pairings: carl grimes x fem!reader

c/w: fluff (again ik i have no variety) kissing, lower case intended, use of y/n, not proof read yet.

———————————————————————

you and carl were currently sitting down backs leant against a tree near his house. his arm wrapped around your shoulder while you both just sat. enjoying each others company sitting peacefully next to each other. making jokes from time to time as the bright sun shinned down on the two of you having your hand cover your face shielding you from the light.

ever since you confessed your feelings for carl, and you found out he liked you back. you no longer knew how to act around him. just the thought of someone liking you left a funny feeling in your stomach. 

you had both started dating about a week or two ago. though the feelings between the two of you were definitely mutual, you almost felt like you were just too awkward. you were always awkward around carl as everything he did made your heart flutter. you had never been in relationship before and you felt out of place. there was always a voice in the back of your head telling you, you weren’t doing enough. carl was so sweet to you always reassuring you of how much he loved you. 

any sort of affection he tried to show you, though you appreciated it. you turned it down not wanting to get yourself attached. you tried your best to not get get too close to anyone, i mean in a world like this you weren’t ready to grow attached to some one just yet.

i’ve rejected affection for years, and years.

he was always saying cute things like “i love you” or “your so beautiful” and you responded in the worst ways possible. or sometimes you didn’t respond at all, you felt like you weren’t ready for a relationship. but you wanted to be, you loved carl so much and you definitely wanted to be with him. you just were never taught about this relationship stuff, and didn’t know how to tell him that.

now i have it, and damn it, its kinda weird

you would think not having relationship experience either carl would be about just as awkward as you were. but for some reason he just had a natural charm that he always used on you, and oh it certainly worked.

as you guys still sat next to each other, hand in hand, your minds both else where. carl decides to break the silence between the two of you.

“you’re so pretty.” he says looking down at you with a soft smile on his face. you were beyond flattered by the compliment but you couldn’t seem to come up with a response to it. carl was always the type to give you random compliments out of the blue for no reason.

he tells me that im pretty, don’t know how to respond.

 “uh- you too.” you giggle awkwardly, immediately the embarrassment washed over you when you had realized what you said. you can’t believe you just said that, he just complimented you and you responded like that.

i tell him that he’s pretty too, can i say that? don’t have a clue.

all he does is laugh softly at your comment causing you to get even more embarrassed. your face growing a deep cherry red as you wish you could go back in time at that moment.

“im sorry carl.” you began to apologize, carl was so sweet to you and you couldn’t even form a sentence around him.

“for what?” he glances at you face full of confusion. he wondered why would you be apologizing, you didn’t do anything wrong?

every time you were around carl or he said something to you, you got so easily flustered. you didn’t want things to be awkward between the two of you and you felt like you always made it like that. 

“i don’t know, i just feel like your to good for me.” “your so nice to me and i cant even be a good girlfriend.” you say looking back at him frowning slightly.

“i mean your always giving me compliments and little gifts you find.” you say fiddle with your fingers in anxiety of what he might respond.

“that’s ridiculous, your the best and only girlfriend i could ever ask for.” he says in disbelief that you would ever think less of yourself.

carl saw you for what you were, you were the most beautiful girl he’s ever met. he couldn’t ask for anyone better because you were all he ever needed. it hurt him that you didn’t view yourself in the same way.

“you mean it?” you say smiling up at him

'Cause I think I've fallen In love this time

he smiles back, reassuringly reaching out to caress the side of your face. he would do anything to prove his love to you. he almost enjoyed how flustered you’d get by his simple words. he didn’t understand why you being awkward was a problem. he no longer wanted you to feel ashamed of how you reacted to certain things he did or said.

I blinked and suddenly, I had a Valentine

“of course i do.” “why wouldn’t i?” all you do is smile at his comforting words, him smiling right back. oh to be loved by carl grimes was truly an experience.

“you want me to prove it?” he says in a low tone of voice.

your eyes widened in both shock and anticipation. as usual you couldn’t seem to come up with a response to what he had said. 

after a few moments of silence he cups both sides of your face, pulling you in for a gentle kiss. his soft lips on yours almost drove you crazy. his lip’s against yours almost felt

What if he's the last one I kiss?

you kiss back hesitantly at first, but slowly ease into the kiss more growing comfortable with your lips against his. he finally pulls apart from you after what felt like ages, your cheeks still a bright shade of red.

What if he's the only one I'll ever miss?

“you believe me now?” he says laughing as you do the same. carl grimes was the only person who could ever make you feel this way, and im sure he knew of it.

The first one to ever like me back, I'm seconds away from a heart attack

“sure thing grimes.” you say your heart still beating at a rapid pace just thinking about the kiss. more silence lingers between the two of you before he speaks again.

“i love you so much, y/n.”

“i love you too carl.” smiling to yourself as you lean your head against his shoulder.

———————————————————————

And honestly, I can't believe I get to call you mine.

a/n: zoes is much better than mines so go look at hers!!

#p1stach1oss ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #twd #the walking dead

[daddy-dins-girl]

Playdate - Chapter Ten

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

AO3 link

pairing: Marcus Pike x f! Reader x Dave York

Word Count: 7.4k

Chapter Summary: Of all the ways you managed to dream up in your head about seeing Dave again, this was never how you would have imagined it actually playing out.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI. (SPOILERS IN THE TAGS!) Angst. Alcohol consumption. Brief violence and mentions of blood. Dave's feelings deserve their own warning 🫠. Dave's idiocy also deserves its own warning (we're working on him okay?). Dave gets a little pushy/forceful/needy with Reader but there's no actual threat or non-con, but figured I should mention it (you are held against a wall at one point but never physically hurt or threatened). Mentioned smut (including sex toys, anal play, light bondage, etc.).

HUGE thank you to @janaispunk for beta'ing and just being amazing in general 💜

Notes: This chapter starts off with Dave's POV and switches to Reader, I just figured we could use a little insight into Dave.

~ DAVE ~

Knelt down on one knee on the lawn of his ex-wife’s house, Dave could give a shit about the wet grass stain he could feel seeping into the denim of his jeans as he wrapped his arms a little tighter around both his girls, giving them one final goodbye hug. He pulls back slightly, frowning when he sees their wet faces staring back at him. He has to swallow the hard lump in his throat to hold back his own tears that want to fall so he can be strong for them so instead he plasters on the best smile he can manage and brings both hands up to ruffle the hair on both their heads.

“Don’t be sad Angels, I’ll see you again in two weeks okay?” he assures them and they both slowly nod their heads. He knew it would be hard dropping them off today after having them for the entire summer, not only for them but for him as well. It was going to be difficult to go from seeing them every day back to once every two weeks. Not to mention he was now saying goodbye to the only distraction in his life that was holding him together these past couple of months.

“I miss you already Daddy,” his youngest, Alice pouts before her chubby little arms wrap around his neck once more and squeeze. Dave lets out a little chuckle and hugs her back tightly before pressing a kiss into her hair.

“I miss you too, babies,” he sighs.

“Why don’t you girls go inside and wash up now,” his ex-wife Carol finally speaks up from up on the porch at the front door. “Dinner’s almost ready. Steve’s making your favorite,” she announces and both girls' faces light up like kids at Christmas as they finally pull away from their father.

“Sketti and meatballs!” Alice shouts excitedly.

“Bye Daddy,” his oldest, Molly, says one final time, pressing a kiss to his cheek before she takes her younger sister by the hand and leads her up the porch steps and they disappear into the house.

“Said the magic words huh?” Dave chuckles, standing up to his feet and dusting off his jeans.

“Sketti and meatballs” Carol shrugs, a fond smile on her lips. “You look good,” she says after a moment. “Better than the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dave trails off, not wanting to get into why he came to her all but desperate a couple of months ago to let him take their children for an extended summer vacation. “Thanks again, I had a really great time with them.”

“Of course,” she nods. “Did you want to stay for dinner? I’m sure Steve made enough to feed an army. God knows I love him but that man can’t measure pasta to save his life,” she jokes of her new husband and Dave lets out a small chuckle but shakes his head.

“I should probably get going, let you guys have your family dinner.”

“Ok well… the usual time then? Two Saturdays from now?” she asks and Dave nods.

“I’ll be here.”

“Okay. And Dave?” she says just as he turns to head back to the driveway.

“Yeah?” he answers, turning back to face her.

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Sure,” he smiles, unconvincing even to himself before he heads down the driveway and gets into his car.

He hadn’t been very candid with her about why he suddenly needed to “get away” and wanted to take his kids on an impromptu summer vacation, but she read him like a book anyway. “What’s her name?” is all she’d asked when he’d shown up on her doorstep a couple of months ago looking tired and distracted. “Doesn’t matter” he’d carelessly shrugged back, not meeting her gaze. Carol had pursed her lips and hummed her agreement but otherwise didn’t push. She knew better. Dave wasn’t exactly one for expressing his feelings, even when they’d been married.

The weeks that follow since bringing his kids back to their mother seem to pass by in a blur as he throws himself full force back into his work, even working on the weekends that he’s not with his kids, mostly as a distraction rather than a necessity. He doesn’t want to be reminded of what his Saturday nights used to be, before. And despite his ex-wife’s wishes he knows he’s not taking proper care of himself. He’s working too much, drinking too much (apart from the days when he has his children of course) and certainly not eating enough. He feels pathetic. Like some lovesick puppy and it’s definitely not a feeling he’s used to. Hell, he didn’t even feel like this when he got divorced or when his now ex-wife got remarried. He bought them a damn wedding present and danced with his daughters standing on his feet at the reception hall. Not that he was thrilled to be a divorced Dad or anything, but he couldn’t argue with Carol when she told him he wasn’t giving her enough of himself. He did feel like shit for months after the separation but after a while it faded and he was able to carve out a new life for himself and he was fine. Happy might have been a stretch, but he was existing just fine.

He of course hadn’t expected you and your husband to turn up barely a year later and turn his whole life upside for several months. It had started out as just fun. Blowing off steam, getting his dick wet, he was far from complaining about any of it. He loved how obedient you both were to him immediately, filling a void in him that he hadn’t engaged in nearly as much as he wanted to. Sure he’d had some rough fucks in his day but that was different than what he had with you. Having a partner - partners - that you built a trust with just brought everything to a new, heightened level and that, well, he hadn’t quite experienced before. But along with trust, of course other feelings start to emerge, feelings Dave had long since given up on expecting to have at this point in his life. And having these feelings for a fucking already married couple did not help his situation any. It was a mistake, he realizes in hindsight, spending your birthday with you both. An entire weekend wrapped up with you, spending the night together, waking up together, having meals together, it was… well, for Dave, it was everything. Everything he never even knew he was looking for and of fucking course he had to find it with two people who already had each other.

And now? Now what the fuck was he doing? Drowning his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle of overpriced bourbon at a bar, by himself, on a Friday night. Just like he’s found himself the past countless Friday nights, hoping he’d wake up the next morning and be able to forget about the two people who had apparently taken up permanent residence in the tight cavity of his chest, refusing to be let go.

He was fucking pathetic. And probably needed to get laid, too. That was one thing he could surely do something about easily enough. He’s been coming to this same bar every Friday night for a month now and one cute waitress in particular never seemed to stray very far from his table and he wasn’t that great of a tipper. He’d barely managed a second glance in her direction his past few visits but maybe tonight he should change that. The drinking wasn’t enough of a distraction anymore and this week was his off-week from seeing his kids so he didn’t have that to keep himself occupied either.

Mind made up he signals the waitress over to his table - whatever her name was. She’d told him probably a dozen times but fuck if he could remember it. It didn’t matter, after tonight he doesn’t plan on seeing her again and he’ll make sure she understands that before he actually leaves with her. For now, what’s the harm in a little fun? A decent pair of tits and a tight pussy is all he needs to get his head back on straight he thinks. And judging by the way the waitress basically comes bouncing over to him the moment he waves her over, it isn’t going to be much of a challenge. The only challenge for Dave will be when he closes his eyes as he sinks inside her, hoping, praying that it’s no longer the image of you that’s emblazoned on the backs of his eyelids.

~ YOU ~

It’s been nearly four months since your birthday. Since you last saw him.

In the time since that first weekend after Dave had disappeared from your lives, you and Marcus had found your rhythm again. Your lives are back to normal and, realistically, maybe even better than they’ve ever been. You were communicating so much more now and your physical relationship (which, you’d never had much of an issue with to begin with) was definitely thriving. Due to the increased communication, the two of you were always not only willing, but eager to talk more while in bed about anything you were particularly craving and put in the effort together for each other. It had really started the night Marcus had taken charge (a week after your birthday) and fully blossomed from there. There was one Sunday morning back a few months ago where the two of you laid in bed together with your laptop in front of you and were online shopping for fun new sex toys you both might enjoy. You filled your cart without judgment or shame and Marcus hastily typed in his credit card information when you were done browsing. The moment you heard the ‘swish’ of the order confirmation being sent, Marcus snapped the laptop closed, tossed it to the far corner of the bed and then all but pounced on you.

Early on when the two of you were still navigating your post-Dave waters Marcus had even asked you if you still wanted someone else in your lives. The role Dave was meant to (and had initially) played, you assume he meant (before it had gone and gotten complicated). You could tell by the way he asked you, his voice unsure and hesitant sounding, that it wasn’t something he wanted. And in all honesty, you didn’t want it anymore either and you were quick to assure him of that. Not only was Marcus indulging and fulfilling anything you desired, but whoever it was, they’d never be Dave anyway. It didn’t have to be said out loud that he was the only extra piece you’d both ever want in your marriage, you both knew it already.

Sunday mornings seemed to be when you’d find yourself thinking of and missing Dave the most, when you’d look around your bedroom in the aftermath of what your Saturday night had been. Saturday nights had become your routinely scheduled evenings where you and Marcus would get extra adventurous in bed, typically breaking in more of your new toys you’d purchased and just letting loose and taking out all your stresses of the week on one another.

One particular Sunday morning you remember lying next to Marcus who had just opened his beautiful sleepy eyes and you brushed his hair back from his forehead and then let out a little giggle followed by a sad sigh when your gaze caught site of the black fuzzy handcuffs that were still looped around one of the spokes in the headboard.

“He would’ve loved to see you like that,” you murmur, eyebrow raised playfully and you actually see Marcus’ ears turn pink and he bashfully hides his face in the pillow for a quick moment and laughs.

“You think so?”

“I know so baby. God you were so hot, at my mercy like that.”

Your blood begins to run hot just thinking about it again now. How he’d submitted to you. He’d laid down on his stomach, arms stretched above his head where you’d cuffed him to the bed and then you sat back on his thighs, massaging his ass with one hand while the other prepared the lube and the plug that the two of you had picked out together on your impromptu online shopping adventure a couple of weeks earlier in the other. It was the first time he’d ever let you do anything like that to him, though you’d discussed it a few times beforehand, and you were both pleasantly surprised how hot you found it.

You’d slowly fed him the plug, all the while gently rubbing his back with your free hand, soothing him and telling him how well he was doing for you. You still can’t erase from memory the way your breath hitched when he replied in a low, quivering voice, “yeah, I’m being a good boy?” God, the way the arousal instantly flooded you it was a miracle you were able to continue what you were doing and not abandon it all together to take care of yourself.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy,” you assured him, hand leaving his back to smoothing across the globes of his ass instead

Once you’d gotten it all the way inside and ensured he was comfortable you’d began to slowly maneuver it partially out and then back in, over and over again until it got to feeling so good for him that you’d gotten off his legs and let him get up on his knees when he’d begged you to let him fuck you.

You slid underneath his body, never uncuffing him, wriggling up the bed until you were face to face and left the plug seated deep in his ass as you helped guide his leaking tip to your entrance and he pushed inside. His hands were able to grip the spokes in the headboard so he had some leverage while still held captive in his position and he railed into you deep and hard, moaning like you’d never heard him before for the entire time, like he was on an entirely different plane of pleasure he hadn’t yet experienced.

Afterwards when you both lay spent and chests heaving with exhaustion you’d uncuffed him, gently removed the plug and gathered him in your arms, letting him cling to you with his head resting on your chest. You kissed and played with his hair, murmuring into the top of his head what a good boy he was for you and he just held you tighter until you’d both fallen asleep.

You loved your playful, risque and experimental Saturday nights, but you also loved the quieter, more intimate times as well. You loved waking up on a Sunday morning and lazily making love for hours, refusing to leave the comfort of your marital bed for most of the day. You loved weeknights sprawled out on the sofa relaxing after dinner and watching TV when you’d start necking like teenagers until he’d shove your pants down and slip inside of you, fucking you slow and deep until you both came and then he’d carry you up the stairs to bed. You loved nights when you were both too exhausted from your work days to do much of anything but still wanted to be close so you’d make out a little until he got hard and he would push inside your warm heat and then just wrap his arms around you and hold you until you’d both fall asleep with him inside you.

At the end of the day, well and truly, this had been what you both had wanted, originally. Dave was meant to come in, spice up your love life a little bit, teach you both a couple of things and then leave you to your lives with your newfound sexual knowledge. He’d done that, and yet, there was no denying that you still felt like a piece was just missing now.

A Dave York shaped piece.

You didn’t like to bring him up often to each other anymore. All it did was cause sadness for you both. You’d talked a lot early on and had eventually both admitted out loud your feelings you had for Dave but now there was no use bringing up his name anymore. He was gone and you had to accept it. It didn’t mean you couldn’t miss him, because oh, you missed him. All the time. But there was no use dwelling on something you had no control over, you had to move on. And you had, for the most part.

Or so you thought, until one Friday evening when your work colleagues managed to drag you out with them to a bar and there in the flesh, across the room of the dimly lit tavern, sat the one and only Dave fucking York.

You’d nearly spilled your drink on yourself when your head had turned and you saw him in your peripheral. He looked handsome as ever, wearing dark jeans and a white button up shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, top couple of buttons undone showing a teasing amount of perfect sun-kissed skin. Wherever his “emergency sabbatical” took him, it was apparently somewhere spent mostly outdoors in the sun you presume. His face looked a little thinner as well, his features more sharp and refined and you have to wonder if he’s been hitting the gym a lot more recently.

The only thing, frankly, that didn’t look good on him right now was the tiny blonde currently seated in his lap holding up a tray of shots you assume were meant for another table before Dave had intervened when something pretty caught his eye. You could practically feel your blood boiling at the sight before you, those deft fingers that knew your body all too well pulling and teasing at the belt loops of the tiny denim shorts the waitress was wearing while she threw her head back in laughter at something he’d said, eating up whatever attention he was willing to give her and you can’t say you blamed the girl. When the sly, sexy grin crossed his lips and he buried his face in her hair to undoubtedly whisper something absolutely filthy next to her ear and you saw her bite her lip in response, it felt like a hard slap across the face and everything happening around you instantly turned to white noise as you focused all your attention on the man across the room who, far as you could tell, hadn’t noticed you yet.

Before you do anything you quickly dig into your purse hanging on your chair for your phone and send a text to Marcus letting him know that Dave is here. His reply of ‘holy shit’ comes back near instantly but before you have a chance to type anything further you hear a loud voice bellowing from behind you for service, waiting for their shots apparently, and the tiny blonde regretfully starts to peel herself off of Dave’s lap to attend to her duties. Unfortunately Dave’s eyeline drifts to where the voice comes from, which you happen to be right in the cross hairs of. You see the tiniest flicker of shock etch across his features before his carefully crafted mask slips perfectly back into place and he gives you a small shit-eating grin that you wish you had the courage to slap right off of him. Eyes not leaving yours he simply picks up his beer and pulls another sip from it before he reaches out, grabs the hand of the waitress about to walk away and tugs her back into his lap, wrapping a possessive arm around her. His gaze never leaves you, even as his head tilts down to press his lips to the girl's shoulder.

Asshole.

Tears well in your eyes before you can stop them. He’s being a prick on purpose and you simply hate him in this moment. Dave York was a lot of things, but you’d never known him to be mean. Until now.

Not able to look at him another second you hastily push back from the table, your chair screeching across the hardwood loud enough to stop the idle chit-chat amongst your table of coworkers as they all stop to stare at you, having no clue what’s going on.

“I’ll be right back, just… need some air,” you explain curtly, not offering anything further or waiting for anyone to offer to accompany you.

You vaguely hear one of them calling your name questioningly as you stand up from the table and storm off towards the exit, passing Dave who’s now downing the entire tray of shots like they’re water.

Good, drink yourself half to death, you fucking idiot.

When the cool evening air hits you the moment you step outside it's like a brief reprieve and you take a deep breath, tears freely spilling down your cheeks now that you hastily try wiping away with the back of your hand. There’s a small crowd standing outside the front doors smoking cigarettes and vape pens but the chatter amongst them halts to a dead silence when the door slams shut behind you in your haste to get outside. Not in the mood for any onlookers, you quickly head off in the opposite direction and take the left turn down the alley at the side of the building for some privacy until you can catch your breath and, god willing, get your body to stop trembling. You realize too that you’d left your purse and your phone inside and you can’t possibly go back in there right now, not like this.

“Fuck,” you sigh into the desolate alley, stopping to lean your back against the cool brick and hanging your head, burying your face in your hands. The emotions of it all, of seeing him again, hits you like a ton of bricks and you let out a loud sob, your legs practically buckling from underneath you causing you to slide down the wall and squat down, elbows resting on your knees and face still buried in your hands as the now quieter sobs continue to rack your body.

You’re feeling just about every emotion under the sun right now and they’re all pouring out of you at once. You’re angry, jealous, sad, irritated, but maybe worst of all you’re reminded of just how fucking badly you still miss him. How badly you weren’t over him. And you hate yourself for it.

“Gotta light?”

That voice… of course you recognize it the second you hear it, even with his words slightly slurred and your face practically buried between your knees, and of course he had to follow you out here. The moment your head raises to look at his smug smirk with the cigarette dangling between his perfect lips you scowl, quickly rising to your feet and taking the two short strides over to where he stands in the middle of the alley and you snatch white stick from his mouth and immediately snap it in two, tossing it carelessly to the ground between you.

“Hey!” Dave barks at you, his voice sharp and loud as it echoes off the walls of the tight alleyway.

As if he has any right to be the one pissed off right now.

“Oh you don’t even smoke,” you argue back immediately, not in any type of mood to be taking shit from this man.

“I’m a social smoker,” he shrugs and you doubt even that’s the truth, he just wanted a reason to follow after you.

“You’re an asshole,” you bite back, not missing a beat.

He scoffs. “Somebody’s in a mood. Maybe you need that cigarette more than I do.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

He’s on you before the last syllable even leaves your lips, both his large hands on your shoulders shoving you backwards until your back hits the wall and he’s crowding your space, leaving barely an inch of space between your two bodies that are now breathing heavily with adrenaline. You can smell the alcohol on him and you know he’s had a lot to drink. If you weren’t half buzzed already you could probably get there just by the smell wafting off of him.

“Think you’d rather I fuck you, hmm? That where all this attitude is coming from Baby?”

His hips force yours further into the unforgiving brick behind you as his hands leave your shoulders to grip your waist instead and you can feel the hard outline of his obvious desire pressing against you. You bite your lip to suppress the moan that’s begging to escape your throat but it slips through anyway; barely registering but he hears it. Of course he does. You can see the way the corner of his lip turns upward into a sly grin.

“There’s my girl.”

“I’m not your anything! You fucking left Dave. You left!” You raise your hands up to shove hard at his chest but he’s like an immovable wall.

“I know.”

His voice is suddenly soft, dare you say, remorseful sounding. You hate how your resolve and anger instantly starts to wane the moment he lets his guard down even the slightest bit.

“I know,” he repeats it again, softer, quieter, his forehead coming down to rest against yours where he slightly shakes his head back and forth. One hand lets go of the grip on your waist and he gently rubs the back of his knuckles up and down the top of your arm, just a barely-there touch that’s already causing goosebumps to raise on your flesh.

“What do you want?” you ask, trying to sound stronger than what you know you’re actually capable of right now. “Why did you follow me out here?”

“I want what you want”. His voice is suddenly at your ear and an involuntary shiver runs through your entire body. “Come home with me,” he tries, his voice slurring just slightly and you roll your eyes and attempt to put space between the two of you again. This time he’s not expecting it and you do manage to push him back a few inches and he wobbles on his feet.

“A drunk fuck so you can disappear again the minute it’s over, you think that’s what I want?” You’re practically screaming at him now, but you don’t care, he deserves it.

“C’mon,” he huffs, sounding annoyed as he quickly crowds your space once more, this time he manages to grab your hands and hoist them above your head, pressing them into the wall so you can’t push him off you again. “One last time for old times sake, huh? Let me fuck this attitude right out of you”

“I’m married, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Hasn’t exactly stopped us before,” he smirks and then lowers his face down so he can nuzzle into you, his nose grazing your ear and his smooth cheek brushing against yours and for a moment you feel yourself melting into his soft touch.

Your voice lacks the conviction you know it should when you rasp out a quiet "Dave, stop”. You won’t go home with him, you know you won’t. You’d never hurt Marcus like that (again), but the smell of his familiar cologne on his shirt collar, the way his warm skin feels pressed against yours and how your body seemingly just fits into the contours of his own you can’t find it in you to immediately try and push him away again either. It’s been so long, you want to just feel him. Just for a moment.

“Kiss me,” he tries, voice suddenly at your ear before he moves just slightly until his lips hover on yours. He doesn’t force it on you, waiting for you to make that final move and close the distance between you. It takes everything in you, but you manage to turn your face away and you hear his desolate sigh in response, hot breath fanning your cheek.

“Take a hint buddy,” a deep voice suddenly interrupts and both your heads snap to the side where you see an enormous man standing at the opening of the alley, an unlit cigarette between his lips. He must be a good six inches shorter than Dave but easily has over 100lbs on him. He’s a very wide, stocky man with a long ponytail and a studded leather vest over top of a faded t-shirt and covered in tattoos, looking like he belongs in some type of biker gang. You immediately recognize him as the man from earlier who tried to summon the waitress from Dave.

He fishes a lighter from his pocket and brings the flame up to light the cigarette and takes a long drag before breathing a large cloud of smoke out.

“She’s not interested,” he repeats when Dave doesn’t loosen his hold on you. “And you’re paying for those six shots by the way, prick.”

“What, you think she’s saving herself for you?” Dave laughs, incredulous. His hands suddenly leave yours, allowing your arms to drop down to your sides and he takes a step back from you, fully turning towards the man who’s now taken a few tentative steps into the alley. Dave reaches a hand into his back pocket fishing out his wallet. He pulls what looks to be a fifty from the bill fold, scrunches it up to a ball and throws it in the direction of the man standing in front of him before closing his wallet and returning it to his pants.

“There, now fuck off.”

“What’s your problem man?” The bystander asks, flicking his cigarette away and taking two long strides forward, the fifty note left crumpled and forgotten on the ground.

“My problem? My problem is fucking assholes who can’t mind their own business. Go fuck off and get your micro dick sucked somewhere else.”

Your brow furrows as you listen to Dave seemingly intentionally picking a fight with this complete stranger. This was not the calm, cool, collected Dave that you’re used to.

You didn’t like whoever this Dave was.

“Wanna try saying that to my face, shithead?” The shorter man challenges, taking another step towards Dave.

“Dave, just leave it,” you try but he waves a flippant hand at you, not even bothering to look in your direction.

“How bout I get you a stepstool and you say it to mine, small fry.”

“Don’t need a stool to lay you out right here on the pavement,” he challenges right back, taking yet another step closer until they’re just inches apart, the shorter man apparently not intimidated whatsoever and likely rather comfortable in a fight, you assume. What he doesn’t know, however, and what you do, is Dave’s extensive military training. Even drunk you have no doubt he could easily kill this man and barely break a sweat, if he wanted to.

“Leave it alone Dave, c’mon, I mean it!” You try again but you might as well be talking to the wall behind you, as neither of the men are paying you any attention any longer. Ironic, since you’re half the reason the fight started in the first place. Men.

“Tell you what,” Dave begins, voice smug. “First one’s free,” he finishes, raising his arms up in the air, defenseless.

Before you even have a chance to plead with them once more the other man swings, clocking Dave right in the gut that has him doubling over for a few brief seconds before he quickly rights himself again, and, to your astonishment, starts laughing.

“That it?” Dave laughs, back to his full height again. “C’mon, again,” he goads.

This time the stranger's fist connects with Dave’s face, causing his head to swing left with the impact he puts behind it. You quickly scramble over to Dave who lets out another chuckle as he wipes the blood from his lip with the back of his hand and turns back to face his foe.

“Pussy,” Dave taunts before spitting blood to the ground at the man's feet. “Why don’t we call the waitress out from inside, she probably hits harder than you do.”

“Dave!”

You watch it happening like it’s in slow motion, how the man grabs Dave’s head with both hands and smashes it into the brick wall and Dave, for whatever reason, doesn’t even fight it. It makes you think of those videos you had to watch in Drivers Ed as a teenager, how the drunk driver in the scenario is typically the one to survive a collision because their response time is so slow their body just lets go and goes with the flow rather than bracing for impact. The part that really tears you up inside though is you don’t even think it’s the alcohol, you think he’s doing it on purpose, wanting to get hurt. You hear the loud smack as his forehead hits the brick and you instantly surge forward, taking the brunt of his weight as he collapses into you and you both slowly slide down to the ground with him in your arms because you can’t hold his weight.

“Get up, you piece of shit!” the stranger yells, furious, and you scream, covering Dave’s body with your own where he lays in your lap as the man winds up to kick Dave while he’s down.

“Enough!” A third man’s voice shouts and relief floods your whole system as you recognize it’s Marcus. In a flash he’s crossing the alley, grabbing the stranger by his shirt and shoving him into the brick and holding him there. Marcus was definitely ‘a lover not a fighter’, but he could certainly hold his own when it came down to it if need be. You’re not scared any longer.

“You alright Honey?” he asks, quickly chancing a glance over to where you’re kneeled on the ground with Dave’s head in your lap, surveying the laceration above his eyebrow.

The man in Marcus’ grasp looks at the two of you confused, then when he notices Marcus’ wedding ring where his fists are cuffed in his shirt, his eyes widen in disbelief.

“Holy shit, is this your wife? I just did you a favour pal,” he scoffs, lightly shoving at Marcus and Marcus backs off just slightly, letting go but staying close in case the man wants to go at Dave again who’s practically unconscious at this point.

“Look it's fine just… go back inside please,” Marcus huffs before he turns back to you and frowns. “Think we can get him up?”

Between the two of you and Dave’s slight cooperation (as much as he can manage with not only how intoxicated he is but how he surely just got few screws knocked loose thanks to that brick wall) you manage to get him up and he looks around a little disoriented, shaking his head while you and Marcus flank either side of him and hold him up.

“Marcus? You’re here,” Dave slurs and then turns his entire body into him and practically collapses into his arms in what you think was meant to be a hug. Marcus manages to hold Dave upright, both his arms holding under Dave’s armpits to keep him on his feet.

“I’m here,” Marcus croaks out. “I’ve got you.”

“The fuck?” the stranger mutters, shaking his head as he watches what must surely be a very strange reaction to a husband finding another man hitting on his wife in a dark alley. “Good luck with… well, all of that pal,” he says with a wave of his hand in the direction of the three of you before he turns on his heel, bends down to pick up the discarded fifty and heads back out of the alley and presumably back toward the bar.

“I’m drunk,” Dave suddenly breaks the silence, pushing back slightly from Marcus and wavering on his feet. His brows furrow in confusion and he wipes at his forehead. When his hand comes into his eyeline and he sees blood smeared on it, his features scrunch up again. “And I think I hit my head?”

“It’s ok, do you think you can help us get you to the car? It’s close,” Marcus tries to explain to Dave who manages a small nod. You get behind Dave and lift one of his arms up and turn him slightly, draping his arm over your shoulders as you move with him to stand at his side, Marcus now holding up the other. Thankfully Marcus had hastily just parked the car in a loading zone directly in front of the bar after you failed to answer any of his texts or calls so the walk was quick and you managed to get Dave shoved into the front passenger seat. You quickly run back inside to grab your purse and phone and say a quick goodnight to your coworkers and then hurry back out to the car. Dave mumbles off his address once Marcus slides into the driver’s seat and Marcus gives a non-commital grunt of acknowledgement before he pulls away from the curb and drives away. Barely two minutes later Dave’s head is tilted all the way back into the headrest and he’s passed out. You lean forward from the backseat to address Marcus.

“We can’t take him home like that. What if he has a concussion or something?”

“I’m not taking him home” Marcus quickly responds, shaking his head.

With a satisfied sigh you lean back into your seat.

What a fucking disaster.

Barely ten minutes later Marcus pulls into your driveway, hitting the button clipped to the sun visor to open the garage. The last thing he needs is for his neighbors to see the two of you dragging a bloodied half unconscious man into your home in the middle of the night.

You only manage to get him as far as the couch on the main floor, an upstairs bedroom too harrowing of a feat to attempt you presume with Dave’s inability to offer much of his own assistance. With a loud grunt you manage to drop him down to a seated position on the sofa and he immediately falls back into the soft cushions.

“Stay with him, I’ll get some water and something for his head,” Marcus says and you nod your head.

He’s only gone a minute or so, taking a little longer because he couldn’t find the Aspirin bottle right away, but when he returns with two extra strength tablets and a full glass of water he stops in his tracks just inside the living room.

Dave is flopped on his side, face resting on your lap facing where Marcus stands while your hands delicately card through his hair.

He’s murmuring quiet little ramblings with his eyes closed, something about “fucked up” and “so sorry” and you just gently hush him, running your fingers through his sweat damp hair.

“We need to clean him up” you tell Marcus when you notice him standing there. There’s blood still smeared across his forehead but thankfully not very much, he hadn’t been actively bleeding for very long. At least you know he doesn’t require any stitches.

Marcus sighs and crosses the room, getting down on his haunches in front of the couch in Dave’s direct eye line.

“Hey Buddy,” he tries softly. “Need you to sit up for me, have some water and take these.”

Dave grunts, noncommittally, but ultimately does try and push himself up. You both help until he’s back into a seated position and Marcus hands him the two white tablets. Dave stares at them for several seconds before tossing them back into his throat and swallowing without water. You tisk at him and shove the water glass into his hand.

“Drink,” you order. He does. He finishes near the entire glass in one go and your eyes widen in surprise.

“There,” he sighs, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can I go now?”

You’re so frustrated you could smack him. One second he’s being a total asshole, the next he’s trying to kiss you, then he’s purposely getting the shit beat out of him, then practically crying in your lap, and now he’s back to being obstinate again.

He was right about one thing. He is fucked up. And you don’t think it’s just the booze.

“I’m sorry, no,” you shake your head, trying to sound less angry than you feel. The last thing you need is to pick another fight with this unpredictable man right now. “Baby, you’re bleeding”

The endearment slips out completely by accident. You don’t even notice you’ve said it but both Dave and Marcus do, their widened gazes turning to you at the exact same moment.

“Dave,” you quickly try to correct, shaking your head.

He lets out a little snort and nods his head, like he’s willing to let you get away with your little slip up.

“You hit your head really hard, you can’t be alone tonight. If you can make it upstairs you can have the guest room, if not, we can make up the couch. In the morning you’re free to go, I promise.”

“Fine,” he relents, shoulders dropping.

“Think you can help us get you upstairs?” you ask and he nods his head. Both you and Marcus throw one of his arms around your shoulders and help him up, taking each of the steps up the staircase slowly. Dave seems to be somewhat coming out of his fog and much more helpful this time, thankfully. You’re pretty sure it’s just the alcohol working against him now, his brain mostly cleared from the fog of the head trauma. Once you reach the top of the stairs you go to turn towards the guest room but Dave plants his feet and attempts to twist his body away from it, toward the direction he knows your and Marcus’ master bedroom is instead. You and Marcus both share a look behind Dave’s back where you’re holding him and after a moment Marcus gives you one solitary nod, acquiescing to Dave's wishes.

Once inside the room you unravel yourself from Dave as Marcus sits down on the edge of the mattress, bringing Dave with him to sit next to him. You head off to the bathroom to wet a washcloth and come back into the room to gently wipe away the blood and dirt at Dave’s forehead.

“What the fuck were you thinking,” you mutter as you clean him up best you can, shaking your head slightly. He doesn’t answer and you don’t expect him to, nor do you really even want him to in his condition. He needs to sleep it off, maybe you’ll get some clarity in the morning.

Once he’s cleaned up Marcus lifts Dave’s arm off of him and puts it into his lap. He isn’t sure what to do next so he leaves Dave there and wanders off to the bathroom to find you where you’re rinsing off the washcloth in the sink.

“What do we do with him?” he asks quietly.

“Well… honestly it’s probably better we’re in the same room anyway, that way if something happens in the middle of the night we’re there,” you reason and Marcus nods.

“Ok…” he sighs, following after you as you exit the bathroom and flick off its light.

You stop just outside the bathroom when you see Dave passed out in the middle of your bed, all his clothes - including his shoes - still on and you sigh.

“I got it,” Marcus says, going to the end of the bed and untying the laces of Dave’s shoes before placing them on the ground. That’s all you undress of him though, he’ll be fine sleeping in the rest of his clothes. Marcus was already in sweats and a t-shirt but you were still in work clothes so go over to your dresser and fish out a pair of pajamas and quickly change. Once you’re ready for bed you turn out the lights and both you and Marcus crawl in on either side of Dave. You can’t help but reach a hand out and brush it through his hair as his light snores fill the quiet, darkened room.

Fuck, you really missed him.

Taglist (if you want to be added - or removed!, lmk!) @senaar-ika @suzdin @boliv-jenta @prolix-yuy @vabeachazn @seasonalobession @pedroshotwifey @nerdieforpedro @chronically-ghosted @macabremads @survivingandenduring @theywhowriteandknowthings @axshadows @iamasaddie @vickywallace @lincolndjarin @its-nebuleuse @janaispunk @missladym1981 @heareball @staywildflowahchild @guelyury @anotherpedrolover @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @runningmom94 @yorksgirl @harrington-thedad @missyorkswhore @disassociation-daydreams

#dave york #marcus pike #ppcu fanfiction #dave york x marcus pike x reader #dave york x reader #dave york fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters #dave york x you #dave york smut #marcus p #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #ppcu #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[thebigoblin]

as the sun rises

i've been working on this on & off for a couple weeks, and it's now complete! posting this here first, and will post it on ao3 this week!

He's just about to kiss Derek when he's pulled out of his sleep, his traitorous phone vibrating on his nightstand with a text message.

Who could be texting him? It's too early for socializing, and his brain is tired! But since he's not just a college student but also a human who runs with a wolf pack and is liable to delay rescue missions if he's not on his feet all the time — he's literally one-half of a two people operation in this pack who hold strategic braincells — he groans and opens his eyes.

His room is dark, but the curtains are blowing against a soft breeze, and slants of sunlight fall into place across his room. It's morning, then. Too early to really call it morning, but morning nonetheless.

Who would even text him right now? His pack cannot get in trouble this early in the day, can they?

Actually, they can, and they have in the past — he grabs his phone and opens it up to the text messages.

It's a message from Derek.

That says just one thing: Morning.

Stiles blinks at it. Tries to figure out if it is a secret code message or something. Scrolls back up further in their text thread, realizes Derek had an early night yesterday so of course he'd be awake early today, at 6 in the morning, and like all the mornings this past week he's sent Stiles a message.

Morning.

Normally, he does it at reasonable hours, like 8. Which is Derek's usual wake-up time, given his usually scheduled afternoon shifts at the BHPD. Like it's the very first thing he does, eyes still blurry from sleep.

It's a sweet, delusional thought borne of Stiles' own desperate greed for Derek's attention, and it chokes him as much as it pleases him.

And there goes his sleep, running away like a headless chicken, at his predicament of being in love with someone he can not have.

Derek Hale is a legend from the myths, a werewolf amongst humans; he's honor and pride intertwined with a gut of trust he's sharpened over the years, the mistakes of his youth lending him a jaded perspective on his once easily-given faith. He is a man turned ashen with tragedy, turned once again into technicolor as years have climbed up.

Stiles was there, at the intolerable stage of it. When Derek was barely a man, a kid alone in the world, hurting and grieving, persistently angry, and with no vision. And he's been there since, once a spectator turned into pages in Derek's book. He's seen him become the man he is now, their relationship blooming under the throes of violence, of almost-dead-but-not-yet celebrations, of the pack letting Derek down and Derek learning to be better for it, instead of sulking and lashing out.

He has watched Derek become who he is now, and he has fallen in love with a man who is one of the strongest people he knows, and it's devastating because why would someone like that love Stiles? There's so much that Derek deserves, so much of which Stiles can not give. He deserves all the good things, and Stiles isn't something like that, is he?

The morning goes on like this: him in the bed, under the covers, the wind blowing inside his room a gentle contrast to his harsh thoughts. He is a year into college now, he's dated a few guys and girls, felt attraction but no connection to them before he realized what's wrong with him — he couldn't connect with anyone because he's already given his heart away, and he knows this is it for him. He's gone and done for, the kind of once-in-a-lifetime love they try to sell in movies and shows and books his claim now, except for the part where he gets the guy and the life of his dreams.

Maybe, just maybe, in a couple of years, he would have moved on. But today, all he can hear in his room is the sound of his heart breaking, his breath hitching, all because of a simple text and his sadist brain.

He hurts in a way he never has. He knows grief — he's lost his mom and that hurt, too, and still does. There's a piece missing in him, a part of him forever buried with his mom, and he's learned to live without it. And this hurts too, the clarity of never having Derek, in a way that is different but somehow similar. He's grieving for something he never had, a future he dreams of but knows can never be his reality.

He allows himself to fall apart today.

*

It's the Christmas break, the weather outside slowly getting more chilly than it was when he woke up. He burrows under the covers, the wind pecking his skin, his limbs too heavy from exhaustion of having cried his hours away to get up and close the window.

He should have closed the window, really.

He's fully under the covers, tear-streaks dried on his cheeks, sticky and a tangible reminder of his woes. Still, he hears it when there's a sudden thump, of a familiar pair of boots landing on his floorboards, and a decisive click of his window being shut close.

"You'll catch a cold."

Of course he's here. Stiles doesn't want him here, not right now, not when —

"Stiles... are you okay? The room smells like you just cried."

If it was any other day, any other reason, he would have appreciated it. They have a no-bullshit relationship. It's honest and grueling, but ultimately, it works for them. Stiles knows Derek trusts him, and that is more than he ever expected to receive from him, of all people.

But he has Derek's trust, and he knows he can not have more. So, he can not lose this, too.

"G'way," he mumbles, "Please."

Time stretches, his request hanging in the air. Then, the bed near his legs dips down, Derek's warm hand finding Stiles' hand, the one outside the covers, and holding it gently. Derek's fingers wrap around his wrist, and the chill melts away.

"I was worried about you," Derek confesses, voice soft. "It's nearly nine, and you hadn't texted me back, and now you're like this. What's wrong?"

Not even a year ago, Derek would have left long as soon as something like this happened, too raw for conversations like this, too naive to navigate a healthy dialogue between friends.

That's what they are, right?

Stiles pulls his covers down until his face is visible to Derek, something which prompts Derek's hand to move to his face, give a soft caress. He truly is worried, eyebrows furrowed and everything.

"Just a bad morning, I guess," he says, and it's almost the truth.

Except. Except, Derek knows Stiles' truth and lies, and not just by his heartbeat.

"If I can help, whatever it is, I will. Just tell me." He's so earnest too, for fuck's sake.

He's a great friend, truly.

Stiles smiles, small and ironic. "You can, and you can't." Derek gives him a confused look. Stiles shrugs, the best he can while lying down on the bed. "Trust me."

"I do, Stiles. Don't you?"

Stiles is angry now. It comes as a surprise to him — a hot, white flash of anger, zipping through him like lightning.

He sits up on the bed so abruptly everything falls — the covers, his phone, him. Derek stops him from falling on his ass, though, arms around his waist.

Even before he's in no danger of hurting himself he's saying heatedly, "Don't fucking pull that card on me. You know I trust you, so much it's impossible to put into words. If you asked me to drive a dagger in my heart I would, I would trust you to keep me safe. So don't even, Derek Hale!"

"I'd rather take the dagger in my heart, Stiles." Derek's eyes are hard, alpha red creeping into them. "Tell me what's wrong." His jaw works, as if he's finding the right words, and Stiles' anger goes away as fast as it came — he slumps in Derek's arm, his weight on the man beside him. Finally, Derek says, "Is this... If Andrew did something, I'll slash his tires."

He isn't expecting this. The hell?

Andrew was the last person he went on a date with, almost two months ago. It didn't work out between them, it never does between Stiles and people, and this was more of the same. But the thing is, he didn't tell Derek about Andrew. It was their first and last date, and the only one he had told about it was...

Lydia.

Derek continues, oblivious to Stiles' confusion. "Ever since you came back to town you've been distant, and if it's because of something your boyfriend did —"

"Woah, what the fuck?" Stiles' voice rises, this time the heat replaced with a level of perplexed he hasn't felt since ages. "He's not my boyfriend, he's not my anything. We went on one date, like weeks ago. What's Lydia been telling you?"

A warmth blooms inside his chest at Derek being so protective of and vindictive for him, but he forces himself to not be affected by it right now. He can loathe Derek's instincts as an alpha when he's alone again.

Derek, for his part, parts his mouth in surpise. "Have I been stupid this entire time?" he says, more to himself than Stiles. "Then what's wrong with you?"

And now they're back at the problem asking for the problem.

Stiles sighs. "Listen. I'm happy you're such a good friend, but some things just aren't meant to be shared, okay?"

"You tell me everything." Stiles scoffs. "Stiles."

They both look out the window, where birds are flying, free from the complex human emotions. The sun is high in the sky, real morning now beginning.

"Why do you keep texting me anyways?"

Derek's eyebrows are raised when Stiles turns to look at him. They're seated with barely an inch between their bodies, and the turn of his neck has them almost sharing the same breath.

Stiles licks his lips, and he must imagine Derek's eyes tracking the movement.

"I can't ask you what's bothering you, and now I can't text you either?"

"Not what I— the morning texts, I meant. Of course you can text me, but the morning texts are new and I'm just... asking. And why can't you text me good morning? Why is it just a morning?"

Derek stares at him. Stiles knows he's thinking something, debating whether to share whatever is going through his head, or not.

"You don't have a boyfriend?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "No, Derek. I do not."

Derek takes a deep breath, as if he's bracing himself for something huge, something he has high hopes for, something he can not bear to lose but he has no idea if he gets to keep it.

Stiles suddenly has a feeling, and if that is true, he's going to murder himself just to relive the pain one last time, because if what he's thinking is true, then he's stupid as fuck and he deserves it.

"I text you morning and not a good morning because the mornings aren't good."

"Okay... why aren't they? Good, I mean."

Derek is looking into his eyes, a vulnerability in them that Stiles has seen before, but still it feels like he's seeing it for the first time. Like this is a part of Derek he hasn't seen previously, a part that has been kept hidden purposefully finally brought to light.

Derek moves, and the miniscule distance between them is gone, eaten up by the anticipation building in the room.

Derek's hands come up to caress Stiles' face, thumb rubbing circles at the dried tear-tracks, the motion comforting. He says, "Every morning, I wake up in my bed, alone, and it's such a shitty way to start my day. Every morning is just another day, and all I can think is, the mornings would be good, really good, if you were in my bed with me, too."

Stiles swallows hard against the lump forming in his throat. "You're joking."

"Never, not with us. Not about this."

Stiles' breath hitches. Derek comes closer, rests their forehead together. Stiles closes his eyes against the closeness, the dread that this is a dream.

"You're too important to me for me to make a joke out of this, Stiles."

He's crying again. "But I don't deserve you."

Suddenly, the warmth of Derek is gone.

When Stiles opens his eyes, Derek is pacing, a glower on his face.

"Isaac can't be right, can he?" Stiles makes a confused noise. Derek rounds on him, then decides sitting down on his knees is a better option. Stiles' morning is so confusing, he starts counting Derek's fingers as well as his own when Derek holds both his hands, rests their limbs on Stiles' thighs.

There's twenty fingers. Ten his, ten of Derek's.

"Stiles. Why don't you deserve me?"

He does his best to not cry. "You're... amazing, Derek. I. I'm just me, you know?"

It seems silly to say it. It's one thing to believe it, another to put it into words.

Derek squeezss his hands. "I've loved you for a long time, longer than I have realized it."

"What?"

"And I felt the same. You're you, and I'm just me. You deserve better."

"You are the best thing that can happen to anyone!"

Derek chuckles at Stiles' vehemence, squeezes his hands once again. "Pot's calling the kettle black. I felt the same, you know," he repeats. "That you deserve better. So I never told you. And you started dating others. But then..."

"Isaac. What has he told you?" He doesn't know what he could have told Derek. It's not like Stiles and Isaac are close, but there are things their pack does, like meddle in each other's affairs, that has him realizing how troublesome their pack is.

It's not like Stiles has even a single subtle bone in his body.

Derek smiles. "He told me that he's got a bet going for us to get together before the New Year." Stiles isn't surprised, not really. He smiles back. "Yeah, the pups have a bet going, and Lydia and Isaac seem to be on the same page."

"Jesus. Her too? What did you say?"

"The whole pack is in on it. I was surprised they would do such a thing. They can't force two people together when one of them isn't into the other one." He moves forward, until their foreheads are touching once again, and this time, Stiles takes one of his hands and presses it to Derek's head, cards his fingers through the soft hair.

"Then what happened?" He prompts.

"Isaac laughed in my face when I told him I was disappointed because I didn't think he and others would stoop so low. And then he told me I might be an alpha but that I'm stupid if I haven't been able to figure out that you like me back."

Stiles laughs, rather nervously. "I always worried you'd figure it out and we'd not be close anymore."

"I did figure it out, actually."

"WHAT?" He shouts it in Derek's ear, who winces and pulls back. "Sorry, but why the fuck didn't you say anything?"

Derek stays on his knees, but he inches a bit backwards, creating a safe distance between Stiles' mouth and his ears. "I didn't want to lose you."

"How could you lose me when you liked me and realized that I liked you back? That doesn't even make sense." Derek gives him a look. Stiles rolls his eyes. "See, I didn't say anything because I've always believed you deserve nice things, and I've mutually never believed I'm a nice thing. But if you told me you liked me... I would have been selfish."

Derek's expression turns soft. "You're the best thing to happen to me, even as just friends." Stiles' cheeks heat at the proclamation, and he ducks his head. When he looks back up, Derek is smiling back at him. "I've wanted you to be mine for a long time. And when I say mine, I mean it. For life. Building a future together and all the good and bad that follows. But all I could figure out... at least what I thought I figured out... was that you liked me casually."

Stiles gets up from the end of the bed and pulls Derek up by offering him a hand, which he takes with a full-tilt smile, bunny teeth and all. "No part of me is casual for you. I never believed I could feel like this, but if anything, everything I feel for you is cosmic."

Derek's smile grows until it's a full-on grin, and Stiles feels the width of it, the rush of Derek's blood, the pure joy of their stupidity taking second place to communication in the kiss Derek pulls him into — Derek's arms wrap around his waist, his own around Derek's shoulders, sliding up and down, on his stubble, his cheeks, his hair. The kiss itself is sweet and hot, their mutual joy imprinting itself in the endless journey of time with their noises of appreciation.

They kiss and kiss, tongues touching and lips bitten raw, until the necessity of oxygen forces them apart. As soon as they break apart Derek moves on to his neck, the press of his lips electric, and Stiles is the happiest man on Earth.

Well. Except for Derek, of course.

"Good morning, Derek."

Derek growls and bites down, intent on marking. "The best morning," he agrees, and Stiles can only moan, feel the pain of being claimed, and revel in the moment.

He still has thoughts of being unworthy in the back of his mind, but what he told Derek was true: if Derek wants him, he'll be his. He'll be selfish.

He'll love Derek Hale as long as he breathes.

Once the hickey is painted on Stiles' neck, Derek tips his jaw, their eyes locking onto each other. He says, "I love you so fucking much, baby."

Stiles smiles. Derek seems to be on the same page as him, and it's starting to feel like Stiles will be a part of Derek's book for a long, long time.

Maybe, just maybe, till even the last page of the book.

It truly is a good morning.

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fics #sh.writesonmain #inspired by a post i saw on insta

[enwonz]

safe and sound | n.rk

in which a stranger tells you the things you want to hear most.

pairing — academic overachiever reader x stranger ni-ki, hurt/comfort

w/c — 1.4k

tw — reader’s kinda depressed and has terrible self-esteem, mention of throwing self out a window

the ink burns red, red, red.

you’re fighting it, fighting yourself. eyes stinging as everyone around you mills about asking for scores. tests like these are everything, to overachieving students like the ones in your class.

except you, that is.

your friends come over, but their hands on your shoulders are icy even though it’s the middle of april. “how’d you do? it wasn’t as bad as i thought, but you never know with those teachers.”

“you first.” stalling for time, you force your lips into what has to be the most strained smile ever. miracle they don’t see through it. you pray they never will.

your friends rattle off a few scores. not stellar, but good enough. not a disaster, like you-

no, no. you can’t do this here. not now.

subtly you turn your paper over so they can’t see the score, grinning again. “that’s pretty good.” do they get the hint? maybe not, but eventually they move on to find someone else to bother. you thank god for that little mercy they’re giving you, at the very least.

unfair. unfair, unfair, unfair-

the bell rings, and the others start picking up their bags to leave. and if your friends try to drag you to the mall, you shrug and whip out some random worksheet that isn’t even due in the next week. or maybe you don’t. it’s hard to remember when you’re using up any energy you have left trying not to throw yourself out the window.

pretty soon it’s just a few girls left, but it’s not for another twenty minutes that they all leave. and you just sit there, letting the crimson burn into your fingers, your colourless cheeks, your chapped lips. red is shame. red is failure. and you let it stew in your stomach and pray it gets digested before any custodian comes to check on you at the end of the school day when he comes to lock up. god forbid anyone see you like this, the resentment roiling and turning in your gut.

the silence is deafening. blood roars in your ears, even as the school bell chimes and you hear the last of the footballers outside cheer. how the hell is anyone happy at all, and you’re just sitting there withering away in your own self-made prison? you can’t even cry, god knows you don’t even deserve it, because this really is your fault. your fault for being too hesitant, too panicked, while everyone else goes on with you still hanging in the balance grasping for just one chance.

maybe now you’ll never prove yourself. maybe this is it, the final nail in the coffin that destroys everything you’ve ever worked for. three failing grades in the same day. screwed up all your interviews this week. it’s as though you’re cursed to defile everything you touch — damned if you hope, damned if you don’t.

the classroom door must have clicked open, because before you can scramble to your feet to leave, there’s a boy standing in front of your desk. he’s got this weird look in his eyes, all calculating and scrutinising. it’s as though his line of sight is a laser that pierces open everything you try to stuff under your skin. twirling between his fingers is a little key, presumably for the classroom doors. “didn’t expect anyone to be here at this hour.”

you’ve seen him around before. he’s in the class next to you - what was he, their class rep? either way, you can’t quite place his name, but his presence alone is enough to get you on your feet. “s-sorry, i’ll get going now.”

but as you haphazardly shove your things into your backpack, the test paper flutters to the ground in slow motion, landing right as his feet. oh no no no don’t pick it up don’t-

but of course it finds its way into his hands, and you can tell he’s trying not to peek but he sees anyway. that awful, awful 12/25 on your paper. and you avert your gaze as you take it from his grasp, because how could you possibly expect anything but pity from a complete stranger?

and gosh, do you detest pity.

“wait.” before you can run off, his hand wraps around your shoulder, the unexpected warmth stopping you in your tracks. he’s studying you again, trying to read what you imagine must be an impossibly despondent look on your face. it would be rude to shrug him off, and you almost do, until he gestures out the window. “it’s…raining,” he gulps out. and what do you know, it is. just your luck.

you shiver, tightening your grip on the straps of your backpack. “i’ll be fine.”

“at least take my umbrella. i’ll walk you to the gate.”

“…okay.”

so you walk in silence down three floors, each step sending tingles shooting up your previously-numb legs. maybe the boy can tell, because he swaps sides with you so you can grab onto the railing. maybe you wanted the company a little more than you’d like to admit.

as you finally reach where the shelter ends, you look away. “keep your umbrella, i’ll be alright.”

but there’s a strange grimace on his face as he pushes the umbrella into your unclenched hands. “no, you’re not. at least, you won’t be. not unless you keep yourself safe and dry. wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

you can’t help it. the words slip out before you even realise they’re on your tongue. “why do you even care?” oh shit, that came out ruder than you’d intended, and you want to slap your hand over your mouth and apologise a hundred times over, but it’s too late for that now.

the boy pauses, his silence unreadable as he eyes you once again. it’s starting to be a little more than unnerving, the way he sees through barriers you didn’t even know you had up. "because i don’t think you deserve to sit in an empty classroom alone trying not to cry…? you looked awful.”

“...thanks.”

he slaps his palm over his head. “no, not like that. i meant that you looked like your world had come crashing down. it…it hasn’t, okay? you’ll be alright. one step after another, and you’ll get wherever you wanna go. you’re trying as hard as you can and you should be proud of yourself for that.”

how can a complete stranger know exactly what you’ve always wanted to hear? your chest aches with the affirmation of a nameless boy, who’s smiling at you with a softness that makes you want to throw your arms around him and sob, decorum be damned. he’s so good. too good.

at last, you take hold of the umbrella, an inexplicable warmth blossoming in your chest and throat. you can feel the flood of tears you’ve been holding back the whole afternoon threatening to surface, but this time it’s triggered by the gentleness with which he opens the umbrella with a soft click, grinning at you as he gives your shoulder a light squeeze. “go on. don’t worry about returning the umbrella, okay?”

“i’ll see you around, y/n.”

and with that, he sprints off into the pouring rain, the file he’s holding over his head almost comical. the giggle that escapes you startles you out of your stupor, and it’s only then that you realise you’ve been staring, watching him go.

but he’ll be back. maybe not tomorrow, or the day after, but you’ll see him again. and you’ll wait.

you’re so lost in thought that you don’t even think to question why nameless boy knows your name.

with a crash, nishimura riki bursts through the front door, hair dripping water all the way along the corridor.

“riki! you’re making the whole place wet! where’s your umbrella?”

he sighs, shaking off his waterlogged shoes. despite his sister’s constant nagging and the rainwater soaking through his clothes, there’s a giddy smile on his face. “lent it to a friend.”

“...it was a girl, wasn’t it?”

at this point, he doesn’t even care anymore, flopping to the ground as his wet clothes slap against the wooden floors. “you don’t understand, nee-san. she’s the girl. i finally, finally got to talk to her. I’m-”

“GET OFF THE FLOOR ALREADY BISCO’S LICKING UP THE RAINWATER!”

a/n — hi pookies it’s been a while…i’m not built to be an academic weapon lololol. my final exam of the term’s next thursday, so i’ll probably be able to churn out more stuff after that. immediately after i type this im gg to pomodoro my way thru life again send help-

ALSO NO THIS IS NOT A CRY FOR HELP okay goodbye lovelies (@stariikis consider this a thank you for the jw fic)

#enhypen nishimura riki #nishimura riki #nishimura riki x reader #nishimura riki x you #nishimura riki x y/n #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen niki #enhypen x you #enhypen x y/n #enhypen fanfic #enhypen drabbles #enhypen angst #enhypen au #enhypen fanfiction

[delopsia]

Not sure if you’ve answered this before…but who’s the most desperate for it when Bob gets back from deployment?

I feel like it’s Rhett and he’s an absolute menace until he gots Bob inside him. He teases and pushes bobs buttons until it happens, riding that fine line of getting denied for being so awful but Bob can’t resist. But after one orgasm each then Rhett gets punished while Bob takes care of reader but lets be honest, he was craving a punishment too.

I...done got carried away 😬 oops

A part of me is inclined to say that Bobby himself is the most desperate of the three; he's just not as vocal about it. For the past several months, Rhett and Reader have, at the very least, had each other to play with, but Bob? He's been crammed on a ship, in a tiny room full of people, and into an even tinier bunk bed.

The most intimate touch he's had came from his own rushed hand while in the shower, and the only thing he's seen of Reader and Rhett have been the occasional photos and videos that they've sent. Some erotic, some mundane, it's a true mix.

And maybe he'd get found out a little faster if Rhett wasn't so damn distracting. Leaning up from the back seat and letting his breath fan out against Bob's pale neck, pressing his palm to the small of Bob's back when they step through a door. He even slips into those cute, pastel pink shorts when they get home, long legs and thick thighs on perfect display, lounging in bed while Bob fusses with unpacking.

The Reader knew he was going to do this, not because Rhett Abbott is a predictable man (though he usually is), but because they jokingly orchestrated this several weeks before. And that's why they keep distracting Bob just enough to keep him from snapping on the spot, stringing him out until their dinner plans are over. It works so well that they reckon he might last through a movie or two.

But then Rhett mistakenly drops something and bends down at just the right angle to brush against Bobby's crotch, and Bob's patience shatters.

It wasn't even Rhett's intention to set him off. Not like that, at least, but it's hard to argue with being bent over the arm of the couch. Maybe Bobby finds a cute, heart-shaped plug when he yanks down those goddamned pastel shorts. Maybe there are lingering marks from when he and the Reader had a little fun before they headed to the airport.

Rhett's at his prettiest when he's being railed from behind. A hand tangled in his hair, forcing his head up, his arms trembling on either side of the Reader, hot breath on their chest, nothing but choked noises and mindless babbles. It's been so long since the Reader last watched his tongue loll out of his mouth, panting like a damn dog.

But the Reader has gone and incriminated themselves, and though there's a brief shower intermission, they find themselves bent over the kitchen sink. Head in Rhett's lap, feeling the way his hands roam across their naked back while Bobby pushes into them. A sharper pair of eyes might notice Bob's own poorly hidden desperation, but those aren't in the room right now. Too distracted by the Reader's whine and the soft smack of skin on skin.

It's not until morning that Rhett and Reader realize how damn bad Bob's got it. Hell, they're still snuggled together, blinking away the sleepiness in their eyes when a faint squelch catches their ears. Bobby, in his own little world, carefully fucking himself on his own fingers.

Those cheeks twinge with pink when he opens his eyes to find an audience, but shame is something he hasn't known in years. Rhett's sore, and the Reader isn't in the mood to fight with that strap-on, but it's hard to resist digging out Bob's favorite toy. Snuggling up on either side of him, taking turns slowly fucking him with it. But that's not enough either.

And it's a good thing that everyone took time off because it takes a damn week to wring him dry. Even then, Rhett reckons Bob might jump his bones every time he slips into those tiny little shorts.

#robert bob floyd #rhett abbott #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott #delgato's asks #hawthorn au

[the-ace-with-spades]

Random ass idea that came just as I laid down to sleep (I'm on night duty now, don't be alarmed by the timing fellow Europeans):

Hangster Soulmates AU but slightly to the left.

Soulmates aren't found, they're made — your soulmark (symbol, picture, text, names, there's lots of theories what each type of a soulmark means, etc) show up only after you meet someone and make the effort to build a relationship.

Jake had always been fixated on finding his soulmate (either because his parents were perfect for each other and were soulmates or because they were terrible for each other and weren't, you pick). Bradley had a slightly less romanticised idea about soulmates, having grown up with his mom being less than a full person after Goose died, never stopping grieving, and with Mav and Ice, still very taboo as same-sex soulmates (I imagine Mav and Ice got their soulmarks straight after Layton, still on the carrier). He, however, always thought it'd be effortless in sense that it'll come naturally and even the hardships will seem easy once he meets his soulmate.

The first time Jake and Bradley are together, the soulmarks don't show. First year passes, second year passes, and third year passes and nothing.

The longer they're together, the more logical it is to say they aren't each other's soulmates.

There are couples who aren't soulmates and live long happy lives together, but this isn't something neither Jake or Bradley want. Jake tells himself that if by the fourth year there's no soulmark, they will break up. Bradley is in sort of a limbo, because his relationship with Jake had been easy and natural, and he genuinely thought they would turn out to be soulmates. He decides he doesn't care that much after all and wants their lives to be entangled even without the soulmark. In the meantime, as the time goes, Jake becomes more and more distant.

Jake gets a soulmark a week before their anniversary (two planes and a sunset in the background, travelling up the space between his shoulder blades), expecting Bradley to tell him on the anniversary that he got his too. It doesn't happen because Bradley doesn't have a soulmark at all.

The day of their fourth anniversary, Bradley wants to talk about their plans for the future, but Jake breaks up with him before, telling him he's not going to settle for less than his soulmate and they obviously would know by then if they're soulmates by now.

Things turn bitter, they're still in the same squadron, Bradley saying a little too much and then leaves for a different base without ever taking them back.

When they meet during the return to Top Gun, Jake is still bitter, both because of the stuff Bradley said and because they had something good and he broke up with him to find something better with his soulmate and still hasn't found them.

Bradley is bitter, but in a sad way, feeling like he's never going to be enough, especially with Mav as a second reminder hovering around.

Post-mission, things get better, they apologize to each other and start spending time together again (mostly in group/work settings).

Bradley can feel that something is happening between them again but tries to seem oblivious to all of Jake's flirty demeanor because he knows Jake is still obsessed with finding his soulmate and he obviously isn't them. Jake wasn't acting like this on purpose at the beginning, it just showed up naturally when he and Bradley started talking in a friendly manner again, but the more it happened, the more he wanted it to happen — his soulmate wasn't there and Bradley was and he alread knows how good they could be together.

This goes on for some time until Bradley snaps and tells him to stop giving him hope and mixed signals with his behavior and that he's not up for being around as a second best option just until Jake finds his soulmate.

Obviously, Jake needs to decide what he wants — and he decides he wants Bradley.

It takes 3 months together for the soulmark to show up on Bradley (two planes with a sunset as a background travelling down the space of over his sternum).

#i could also go on with the angsty drama #re: bradley thinking jake is only staying with him now because they're soulmates etc etc #but lets leave it here #hangster #tgm #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin