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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 8 months

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HONEY, I’M HOME ─── jackson rippner ✧♤

ೃ⁀➷ “You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.” — ‘Letters to Milena’, Franz Kafka

pairing. jackson rippner x assassin!reader

summary. jackson hires a prostitute the night before meeting his target. only thing is, you’re not a prostitute— you’re an assassin hired to kill him. but he catches your eye, and instead, you keep him for yourself.

warnings. swearing, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, slight housewife kink, kidnapping, drugging, pretty toxic relationship lmao, somnophilia, dubcon, hate-sex kinda, guns, choking, stockholm syndrome, cervix fucking, jackson gets a taste of his own medicine basically😭, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

a/n. OKAY i know i said it was going into the direction of dom!reader but i got possessed and now,,, now we have this hate sex filth🫡

When Jackson comes to, the very first thing his mind registers in your perfume. It’s sweet and vanilla-y and entirely intoxicating, sending his mind whirling back to prehistoric days, childhood days, a vague mother figure he’d long forgotten about pressing sugar cookie dough onto a metal pan.

Instead, as Jackson’s eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the bright, warm lamp-light curling around him and the various furniture in the room, he sees you, sitting in front of him on the floor.

Your knees are pulled up and tucked under your chin, and it seems you’ve fallen asleep, your face peaceful and serene as soft inhales and exhales of breath leave you.

You look like a pure angel, dolled up in a silk lace dress and neat bows so pristinely Jackson swore he could see a halo resting above your soft locks, but he knows you’re someone who can kill — has killed.

Jackson had been staying in a motel, readying himself to meet the target he was stalking the next day — some politico's daughter, y’know, perfect blackmail material — when you’d knocked on his door, dressed in a skanky skintight dress and garter belt, promising some fun for a flimsy fifty.

Prostitution was illegal in this state, but Jackson had some money and time to kill — plus, if he didn’t get something now he’d probably fuck his target, which wasn’t really encouraged considering he could get attached, all that bullshit job professionalism. He wouldn’t, obviously, but his higher-ups didn’t think the same.

So he agreed; you looked stupid enough, and with that nice pair on you, those sweet curves, you were bound to be a good fuck. And you were definitely enough for him to handle— handle killing, he meant. It’d be easy: get you a little tipsy ‘cause it was his “kink” or some shit like that, kill you when you’re coming, dispose of your body, and meet the target in the morning.

But then you’d kissed him, hungry and desperate and rough, and totally, completely, slipping the pill tucked under your tongue down his throat.

Jackson realized immediately, his hands darting to the gun he had tucked in his belt, but you punched him in the stomach and the jaw before he could even undo the safety. And then he’d done it: he’d swallowed the drug, and the effects were instantaneous, the connection between his thoughts and his limbs losing focus, body sluggish like he was wading through water.

So suddenly had the situation had gone from him hiring a prostitute to getting fucking drugged by one, and he felt his composure slipping, the outrage burning in his lungs. Jackson thought himself to be a logical, well-thought out man who planned things to the tee, and this was not fucking following his plan.

“What did you - do t’ me?!” He spat, voice growing slurred, bent over and clutching his stomach.

“Mm,” you considered telling him, pursing your lips and watching him sway back and forth, “just a little something to calm you down. But, honey, I think you better sit down… it's not a mild drug.”

“Answer my fucking—“ Jackson started caustically, then felt that familiar pins and needles sensation appear in his arms, then spread to his legs, before finally falling to the floor.

“See?” You cooed, standing above him. You watched him struggle against the drug for a moment, before grinning and pulling him up off the floor onto the bed.

Jackson listlessly fought your touch, slowly thrashing and kicking at you; his limbs may have grown numb, but his inhibitions had not lowered whatsoever, nor his paranoia. Good paranoia, in this situation, just not so good that it kicked in before you shoved a paralytic down his throat.

You rolled your eyes, sitting down beside him and pushing his head onto your lap, digging your elbow into his chest to make him stay in place.

Jackson choked at the pressure, blinking rapidly. “Who th- the -- fuck are you?”

“I’m an assassin, honey. I’m gonna kill you — or, y’know, I’m supposed to kill you.” You beamed at him, “but I can’t do that, now can I? That’d be a waste of such a pretty face.”

Jackson’s brows knitted exasperatedly, mouth contorting to speak, but nothing came out. In fact, his mouth hadn’t been moving at all— his face had grown numb, now blankly staring up at you.

“There we go,” you said happily. “The drug’s all kicked in now, hasn't it? I’ll speak freely, ‘cause y’can’t answer me anymore, not even scream or cry.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping like you were finally able to fucking relax, and began petting his hair before continuing. “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you? Stalking that politician’s daughter… were you gonna fuck her? Threaten her dad, have some fun, then kill them both?”

Jackson’s breathing grew more furious, eyes widening— or, they would’ve, if he could move. This was about his job, about the target, not just some fucking freak accident and a crazy prostitute.

You frowned, shaking your head. “You’ve gotta do more research on the people you blackmail, honey— Mr. Politican’ll do anything to keep his little princess safe. Even murder.”

You then got up, and Jackson watched you pull something out of your tights, unable to respond or protest or even fucking move, frozen still on the cheap motel mattress.

“But like I said, you’re too cute to die like that. I think I’ll keep you for myself.” You winked, before pricking him in the neck with the needle that was hidden in your tights.

His breath hitched, but there was no use: black quickly curled into the edges of his vision, and one second passed, then another, then he was out.

That brought him back to now, waking up with his arms handcuffed behind him and his legs tied roughly to a wooden chair. He rustled, pulling against the cuffs as quietly as possible, gaze still obsessively trained on your every micro-movement.

But it didn't matter: your eyes opened the moment you’d heard his breath catch and stutter, and you got up lightly, dreamily, like you were some figment of Jackson’s imagination rather than a psychopathic kidnapping assassin.

“Morning, honey,” you whispered, getting up off the floor, rubbing your eyes and yawning. But he didn’t respond, still pulling at his restraints, eyes thinned and focussed.

“Are you mad at me?” You whined with a frown, circling around his chair and playfully covering his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry. I’ll buy some cute lingerie, give you a little show… do you like lace? Or maybe leather?”

Jackson’s nostrils flared, growing irate and incredulous at your antics, and he snapped. “Do you really think you can keep me here? Make me play fucking house with you?” He shouted groggily, body still feeling the aftereffects of not one, but two, drugs.

You blinked numbly, hand finding his face, and you pressed his cheeks together, making him look up at you. “I won’t make you play house with me, Jackson. But it's the only thing you can do. You’re dead.”

Your tone had gone cold, using his real name instead of your pet-one, expression going blank and completely unfeeling at his words. Then, you fumbled for something on the wooden vanity beside you two before lifting it up to his face.

It read: TERRORIST GROUP LEADER’S REMAINS FOUND IN RED-EYE FLIGHT WRECK.

Jackson’s lips parted, feelings riddled half in shock and half in utter fury, gaze shaky as it flitted back and forth between you and the newspaper you were holding up. “I’m fucking—“

“Alive, I know. That’s kinda the point,” you finished his sentence with a chuckle, shaking your head like any of this was a joking matter. “When a plane goes down and catches fire, burning everybody, they won’t individually check who's who, honey. If there’s a name on the seat, there’s someone in it, and they’re dead… you’re as good as dead.”

Jackson’s eyebrows were still knit, but he suddenly stared straight ahead, listening to you silently and trying to make sure you were still too focussed on explaining theatrically to realize he was about to dislocate his thumb.

He could deal with the stool later — he just needed to get his arms free and escape. What with your grating voice and the fucking pronunciation of death you’d forced upon him, god, his fury was rising quickly, and he wanted nothing more right now than to fucking kill you.

You finished your explanation, peering deeply into his bright blue eyes, and you were about to wrap your arms around his neck and press him comfortingly to your chest when he successfully freed himself, and his hands shot out from behind him to strangle you.

His fingers curled around your neck extremely easily, tightening and contracting around the thing snugly. Jackson was seeing red, the anger accumulated from every little insane fucking thing you did to him bursting.

You struggled against him, your mouth opening and closing pitifully, leaning down into his grip— until your lips tilted upwards, a devilishly cheshire smile digging into your cheeks like it was an expression God never intended you to make.

Jackson only realized you’d taken his gun away from him when he felt the tip of the barrel kiss his temple, cold and clammy. He was still disoriented, and didn’t exactly comprehend all the facts ‘till they fucking punched him in the face. Or, in this case, threatened to shoot him point blank.

“L’mme - l’mme go, h’ney,” you whispered raspily, your eyes stuttering in their socket as he pressed deeper. Simultaneously, completely on instinct, you pressed the gun further into his skin.

“You’re too fucking weak to fire that gun,” he growled, digging his thumbs into the neat notch in the middle of your neck, his fingernails scratching bloody marks into your sensitive skin.

But you frowned weakly, and then Jackson heard that all familiar click, making him blanch. The strength in his hands didn’t falter, however— it got angrier, more desperate, like you wouldn’t automatically shoot him if he just translated his wrath into his grip.

“I d’nt- w’nna k-kill you,” you shook your head a bit, but both your threats remained the same: his hands making you go lightheaded, go blue, and the gun in yours making him sweat, the image of you splattering his brain against the wall clear as day.

Jackson felt your finger twitch, and he closed his eyes, grip going tense then faltering completely: if you shot him now, there was no point holding on. But you did the same— you thought he’d snap your neck right then and there, so you pulled away.

Just as quickly as you two had attacked one another, your resolves’ had crumbled, murderous intent clearing the room like someone had opened a window and let it all out. Silence filled it back up instead, a steady tension permeating with it, and it was fucking suffocating.

“What do you - want from me, exactly?” Jackson questioned first, several long moments later, words slow and collected. He’d try to calm himself and hide his anger away for later, because he now knew that you meant for him to meet only two ends here: forever with you, or forever dead— and neither were ends he was intending to have.

To escape, crawl under your nose and perhaps kill you along the way, he’d need to know the rules— play your little game. This cat and mouse mess could be done in a flash, and he fucking knew you had a weakness. He could feel it in your touch, how you gripped him, the lonely warble in your insane words.

Sure, you kidnapped him and were calling him honey, treating him like he was your plaything, but Jackson had always been good at reading people, even before he’d become an amalgamated mess of an assassin, terrorist and blackmailer: you needed someone in your life— be it a husband or a hostage.

You got down on one knee, looking up at him through your wet lashes, breathing still ragged. One of your hands took his own dislocated one, while the other fished through your silk dress pockets, pulling out a gold band ring identical to the one gleaming prettily on your left hand.

You didn’t answer his question saying for you to marry me or for you to love me— both things Jackson would expect you to say, especially with your oddly profound obsession with him (despite the fact he was positive you’d only known him for a few weeks at most.) No, you’d smiled, a lovely duchenne one, rosy-cheeked like a fucking schoolgirl confessing to her crush, not an assassin who’d kidnapped him, and said, “For you to be mine.”

Your hand curled around his dislocated thumb and quickly snapped it, cruel and rough but perfectly back in place, before you slipped the ring onto his finger shakily, and brought his hand up to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“You’re mine,” you repeated in a whisper, sounding every bit like a warning rather than a celebration.

ii.

After a few days of living with— or, more accurately, being held captive by you, Jackson thought he had you all figured out. It usually only took a few days for him and a target to become acquainted anyway; mutual acquaintance or not.

He found that the warmer he treated you, the more freedom he’d have. Like, after you slipped the ring on his finger, you undid the ropes tying his legs. A reward, you’d said, for accepting your… unity.

But you still switched out the clinky metal cuffs for zip ties. “I can’t have you doing that nifty little thumb trick anymore, can I?” you explained. “But I still want you to walk around. Take a tour of the rest of your life, honey.”

Then, you told him you had to go to work — to which Jackson rolled his eyes, considering assassination wasn’t exactly what he’d call work, though, he would also have to call himself a hypocrite — and left. Jackson wasn’t shy about roaming about the house, especially to look for a fucking escape, but he was firstly confronted with the sheer size of the place you’d locked him in.

Where he’d first waken up was the master bedroom, long and wide with a king poster bed and canopy, a pair of couples vanities side by side, two walk-in closets and one large ensuite. The rest of the house was the same, being two stories tall and terribly extensive: Jackson ran out of fingers on his hands to count how many rooms were in it.

By the time he’d combed through the entire house — discovering a measly two possible escape routes in the process — it was dark outside, and you entered through a front door Jackson couldn’t find for the fucking life of him.

It was appalling, firstly how spontaneous and carefree you were whilst simultaneously thinking of everything that could go wrong, and secondly, how up to par your skills were to his. He wasn’t one to gloat, but he knew just as well as his coworkers that he was a large step above the rest— and it seemed you were, too, the only equal he’d encountered in his line of work… and the only person who’d bested him.

“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-songed in the hallway, poking your head into each and every room for Jackson’s familiar form.

Jackson had settled back in the master bedroom, sitting on the very chair you’d untied him from that morning, and when you finally found him you cooed. “Aw, baby, you don’t hafta’ stay here all day.” You said, lifting his chin to look up at you.

Jackson grit his teeth, his temper suddenly getting the best of him, and he spat at you. But the effect didn't work nearly as well as intended: you didn’t even wince, merely blinking and bringing two fingers to your cheek and wiping the slick off. You pouted at him for a second, made your eyes real big and pitiful, before kissing him on the cheek… and shoving your spit-slicked fingers into his mouth, making him gag.

It looked like you were enjoying his suffering, before pulling away a moment later. “Well, no matter,” you said, brushing his actions off and regaining your happy mood. “I know you weren’t really here all day, honey.”

Jackson’s lips parted, eyes thinning suspiciously. “What the fuck are you—“

You suddenly pulled out your phone, showing camera angles from all throughout the house… and more startlingly, previous footage of him, scouring the house’s windows and poking through the various furniture and rooms earlier in the day. “You are quite the curious cat.”

“You have a camera?” He asked indignantly. Honestly, he should’ve expected it: it’s like, what do you get when you have a captive itching to escape and an obsessive, head-over-heels captor with plenty of money on her hands?

“Several,” you preened, “so don’t bother escaping.”

Then, you hooked your arm into his and dragged him to one of the (many, many) dining rooms.

“Now, I’ve never exactly had a hostage before,” you offered, pushing him into one of your cushy walnut dining chairs, “so I just realized you haven’t eaten. God, I’m so sorry, honey, you must be starving.”

With that, you ducked into the large kitchen a room away, and then returned holding a steaming plate of something, setting the dish down in front of him. “It’s not exactly, y’know, fine dining,” you said, picking up the spoon hidden in the food and scooping up some peas, “but it’s home-cooked. Not my home cooking, obviously, it is -- was, a target’s. I had a plate earlier, don’t worry, it’s good.”

Jackson stared at you, mind spinning with the information you were nonchalantly throwing at him: you were feeding him, your hand holding the cutlery, his mouth around it like he was fucking six, and the person who had made this food was dead, having had their throat slit or something.

But there was another thing in Jackson’s mind, a tiny, weak voice within him that told him to just shut the hell up and eat the damn food. His survival instinct, probably, but then it went on to think that you weren’t that bad, feeding him and keeping him safe from the police in this nice, grand house— and Jackson squished the voice. No fucking way in hell was he experiencing early stage stockholm syndrome.

At his reluctance, you frowned, and forced the spoonful in his mouth. “Eat,” you scolded, and fed him till the whole plate was finished.

He ate, of course, not because of the little bitch voice in his head, but because of the fact that he actually was really fucking hungry. The gesture seemed to warm your heart, for some fucked up reason, and you later sat in the livingroom with him and loosened his zipties.

There was a brief moment, however, that Jackson felt even an iota of fear: when his hands were slightly free, he immediately reached to grab you— he was taller, stronger, and could certainly defeat you in mere moments.

But your sneaky fingers tightened his restraints at the drop of a hat, your head butting his jaw so he fell back on the couch. “Try anything,” you warned, tone suddenly dark, “and I will break your fucking wrist.”

At his tentative, jaw slightly dropped, shaky nod, a cold sweat beaming down from his temple, you dissolved into a fit of laughter at his expression and undid his ties once more. This time, your hand held his in an intimate death grip, thumb curled sweetly around the wrist, that warning still ringing in his head.

He was learning how to play the game, though. His captor’s behavior. What you liked, what you didn’t. The extent of your mercy.

Jackson cleared his throat, searching for a question that might make you open up. “…What’s your name, anyway?” Yes, he didn’t even know your fucking name, and he doubted that the tacky prostitute name you’d given him initially was your real one.

You looked up at him, surprised he’d speak first, nonetheless to know more about you. So, you indulged, and told him your name, things you liked, didn’t like, your hobbies… all normal people stuff— y’know, first date stuff.

“I keep forgetting you don’t know a thing about me,” you confessed, leaning your head on his stiff figure, “‘cause I’ve known you for a very long time.”

Jackson’s breath hitched. “How so?” he said, trying not to give away his eagerness; he was going through all the steps he did when first meeting a target, like being kind and sweet, respectful and attentive, really buttering them up and coaxing information from them, before going in for the kill. In Jackson’s current case, the “kill” was a kiss.

It’d be something chaste, nervous, like he was unwittingly slipping into your trap and couldn’t help the warmth bubbling within him toward you, so you would fall into his; hook, line, and sinker… and maybe completely undo his zipties. He’d have to lay low for a few days, obviously, and build up that obsessive trust of yours, before going in for the literal kill.

But then again, Jackson, with that delirious little ego of his, kept forgetting your skills were up to par with his, and you were the first and only person to ever fucking best him.

You grinned thinly, knowing exact what he was doing, noticed the pattern his words went in, trying to shepherd the conversation to get the answers he wanted, and you pulled away from him. “I’ll tell you another day, honey. M’gonna go to bed,” you whispered sleepily, redoing his zipties. “Join me. I don’t like it when you tire yourself out.”

And so you left, and Jackson watched your hips sway, legs carrying you down the long hallway into the master bedroom. As soon as you were out of direct view, he sucked in a sharp breath, seething angrily.

Fuck, he thought, the realization of his predicament settling within in him at last. He’d always been told this: if you didn’t believe you could escape your situation within the first day, you would never escape at all. He thought it a silly mantra, because he’d always devised an escape plan after thinking on it for a few long moments.

Never did he think he’d find himself in a situation where that actually fucking applied, never did he think he’d meet his equal, and never in his entire, terrorizing existence, did he think he’d be helpless.

But Jackson had to persevere. Had to. He had not survived every terrible incident thrown at him in his tired lifetime, just to accept this. And so, he went to bed with you, the zipties rubbing his pale skin raw, and he watched the shadows on the roof shift with every hour that passed.

He did not sleep, certainly not with you by his side, and though it looked like it, you did not either. It was the paranoia of two terribly similar people; gaze dancing in the dark and never finding each others, waiting for the moment one of you snapped and you had to attack or defend.

The next day, and the next day after that, he went to bed beside you. Just like that, turned into weeks turned into months turned into seasons changing, and the zipties became cloth became your hand holding his.

It was a culmination of feigned loving, fake vulnerability, and pretending he’d gotten Stockholm syndrome that got him to this point. Every “honey, i’m home,” or kiss or hug or pet-name you stabbed into him, he returned with a “welcome home, honey”, a peck on the cheek, a hand holding yours, his venomous tone switched like a light into something sweet, soft.

One night, with his newly ziptie-free arms wrapping around you, your back nestling sweetly against his torso, he has to remind himself that it is not real. None of it was real: he was not your husband, you were not his wife, you did not love each other, you were not normal fucking people— you were the captive and the captor.

Jackson had to remind himself he didn’t actually love you, because that night he thought: if you used him, he would use you. He would take you whenever he wanted, like how you used him. A man has needs, he thought, and being trapped in this house with you meant those needs could be met.

It reminded him of when you first met— not the kidnapping part, of course, but of the kissing and the touching, your tits pressing softly against his chest, his hands following the swell of your ass.

With a start, he realized he’d had some kind of unintentional celibacy enacted upon him: he couldn’t fuck anyone other than you, obviously, having been trapped in that house, but he never entertained the idea of fucking you because he hated you. You don’t fuck the bitch you’re planning to kill any day now.

But your warm body against his awoke something in him, his forced celibacy unable to survive against the pure lust he felt filling him now. You were beautiful, undeniably, with pliant thighs and delicate curves he could see himself getting between animalistically, roughly, a kind of morbid sexual revenge against your captivity of him. It helped entirely that this was the most vulnerable he’d seen you, completely without any weapons, curled warmly into his side.

After studying your breathing for a few seconds, ensuring you were still asleep, Jackson carefully slipped away from you to kneel in front of you in the middle of the bed. He admired your night getup: those silk dresses you adored to wear at home, and absolutely no underwear.

He then pried your soft thighs open slightly, dipping his head between them and losing himself in the sweet scent of your cunt, before chancing a stripe up to your clit. He flattened his tongue, wanting to collect your taste on it completely, and you merely sighed, turning over slightly and widening your legs in your sleep, like you somehow knew what he was doing and wanted it.

He pressed his mouth up to your cunt fully now, his nose hitting your mound as he devoured you, tongue filling every crevice and fold you had like he was starving. Your small whimpers and breathy sighs grew louder now, more frequent, and then Jackson suddenly pulled away, satisfied with how he readied your hole.

Jackson shimmed himself out of his boxer shorts, a pair with silly little hearts he’d never seriously buy for himself— you bought them, as soon as you’d captured him, clearly having fun with the utter control you could display on him, down to his fucking undergarments.

He shook himself slightly, refocussing on the matter at hand: fucking into your glistening cunt. There was something oddly empowering about doing this to you when you couldn’t protest, regaining some control over his own fucking life by terrorizing yours.

But he wasn’t sure you’d fucking care anyway: he knew you liked to peek around the corner when he was showering, “accidentally” walking in when he was in the middle of changing, not-so subtly bending down and pressing your ass to his crotch.

He sighed slightly, rubbing his hand up and down on his hard length in the dark, before lining it up with your entrance. Jackson muffled the groan that curdled in his throat with his large hand, breathing shakily and finally pushing past your slick folds. You were soaking, and he didn’t know if it was because of his previous foreplay or if you were just naturally like this, all horny because he slept beside you at night. He wouldn’t put it past you if that was the case: your obsession with him was clear in every single way.

You made a noise in your sleep, and Jackson froze, hands instinctively coming up to press lightly against your throat — an unconscious thing on his part, formed when his hands had been zip tied and the only thing he could do was choke you, unable to grip any weapon properly. But you didn’t wake up; your face merely screwed together, before smoothing out and returning to blissful unconsciousness.

Jackson let out a sigh of pleasure and relief, your walls clenching around his pulsing cock. He gripped the sheets beside your head and began thrusting in and out of you: at first gently, afraid to wake you up, but as the minutes dripped past, Jackson grew desperate, fucking into your cunt roughly. He wanted to abuse your tight little pussy, stretch you wide open and take you for everything you had.

“Fuck,” he grunted under his breath, snapping his hips harder against yours, “Fuck!”

His exclamation of sexual satisfaction startled you awake, but he didn’t notice how your eyes moved behind your eyelids, too focussed on pounding his rock-hard cock into you. For all the insanity and behavioral issues God gave you, he certainly made up for it in the way he crafted your cunt: extremely warm and easily wet, a sticky hole that sucked him in but was still cramped, like it was begging him to force your walls open.

“Honey?” you murmured foggily, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were about to speak again, when Jackson suddenly found your g-spot, and rammed continually into it, making a filthy mewl leave your lips.

“Fuck, you woke up?” Jackson cursed, looking at you for the first time. His thrusts were unrelenting, though, now not caring if you’d woken up and just wanting to feel your hole squeeze around him again.

“Jackson, I was - sleeping,” you squeaked out, hands moving to his back and digging your nails into the skin.

“That’s kinda the point,” Jackson mocked, tone sarcastic and peeved like you were interrupting him. “And don’t fucking fight it,” he warned angrily, hand leaving the mattress and roughly squeezing one of your tits through the fabric of your nightdress, “‘cause I’m not stopping ‘till I come.”

You pouted fake-sadly at his words, but your back arching gave you away, keening when he kneaded your tit too meanly and made a shock of pain run up your body. “Feels so good,” you grinned sweatily, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he sighed, throwing his head back, “didn’t fucking ask what you thought.”

He pushed your face to the side so he was looking at your jaw, more content with treating you like just some hole, but you didn’t care: he, your darling, was fucking you. He wanted you so bad he fucked you when you weren’t even awake. God, you could’ve kissed him right then and there, but he probably would’ve hit you. (Not that you would mind… but you wanted your honey to take control, have it his way for a bit.)

Jackson rutted into you fast and selfish, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the violent way he fucked you: your sick pleasure came at the expense of your weeping cunt, which was trembling in the stinging pain he was inflicting, cockhead stretching you wide.

Then, Jackson’s hands slid down to your hips, so he could shove his cock deeper into your cunt, pressing his weight so heavily onto your chest you could barely breathe. He groaned; you were clearly affected by the action, bearing down on his cock suddenly, and he reveled in the ecstacy.

He fucked you slightly and slower, and you only realized what he’d been doing when he leaned down to get a better angle, bullying the head of his cock against your cervix: he was trying to fuck into you further, push his dick so close, so snug against your womb that there was no doubt in hell his load would impregnate you. His actions were dictated not by any sense of reason, but by a crude, carnal desire, wanting nothing more but to make you scream.

And you did scream alright, a breathy, brutal scream; a mix of whimpering pain at the way his head pushed against you, and of shameful, drooling pleasure, his delicious length making you feel fucking bloated, you were so full.

One of Jackson’s hands reached up to your head to pull your hair, making you whine at the pain of the tug, and he growled out a string of curse words, before thrusting his cock so angrily it was like a punishment, surely bruising your cervix, and releasing his thick load deep inside. His come flooded your cunt, pumping you full of his salty cream, fucking you still.

Jackson then panted raggedly, feeling your gummy walls tense at the pain of him pulling out, flopping down beside you. “Does it hurt?” he asked you absently, pulling his boxer shorts back up to his hips.

You bit your lip as you clenched your thighs together, whining slightly at the pain blooming deep within your abused cunt, and at the loss of pleasure— you hadn’t come after all, Jackson being entirely selfish in his fucking. “Uh-huh,” you murmured weakly, feeling the strength in your body leave you completely. “You’re a mean one, honey.”

“Good,” Jackson said, chuckling darkly. It was the first laugh you’d heard rumble out of him the entire time you’d held him captive, and you drank it in: it was pleasant and breezy, like cold water on a hot day. It was certainly out of place, such a gleeful laugh after savagely fucking you, but you welcomed it anyway.

Jackson suddenly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush to his chest. “M’gonna use your hole whenever I want, and you’re gonna take my cock no matter what, ‘till you’re begging me to stop,” he growled in your ear, making goosebumps break out on your clammy skin. “Least you can do for fuckin’ kidnapping me, you psychotic bitch.”

“Oh,” you purred, batting your lashes up at him, “it’d be my pleasure to be your fucktoy.”

Jackson grinned, at you, for you, and you thought to yourself that kidnapping him was the best thing you ever fucking did.

iii.

Somewhere, muddled between you kidnapping him, the two of you almost killing eachother, and him fucking you dumb, Jackson caved, and he started to believe he actually loved you. His mind didn’t have any qualms accepting that you were his new life— living in your house, only knowing you, and only ever talking to you.

Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, or those delicious fantasies you’d whisper in his ear at night (“Y’know, honey, it’s really you who should be saying you’re home. What do you think, huh? You coming home from a long day of work to me, in my panties and an apron, no bra and a sweet, home-cooked meal on the table. Dessert’ll be, of course, me,”) or maybe it was just you.

You, despite your terrible job and seriously obvious insanity, being the epitome of fuckable: horny when he was, a talented, needy mouth, able to take anything he gave you to while always going back to being tight as fuck, and intensely eager to have him.

You, who controlled his life, and he, who controlled you. The way you treated each other was probably illegal somewhere, but in that house not even the fucking law mattered. (You still remember when Jackson got his gun back, and he teased your clit with the cold tip till you creamed down the barrel… a terribly memorable story that always made you groan.)

Jackson was extremely well aware that there was something strange about your relationship, and not just the fact it occurred in the strangest way possible, but that he was essentially giving up to you— losing his inhibitions, at least against you. Something about… putting his well being in your hands. His needs. His wants. His life. Spending the rest of his life with you; in this house, accepting life and no escape.

But still, for a man like Jackson, who had long since accepted that he wasn’t cut out for a life of normalcy, a life of love, this certainly wasn’t a bad way of living. He had a house nicer than anything he’d ever lived in, didn’t have to work, could do whatever he wanted all day, and got to pound his cock into your perfect little pussy every single night.

#wowee this has a lot of words and a lot of warnings #this is filthy i apologize #cillian murphy smut #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner x reader smut #red eye #jackson rippner

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 month

Text

Buttons

The request from @toomanytookas: I have such fond memories of my grandmother teaching me how to sew on her old Singer. Obviously a WILDLY different context for a million different reasons, but I love the idea of of Pin showing Joel how to sew or just explaining the general mechanics of using the machine. Maybe some physical guidance/touching a la the pottery scene in Ghost?

If you'd prefer to play with other characters, it would be sweet to see her teach Ellie now that she's working at the shop and I imagine she'd be curious about it!

Seams sleepover micro drabble request | 900 words | warnings: rated M for dirty thoughts and slightly dirty talk, outrageous flirting, topless Joel Miller | can be read independently of the series but is part of the Seams universe

‘Nice tits, Miller!’

Joel chokes on his corn chowder as Tommy’s voice rings loud and obnoxious in the half-empty cafeteria, a mischievous glint in his eyes when he makes himself comfortable opposite him, tray hitting the table with a clatter.

‘Seriously though, put them away before Maria sees you. This is a family place, y’know.’

Joel rolls his eyes. ‘Shut up, jackass.’

Tommy studies the familiar green plaid shirt on his brother that is sitting open to the sternum. ‘Buttons fell off, huh?’

‘Aren’t you a regular Sherlock Holmes.’

‘Pin gettin’ a bit rough with ya?’

Joel splutters, raising his fork in what he hopes is a menacing reproach. ‘Hey!’

‘Just jokin’, big bro. And no judgement if she is.’

He scoffs. ‘This is gettin’ real weird, Tommy -’

‘Why don’t you ask her to sew ’em back for you?’

‘She ain’t my seamstress.’

‘She’s a seamstress. And your girlfriend.’

Joel snorts. ‘You ask Maria to do all your chores for you?’

Tommy shrugs and replies around a mouthful of mashed potato. ‘Ask Pin to teach you then. What's that they say about fishermen and fishin’?’

He has a point, Joel has to concede. That’s how he ends up at your studio that afternoon, leaning against the doorframe as he watches you on the sewing machine. He likes the steady, mechanical staccato of the needle, the whirring wheel and the metallic squeak of the pedal as your hands and feet all move in almost nonchalant choreography.

He knows that under that ease lies years of experience, and there’s an understatedness about your movements that makes him stop and stare every time you're at the antique sewing machine.

He waits patiently for a lull, not wanting to disrupt your rhythm. When you pause to inspect the stitching you’ve been working on, Joel knocks on the doorframe.

His lips twitch when you startle, eyes wide as your head whips around at him, and it brings him right back to the day you meet, just a few feet from where he stands now.

But then you break into a wide smile. ‘What are you doing sneaking up on me, Joel Miller?’

He closes the distance with three steps, bending down to drop a kiss on your lips. ‘Just wanted to say hello - and to ask for a favour.’

You stare up at him, admiring the way a stray lock curls over his eyes. ‘What is it?’

Joel tugs on the front of his shirt. ‘Was wonderin’ if you can teach me how to sew my buttons back on.’

You eye his neckline, which is suspiciously low. ‘I thought you were just trying something new,’ you quip.

Arching an eyebrow, he asks, ‘Is it workin’ for you, sweetheart?’

Hooking your finger into the open V of the shirt, you grin. ‘I’m not complaining, but it doesn’t hurt to fix it. Take it off.’

Joel huffs, joking, ‘Buy me dinner first, at least?’

You watch his fingers push the little buttons out of the holes, baring broad chest and freckles with every downward inch. You hum when he gets to the bottom of the shirt and it hangs open, nothing but bare skin under it. ‘No undervest?’

‘Feel like showin’ off today,’ he winks and disrobes with a smooth roll of his shoulders.

You can’t help it, your breath catches - at the strong shoulders, the soft belly, the way he has one hand on his hip - and by the self-satisfied curl of his lips, you know he knows.

Clearing your throat, you stand and take his shirt from his grasp, the warmth of the fabric comforting in your hands. ‘Come sit over here.’

‘We’re not using the machine?’

‘Not for sewing buttons,’ you reply, opening a little box to find matching ones for his shirt.

‘Okay, step one,’ you seat yourself next to him and hand him the supplies. ‘Thread the needle.’

The thread looks more like a blade of the most delicate hair in between his thumb and index finger, and the needle comically small. But his hands are remarkably steady, and he surprises you by nimbly pushing the thread through the eye on his second try.

‘Pull the thread through and keep going,’ you instruct, snipping it off with scissors when you’re satisfied with the length. ‘Now, we need to knot the end. Loop the thread around your finger a couple of times, pinch it with your thumb and pull the end through.’

He does so with aplomb, and you remark, more to yourself than anything. ‘Your fingers are really dexterous for their size.’

Joel wriggles his eyebrows suggestively, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘You should know that first hand, hmm?’

A comment like that would’ve had you ducking your head a few months ago. But now, you narrow your eyes at him in playful admonishment. ‘So full of yourself, Joel Miller.’

Dragging your chair towards him, he leans in and murmurs against your ear. ‘Ain’t you the one who was full of me last night -’

Heat rushes to your cheek as he noses the sensitive skin behind your ear. ‘Joel, I thought you wanted to fix your shirt -’

Pushing the needle into a pin cushion, he shrugs and pulls you into his lap with a smirk, his skin hot under your touch.

‘Luckily, I don’t really need a shirt for what I want to do right now, sweetheart.’

More notes: Thank you for this adorable prompt @toomanytookas! I hope you don't mind that I tweaked it a little bit. I love that you have such beautiful memories with your grandma. Mine used to sew and do cross-stitch, I miss her so much 🥹

#fuckyeahseams #seams sleepover #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller imagine

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selineram3421 · 2 months

Text

*contemplates existence for a second*

Hissy Kitty

Part 3

Part 2

Alastor X Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ we love seeing a man lose his mind, mentions of stabbing, poor noodle bean Pentious ⚠

As the shadows in the room grew, Alastor paced back and forth with his hand covering his mouth.

His mind jumping from one thought to another.

I don't understand what's happening! I should know what's happening! Why don't I know!?

Walking faster, he laughed and moved the hand that was on his mouth to run his fingers through his hair.

There were flashes of you appearing in his thoughts. That cold hateful glare, your eyes glowing radiantly as you hissed at him. The way you stood your ground in a powerful stance as the ears on your head were pinned back.

God you looked terrific.

NO!

He shook his head.

Angry, confused, anxious, happy. Emotions battled within him as he continued to pace.

"Oh fucking hell.", he gripped his hair on the sides of his head. "Holy fuck, whatever shall I do with this?"

The Radio Demon was feeling something new and he didn't know what to do with it. He didn't know what it was and that made him upset.

He had to know.

Needed to know.

To be in control.

He couldn't have his emotions taking hold of him. He couldn't have you messing with his heart head.

"The¥ Ωe€d +o &θ.", he growled out with a clenched jaw.

Now he knew why Husker didn't want them around.

They are a distraction, a detour in his plans. Too much trouble to have nearby. A weakness.

He stopped at that.

A weakness..

The static grew even louder, causing the widows to crack and break.

"Ha..hahaha.", he dropped his arms and leaned against his desk with one hand. "Hahaha-AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!", he laughed, moving a hand to his stomach as he bended inwards. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

He scratched deep claw marks into his desk.

"Ha..."

The room got quiet.

Not a single sound came from him, there was no static or laugh track as he realized what the new emotion filling his chest was.

This wasn't part of the plan..

"This can't go on. I must extinguish this disgusting feeling.", he furrowed his brows. "How absurd. To think such a demon could make me doubt myself."

Removing his claws out from the table, he flicked his hand to rid of the wood chips that stuck onto him.

Fixing his coat and snapping his fingers, he had his creatures get to fixing the windows.

"Let's get to work boys. I need this place to be spotless.", he said without so much as a glance, making his way to the trap door.

"Everything needs to be in perfect θrd€r."

The latch closed as he exited the radio tower.

You sat on one of the dining table chairs.

The Princess had asked Niffty to make you a uniform and you were waiting for the little demon to show up.

"Oooh! I'm so excited! I've already got all of tomorrow's activities planned out!", Charlie said and bounced in place. "I hope you don't mind wearing the hotel colors."

"I don't mind at all.", you smiled. "I just hope I can get at least three shirts."

"Let's check in with Niffty when she gets here.", the blonde said looking at the door before glancing back at you. "You know.. I'm curious about something."

"What's up?", you give her your attention.

"Are you and Alastor like...you know.", she waves her hand around. "Together?"

Blink blink.

"What?"

"It's just that I see him around you almost all the time, and Alastor is very picky with who he touches.", she explains. "I mean if it isn't dancing then he wouldn't really engage in contact. Sure he's patted me on the shoulder once or twice but honestly that's really it.", she then leans a little closer. "I totally understand if you don't want to say anything but I support your relationship."

You just stared at the Princess, not sure what to say.

Thankfully you didn't have to as Niffty ran into the room.

"I've got my needles!", she smiled wide. "Who am I stabbing?"

"No, no!", Charlie waved her hands as to say stop. "Not stabbing! We need a uniform."

"Oh, ok!", the cyclops pulled out a tailors measuring tape. "Up! Up! I need to take your measurements!"

You got up and walked over, letting her guide you to make it easier to get the right measurements. As the little demon measured your arm, you thought about what Charlie said.

He only did that to annoy Husk, there's no way he likes me in that way. Why am I even thinking about this? It's so obvious that I'm just something to play with to him. You spread your arms out so Niffty could measure the back of your shoulders. Maybe it's because Charlie thinks so. I know it couldn't happen.

The cyclops moved to measure your waist.

Yeah, it would never happen.

"All done!", Niffty pulled out a sewing needle. "Now for the fun part.", she grinned.

"Do you think you could make me two or three shirts?", you asked. "It's ok if you can't."

"I can!", she said and sprinted out of the room. "I'll leave them in your room when I'm done!"

You waved to Charlie as you left, making your way over to your room.

I hope there's no bugs on my bed again. You shivered at the memory. That was so gross.

"Exsscusse me.", someone said from behind you.

Turning around, you saw Sir Pentious.

"Oh! Hi Pentious! What can I do for you?", you asked with a smile.

"I'm..uh. I have a question, if that'sss alright?", he asks, fidgeting with his fingers.

"Sure! What's on your mind?", you replied.

"Are you being courted by the Radio Demon?", he asked.

...

"What?"

You held your hands out as to say stop and shook your head with a laugh. "No. What in the world gave you that idea?"

"Well.. he'sss been around you so often and he takess care of you.",the snake demon explains. "I just thought with sssuch actions, he'd be trying to attract you."

Someone else thought Alastor and I were together? Does it really look like that?

"Why the question?", you asked.

"Um..I want to know how to court ssomeone.", he said shyly.

You gasped excitedly.

"Oh! Do you have a special someone!?", you took hold of his hands. "Do I know them!?", you asked.

Before Sir Pentious could say anything, you were yanked away from him.

"Woah!"

Your back was pressed against something warm. Static buzzed loudly, making the fur on your ears and tail tingle. The shadows got darker and started to take shape of sinister creatures.

"H@πd$ øff."

The vibrations from his radio voice came from his chest, which you felt rumble through you.

"Alastor?", you said nervously.

"W-wait!", Pentious backed up. "All I did wass asssk a quesstion!"

"I'm &o¡ng t⁰ ©0ok ¥∅u |ik€ ®oti$serie ¢hick€n!", the deer demon threatened.

"Alastor!", you shouted and turned in his hold to grab his face, tilting his head down. "Damn it! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"

Finally he stopped, red eyes dimming the glowing and now focused on you. Pentious took this as a chance to escape and slithered off quickly.

"What just happened?"

*goes back to typing* I'm good.

~Seline, the person.

Part 4

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @jane-3043 @chocolat3pudding @chewbrry @dewdropsposts @danveration @jyoongim @iloveblogging2 @elaemae @hallowedandhungry @fandom-nobody @nevermore-ramblings @creepylilneko @perilous-pasta @xdolls-crownx @hxzbinwrites @alikate82 @angeliclovely69 @line-viper @tsukilover11 @cheshairacat @the-unhinged-raccoon @plapperlapapp @thesimpguru @stevenuniversezanite @random-3455 @hypnossses @crazyforbarnes @ngjhgftujgrtui @haveawanderfulday @dark-stars-and-the-moons-melody @karolinda007-blog @twistedkisses @ghostedddd @viridiya @akiqvq @gracesupremacy @i-like-potatoes12533 @dappersapperdoodle @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @+?

ML for Alastor🎙 | HK ChL😾

#alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #x reader #alastor the radio demon #gn reader #the radio demon #alastor x reader #fanfic #husk hazbin hotel #older brother husk #hazbin hotel husk #cat demon reader #protective older brother husk #hazbin hotel #sir pentious #charlie morningstar #niffty hazbin hotel

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ethereal-pie · 6 months

Text

bullfrog head cannons

I have seen no fics of this beautiful French man so I have done it myself

just a ramble of my thoughts in bullet point form

he is an american bullfrog, he not only looks like one but also there are tons in France

He enjoys warmth and gets grumpy if he is too cold

I feel like he doesn’t touch you all that much but adores cuddling

If given the opportunity he will burry himself in pillows and blankets ( bonus if they are weighted) especially during winter cuz of his hibernation instinct

He will insist you join him and promise it’s very comfortable

He isn’t slimy like his real world counterpart but his skin feels very moisturized

He gets cold super easy and shove himself under your shirt or jacket to soak up your natural body heat

You also don’t have to worry about it being too hot to cuddle as he is cool to the touch

He will insist you let him put his cold ass hands on your bare back to warm them up , he will pout if you don’t let him

Letting him do this will more then likely result in him having his head under your shirt and his face pressed into your back and his hands on your upper stomach

He usually avoids conventional touch based pda, the most normal pda you’ll get out of under normal circumstances is a peck on the cheek

Instead the way he shows touch based pda is by sitting on your shoulders

Although if he is super cold he won’t care all that much

And Unless your in a situation where being partners with him would put you in danger, he will be fairly vocaly affectionate

He will call you his beloved and other pet names

As well as praise, flirt and compliment you

Some of His pet names involve your name

He seems like a darling, my dear, love type of person

He will jokingly call you stupid ones as well

He has a lot of running jokes with you and will tease and joke around with you all the time, he just likes laughing with you in general

Some of your jokes might take a second to land with him in the beginning but as your relationship continues he will pick up almost immediately

He tries really hard to be cool cuz he wants to make friends but everyone being stuck on him being a frog annoys him a lil

He will complain about this to you at least once

He is trying to be cool and Poetic!

When he is mad he will begin to speak in a mix of French and English but he doesn’t really yell at all, he does talk faster tho

He will bath for hours but doesn’t like to shower

He cannot use certain soaps or he will get sick because he will absorb the chemicals through his skin

He likes the look of bubble baths but if he sits in them he gets sick cuz of the soap In the water

Given his accent I assume he speaks French but I think he can speak multiple European language, due to his job

He is very adverse to the idea of eating bugs, he isn’t scared of them but if someone offers him a bug he will be grossed out.

He is the kind of person to not only catch and release bugs he finds inside but he will have little convos with them too

You’ll hear in the other room “hello there my miniature friend.’’ And as he takes them outside “ I’m very sorry but you cannot stay here.”

His approach to flying bugs is far different, he will take NO PRISONERS

He is very efficient with a fly swatter and knows all the concoctions to lure and kill flys fruit or other wise

He avoids using his hands cuz of the bug guts

If you are afraid of bugs he will find it amusing but he won’t tease or torment you, he will just chuckle at how ridiculous you look up on the counter while he captures the invader.

He is very polite and kind to everyone he interacts with unless they have done something to warrant other wise

He will use French sayings in English instead of the English one because he is convinced that “ they are far superior”

Pins and needles are now ants, it’s raining ropes not animals, forget apples and trees, dogs don’t make cats.

If you use the English versions he will argue the French version is better

“ bolt of lightning explans the felling of it, love at first sight is so bland.’’

Please convert he will find it unendingly adorable every time

He does get cuteness aggression and will randomly shove his face into your chest and aggressively nuzzle into you whist squeezing you and violently kicking his legs and making a happy humming

He will be embarrassed the first few times he does this

He will get cuteness aggression from your cuteness aggression

If you bite him he will be very confused but won’t care all that much so long as you aren’t hurting him

You will probably be taller then him and honestly he likes it that way because when you hug him he feels like momentarily he is a totally encased by you

You can carry him but only certain ways

No toddler hold, with one arm and him on your hip

Piggy backs, shoulder sitting and standing are encouraged

You can only sling him over your shoulder in emergency’s

Same with under your arm

He doesn’t like princess carry’s cuz he can’t hold on to much and he wants to touch with max surface area

Carrying him by his armpits away from you has the same problem, he will struggle

He does enjoy if you hug carry him with both arms, either his face in on your chest or resting on your shoulder

I have made a helpful diagram ( I can draw but it’s just stick me cuz I’m lazy)

He will randomly start monologueing if given the opportunity

He will tell you about being an assassin but only if you ask

I think he is more likely to be with Someone who has prior experience with fighting

He feels nauseous after producing bubbles

He will lean on or try to be touching you while he recovers

You cannot truly surprise him, he will know something is up the moment you even begin to plan

He knows because you act slightly different

And hiding or sneaking something past him is also impossible

He has to actively try to avoid finding out what your doing

You’ve snuck something into the garage, I guess he isn’t going In There for a while

Hiding something behind your back, he isn’t even gonna face your direction while you hide it

You cannot sneak up on him either

When you try he will scare you by suddenly turning around and grabbing you

On the other hand he has scared and surprised you accidentally many times

hope you enjoy and this inspires more fic to be written of bullfrog

#Bullfrog #captain laserhawk #captainlaserhawk #bullfrog x reader #Bullfrog images #captain lazerhawk head cannons

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corroded-hellfire · 5 months

Note

Okay. I absolute love ASW serie. And i have a request about the boy’s holiday concert and knowing what Eddie thinking when she arrived. 🥰

I love see you in my notifications. You’re the best 🫶

Ooh I’ve been so excited for this one! Been chomping at the bit for it to be Christmas time so @munson-blurbs and I could write it lol. Eddie’s mentioned before how pivotal of a moment this was in regards to how he feels about reader, so I’m very glad and thankful you requested this. I hope you enjoy ❤️

Words: 4.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

4:56. In four minutes, Eddie is supposed to take Ryan to school. The concert doesn’t start until 6, but kids have to be there early to warm up. He’s not quite sure how much a vocal warm-up will help second graders harmonize, but he’s not about to be the parent whose kid shows up late.

His wife apparently does not share that same concern.

4:57.

Brittany was supposed to be home to watch Luke; Eddie knows better than to drag him along any earlier than he has to. Ryan is nervous enough about his solo, and he certainly doesn’t need his little brother incessantly asking questions that will only fuel his anxiety.

4:58.

“Daddy?” Ryan comes down the hall with you following close behind. “Can you tie my tie?”

Eddie nods, tongue poking from between his lips as he kneels down and fixes his son’s tie. It’s still a bit crooked—there are minimal opportunities for him to wear one as a mechanic, and even fewer now that he and Brittany rarely go on dates—but it will have to suffice.

Tears gather in your eyes as you look at Ryan’s outfit, the red tie completing his white button-down, black slacks, and shiny shoes. “You’re so grown up!”

4:59.

You catch Eddie glancing worriedly at the clock. He’s changed out of his coveralls and wears a maroon button-down shirt, cuffed at the elbows, and pants that match Ryan’s. He’s absolutely delicious; the thought of being the one to unbutton him has sweat prickling under your arms.

“Ry, why don’t you go and get your brother?” Eddie says as gently as he can. Vaguely aware of the tension growing within his father, Ryan nods and heads off to do as he’s told.

As soon as the boy is out of earshot, Eddie mumbles, “shit” under his breath, and rubs his hand across his forehead.

“He has to be there by—” you start to ask but are cut off by Eddie’s exasperated sigh.

“Yes, we need to leave. Now.” Eddie takes a deep breath and his eyes trail over to you. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to jump down your throat like that.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” you assure him with a shake of your head. “I completely get it. Brittany’s late, you need to get going, it’s stressful.”

“Yeah, Brittany’s late,” he murmurs more to himself before addressing you. “There’s no reason for me to take anything out on you, you’ve been nothing but wonderful.” His words send a pleasant tingle down your spine. As he takes a step closer, you look up at him beneath your eyelashes. “I’m sorry I snapped, sweetheart.”

“Really, Eddie, it’s okay.” Your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, trying to emphasize your point. All it does though is leave both of you on pins and needles at the touch. “Why don’t you go ahead and take Ryan?” you offer, reluctantly bringing your hand down. “I’ll bring Luke by for the start of the show. This way you don’t have to try to wrangle the little monkey while you’re getting Ryan where he needs to be.”

Eddie’s brow furrows together and he eyes you warily. “A-Are you sure? Because I don’t have a problem taking on both of them. I’ll use a spare tie as a leash for Luke if I have to.”

You can’t help but giggle at the mental image that conjures. Luke would manage to get a foot or so away and Eddie would reel him back in like a catfish.

“I don’t mind. Really. Cross my heart and all.”

Eddie takes another moment to consider it and concedes as he nods his head. “That would be really helpful. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you say with a dismissive wave. “I enjoy the talks Luke and I have when we hang out. I always end up learning something new.”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agrees with a breathy chuckle. “Has he told you that one milliliter of ocean water can contain about 10 million viruses? I got that one at dinner the other night.”

“He has,” you say with a soft giggle. “And yet, he still says going to the beach is what he always wishes for when he throws a coin in the fountain at the mall.”

“Are we going?” Luke’s booming voice precedes both boys as they come into the room. The younger Munson brother looks more annoyed than anything. He probably knows he’ll have to stand around and do nothing before he is forced to sit in an uncomfortable seat and made to listen to his schoolmates unwittingly butcher Christmas Carols.

“Nope, you’re coming with me,” you tell Luke, poking him on the top of his head as he walks by. “Daddy’s taking Ryan to school now and I’m gonna take you for the show.”

“Oh, good,” Luke says with a sigh of relief. Even Ryan looks a bit relieved; he knows it’s hard to corral his little brother.

Eddie’s also noticeably calmer as he prepares himself to leave the house. He pats his pockets, and the jingling of keys lets him know he’s got them. Another pat to his back pocket confirms he’s got his wallet as well.

“All right,” he says, looking to Ryan. “You got everything? We ready to go?”

“Uh, I think so,” Ryan says. He looks down at the secured tie around his neck and can’t come up with anything else he might need.

“Then let’s hit the road. We’ll see you guys later,” Eddie says, nodding at you and Luke.

“Bye, Daddy! Remember, don’t drive on black ice!”

Luke’s warning makes you giggle to yourself as you wave Eddie and Ryan out the door. Once the sound of Eddie’s truck has faded out of the driveway and down the road, Luke turns to you and places his hands on his little hips.

“What’re we gonna do?” he asks.

“Hmm.” You pretend to ponder over his question as you walk to the other side of the room and pick up your purse. “What about, we go up and get your nice clothes for the concert and put them in your Scooby Doo backpack.”

“Why?” Luke asks, wrinkling up his nose. The small boy has a lot of adorable quirks, but you’re pretty sure that one’s your favorite.

“Well, I was thinking,” you say with a shrug. “Nothing goes better with a Christmas concert than some cookies and hot cocoa. I thought you and I could go grab some at the cafe near my apartment. And I know you, you’ll end up wearing half the snack, so it’s better we don’t get you into those nicer clothes until you have to.”

Luke’s big blue eyes light up at the idea of the sugary confections. His head nods so quickly that, with his small shoulders, he looks like a Munson Bobblehead.

“Good idea!” he calls behind him as he races towards his room, nearly tripping over his own feet. “I’m okay!”

The auditorium buzzes with excitement as you and Luke make your way down the aisle. Eddie sits in the front row, easily spotted by the mess of curls tucked into a low ponytail. His brown eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he sees you.

“Oh, wow—I mean, you made it!” Eddie can’t help but gaze at the way your green velvet dress hugs you in all the right places. It’s flattering without even teetering on inappropriate for an elementary school concert. He recovers awkwardly but quickly, reflexively pulling at his collar to give himself more room to breathe. “Here, um, you guys take a seat…”

Luke bounds over to his dad, plopping into the chair between the two of you. Better off, Eddie thinks wryly, before I do something I really shouldn’t. He glances over at the handmade Naughty and Nice list propped up on the stage; if anyone could read his thoughts right now, he knows exactly where his name would be written.

“Daddy, I had hot cocoa and cookies! And the cookies had chocolate chunks in them. Not chips—chunks,” Luke clarifies, underscoring the importance of differentiating between the two.

You shrug guiltily. “Sorry, I needed a way to get him out of the house on time,” you explain.

Eddie laughs, ruffling Luke’s hair before turning to you. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to negotiate with terrorists?” But above Luke’s line of vision, he mouths thank you, the inaudible movement of his lips sending sparks to your lower belly.

Someone slides into the seat next to Eddie; you expect him to say that it’s taken, but he barely notices. Neither does Luke, and that’s what breaks your heart. Both he and Ryan are so accustomed to their mom missing important events that they no longer bat an eye.

The lights in the auditorium dim and the audience breaks into polite applause as the spotlights click on and teachers usher their small students to where they’re supposed to stand. You have no doubt this is part of what they practiced with the children being here so early, but there’s a handful of kids who still don’t seem to have a clue of what they’re doing.

Ryan is easy to pick out of the crowd. He’s one of the taller boys in his class so he stands up on the back rafter, a spotlight hitting his hair just so to make it look like a honey brown waterfall. Quickly, he catches sight of you as well and waves to you, his father, and brother as the rest of the kids are reaching their intended destinations on stage. Both you and Eddie acknowledge Ryan with small waves, but Luke whips his arm up in the air and waves it back and forth like he’s trying to signal a helicopter where to land.

Feedback crackles over the microphone on center stage as a teacher steps up to it. She clears her throat and shields her bespectacled eyes from the bright lights aimed her way. She taps once, twice on the microphone before she leans in to speak, short blonde curls falling in her face.

“Thank you, everyone, for joining us this evening for Hawkins Elementary School’s Festive Fun Holiday Concert.” There’s a small smattering of applause before she continues. “I am Mrs. Pierce. My class, along with the classes of Mrs. Lopez and Mr. Abrams, have been practicing very hard to bring you all a Christmas treat this evening.”

Luke has already tuned out the talking, his head on a swivel to take in all aspects of the small auditorium. He looks from the speakers to the light fixtures adorned with green garland, back to the kids on stage, then down the rows of the audience to see who all is there. You gently take his littler hand in yours and give it a soft squeeze. Just to ground him back in this moment from wherever his mind wandered off to. He smiles when you shoot him a wink and, now that the teachers are done talking, finds it easier to zone back into the show.

Tinny music begins to play over the speakers stationed around the space and it takes you a moment to place the song as Let it Snow. The initial singing by the children is jarring, but not nearly as off-key as you were expecting. Some of the songs are a bit rough, but some are surprisingly pleasant as well.

As the music transitions to the next song, you see Ryan take a step down from his rafter and make his way towards the front of the stage. He goes to one of the two microphones low enough for the children to access and waits. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer starts with all the children, but by the look of how nervous Ryan is, you’d wager that he has a solo coming up. His small fingers twist against one another as he does his best not to look out into the crowd. Though he’s naturally a shy boy, you can tell there’s some stage fright in there as well. It’s evident that his part is fast approaching when you see his little chest swell with breath, then release it slowly. Grinning from ear to ear, you watch as Ryan takes half a step closer to the microphone and opens his mouth.

“Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say,

‘Rudolph with your nose so bright, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?’”

A look of relief washes over Ryan’s face, but you can also see a bit of pride in the way that he smiles. And he should be proud! His small solo was excellent, and you can’t wait to dote on him over it later.

You glance over at Eddie; his grin stretches across his face so widely that you wouldn’t be shocked if his cheeks hurt. He catches you looking and turns his head slightly, one eye winking as if to say, thanks for being here for my kid. Thanks for being here with me.

And maybe it’s the way you giggle, or the way you make sure Luke is comfortable before easing back into your seat, or the way you cheer for Ryan like you’re at a stadium concert, but something shifts within Eddie. He’s always found you beautiful; tonight, you were downright stunning in that dress. It was the oldest cliché in the book: dad crushing on the hot, young babysitter. That’s how he’d managed to brush it off all this time. He was a man with needs, you were an attractive woman. Simple biology.

What he’s feeling now is anything but straightforward. He doesn’t just want to sleep with you; no, he wants you by his side at every school function, every birthday party, every moment of his life, big or small. And not as the babysitter; as his girl.

No, this is not a crush, and it’s not a cliché. It’s love.

After the concert, both you and Eddie are excited to greet Ryan and gush over how well he did. The unspoken fear that you both have though, is that the seven-year-old will be heartbroken when he finds out that his mother didn’t attend the performance. While Luke fidgets where you wait outside of the auditorium for his brother, you and Eddie trade nervous glances as the kids start coming out.

“Where is he?” Luke bemoans after the third student comes out and it isn’t the one he wants.

Ryan comes barreling out of the red double doors, laughing with a group of his friends. The moment he spots you and his family, he waves goodbye to the other kids and dashes over to you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Eddie holding his breath, waiting on pins and needles to hear what the first thing out of his oldest son’s mouth will be.

“I did it!” Ryan cheers.

Eddie sags in relief and even you feel unburdened of a weight you weren’t aware you were holding. The smile on Ryan’s face is pure glee and he’s practically jumping up and down on the spot.

“I’m so proud of you!” Eddie tells him, throwing one arm around the boy’s shoulders and ruffling his hair with the other. “You were the best one up there.”

Ryan’s cheeks turn pink at his father’s praise. Of course, you just pile on top of it, relishing in the way he gets embarrassed and overjoyed at the same time.

“My little George Michael!” you say as you pull Ryan in for a hug. His nose wrinkles up at your comparison but the smile on his face only grows.

Luke looks up at his big brother. “Y’know, I always thought it was froggy Christmas Eve.”

Despite his better judgment, Eddie asks, “bud…why would Christmas Eve be froggy?”

“I dunno,” Luke shrugs, “maybe Santa was delivering a lot of frogs. Or the reindeer got tired, so he had frogs pull his sleigh. Or—”

Eddie puts his hands on Luke’s shoulders and laughs. “All right, Frog Boy. What do you say we get home and celebrate Ryan’s rockstar moment?”

Everyone agrees to that, the four of you walking through the double doors and into the parking lot. Ryan takes Eddie’s hand, and Luke takes yours.

“Where’d you park?” Eddie asks you, and you realize he wants to escort you to your car. Heat creeps up your neck at his small act of chivalry. Part of you suspects that if you shivered, he’d offer his jacket.

Maybe if you were more courageous, you’d test that theory.

“Oh, um, over there.” You point towards your car, leading the way. You can feel Eddie’s eyes on you; protectiveness with a hint of possession. It’s lust with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You dig your keys out of your bag, smiling triumphantly when you find them quickly. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow?” You laugh kindly, ruffling Ryan’s hair. “I’m so proud of you, Ry. You’re brave and talented.”

A blush settles into Ryan’s cheeks. “Thanks. Um, I’m glad you got to hear me sing. You’re the best.”

“Me, too,” Eddie chimes in, clearing his throat. “I mean, I’m glad you got to hear him sing, too. Not that I think you’re the best. Not that you’re not the best, because the kids love you, and you, um—”

“Hey, look what I found!”

Eddie has never been more grateful for one of Luke’s interruptions. “What is it?”

“Mistletoe!” The little boy holds something that is certainly not mistletoe above his head. “See?”

Ryan scoffs. “That’s a leaf.”

“And a very dead one at that,” Eddie muses, plucking the stem from Luke’s fingers.

A pout puckers Luke’s lips. “You gotta use your imagination!” he insists, taking the pseudo-mistletoe and jumping up and down between you and Eddie. “Now…you…gotta…kiss!”

“No, we don’t,” you and Eddie blurt out in unison.

“Yes, you do,” Luke indignantly sighs. “It’s the law.”

Before he can wimp out, Eddie swoops in and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. Your skin tingles where his lips brushed against it, and you’re left speechless.

Luke, however, remains unimpressed. “That wasn’t a real kiss!”

“Yeah, well, that’s not real mistletoe,” Eddie retorts, trying to compose himself. “C’mon, let’s get home. It’s past your bedtime.”

Eddie was hoping that the ride home would help lull the boys to sleep like it used to when they were babies. Ryan still has adrenaline going through him from the concert though, and Luke is feeding off of that energy.

They’re both talking a mile a minute and neither one of them quiet, but Eddie doesn’t hear a word they say because his mind is so focused on you. You offering to bring Luke to the school later when he had to bring Ryan. You in that curve-hugging dress. You showing up for Ryan when his own mother didn’t. You, with the softest skin when his lips brushed your cheek.

Realizing that he’s in love with you should make Eddie feel worse than it does. The guilt that’s gnawing at his stomach is somewhat abated by the fact that Brittany’s been screwing a litany of men for years. Does it make it worse or better that she probably had no feelings for any of those men? He’s not sure it’s possible for her to truly love anyone besides herself.

Eddie can’t help the smile on his face as he thinks about his feelings for you, though. The way you make him happy is something that he hasn’t experienced in years—if Brittany ever truly made him this happy at all. Everything about you brings joy to Eddie. Well, other than when he thinks of how much younger you are and how you’re surrounded by college age guys who must be tripping over themselves to go out with you. That provides him with a sickening feeling that leaves him dizzy. It’s much easier to focus on the fantasy of being with you, not the reality of where or who you might be headed home to tonight.

When Eddie pulls into the driveway, the boys are decidedly less quiet, though they’re still chatting away. Brittany’s car is parked there as well, sitting idly next to where Eddie’s truck now is. Eddie wordlessly gets out of the car and lets the boys keep talking about whatever it is they’re talking about as he walks with them up to the front door, the light dusting of snow floating down kissing their cheeks and noses.

“It’s late, I want you boys to head to your rooms and put your pajamas on, okay?” Eddie says as he unlocks the door. Both boys agree—begrudgingly, on Luke’s part.

Brittany isn’t in sight when they first step into the house, which has Eddie breathing a sigh of relief. He really shouldn’t be feeling that way about seeing his own wife, should he? Oh well, that ship sailed a long time ago.

The boys head down the hall and as Ryan passes the kitchen, he skids to a halt and does a double take.

“Hi, Mom!” he says with an enthusiastic wave. Eddie’s prepared for his oldest to launch into the story of how great the concert was and how much fun he had, but he just continues down the hall towards his room. Luke didn’t even stop to greet his mother.

Eddie drops his keys in the bowl by the door and shrugs out of his leather jacket. It’s slightly wet to the touch from the flurries that landed on him between the truck and the house.

If Brittany had just missed an event of his, Eddie wouldn’t give two shits or make a big deal of it. But this was Ryan’s big night, something that she should have wanted to and made sure to attend. Now Eddie feels the need to make a stink about it.

He wanders into the kitchen and slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans. As soon as he steps inside, he sees Brittany leaning against the counter with a glass of water in her hand, absolutely glaring at him. The look takes him aback. Why in the hell is he getting that look? She’s the one who has to explain herself.

“I can’t believe you,” Brittany says, further shocking her husband.

“I…what?” Eddie asks. He almost feels too dumbfounded to speak. It quickly crosses his mind that maybe she somehow figured out the epiphany he had about his feelings for you tonight, but if Brittany could read minds things would have gone downhill a lot sooner in their marriage than this.

“You left without me. You couldn’t even wait until I got home?” Brittany slams the glass of water down on the counter and takes a step towards him.

Eddie quickly checks to make sure the boys haven’t stepped in behind him before he raises his eyebrows and lowers his voice.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I did wait, Britt. I waited until the last goddamn minute. But Ryan had to get to the school, and I wasn’t about to make him late just because you couldn’t be bothered to be home on time.”

The sneer Brittany gives him could curdle milk.

“So now my son is going to think that I don’t care because I didn’t go tonight,” she seethes.

Eddie toys with the idea of telling her that he didn’t seem to care one iota that she wasn’t there, but he doesn’t want Ryan to catch even a smidgen of her wrath.

“You have a car. You know where the damn school is. Why didn’t you get your ass over there when you got home?”

“That isn’t the point!” she snaps. Eddie now knows that this argument has moved from rational and logic, to whatever bullshit straws Brittany can grasp at.

“Okay,” Eddie says, knowing full well he’s already fighting a losing battle. “What is the point?” He crosses his arms over his chest and Brittany mirrors the action, as if annoyed she didn’t think of taking up the offended posture first.

“That you didn’t wait for me. Your wife. I had to come home probably five minutes after you left!”

“And I told you why we left when we did. I also provided you with what you could have alternatively done, but that would mean admitting that you’re wrong and God forbid you do that.” Brittany opens her mouth, but Eddie shakes his head and cuts her off before she can say anything. “Fucking forget it. It’s late, I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

Eddie goes to turn down the hallway towards the master bedroom when he realizes he never took off his boots. He stalks back to the front door and kicks them off, using the wall for balance. When his eyes flit back up from his feet, they catch sight of his jacket—and Brittany’s next to it. He narrows his eyes as he looks at them side by side. His is still wet from the melted snow coating it, but Brittany’s is wet as well. It’s not just the side where his jacket is brushing up against it, either. Eddie reaches for the arm of the jacket on the opposite side and feels that it’s just as wet as his own. If Brittany had really come home just after they’d left, there’s no way it would still be wet.

Dropping the jacket sleeve and letting out a huff of unamused laughter, Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. Brittany is no stranger to lying. She probably got home about five minutes before they did, but in typical Brittany fashion, had to spin everything so she’s the victim even when she’s the one in the wrong.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mumbles to himself. He rubs at his eyes as he walks back down the hallway. He’s way too tired to deal with any of this bullshit.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. I’ll just get ready for bed and then I can lay down and think about the woman who actually shows up for me and my boys—and try to imagine she doesn’t do it purely out of the goodness of her heart, and that she enjoys spending time with me as much as I do her.

He can hear Brittany talking on the kitchen phone, prattling on to her friend about how her awful husband cruelly abandoned her at their son’s holiday concert. Looking over at the empty half of the bed, he pictures you sleeping there. His arms would wrap around you as you whisper about how proud you are of Ryan or relay a funny tidbit from Luke. Eddie would kiss your forehead as you drift off to sleep, reveling in your beauty even as you slumber. His own eyelids soon grow heavy with the day’s physical and emotional exhaustion. Before he falls asleep, he manages to eke out a wish to dream of you tonight.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #AYW #AYWS #dad!eddie

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seths-rogens · 9 months

Text

cardboard houses, cardboard hearts | M | 1.9k | ao3

should’ve been finishing my infidelity au, but instead the cardboard joe cutout i was given inspired me to crank this out in one sitting,, anyway, please enjoy :)

—————

Eddie often thanks God that he took the leap and moved to Indianapolis after he finally graduated high school. Not that he really believes in God. Just… figure of speech and all. Though, maybe he’d believe in God if they were a metalhead with tatties and an eyebrow piercing, but he thinks that might ruin their image honestly.

He’s getting off topic.

Eddie often thanks God for Indy in moments like these. Moments where he has a fucking beautiful man pinned to his own front door, strong, thick fingers tangling in his hair as Eddie desperately tries to fit his key into the lock. He shoves his thigh between Pretty Man’s legs - he didn’t catch his name - and presses upwards. Pretty Man whines, grinding down and making it all that more difficult to unlock the goddamn door.

“Hold on, Sweetheart. I just gotta-“ Eddie bites back a groan as Pretty Man kisses down his neck, sucking a bruise over his pulse as the key finally slips into the lock. Chrissy’s never gonna let him live the marks down.

He’s surprised he picked anyone up tonight at all. He’d gone to a concert alone for once, as Chrissy was staying at her new girlfriend’s place, and Gareth and Jeff weren’t the biggest fans of his guilty pleasure artist ‘King S’.

And honestly? In any other world. Eddie wouldn’t be either.

King S isn’t his usual style. Where Eddie usually loves a hard drumline, thrashing guitars and lyrics you can only scream, King S is all soft melodies and crooning vocals set to slow drum beats.

He’d stumbled upon him completely by accident, honestly. It’d been a slow day at the record store Eddie manages. He’d been there for nearly five hours and so far he’d only served maybe three customers - and two of those customers were an old couple shopping for their granddaughter. So he’d picked the first magazine he could reach off the stand by the counter, and flipped it open to a random page.

It’d been an interview with King S, who’d just released his first album at the time. He was talking about his inspiration for making music - his best friend and little brother who, he’s quoted as saying, ‘always ragged on him when he played his pop shit in the car’ - and the meaning behind his stage name - reclaiming an old high school nickname he’d been given after his brief stint as a bit of a mean girl, though now he promises he’s using it for good.

He’d flipped the page to find a double page spread of King S curled up in a bathtub. His eyes were squeezed shut through the lacy masquerade mask that was supposedly his staple (no one knew his real identity after all). His hair was messy and flying all over the place. He was…

He was naked. Or at least that’s how it seemed.

His arms and legs were bare, the black and white photo only emphasising the toned curves of the muscles in his arms and back and the dark hair covering those lush thighs.

Call him obvious but Eddie had been intrigued. He knew they’d received a new shipment of records that morning that weren’t supposed to be hitting the shelves until the next day, so he figured what the hell!

Ten minutes later, elbow deep in a shoddily painted green wooden crate, Eddie emerged victorious with King S’s debut album ‘Robins and Tadpoles’ in his hands.

The album cover was two people’s hands clasped together, matching ice cream cone tattoos on both wrists. There was a little dedication on the back. To R & D.

He took it out to the turntable on the shop floor and dropped the needle. When the soft music started, he was hesitant, but as the album moved on he quickly realised he was hooked.

He’d gone into the shop bright and early the next day - on his day off no less - and bought the album. Only slightly laughing at the look on Mike’s - part time Lit student, part time cashier, full time grump - face.

That had been two years ago, and Eddie had been solidly on the King S train since.

Sure, Gareth and Jeff - and Grant too when he was in town - would tease him about abandoning his people, about betraying the freaks and the weirdos, but really they supported his love for the artist, even if they didn’t quite get it.

So when King S announced a stop in Indy on his second album tour, the guys (and Chrissy) had banded together to get him tickets as an early 26th birthday present. Except when the day came, they were all busy, so he went by himself.

He didn’t mind really, was just happy to be there to appreciate the music. (And the man himself, Eddie has eyes, come on now.)

Elated and feeling just a little self fulfilled after the concert, Eddie had gone to his favourite queer/metal bar, Crash. He’s picked people up there before, sure, but they’ve all been metalheads, just like him, and as many of his friends have said in the past, he’s cursed to have the hots for the preppy jock types.

Usually, that’s not the type of guy he’d find in Crash. Tonight was different.

Eddie had been sat at the bar, thinking about King S’s arms beneath the crimson sweater he wore on stage, when a gorgeous man had stepped up beside him to buy a beer. The man was wearing a dark, charcoal coloured t-shirt under a light grey Members Only jacket, paired with light blue levi’s.

Eddie kinda felt his jaw hit the floor. Could this be the perfect end to the perfect night?

This brings us back to now. Eddie finally pushes the door open, swings Pretty Man around and pushes him back against it.

He drops his keys somewhere. It doesn’t matter. He’ll find them tomorrow.

They’re grinding fast against one another now, only their harsh, panting breaths filling the silence of Eddie’s apartment. Eddie slides his hand into Pretty Man’s hair, tugs on this side of too hard. Pretty Man moans, loud, almost echoing, and tilts his head to the side, baring his neck for Eddie to defile.

Eddie leans in, presses his lips to those two little moles, and—

“What the fuck?”

Eddie pulls back to look at Pretty Man’s face. He’s still, not looking at Eddie, instead staring with wide eyes into the open plan of Eddie’s living room.

Eddie follows his gaze and… Oh. Yeah. He forgot about that.

See the King S tickets hadn’t been Eddie’s only birthday gift. He knew this would come back to bite him in the ass, but his friends thought it was hilarious. Eddie thinks they’re assholes.

Because Pretty Man is staring at a life size cutout of King S, standing by the wall.

Eddie winces, pulls away. This guy might not look like a metalhead, but he was in a metal bar, there’s no way he listens to King S. He’s gotta come up with an explanation for this, and fast.

“Um, yeah… About that… would you believe me if I said I didn’t buy it?” He asks sheepishly, avoiding Pretty Man’s eyes.

“You’re a fan?” Pretty Man asks, except he sounds dejected, which Eddie thinks is weird. And actually? Fuck this guy. He’s allowed to like whatever he wants.

“Yeah, man. What’s wrong with that? Maybe it’s not for everyone but King S actually makes really good music.” He gets more than a little defensive, takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“No, no… that’s not what I meant.” Pretty Man raises his hands placatingly.

“Then what did you mean?”

Pretty Man sighs, rubs a hand over his face. “Don’t you recognise me?”

Eddie furrows his brow in confusion. “Do I like, know you or something?”

Pretty Man raises his eyes to the ceiling like this is difficult. “Really? Nothing?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t…” Pretty man nods, sighs, and then walks past Eddie further into the apartment. “Hey, you can’t just—“

“How about now?” Pretty Man asks, stopping right next to the cardboard cut out.

Eddie flits his eyes between the man and the cut out, trying to understand what Pretty Man is getting at until he sighs again, pulls down the sleeve of his jacket to reveal…

A tattoo of an ice cream cone, and suddenly it all clicks.

Oh. Oh no. That’s… oh holy ever loving fuck.

“Holy shit!” Eddie exclaims, pointing frantically between Pretty Man and the cardboard. “You’re King S!”

“Yeah. It’s uh, Steve, actually.” Pretty Man, King S, Steve nods, seeming much more shy than he was ten minutes ago. He’s curled his arms around himself, trying to make himself shrink. Eddie feels bad.

“Did you think I was trying to sleep with you because you’re famous?”

“I mean, weren’t you?” Steve won’t meet his eye. Instead he’s staring around the room, taking in all the little details of Eddie’s life.

Eddie takes a step towards him. “No, man. I just thought you were pretty, that’s all.”

“You really didn’t know who I was?” Though he still looks unsure, Steve finally meets his eye.

Eddie shakes his head, coming to a stop in front of Steve. “I didn’t even buy that thing, dude. My friends thought it would be funny because you’re like, the only non-metal artist I listen to.”

Steve smiles at that. He really is so pretty, Eddie can’t help but think. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, man. Heard your first album right after it came out and I was hooked!” Eddie laughs softly. “I used to be a little bit narrow minded when it came to music, but I heard yours and it’s like the world of music blasted wide open.”

A pretty pink blush spreads its way across Steve’s cheeks. “Oh, uh… That’s really cool. I’m glad you like it.”

“I was at your show tonight, actually.”

“You were?”

“Yeah!” He shrugs. “I used to play in a band in high school, we were never very good but I liked to think I had good stage presence, right?” Steve nods and Eddie grins, leaning in a little. “I was nothing compared to you. It was fucking electric, I felt like my skin was buzzing.”

Steve’s smile seems to grow even wider. He sways forward into Eddie’s space, almost unconsciously. “This might be crazy, but do you wanna start over? Forgo the one night stand and just, I don’t know, get coffee or something? I know this cute little 24 hour place, Victoria Street, it’s only a couple blocks away.”

Eddie narrows his eyes a little. “Stevie… barely anyone knows Victoria Street. Are you, dare I say it… local?”

Steve’s cheeks darken even further. “Maybe.”

Eddie laughs. “Then, I’d love to start over. I wanna get to know you as Steve, not King S.”

Steve slips his hand into Eddie’s, tugs him

back towards the door. “God, how much do you know..?”

“I may have read a couple interviews.”

Steve groans, embarrassed, as the door clicks shut behind them.

Then, a few moments later. “Shit! My keys!”

The date goes well. As does the second, and the third, and so on, and so on. They’re officially exclusive by date 7.

Steve meets Chrissy and the boys on date 20. Eddie meets Dustin and Robin, right before date 45.

On date 94, Steve presents his third album to Eddie. There’s a different dedication on the back cover this time.

To E, my love.

——————

taglist: @judasofsuburbia @gothbat99 @cheatghost @flowercrowngods @fastcardotmp3 @simplebtromance @gonzofromspace

lemme know if u wanna be added to a permanent taglist for anything i do in the future, i’m thinkin’ that might be funky :)

#zee writes #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #the adventures of cardboard joe #<— starting that tag just in case 👀

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deliciousbasementtrash · 6 months

Text

Playing Nurse for the Batfam

From Batman Wayne Family Adventures on Webtoon. Artist Inker Starbite

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. Batman has offered you a job. You are now a nurse for the entire Batfamily. Jason patches you up.

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x Female!reader

Warning: Adult language, angst, mention of a gunshot

Word Count: 1.3k (sorry it's a bit shorter today)

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it

Masterlist

Part Six: The Patch Up

Tentatively, I gave Jason my burned hands. They dwarfed in comparison to his. I watched Jason’s face as he assessed me. His dark brows were pinched with concentration; his jaw was clenched tight. I noticed his forehead was spackled with sweat, and his cheeks looked flushed. Concern flashed in my mind, as I closed my eyes and did my own assessment of him.

My power fell over me like a blanket, covering me with the essence of Jason. I searched around trying to find the cause of his disheveled state. There, flashing bright, was a gunshot wound to his stomach. My eyes flew open.

“Jason, why the hell did you not say anything? You have a fucking gunshot wound!” I yelled at him, as I slowly healed him. I saw spots float in the edges of my vision and felt bile rise in my throat. Quickly, I blinked and swallowed trying to regain composure. After healing Tim, Dick, and Bruce using my power felt more like drudging through mud rather than gliding on ice.

I felt Jason’s grip on my wrist tighten, “Don’t you dare try to heal me. I don’t want it.” Contraindicating his harsh tone, he lightly cleaned my hands and began wrapping them meticulously.

“What do you mean you don’t want it? You need it.” Anger flashed inside me. His tone might have been harsh, but mine was final. There was no arguing with me. Not over this.

Jason must have felt the signifying cue of pins and needles, “Dammit, y/n! I said I don’t want it! Not when you’re like this!”

Annoyance, sharp and hot stabbed through me, “Jason, I’m fine. I’ve dealt with worse before, and I deal with worse in the future. But you need to have that healed.” The argument was futile. I was done healing him by the time the words left my mouth.

I felt Jason tense when he realized what I had done. His eyes burned with anger. I tried my best to keep eye contact with him. Not wanting to back down. But my body betrayed me and began to sway.

Jason’s hands steadied me and I heard him swear under his breath, “Dick get me a protein bar.” Once again it was a demand.

“Were you raised in a barn? Saying fucking please, dickwad,” I said, unsteadily.

Jason held up the protein bar, “I don’t want another word out of you. Eat it.”

Out of spite, I kept my mouth shut tight.

“You either eat this willingly or I shove it down your throat,” Jason practically growled.

Succumbing to my body’s needs I ate the damn protein bar. Despite not wanting to follow Jason’s commands I needed food, water, and sleep. When I finished the protein bar I held the empty wrapper up for him to see. “There are you happy?”

“Not in the slightest,” he grumbled.

I barely refrained from rolling my eyes, slowly I got up. “Well while you are sulking in the corner I am going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Try not to pass out on your way up there,” Jason yelled behind me. I was already in the elevator.

“Try not to get shot again,” I shuck my tongue out just before the doors closed. I could have sworn I saw Jason smirk at that.

***********************************************************************************************

That night I could barely sleep. I tossed and turned, my mind racing. Just as I was finally drifting off to sleep a scream cut through the air. In a matter of seconds, I threw my blankets off and ran out of my room. I looked frantically around trying to determine where the scream came from. A few whimpers sounded and I realized it came from the room neighboring my own. Without a second thought, I opened the door.

The room was dark save for one lamp that remained on, giving the room a slight glow. The room was clean with miscellaneous books and knives scattered about. Toward the back of the room, pressed up against two walls, as if hiding, was a bed. A bed with a man thrashing around like a fish out of water. He was gasping for air, and crying out.

“Please, stop! Please! Please!” Jason cried and begged. Something inside me cracked, as I ran forward.

I knew I probably shouldn’t have abruptly woken him up, but I couldn’t stand the fear and heartbreak in his voice.

“Jason,” I said gently, but loud enough to wake him up. He thrashed more. “Jason, wake up, please,” I begged him.

It wasn’t working, slowly I put my hand on his shoulder, and as if I struck him with lightning he abruptly shot up in bed. His hands wrapped around my throat. Instantly, I couldn’t breathe. His grip was a steal that I could not break.

“Jason!” I croaked out. His eyes were unseeing, somewhere far away. “Jason!” I tried again. Not wanting to hurt him, but needing him to get off I started lightly slapping his face. I saw him blink and shake his head as if clearing cobwebs. I saw the moment he realized it was me. He released me instantly and pushed himself to the far edge of his bed. Putting the most distance between us as he could.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” He yelled at me, his eyes crazed as he looked at my neck.

“I’m sorry! I heard screaming. I just wanted to help–”

A dark bitter laugh escaped him, “Of course, you just wanted to help. That’s how you justify everything, isn’t it? Get the fuck out of my room.” I got whiplash from the words leaving his lips. They paralyzed me for a moment. “I said get out!” Jason yelled.

Waking me from my trance I ran out of the room. My heart pounding. Tears threatened to spill. I couldn’t get his words out of my head.

Of course, you just wanted to help. That’s how you justify everything.

Have I become manipulative like my father? Using my righteousness as a shield thinking I’m better than him? When all along I was just the same. A cruel person using others to make myself feel better. Was that the root of my motivation? I didn’t know. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

As if the universe heard my thoughts, a text popped up on my phone from a number I did not have saved.

[Have lunch with me today. Your mother’s favorite spot. 12:30. Don’t be late.]

A cold bitter laugh left me. Today was going to be a fucking shit show.

**************************************************************************************************

Jason ran a hand through his hair, over and over. Ever since he came back he had the same dream every night. Every night he relived the Joker beating him. Every night he felt the pain of coming back to life. Maybe that’s why it is so hard to forgive Bruce. To Bruce it’s linear, something that happened in the past. To Jason, it happened in the past but is also happening right now.

Jason was used to the nightmares. The whole house was. At first they all came and comforted him. But each time Jason snapped. He said something that cut too deep. And eventually, the people stopped coming to comfort him. It was a blessing and a curse. Jason wasn’t sure if he was happy or sad they stopped coming. He didn’t want to hurt them, but he didn’t want to be scared and alone. But he never thought… he never thought that she would try and comfort him.

Jason’s heart raced as he clutched his head in his hands. He had strangled her. What if he hadn’t woken up? What if he broke her neck? She needs to stay away from him. She is too good. Too pure of heart. If she was around him; his black decaying heart would make her own start to rot. He couldn’t handle that. He couldn’t hurt her again.

No. Jason would have to push y/n away. That was the only answer.

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meshlasolus · 6 months

Text

Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me

Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader

A/n: Listen… I don’t have any excuse for ditching my other three active series except for tiktok made me do it… That, and the CLM series by @macfrog has ascended me to a new level of crazy and I just needed an outlet for it somewhere. Another shoutout to @theatrelove3000 who keeps putting up with my dbf joel shenanigans, they are indeed insane.

Warnings: girl this whole concept should be a warning but anyways… age gap, some fluff, light smut, uncomfortable situations with readers father… probably some editing mistakes bc ya girl is tired ok its 2am

Please be kind to this chapter, I actually like it, despite the horrors.

Decided on the song ‘Mary On A Cross‘ by Ghost for this one bc it fits ig.

MASTERLIST

Age gap is approximately 15 years or so, reader is over 21 and joel is about 37

"I think I'd probably only slow'ya down," you chuckled, looking to Sarah who seemed to read the displeasure off your face from your dad's offer. "I'm studyin' to be an archeologist, dad. I don't know nothin' about framin' and all that house buildin'..."

Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.

"You could work on interior stuff with me."

It had been almost three days.

You looked out the window to the front of your house repeatedly to try and remember it clearly. The drive home, the kiss, and how abruptly it ended with a promise to see each other around. You thought about it so often you almost wondered if it happened the way you perceived it, if any details had been skewed in your mind simply because you wanted to keep it there, fresh, untouched. Maybe he thought of it differently... but maybe he didn't.

"Did you bring home the stuff I asked ya?" Your dad came into the kitchen with a smile, embracing you with a side hug and turning to help you unpack the groceries.

"Course' I did, Pa," you handed him the bag with the six-pack of bud and the other one full of snacks.

It was the first Rangers game night, and as per tradition, that meant the company of the next-door neighbors. It had been a while since you'd been around to enjoy it, but now that you were back, there were quite a few more reasons why you were on edge to now participate. It would look weird if you came up with an excuse not to be there, and you knew that. You also knrw that you'd gotten into a rather complicated entanglement with your father's closest friend, and weren't sure what the outcome really was.

Had that driveway light not spooked you both apart, and had that little black stray cat not made an appearance, how far would it have gone? Things were pretty heated, but even still. Would he have said something? Maybe along the lines of 'I've known you since you were sixteen, and this isn't appropriate at all.'

You didn't have time to think about it, you were set to work on helping your dad cook dinner for the soon-arriving neighbors. Dinner and a baseball game, once a relaxing and enjoyable time to bond with your dad, now turned into an anxiety fest where you were convinced you'd have to walk on pins and needles around every topic.

"So," your dad piped up from his silence at the stove, stirring the pot of chili he'd been prepping. "Joel told me he gave you a ride 'few nights back."

You knew it was harmless, and that he wasn't asking for any reason, other than that he was probably curious. You hadn't seen Joel in a while, not since two Christmases ago. Your dad had driven up to Dallas to spend both Thanksgiving and Christmas with you last year, and you didn't come home for summer break given an internship opportunity. You must have seemed different to the man in some way. All grown up.

"Yeah, gave me a ride n' saved me at the bar," you chuckled, trying to seem playful and unsuspicious about the encounter.

He seemed to be confused, his brows furrowed and a funny look on his face.

"Whad'ya mean he saved ya?" he of course was continuing to speak all the while dumping his favorite spices into the pot of chili, looking across here and now to keep engaged.

"Just scared off some weirdo who couldn't take no for an answer," you let a sweet and genuine smile fall across your features, but didn't let it get out of hand. Your relationship with your father was airtight, and he could read you pretty damn well. You weren't going to give anything away, not with what was potentially on the line.

"Glad he was there," he replied with a chuckle, sending you a soft glance. "Never thought you'd have grown up so fast, now I gotta carry a shotgun whenever we go places. Fend off the wild beasts."

His jokes were only so funny now, because in this situation, you knew he wouldn't hesitate to shoot Joel if he found out what had happened. All in the nature of protecting you, but it made you sad to think of the situation that way. Joel wasn't just another weirdo following you around at a bar.

"It's only because I'm so pretty," you did your best to respond lightheartedly, making a quip that would soothe the silence. "And I believe that's yours and Mama's fault, givin' me the genes and what not."

You'd finished chopping a nice garden salad by the time the doorbell rang. You ran upstairs to change your shirt to the Jersey your dad bought you for your birthday, claiming it was good luck for the team. Truth be told, you didn't wanna be downstairs when Joel and Sarah got here.

Sarah was here, too. Her, you could easily handle. You were almost hoping that she would be in a rather talkative mood, that way the attention could be swayed to her inconspicuously. You doubted Joel would even try to talk to you, anyway.

"Lovebug, come on down, Millers are here!" Your dad shouted up, even though he saw you run upstairs right when the doorbell rang to change your shirt.

"I'm comin', hold on," you replied sassily while heading for the staircase.

You got to the bottom and had to take a breath before turning the corner into the entryway. Joel stood there with a sweet smile to you, and you tried your best to hold back the one you wore. It was too bright, too happy to see him. All despite your nerves.

You were quickly embraced by Sarah, whom you paid immediate attention to.

"My lordy, girl," you held up your hand by your shoulder to show the height difference, "last time I saw you, you must've been this tall."

"Dad tells me I'm growing like a weed," she tossed a finger over her shoulder to where he was standing, and you gave him a small glance and a smile.

"Us daughters do have a tendency to grow up," you laughed, slinging an arm around Sarah and pulling her along to the kitchen as your dad and Joel did the same behind you.

Why had you been so anxious? Joel is happy to see you. He makes causal conversation with your dad, but he catches your eye every chance he gets. His expression doesn't change, except for the tug of his lips in a smile that's barely there. Joel doesn't smile too often, except apparently when you and Sarah are around.

It doesn't take long for everyone to get situated with their food at the table, playful banter between Joel and your father filling the air as you made less rambunctious chatter with Sarah.

She's doing pretty well since last you saw her. She was always a bright girl, but as she grew it became more apparent that she would probably excel further than anyone in her graduating class. You were sitting across from a future valedictorian, you were sure.

You'd tried to ask her about her out of school interests before your dad interrupted with a question.

"How about you, lovebug?" He watched your eyes flick over to him with a turn of your head. He added context, given you hadn't been listening to them earlier. "Are you gonna look for a summer job?"

You really should, if you're being honest. There's not much work in your aspiring profession located here, but you weren't as lucrative as you used to be, given your educational expenses.

"I've thought about it," you tilted your head back and forth, and your dad seemed to need more from your answer. "I need to earn some cash before I get back to Dallas, but I'm not really sure where to apply."

Sarah seemed to know where this was going before you did. She'd been around the last time your dad was begging Joel to find some help for the contracting team they worked with. But surely your dad doesn't expect you to build houses, does he? Your dream job is to dig holes in the ground, not fill them in and put homes on top.

"We got some spaces to fill, you should come work with us 'few months. The pay's good and you don't have to stay on long, probably just till the end of July."

You gave him a look, and he instantly knew you weren't interested, but you figured you'd try and justify your reasoning. It was an argument either way.

Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.

"You could work on interior stuff with me."

Did he just-?

"S'not much more fun than what your dad's been doin,' but at least it's out of the sun, and easier to learn."

You were almost dumbfounded. Your dad offering you a job that potentially could give you heat stroke with your lack of experience seemed like the worst idea in the world... but working on interior projects? With Joel of all people? Well, that didn't sound so bad.

You didn't want your dad to catch on, of course. Being so protestant of his suggestion, but then falling right into it as soon as Joel was the one to offer would be a dead giveaway to some sort of favoritism to his best buddy. It simply wouldn't look right.

"What kinda interior stuff?"

He smirked. The motherfucker was smirking. He knew you'd changed your mind, but couldn't exactly just come out with it. He understood, but it was still slightly amusing to him.

"Flooring, cabinets, countertops... 's things like that," he explained, knowing you really didn't care what all it entailed. He was still happy to play along. "S'not as fun as archeology, but it pays alright."

You nodded, acting as though you were turning the thoughts over in your head.

"Well, if you're sure I won't mess it up, I'd be happy to try it out," was your final response. You figured it left some leeway in case your father became suspicious, but gave a good enough answer to end the conversation on.

"That's my girl," your dad clapped a hand on your shoulder in excitement. Truth be told he would very much enjoy your presence on a work site. "I'll go ahead and call Eddie in the morning, let 'im know I found someone to replace Charlie for interiors."

It was said more to Joel, you figured, because you didn't really know who either of those people were. He'd nodded to your dad, taking a sip of his beer and then looking back to you. You smiled sweetly, nobody catching it but the one it was meant for.

"Game's gonna start soon," Joel spoke aloud, drawing everyone's eye to the clock over the stove.

Sarah cleared her throat before jumping in on the conversation.

"About that," she looked to her dad with the same puppy dog eyes she used to use against you. He was just as poor at saying no to her when she pulled those bad boys out. "Sammy texted me to ask if it's okay to stay over at her place tonight?"

Joel sighed. He knew that no matter the attempts he made for her to like baseball, it wasn't her thing. It was summer vacation, and he had no reason to say no, so he didn't.

"Is she coming to pick you up?" He began, fishing his keys out of his pocket to drive her if need be. The girl lived five minutes away, he'd be back only a few minutes after the game started, but he didn't really want to leave.

"I can ask her," she pulled her phone back out of her jeans, opened her screen, and checked her messages.

"No need, I can take you," your voice rang out, standing from the table and taking your bowl to the sink. It was a genuine offer, but it was also to get out of the house and process what just happened with the job situation.

Joel was the first one to stand up with you.

"You don't have to-"

"It's fine," you cut him off, leaving no room for discussion. It was lucky he liked you, otherwise, Joel Miller might have put up quite the argument for such a small dilemma. As was his way, of course. He huffed, but accepted he had been overruled.

"Thanks, then." It was mumbled, but there was gratitude in it.

"We gotta hop over to ours real quick and grab my stuff," Sarah told you, waiting for you to return from the kitchen before beginning to head out through the front door. You'd grabbed your keys off where they hung on the wall before going behind her.

"I'll be back soon," you called over your shoulder into the house, and got a chirped 'alright' reply from your dad.

You walked out passed your driveway, seeing the light flicker on as you both went passed the censor on the ground.

"Y'know, I didn't think you'd have caved so fast on that job thing." She had piped up once you were almost to her porch. You found it only slightly funny that she chose the exact topic which had been swirling in your mind since it happened.

"Not sure I really wanna do it, but your dad made it sound better than every time my dad's talked about it, guess he just convinced me," you chuckled, playing it off in a way that she absolutely was about to use against you.

"That's another thing," she turned to you as she backed into the house through the door, only turning once she was inside. "Since when are you friends with my dad?"

She said it in a joking tone, but having known a few things she didn't about interactions that occurred between you and her father, you felt constricted to answer seriously. Probably with a lie if need be.

"I've always gotten along with your dad," you gave her a confused look, accompanied after by a playful smile.

She grabbed her backpack and opened it, checking to make sure she'd taken all the school stuff out before starting to shove things in, her charger, headphones, etc.

"Yeah but... you're just all young and cool and stuff," she shrugged, turning around to walk towards the staircase. "My dad is all old and boring and only talks about baseball."

"Thirty-seven isn't old, babe. My dad is two years from fifty, and I don't even think he's old, yet. Boring? Maybe..." you reasoned, hearing her laugh before she sprinted up the stairs, giving you time to think of some answers before she asked any more questions. Had she really caught onto you that fast? You didn't think you'd acted noticeably. If Sarah was able to see it, then maybe your dad did, too. You needed to be more careful, in that case.

Sarah returned a few minutes later, her backpack now stuffed and her pillow under her arm. You nodded out the door and headed back to your driveway to open the door for her, seeing as though her hands were full.

The drive after Sarah had been dropped off felt so much longer. Maybe it was just your thoughts, or maybe you consciously drove slower to avoid getting home too quickly. Your dad was waiting, but above that, Joel was there, too. Probably sitting back on the leather couch, relaxing with his feet kicked out on the floor. He usually leaned onto the armrest with his elbow, and held his face against the hand it supported. You'd noticed it years ago. He only ever spoke up when your dad did, usually in reply to him.

He was content simply watching the game in the presence of a friend. It was endearing.

When you pulled into the driveway, you had come up with an excuse to not remain downstairs for the duration of the game. It was too risky, and you weren't apparently as good with self-control as you'd thought you were.

You went inside and hung up your keys on the hook, immediately passing the living room on the way to the stairs.

"Hey, lovebug, you missed the top of the first," your dad called. He knew you liked baseball, so if you were to lie and say you didn't want to watch, he'd know something was up.

"Y'know, pa, I think I'm just gonna watch it upstairs, I forgot I still got some stuff to unpack," you peaked your head into the room to respond, and saw that Joel, just as you had pictured, was sitting in his most usual position on the couch, feet out on the floor, arm up with a hand holding the side of his face.

"Can't you do it later?" Your dad pleaded, but you knew, seeing as how your father occupied the recliner, you would have no where else to sit but on the floor or next to Joel. You didn't trust yourself with that.

"I could, but I might fall asleep if I wait too long."

He sighed, throwing an arm in your direction and shooing you away. He wasn't annoyed, but he'd admit he missed watching these games with you. It had been like a tradition, but if Sarah wasn't here either, he wasn't gonna make you stick around.

"Sure you don't wanna stick around? We could use your lucky jersey down here," Joel piped up, lifting his face from his hand and giving you a pair of soft eyes. That was exactly the reason you would not be staying. He didn't even realize how much he affected you, but you'd make sure he did at some point. Maybe you could just tease him a little.

"You're right, it would be a shame to take the lucky jersey with me."

You walked behind your dad's chair, out of his sight, and tauntingly stripped the jersey over your head, revealing the tight black tank top beneath it, just like that night at the bar. Joel's jaw clenched and his eyes turned darker, even under the bright light of the flatscreen in the living room. You never took your eyes away from his as you slung him the jersey.

"Hey pa, can I get you anything from the kitchen before I go upstairs?" You leaned over the back of his recliner, looking at him upside down. He chuckled and shook his head, trying to move your hair from obstructing his vision.

"We're all good, lovebug," he spoke in addition to his physical response, his laughter dying down as you stood back up. "Come on down if you change your mind."

"I'll probably be down later," you spewed a half-lie. You weren't sure if you would be or not, especially if Joel was still lurking in the living room.

You gave those brown eyes one last look before heading straight upstairs.

You grabbed your remote and flicked on the TV. It was already on the right channel, so you tossed the remote aside onto your bed and flopped back into it. You didn’t actually have anything left to unpack, but they would never have known.

Your phone buzzed beside you, and you lifted the screen to your face to see a text from an unsaved number:

Missin you down here…

You’d never put Joel in your contacts, because in highschool, your friends thought it was weird to even text or call him regularly, but you had his number for years, always just as a backup. You’d known it by heart, now, and nearly had it memorized back then, too, for the times you needed his help.

I’d come back if there was an open seat.

A bit sassy of a response, maybe, but you were hoping he’d understand the hidden meaning behind it… Although, Joel didn’t usually pick up on those things very easily.

Open seat right next to me

Yeah, that’s why I’m up here…

You huffed, realizing it wouldn’t be that easy. The three little dots indicating his next response was on the way slightly nerved you. Maybe he took the last text you sent the wrong way. You didn’t mean it to sound badly.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Means that I can’t keep my hands to myself.

You quickly rectified the situation, although you might have gone too far. He was taking far too long to answer, now. The little dots that before nerved you would now be your saving grace if it meant he would just fucking respond, already. You dropped the phone on your chest, raising up and down in a scattered rhythm while you wiped your hands over your face. Your phone vibrated over your shirt and you immediately opened it.

I can’t either. Stay up there.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. He was thinking the same things you were, and likely was under more stress for it, given he sat right across from your dad, responding to his comments about the game here and there. Your dad had no idea what was happening right under his nose.

Wasn’t thinking about leavin.

This little back and forth went on, the majority of the game, in fact. It was more-so about the plays then on, because you didn’t have anyone to talk to up here.

Joel thought it a bit funny, your dad would say something oddly specific about one of the players, and then you’d text him right after saying the exact same thing. You’d been a product of watching baseball with your old man for just about ever.

“I’m thinking about gettin’ some tickets over the summer for a game or two. They’re always cheaper in them group packages, you n’ Sarah should come along,” your dad was barely paying any attention to the words he spoke, but they came flowing out anyway, clear and cool. “Could be fun.”

Joel knew that there was only so much group interaction he could handle with you, and you with him. It stands to why you’re upstairs, an he’s down here, fist wrapped tightly around your lucky jersey. All out of your father’s sight, of course.

“It could be. Don’t think Sarah’s much for baseball anymore, though.”

He’d hoped that your dad would drop it. Halfway through his third beer, he hoped the man was a little more than tipsy, and maybe didn’t even mean the words he was saying.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t still tag along,” your dad was definitely still sober enough to keep it up, although the way he spoke became slower. Maybe he was getting sleepy.

“I’ll think about it.”

His response was followed by a hum, then a lull of silence that endured the rest of the game. He sat all the while and thought about his predicament a bit more.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was insane… like you’d leeched yourself to the inner workings of his mind and he wouldn’t be able to pull you off without hurting himself, too. You were just upstairs, and had been texting him. You were within his vicinity, and yet… so unreachable.

He’d wished for you to be down here, or for him to be up there with you. Obviously, that wouldn’t go too well with the man sitting next to him, but he’d be asleep soon. If he could just touch you again, just kiss you one more time, maybe his cravings would be satisfied and he could go about his days… but what would happen if he kept feeling the addictive urge to do more? What if he was never satiated enough to quit you?

The game was called, and you’d texted him a small ‘victory’ at seeing the Rangers had won.

It was wrong, and the presence of his friend beside him was a constant reminder that you were his kid, and he would have a final say. Even though you were an adult, he understood this was completely taboo, and you should be off with guys your own age... but he’s made up his mind about the thoughts spinning in his head.

He didn’t respond, though. Your dad stood up out of his chair, his arms stretching outwards with a loud yawn as he took a few steps forwards, clapping his hand down on Joel’s shoulder.

“I hate to kick you out…” your father joked, a low and tired chuckle under his words.

“It’s alright, I got some stuff to sort out anyway.”

They started making their way towards the door when light but fast footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs.

Joel turned quickly, a smile on his lips and in his eyes when he saw you trying to catch your breath after sprinting down here.

“Leavin’ already?”

They both laughed heartily. As if Joel hadn’t been here almost three hours, most of which you spent upstairs. Your heart was beating far too fast for your liking, but there didn’t seem to be a way to stop it. Now that you were present again, in the room with him, you didn’t know what else to do.

“Your dad’s half asleep as it is, if I stay any longer I’ll send ‘im into hibernation,” Joel’s response made you giggle softly, although you withheld most of the laughter, because in all honestly, it wasn’t that funny, and you needed to learn to control yourself.

“He’ll be over next week, we’ll talk about gettin’ you into that job.”

You nodded, turning back to Joel as your dad opened the front door. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t hug him, could you? That’s too much… maybe just wave, or maybe-

He held his hand out… for you to shake it. A hand-shake. Yeah, sure, fine.

You shook it, but he pulled you in half way, tapping your back once and then letting go.

He just bro hugged you. This man just-

He turned and did the same to your dad, giving you one last glimpse as he stepped out the door. Your dad closed it behind him and you were almost clean out of words to say. That had to have been the strangest interaction you’ve had.

“I’m beat, love-bug. I’m gonna head to bed,” he slung an arm around your neck and kissed the top of your head before turning and going down the hall to the stairs. “Don’t be up too late.”

“I won’t, just got a few things to do.”

You waited approximately ten more seconds before running to the garage door, going as quickly and as quietly as you could through to your front yard. Joel was still on his porch when you got out there, but was about to go inside.

You ran out to the sidewalk in font of his house and called out to him, all the while still barefoot.

“Hey Miller,” you crossed your arms, watching him turn around and lean in one direction. “Did you just bro-hug me? Or did I imagine that?”

He stepped closer to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams closest to him.

You slowly walked up to him, tilting your head to side as you observed his stance. he looked rather good. Hair tousled, body adorning a black t-shirt and some dark jeans. He was a sight, even in the dark light of the neighborhood.

“I reckon I oughta’ try again?”

"Seems like the fair thing to do."

“You’re takin’ your sweet time, baby,” he irked, grabbing gently under your elbow and pulling you up onto to porch once you were close enough.

You smiled to him, and wrapped your arms round his neck, over his broad shoulders. He pulled you close, tucking a head into your shoulder. The anxiousness you felt before fell apart, the rapid beating of your heart slowed, because you were comfortable. You felt immense peace in his arms like you’ve never felt before.

He backed away too soon, but still kept you relatively close to him.

“Was that better?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

There was a moment of silence, of contemplation, but it wasn’t stiff, and it wasn’t awkward. It was just there, a nice and pleasant quiet, and you standing still with Joel Miller on his porch.

“You wanna come inside a while?”

Sarah wasn’t home, and wouldn’t be till morning. Your dad was probably passed out in bed by now, leaving the opportunity completely open. You had nothing to lose, no risk to be had.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

He didn’t let you go, he just walked you both backwards until he was able to reach the door, reaching with one hand to open it before stepping slightly to the side to allow you entrance first.

“Ever the gentlemen,” you smiled, walking inside before he followed you in.

“Gotta make up for all that nonsense earlier,” he closed the door, taking your hand and walking to the kitchen. He pulled out a stool at his counter and let your hand fall to your side as he made his way to the fridge.

He pulled out two beers and uncapped them with the tool hanging on the side of his fridge. You think you remember your dad buying it for his birthday one year. You can remember sitting in this exact seat many times before, actually. Never alone, though. Never just you and Joel, and nobody else near.

He slid you one beer an you smiled at him in thanks, taking a sip.

“Last time you had one of these, I didn’t know if you liked it or not,” he gestured to his own bottle, drinking some and setting it down on the counter.

“I don’t know, I think it’s growing on me.”

He looked straight to you, leaning both hands on the edge of the counter. You leaned forward, mimicking his more stern face of features before he said anything else.

“I didn’t wanna say so with your dad around, but you look awful pretty tonight,” he spoke the compliment smoothly, but he had to drop his head after he said it. Seemed that giving you compliments alone in the night was something of a struggle for him, since he was blushing still even when he looked back to you.

“I seem to be feelin’ a lot prettier as of late whenever I’m around you. Think you’re just good for my self esteem,” you paused, leaning back onto the stool to take a drink of your beer. “That, or it's just nice to be complimented by a handsome guy like yourself.”

He didn’t seem to believe you. His scoff was loud and heard immediately after your compliment returned to him.

“You think I’m handsome?”

He’d always thought he was average. Maybe even slightly below. As he got older, that notion grew until he felt that maybe he was beyond trying for a woman on behalf of his looks. Perhaps there were women from time to time that would agree to a date, but there were none since Sarah’s mom who actually stuck around, not until you… but you were different as far as relationships go, because technically, you shouldn’t even be considering one with him.

“Absolutely, I do. Why wouldn’t I?” You were curious, because he was clearly attractive. Maybe you’d spent too much time around the more traditionally preferred young men in dallas, but something about Joel intrigued you that never did with anyone else. Maybe it was the forbidden aspect of what you two were doing, but before that, it was something else. He was rough and rugged, and good looking in a mature way that the boys your age couldn’t mimic if they tried. Those dark brown eyes with little crows feet at the edges every time he smiled were a dead give away to his age, but it was so appealing somehow.

“Don’t know. Guess I’m just old,” he spoke, trying to hide the insecurities that phrasing brought about. He was too old for you, he shouldn’t be sitting here with you you alone and calling you pretty, and yet…

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Too many boys my age are still very immature these days.” And it was very much true. Too young, too immature, and too stupid to see what’s in front of them and really appreciate it. Older men have a tendency to take care of the things they have, because they know that with time they can lose them.

“That so?”

“Mhm.”

“They don’t even realize what their missin’ out on, do they?”

You shook your head in reply. Nope. Not a single one of the younger guys you’ve dated has treated you with the care you know he could. He’s always treated you with care, before… why would that change now?

“They probably figure there’s a million girls linin’ up after me that they can take a shot at,” you raised your eyebrows and drank some more. Maybe it was just a thought of some past experiences, but this beer was tasting better and better to you.

“I pity them,” he said nonchalantly, without really thinking about it.

“Who, the girls? I mean, I kinda feel bad, but other times, I think we all know what we’re getting ourselves into n’ we just try to ignore the red flags.”

It was meant as a joke, but he was being genuinely serious.

“No, the guys. I pity ‘em.”

“Oh, do you?”

“I do,” he nodded, thinking of the right words to say. “They lost you, didn’t they? Biggest mistake of their lives and they didn’t even know. Pity ‘em just for that.”

You didn’t know what to say. You figured the wide smile you wore was doing a fine enough job, but he wasn’t looking like he had anything else to voice yet.

“You think I’m somethin’ special, Joel Miller?”

He set his bottle down on the counter and walked around it to stand right in front of your barstool. He took both your hands and pulled them to his chest, just holding them there and looking to you with the sweetest expression you’ve ever seen from him. He’s so different than what you remember in your earlier years. He used to be so stoic and serious. Sometimes even a little grumpy. Guess time changes things.

“I wouldn’t be gettin’ myself into sum’ this crazy if I thought anything else,” he mumbled it almost, but he definitely meant it. His words rang true in every aspect of the implications they made. This was crazy, it was very unlikely in the first place, but even still, it was happening. Neither of you backed down, neither of you said no.

“If it helps, I happen to think you’re pretty damn special, too.”

He didn’t respond, just leaned closer towards you, nudging his nose against yours, before letting your lips meet in a kiss. it washed rushed and hazy like the last time. It wasn’t forceful or fast or anything of that sort. It was gentle, and it was meaningful. All the years he’d known you, but never like this. You knew this attraction was new, but it was still real. You wondered how many women pined after him over the years, only for you to now gage his attention when clearly no one else did. The man’s been single since Sarah’s mom left, and otherwise, you didn’t know him to be much of a ‘dating around’ kinda guy. Standing here with him, now, you felt such excitement in knowing he’d pursue you, the off limits woman, over anyone else. It was a true victory, or at least you thought so, sitting on a stool in his kitchen while he kissed you softly, his thumbs going over the backs of your hands that still lingered in his.

When the kiss broke, you inhaled deeply, the scent of him so close to you, surrounding you. He was like a warm blanket you just pulled out of the dryer. He was comforting, and soft, and his skin was currently hot to the touch. You could only hope that you had something to do with that.

“Baby,” he breathed, hands letting go of yours and finding a new home at your waist. You left your hands on his chest, feeling his heart rate fluctuating. “Gotta know something before this goes any further…”

You hummed in response, still trying to even your breath intake. He backed away a few inches to be able to look you in the eyes correctly. He’d spent enough time with you in the past to know if you were telling the truth, and he was going to use it just this once to his advantage.

“What we’re doin’, you sure you’re okay with it?” He knew better than to jump into this without clarification. “Don’t want you feelin’ pressured if you’re not.”

“I want this,” you spoke softly, just loud enough that he could hear. “Promise.”

You had thought you’d been the instigator to this, if memory serves you correctly. Even still, you know now that whatever happens, he won’t take it somewhere you don’t want it to go. This show of good faith was something you could put trust in him over. He’s a good one, you always knew that.

And again his lips were on yours, differently this time. It was a bit more hasty and fervent like the first time, but there was still something different from then that you couldn’t quite decipher.

You absent-mindedly opened your legs and he instantly came between them, letting your bodies become flush with one another. His hands ran up and down your sides, every once and a while dipping to your hips and somewhere below on your thighs.

There was a heat between them that you didn’t realize was there until he came so close to touching it. He never actually did, though, and you were both endeared by and upset about it. He was the one making that heat spread, he can’t just leave it there… but he’s testing his limits, and you think it’s respectful that he is.

He doesn’t want to cross any lines… as if this entire entanglement has not already done that. This situation in every sense of the definition, has crossed the line. Him hugging you that tightly on his porch, him inviting you in after dark when it’s only you and him alone, having a beer with some very personal conversation, and now making out with you in his kitchen. They all crossed the line of what should happen between a man and his best friend’s daughter.

“Tell me to stop,” he mumbled against your mouth, almost as if reading your mind. His hand on your thigh drifted between your legs, just barely caressing the heated pool sitting there, waiting for him. It was still very reserved, and you had to buck against his hand for more friction, but at least it was something.

The taste of him somehow made it worse, the feeling growing inside you without an end in sight. The arousal was evident, but you weren’t sure he would be able to do anything about it, yet. You could tell it was weighing on his mind, what was okay for him to do, and what wasn’t. You would beg him if you had to, you just needed more.

He had an idea, one that could allow both of you to explore this dynamic easier, and one that could potentially keep him from overstepping like he was afraid to.

He removed his hands only for a minute, bringing yours up and over his shoulders before he settled his back down below your ass.

“Hold on,” he told you, lifting you from the seat and walking until he got to the living room. From there, he let the space guide him until the back of his knees hit the edge of the couch. He sat almost abruptly, and when you relaxed your weight onto him, you felt the stirring between his legs as well. You moaned into his mouth at the mere size and feeling of it, beginning to slowly grind down onto him. He encouraged your movements, and used his hands to guide your hips as you went, back and forth, getting into a rhythm.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, tearing himself away for a moment to expel his breath from his lungs at the new feeling. Your head fell against his, and suddenly it was the movement of your lower half taking you over.

He let his hands move over your body a bit more freely, now, but still careful not to make any harsh movements, or grab in places he felt he shouldn’t linger too long. He knew you wanted this, but something inside him questioned how comfortable you really felt… that was until you started doing the same, roaming his body with your delicate touch, making him feel like the most important man in the world. You could have sworn you marked the exact moment he snapped, rolling his hips upwards into yours shamelessly. It was so deliciously addicting, the feeling of his body pleasing yours, and vice versa. His rough and sturdy hands, though still gentle, ravished any part of you available to him.

The air between you was hot and thick, and you could swear that by breathing it in, you were drawing even more arousal into your body.

The motions kept going until there was a quickening of pace brought on by you both simultaneously. You couldn’t mark a distinction of when it increased, you just knew that the speed you were going wasn’t where you started. All you could think of was that your spend was fast approaching, and you wondered if his was, too.

“Gettin’ close,” you murmured, barely able to get the words out for the moans that slipped passed your lips. “M’gonna…”

He heard you, and understood. Truth be told, he’d started getting hard since that moment on the porch, so this was just nothing but sweet relief to him. He kept on, trying to meet you at your finish.

“Let go , baby.”

You had no qualms about being told twice when it came to him. You gave it up easily, the muscles in your body contracting when you felt the wash of utter ease through every inch of you. He tensed beneath you, but relaxed with a groan of relief right after, and you could feel his length twitch in his jeans.

You just dry-humped Joel Miller on his couch. Like a horny teenager. What the fuck.

The dawn of realization was cut short by his hand softly coercing the back of your neck, bring your lips back for him to claim as he did earlier. Soft, and gentle, no rush, no heat. Just that feeling between you both that started this mess.… and it was indeed a mess.

“You wanna stay over?”

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shiny-jr · 9 months

Text

how to steal a heart (I)

[ a dummy's guide on how to steal the heart of a poor pathetic man ]

- Warning: Yes, this is still a yandere thing. You have been warned. Female reader.

- Note: This has been an idea (heavily inspired by Howl's Moving Castle) I had in my docs since fall 2022. I was talking to a mutual about how writing on Tumblr vs Quotev feels very different. If I leave something unfinished on Quotev, I feel incredibly guilty which prevents me from posting new stories. However, on Tumblr, I don't feel as guilty. Not sure why. Anyways, I know most of my followers here don't care for my ocs, and I've been wanting to post this for so long. So instead of posting on Quotev, I'll post it on here just to get rid of the urge to share this story (might delete this later). This is the same story I posted that little screenshot of not too long ago, and that screenshot was basically just the prologue chapter. So yeah. Hope you enjoy?

IN WHICH THERE IS A SEAMSTRESS . . .

Black smoke concealed the window like a thick veil as the walls around her shook. It was a sure sign that the train was inching by. The screech from its whistle and clanking against the railroad tracks, so loud that it must’ve been heard over a mile away, only confirmed her guess. Her hands continued to cut smoothly through the linen fabric, separating enough to fulfill another order placed this morning. As the young woman worked to separate the colors and gather more material, the corner of her eyes caught sight of the smoke concealing her perfect view.

The train’s fading motion and clanging against the tracks was eventually replaced by chatter just outside her workshop. It all became background noise, as she began to utilize the sewing machine. Lines formed over the cloth, blending it and connecting so they formed an article of clothing. Needles, pins, and scissors cut and dug deep through the cloth. Buttons of all shapes and sizes were neatly organized in little boxes, so she could easily take what she needed. Time just seemed to fly as she worked so quietly and efficiently, oblivious to the hours ticking by. Any other noise fell on deaf ears, even as a knock resounded on the firm wooden door that happened to be wide open already.

A pause before the person tried again, knocking a little louder again. “(Y/n)?”

Snapping out of her efficient trance, the tailor snapped to attention and straightened her sitting posture. Gazing at the door and back the window where the sun was much lower than before, it took her a moment to figure out what exactly was going on and what time it was. It was later in the day, and the woman at the door was Dalena… Well, everyone called her Ma Dalena because she was a kind older lady who tended to see the young female tailors as her own children. At least, most of the tailors.

“We closed up five minutes ago. You can go now.” Ma Dalena gave an encouraging smile that displayed the dimples on her skin, showing signs of age evident by the wrinkles. Judging by her long dress and small woven handbag hanging from her wrist, it was probably safe to assume that she had evening plans. “Why not spend the rest of the day with us?”

Us. Correct she was again. As welcoming as the invitation was to join Ma Dalena and the other tailors, she wasn’t willing to join them anymore. Not after the first time when she dared to venture with them. After shifts, the tailors had a tradition of going out into town. Not that it was a bad thing. But they used their time cafe hopping, searching for flirtatious men to satisfy their need for affection. Oftentimes, they would get caught up with the pushy kind. And ever since some troops from the military have returned from their duties, well… encountering a bunch of men who hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in months, was not ideal. At least for her.

Taking her foot off the pedal to pause her work and silence the sewing machine, she pretended to consider the invitation before mustering a polite smile with a shake of her head. “Hm… It sounds nice. But I promised the client I would finish this so they can pick it up tomorrow. So I’ll stay, but have fun. Have another drink in my place, alright?”

Ma Dalena merely nodded in understanding, her polite smile turning somber as she turned on her two-inch heels and began walking to the front entrance. The chatter of the other tailors ready and eager for the rest of the day off, went quiet as she announced, “We’re leaving now. Hurry now if you’re coming!”

The chatter resumed, accompanied by the sound of more heels tapping quickly against the wooden floors in an effort for the straying members to catch up with the group. They complimented each other's outfits they spent days making by hand, discussing various fashion trends, gossiping about clients and others in town.

In a way, she did and she didn’t regret accepting the invitation. It may have been nice to have good company for once, but it never felt right when she was present within their clique. It was as if she were trying to forcefully add a puzzle piece to an already complete puzzle, which is why she stopped forcing it. She wouldn’t want to sit there awkwardly during tea, unsure what to say as they spoke so confidently and loudly. It felt as if she were an imposter, someone trying to disguise themselves to blend in. It was why she worked in a small separate room, away from everyone else. That, and because she was the fastest tailor there. Part of her wondered if Ma Dalena was beginning to dislike her since she turned down invitation after invitation. But how was she to explain what she was feeling, when it would only sound like whining?

Drowning out her thoughts with work to occupy the space in her mind, she pressed her foot against the pedal and began sewing once more. The loud hum of the machine filled her ears as it worked against the red cloth under her fingertips. This was the way it was supposed to be. Mindlessly spending her waking hours working at a craft she didn’t excel at, but was decent enough to earn wages in. All while wondering what could’ve been, and secretly hoping that maybe soon there is something that can be––

“Look! Look out there! It’s Reyes’ temple!”

“Reyes?!”

“Where? I don’t see it!”

“There! Over the hill!”

Now that was something you don’t see everyday. Everyone retreated back to the window, desperate to catch a glimpse, even Ma Dalena. Halting her work once again, (Y/n) too was the tiniest bit curious.

In truth, magicians failed to interest her, not that she had an opportunity to see them much anyways. But all those in Etére knew to be cautious of two particular magic wielders: La Bruja de Bruez, the Witch of Bruez, and Reyes Ladrón de Corazones, Reyes the Thief of Hearts. The pair were like the local boogeymen, tales of their horrendous deeds spreading and becoming bedtime stories for children in order to scare them into good behavior.

Ever since her youth, she heard stories of La Bruja de Bruez. It was said that she was a wicked woman who’s lived for over a hundred years. A slight against her is taken seriously, and she curses those she comes across. But she was no mere fairytale. The witch has been a thorn in the country’s side for a long time, as she terrorizes the towns she visits. There hasn’t been much action taken against her, because she’s so powerful that hardly anyone stands a chance and she’s so elusive. Besides, the royal family don’t particularly care if the witch curses a random citizen every month or so, as long as they don’t have to risk pawns in their own arsenal of magicians just to take her down.

Only a few years ago, a second magician with fearsome spells and a horrible reputation, appeared. Reyes Ladrón de Corazones, or more commonly known as Reyes, was another brujo many feared, although not as much as his counterpart from Bruez. There were rumors, yes, but they were more lighthearted with little evidence to ever back up the claims. While the Bruja de Bruez spared no one, it was said that Reyes chose to pursue only young beautiful women. If you asked around town, half of the population would consider him a threat, while the other half would giggle and whisper about his rumored good looks. Maybe that’s how he lured them in? With charms. Either way, he was a cause for concern. It was said that at a young age after abandoning his position as apprentice under the royal sorceress, the most powerful known magician, he not only challenged her but won and stripped her of her powers. Of course, no one can neither confirm nor deny it, as the king kept a tight lid on the situation and supposedly those who approach Reyes meet a terrible fate. But his abode was proof enough of his sheer strength. It was like a castle, a temple wandering on mechanical legs, rumored to not only be fueled by magic but also made of it.

Through the mist and low hanging clouds, just over the rolling hills on the horizon she could make out the distinct shape of a temple. A magnificent temple that appears so small from so far away. But she knew that it was a beast, a titan wandering the wilderness where very few dared to venture. It prowled around on its mechanical legs, spewing black smoke as the only trail it left behind. Reyes’ moving temple disappeared behind the clouds, seemingly vanishing from sight. Onlookers within the tailor shop could only awe and wonder aloud what the brujo was like, what was true and what was not, their minds creating horrible fears and outlandish fantasies that would take root as rumors.

Lowering her gaze back to her work, she resumed once more, but the rumors overpowered the hum of her machine until their words reached her. The other tailors proceeded back to the front entrance, marveling about what they just witnessed. Was he hiding from soldiers practicing their flights just outside the town? Did you hear that he literally steals the hearts of women, but only beautiful ones? Someone said that a pretty waitress on the other side of town had her own heart torn out and stolen by Reyes just last week!

The door was shut and she was alone, left with her work and the noise outside. Swiftly she worked, able to repair tears and wears with ease and create other things. Able to get lost in the work for much longer, until she felt the ground shake and the screech of another whistle. The afternoon train. It’s smoke covering her window once again. It was getting late already. Not wishing to waste the rest of the day by continuing work or go to bed with a book she had already read twice, she switched off the machine and organized all the tools back into their places. Brushing off all stray strings from her dress, she then rearranged her completed work thus far and prepared to have a different kind of day.

Today, she would try to make it a can be sort of day. Even if it meant just visiting a close friend like Lía at the bakery. Just putting out the effort to go out today was more than she was usually willing. Although wishing it would be something special, a proper can be day without even trying, was like wishing to be acknowledged by a person you admire but never once talked to, it was much like winging it on a test without studying and praying you would get a perfect score even though knowing that it’s almost near impossible. But it isn’t statistically completely impossible, so you cling to that thin shred of hope that’s as taut as a piece of string.

The whirring of small planes buzzed overhead, the flying machines brandishing their flags like the proud and numerous soldiers. On nearly every home and business, there was the flag hanging over the door, a symbol of patriotism and support of the war effort. (Y/n) quickly crossed the streets and reached the trolley station that would take her further into town. Right now there was not a soldier in sight, but that was sure to change the closer to the center of town she got. She only prayed that there wouldn’t be any trouble with them.

The trolleys were full, people all going towards the center of town, in the same direction the planes overhead flew towards. If she had to guess, most of the people within the trolley were likely friends or family of returning soldiers. All giddy from the victory high of a major battle just won.

While watching the scenery go by, she wondered how Lía was fairing.

It was because of Lía and her family that she now worked in a tailor shop. (Y/n)’s parents had met an unfortunate end while traveling outside the kingdom. They were doctors dedicated to a good cause, determined to stay in dangerous war torn lands to heal and treat the poorest of folks. While she was busy with school and often alone but checked on by family friends, her parents were saving people an ocean away in a faraway land where Milavi’s war had spread. They had been too close to Milavi claimed territory, likely mistaken for doctors healing rebels, and were thus punished for their good deeds. With no one left to turn to, her family’s closest friend, Señor Obregón, adopted (Y/n) and treated her as one of his own.

Señor Obregón was a quiet but respectable man that spent his time either working or with his family. He was the one that taught her how to sew, knit, and tailor, after she became curious of his skills. There were two other girls, Lía and Cova, a few years younger than (Y/n), which is why she became the oldest sibling. Lía was the beauty admired all throughout their childhood and still beloved to this day. She most resembled her mother, but she wasn’t half as vain. Cova was the youngest and somehow the smartest, as she was able to quickly grasp the concepts from lessons even in (Y/n)’s class, despite being a few grade levels apart. She mostly resembled her father and his own wits. Then there was her, (Y/n), who had… whatever was left. Of course she never held any resentment toward her sisters, since they were always well behaved but perhaps a bit annoying with their squabbles. Lastly, was Señora Obregón, Rosita, who she just called Tia Rosa for short, was never rude or dismissive to her. Tia Rosa was actually very outgoing and talkative, but she was the sort of woman that wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something from last season. She desired the finer things in life and settled for no less, which is probably why Señor Obregón ended up in an early grave due to working himself to death just to try and afford the luxuries his wife craved.

Immediately after the funeral, while they were still dressed head-to-toe in black and their eyes were puffy from crying, Rosita sat all three of her daughters for a conversation about the future. It would be impossible for her to keep them all in school, especially considering she hadn’t worked a day in her life. However, she wasn’t cruel enough to just toss her young girls out into the streets with nowhere to go. So, she devised a plan for each girl. Cova would be able to best utilize her smarts in a challenging field full of promise, which is why she was sent to a good witch in the next town over, to become an apprentice in magic. Lía was already very popular around town, she would thrive in a social environment like the bakery on main street where to this day men constantly asked for her hand. As for her, (Y/n), she would stay here in Obregón’s tailor shop, where Tia Rosa deemed was best fit. Afterall, she did know how to carry on the business, she had even helped their reputation grow substantially as more people came in every day and profits increased. Although, she hardly had the time to spend the earnings on herself, that’s what Tia Rosa was there for. Rather, never there for. She’d collect earnings from the business (Y/n) ran and would disappear for weeks or months at a time to another town or city. But that's besides the point…

By now, the trolley she was on was near the center of town that happened to be within blocks away, the streets became crowded with people walking on foot. On roads below bridges, there were lines of military tanks rolling by. Not much further in, the sidewalks were jam packed with hundreds, upon thousands, of people. Confetti rained down, banners and flags were strung from every corner and door. Every window was occupied as citizens cheered and waved at the parade of temporary victors, a show of military strength. Soldiers in their crisp uniforms marched in unified lines, cavalry on horseback carried large flags.

As the density of the crowds increased, and the volume of cheers and the parade along with it, she felt her heart beat louder. This was too much, it was too loud, she couldn’t even think…! But she had come this far, to go back home now when she was so close would be a little pathetic. Avoiding the commotion like a plague, she decided it best to take the maze of alleyways to calm her nerves. There were hardly any people on those backstreets, just the occasional stationed soldier. Focusing her gaze on the war propaganda posters on the brick and clay walls underneath window boxes filled with colorful flowers, she pretended to carefully study them as she increased her pace from a calm stroll to a quick speed walk, examining the items as if they were the most fascinating objects she ever saw. Really, she’d rather not make awkward eye contact with the soldiers on guard that watched her like a hawk, which is why she hurried along until they were out of sight.

Now that she was alone, with the crowds and their entertainment separated from her by walls of homes and businesses, she felt relief as the once loud sounds melted into background noise. For now she could concentrate on the address scribbled out on the folded piece of paper in her hands, and her anxiety could be replaced with confusion as she attempted to navigate these small hidden paths. This was only the second time she was on this path, since (Y/n) barely had time to ever go out due to work and her own incompetence. The first was on a holiday some weeks ago when the shop closed early, which granted her a few hours to venture on the main roads to the bakery where her friend worked. This was the second time, and she’s never taken the back roads, which was why she couldn’t tell left from right here.

Just in time, she looked up from her note to stop her feet from moving, as she came face-to-face with an obstacle. It wasn’t another dead end, this obstacle wore clothing and golden pins, and had a head that could easily look down from his height and see the top of her hat. Immediately she stiffened up and took a step back, hesitantly forcing her eyes to look up at the smiling soldier that casually leaned against the wall.

The young man only appeared amused as she jumped a step back in surprise. (Y/n) noticed that delighted sparkle in his eyes, as if her skittish self and startled reaction was his entertainment for the afternoon. Before she could open her mouth to mutter an apology and force her head down to continue ahead, the man leaned just a few inches closer to get a better look at her face hidden by the rim of her colorfully embroidered sun hat. “Huh, just like a mouse. Are you lost?”

A mouse… A skittish field mouse. Would that then make him a rat or a predator? Holding her tongue so not as to speak her mind, she merely shook her head. Offending a soldier would not be good. Not that she had the confidence to say the quick comeback that came to mind anyways. “No… I’m not lost.” That was a lie.

The young soldier persisted, refusing to move off the path as he continued to block her way. “You look lost. Say, what do you say to an invitation to tea? Afterwards, we can go over directions and escort you to where you’re heading.” Even his partner in patrol, an older gentleman, also a soldier but likely more experienced by at least a few years, moved from his post and approached in curiosity.

As the second man stepped closer, she could distinctly hear his polished shoes tapping in a steady rhythm as he stood beside his friend. Her own heart rate easily outpaced his steps, and it wasn’t increasing due to excitement, it was due to growing unease. Yes, she knew rationally that these soldiers likely meant no harm and merely wanted to flirt, but her mind could only conjure up the worst possible scenarios as she reminded herself that they outnumbered her, they were stronger, and they had their long firearms strapped to their backs. Keeping her head down, she replied, “Thank you, but no. I’m supposed to be meeting up with someone.”

Just like the first did, the second soldier bent down a bit to peer at her features. Just like his accomplice, he wore an amused smile as he shook his head and remarked. “A mouse? That’s not very nice. Don’t worry, you’re much better than a simple little mouse.”

Rolling his eyes, the younger soldier only continued, “If you’re old enough to drink, we can go to a bar if that’s more your style? Do you live around here?”

This was getting ridiculous. Did they never learn to accept rejection? No means no, even children could comprehend that. But for now, she was at their mercy, no one would come to help her here. It would be up to them to decide she was no use for any fun and let her go, or continue to persist for their selfish desires. “No. Please let me pass.”

Barely phased by her firm reply, the younger of the two turned to his partner and scoffed, “See? I told you the girls don’t like the beard you’re growing out. It scares them.”

It’s as if her plea went through one ear and out the other, not swaying them in even the slightest bit. The older gentleman merely rubbed the stubble on his chin, “It makes me look better. Besides, I’m sure she doesn’t mind. She might even prefer a man with facial hair.” Actually, the word gentleman did not describe him well.

In that moment she was wondering, would she truly risk it all just to snap back in reply? It must’ve felt so satisfying, but was it necessary? Later, would she come to regret her decision or revel in it? Would she seriously use this sprouting frustration, minimal not only compared to her current fears but also in the grand scheme of things, to temporarily push past her anxiety and say something…? Probably not. As annoying as these men were, like the constant buzz of a pestersome fly, they hadn’t caused any harm except to waste a bit of her precious free time.

“Ah, there you are, mi corazón. I was worried about you.” A smooth and silky voice interrupted.

#yandere #yandere guy #yandere story #yandere male #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere writing #yandere fic #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x y/n #yandere original character #how to steal a heart

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the-kr8tor · 8 months

Text

Pin my Heart

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Sexual innuendos, FLUFF.

*I don't consent to having my work translated/published on other platforms*

Main Masterlist

Thread the Needle Masterlist

PROLOGUE

Chapter 1 >>> Chapter 2

Shielding yourself from the harsh rain with your windbreaker, you bravely wade through it, with one objective - convince Hobie to be your partner and model for your final project. The entire day you've been thinking if he still owes you a favour that you can maybe cash in, and you've got the perfect one. You think at least, You never know with Hobie really. You'd think after more than ten years of being friends, you can get a read on him, but alas he's quite unpredictable, maybe that's why you like him so much, he still has a few surprises up his leather sleeves even after years of friendship.

The loud music coming from Hobie's and his roommates' garage acts as a beacon for you to follow through the downpour.

Entering the band's domain, you wave at them since they wouldn't even hear your greeting with the loud music they're playing. You watch Hobie do his guitar solo as you wrangle your wet windbreaker off you, used to the loud music, you watch his long fingers expertly play with the guitar. You catch yourself staring, so you turn around to hang your soaking windbreaker on an empty shelf, using this excuse to hide your flustered state.

Hobie finishes his solo and you turn back around, avoiding the knowing stares from his bandmates.

"There's our number one fan!" Hobie screams, his ears still ringing from the loud guitar riffs, adrenaline still rushing through him.

"Hey, everyone" you awkwardly greet.

"Hi, shy girl!" Hobie gives you a hug, knowing he's all sweaty from rocking out.

You try to avoid his hug by putting your arms towards him, "Hobie! You're all sweaty! Stop!"

"Look who's talking! You're also wet!"

"Yeah! from the rain, not sweat, asshole!" You try to push him off, but he's too strong, damn him and his strong arms.

He hugs you fully, putting all his weight on you, chin on top of your shoulder, his breath tickles the shell of your ear. "How's your day?" The ringing in his ears finally stops, and he can finally talk without screaming at you.

"It would've been good, if I didn't get Hobie sweat all over me" you huff, leaning away so that Hobie couldn't hear your heart beat quickening.

"Don't act like you don't like it, sweets" he winks at you, releasing you from his grip, but he keeps his hands on your shoulders, you're an arms length away from him. He stares at you, head tilted to the side.

Yuri, their new drummer pipes up, she clears her throat, getting both your attention from eachother. "I'm making Tea, y/n you want some?"

"Yes please, thanks Yuri" You smile at the raven haired sweetly.

They all pile out of the garage, as Hobie manually closes the gate. He reaches up to grab the handle to pull it down, his shirt rides up, you ogle at the exposed skin on his hip. For the second time that day you look away immediately, finding the discarded drum kit more interesting than Hobie's toned back.

The loud crash of the gate closing signals you to look back at Hobie. A chill runs through your body, you wrap your arms around your shivering form.

"Shit, you're gonna catch a cold, let's get you warm, yeah?" Hobie rubs your arms. He grabs your backpack from the floor, and then slings his precious guitar on his back. Hobie leads you inside the house.

The house seems to be much cleaner than the last time you visited, probably thanks to Yuri. The warm aromatic smell of the tea hits you like a truck, you sneeze at the sudden change of smell, or it might just be from the rain soaking you.

"Bless you!" Ned, the band's bassist, yells from the living room.

"Thanks Ned" You sniff.

"C'mon, let's get you dry, don't want you getting sick on me now" Hobie hugs your shoulder with his free arm.

"That was one time, Hobart" you glare at him. He snickers at your comment.

You two stand in front of his door covered in various punk band stickers. He leads you in by your shoulders, and sits you down on the bed.

"I like the new song" you say as Hobie plugs in the portable heater, then places it in front of your shivering form.

"Thanks, we've been working on it for a while" he grabs a towel from his drawer, while rummaging through it for a clean shirt, he tosses the towel on your head.

"Is this even clean?" You get a whiff of soap from the towel, answering your question.

"I'm not a barbarian" Hobie takes off his shirt, before you could ogle at him once more, instead you watch the light on the heater flicker. It's not the first time you've seen him shirtless, so why are you feeling so flustered right now? "What do you wanna do today? Can't go out though 'cause of the rain"

"Can I ask you for a favour?" You try to be blunt, so you could get it over with, wrapping yourself in the towel.

Hobie leans against the door, hands on his hips, he's now wearing a grunge long sleeved shirt that's too big on his shoulders, you see a peek of his skin from the various tears of the shirt.

"Ah, already cashing in the favour I asked you last night?" He raises his pierced brow.

"Yeahh? It's - I need your help" You look at Hobie, determination in your eyes.

"Are you in some kind of trouble? Knew you had it in you" he smirks.

"No, it's not that, I need your help for my final project"

Hobie remembers the tea waiting for you, "hold that thought" he leaves the room, you try to call him back in, but he continues towards the kitchen, you huff but you still follow closely behind. There goes the privacy of convincing him.

Yuri, Ned and their other band mate, James stop their conversation in the kitchen when they see you both walk in.

"Alright, what kind of project?" He questions your intentions, while preparing your tea, your preferred mixture practically ingrained in his mind.

You swallow your nerves, "It's nothing too big really, I - no, we need to create a look that encompasses us both, and for you to model it in front of my class?" The end of your sentence unintentionally sounded like a question.

Hobie stops from pouring milk on your tea, you can't see the growing smirk on his face. You snuggle the towel closer to you. His housemates sip their tea simultaneously.

Hobie stirs your drink wordlessly. He composes himself, turns back towards you, still stirring your drink dramatically. He looks like a Bond villain who can't wait to tell you his master plan.

"What's in it for me?" There it is. He sips your drink loudly, knowing that he's annoying you with the sound.

He doesn't even like milk in his tea, you thought, you bite your tongue from saying it out loud, you need to sweeten him up, so you try playing the nice card.

"What do you want?" Saying it through gritted teeth, trying to give him your best smile, you probably look like you're in pain though.

"Hmm, let me think" he taps the teaspoon against the mug, it clinks against the ceramic, he then brings it to his mouth with a loud slurp, releasing it with a pop. He's doing this on purpose, you cringe at the sound.

"How about I do your laundry for a month?" You negotiate.

"Nah, I can do my own laundry"

"I'll wash your motorbike every month for the rest of the year" you counter.

"Y'know I never let anyone else touch my baby"

His band mates' heads move from Hobie back to you, like they're watching a tennis match.

"Ok, um I'll buy you a new guitar then!" Gotcha you finally got him, hook, line and sinker.

Hobie hums at that "hmm, tempting, but no"

Frustrated at his lack of cooperation, "You know what fine, James," you turn towards his equally punk friend, "you wanna do it with me instead?" You should have worded that out better.

Hobie widens his eyes at the unintentional innuendo, he smiles at the opportunity, "Hey! No! I'm the only one you can do it with!"

His friends snicker, James looks at you with a slight blush on his cheeks.

"Maybe you can ask Yuri, She might be more of your type." Ned teases.

Yuri winks at you. They laugh, Hobie looks at you through his mug with a smile, watching your reaction.

"Guys, really? You're a child, Hobie" You cross your arms over your chest.

"Wait, I've got an idea" Yuri runs off to her room before you could question her.

You and Hobie stare at each other, while he drinks your tea.

"You're lactose intolerant, you're gonna shit yourself later" you grin at him.

"I have lactaid," he says matter-of-fact.

Yuri comes back and gives you a card. "Here"

"What's this? A business card?" You ask.

"Oi, are you actually trying to get a lawyer involved?"

"Yeah, a divorce lawyer, with how you both are acting like you're married" Yuri sarcastically says.

"It's a rewards card from starbucks?" You show Hobie.

Hobie comes closer to see, you both look at Yuri questioningly.

"Since Hobie here can't figure out what to ask of you in exchange for his cooperation with your thing," Yuri points to the both of you. "I figured you both need a rewards system. You poke out a hole in the card every time Hobie wants you to do something for him"

You look at the card with ten logos you can poke out, words printed neatly on top 'buy ten drinks and get a free one!' you look at the back - it expired a year ago.

"So he can ask for ten things then?"

"That's right, better than what you were suggesting, and you can keep track of it all," Yuri adds.

"Nah, I don't think this is better" Hobie declines.

"Do you have any better ideas, genius? Or do you want us to keep going back and forth" you shove the card in his free hand.

"Fine, say pretty please first, lovey" Hobie walks closer to you, the tips of your sock clad toes kisses his bare ones with how close you two have gotten. He looks down at you with a smile.

If you didn't like Hobie so much you would've asked James or any of his punk friends. Honestly you just want an excuse to spend more time with him. With how busy your schedule is, the same goes for Hobie, compared to when you were younger, you two barely hung out this year.

Hobie hopes this project of yours makes you two closer than ever, he also hopes when you finally graduate you get to finally hang out more, but it's a stretch.

You exhale, you look up at him through your eyelashes, "Pretty please, Hobie" you say sweetly. You don't break eye contact, you're not going down without a fight "with cherry on top?" You bat your lashes for added effect.

With how pretty you look up at him, Hobie's breath hitches in his throat, he tries to play it cool though, so he lightly shoves his mug on your chest, signaling his defeat.

You take the mug to your lips, and sip victoriously. You lean against the kitchen island.

"Does that mean I'm out of the picture then" James says, you all look at him unsure if he's joking or if he actually means it.

"Come off it, mate" Hobie shuts him down.

—

You're sweating bullets, wringing your fingers over the other, you wonder where in the world is Hobie? You sneak glances over your classmates and their chosen partners.

You see Flash next to a bombshell of a woman- all high heels, and manicured nails. Compared to his sporty style, he chose well. But judging from how the woman picks at her nails, and sighing every now and then, she definitely did not want to be there.

Your other classmates also chose well, the differences between their partners a stark contrast to each other.

Then there's you, sitting alone, without a partner. You busy yourself by sketching out a prototype of your project, instead of letting your thoughts freak you out.

The creaky doors open, like nails on a chalkboard. You stop in your tracks, head perking up at the sound, is it Hobie?

Your hope fades when your professor's heels echo around the room.

I'm gonna kill him, you internally curse.

Your professor looks around the room, her nose held up high. She opens her mouth to speak—

The door opens in a loud bang, the familiar leather boots strides in nonchalantly.

You would've sighed in relief, if not for Mrs. Williams glaring at Hobie.

"Sorry I'm late, teach" Hobie's hands are tucked inside his leather jacket, your professor's eyes narrow as she looks him up and down.

His eyes zeroes in your form. He smiles lopsidedly, Mrs. Williams follows his gaze, sizing you both up, she finds your pale blue cardigan a glaringly obvious difference to Hobie's leather jacket.

Noticing eyes on both of you, you give Hobie a shy smile, waving to get his ass over to your station.

The various metal on his clothes swing loudly, grabbing attention from everybody else who wasn't already looking your way. You cringe at the unwanted attention.

"Hey, love" Hobie gives his signature smirk.

"You're late!" You whisper-shout.

"Y'know how much I hate waking up early"

"It's half past eleven, Hobie"

"I'm here now aren't I?" He raises a pierced eyebrow.

You would've scolded him more if it weren't for your professor, glaring daggers in your direction.

"Looks like you all partnered up well" Mrs. Williams says plainly "ready your photographs" as she strides up to the nearest station.

"What photograph?" Hobie mimics your professor's cadence.

You elbow him to stop, just in case Mrs Williams has super hearing.

"This picture" you show him a polaroid tucked inside your sketchbook.

Hobie grabs it carefully, it shows you both two years ago, you're smiling widely right next to Hobie as he slings his arm around your neck with his guitar on his back. Hobie grins at the camera as sweat drips on his face.

He chuckles at the memory "I remember this, battle of the bands, right?"

"Yeah, your band won second place" you point at the silver trophy that Hobie's holding in the photograph.

"Should've won though" he slides the picture back to you.

"Aww, still salty, huh"

He leans on your side of the table, hand on his chin "we were robbed, lovey"

"Mmhm, sure" you tease him, even though he's right.

From your peripheral you see your professor looking in your direction.

You swallow down your anxiety, leg bumping up and down, feeling a firm hand on your thigh, you stop, looking at Hobie, a comforting smile on his lips, but all you can give him is a tight lipped smile.

He rubs comforting circles over your thigh, leaning slightly towards you to whisper "it'll be alright, it's just an introduction, you've got this" you would be flustered at the contact, but your nervousness triumphs over it. Hobie shakes your leg, taking his hand back when the professor stops on your station.

She takes one look at the both of you, eyes darting between your forms, she watches as Hobie places an arm behind your chair, smirking at the woman.

You can feel the bead of sweat falling on your forehead, hands shaking.

Mrs. Williams extends a lithe hand to you, asking for the picture on your table. You quickly hand it over, you don't want to make her wait, fumbling a bit, scared to give her a papercut.

She flips the picture to face her, you try to read her reaction, but her straight face makes it hard for you to understand her emotion.

"Good" she hands it over to you after a quick scan of the picture.

"Thank you?" You hold the picture like it's your most precious possession (it is) you can't believe that you actually impressed her, not knowing that the word 'good' is even in her vocabulary.

She moves to the next student, Hobie leans back in his chair, looking at you through his lashes "good? That's it?" He watches as you look at the picture with stars in your eyes, disbelief on your pretty face, Hobie thinks he's gonna have a lot of fun with you in this project, before you inevitably leave him for greener pastures.

He sighs, trying to dampen his thoughts, he's not ready for you to leave his side yet. You've been through thick and thin with him for more than ten years, it's hard for Hobie to think of you not by his side. He's proud of you, truly, but he can't help feeling that you're gonna leave him behind for someone better. He wants to savor every last second with you.

Hobie flicks your cheek, trying to get your attention.

"Ow, what?" You whisper-shout.

"What're you gonna do after this?"

"I don't have other classes today, I guess just go back to the dorms and design?"

"That's loser talk" he pokes your cheeks, what is up with him and your cheeks these days? "Come with me after this snooze fest"

"Where to?" You swat at his hand.

"Somewhere" Hobie shrugs, leather jacket squeaking when he moves.

"Last time you said that, I had to haul your band's equipment, while you lot were blacked out drunk"

"I wasn't blackout drunk" he mimics your voice on the last two words, "I wasn't even drinking that much"

"You introduced me to Ned, I've known him for five years, Hobs"

"So? A reintroduction doesn't hurt?" He tries to play it off, fixing the collar of your shirt.

"Just promise me it's not a pub, I don't want to take care of drunk you again"

He grabs his chest, feigning hurt "I thought you liked taking care of me?"

"I do" his heart sings, you slap your palm over his chest, Hobie's hoping you don't feel the thudding of his chest. "I just don't like getting your sick all over my new trainers"

He winces at the memory, but he bounces back immediately "yeah, but I can't help getting sick over you" Hobie casually flirts, hoping you finally get the hint, ten years isn't too late, right?

You roll your eyes, used to his flirting "stop, my classmates could hear"

"Let 'em" He leans back in his chair, mission failed, he'll get you next time.

Mrs. Williams clasps her hands, one look from her gets the entire room quiet, Hobie doesn't seem fazed though, staring directly in her eyes.

"We'll reconvene next week with your sketches and fabric samples, your partners included. Is that understood?"

A collective "yes ma'am" can be heard from her students, even some of the non-students say it. Hobie mockingly salutes in her direction, you're horrified, good thing she missed it though.

"Hobie!" You say through gritted teeth, grabbing his half raised arm.

"What? She didn't even see" he stands up, heavy boots thudding on the linoleum floors. "C'mon then" Hobie beats you to your backpack, waiting hand stretched towards you.

You hear shuffled feet, your classmates and their partners slowly file out of the room.

"Where are we going?" You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, he's being too nice.

"Told you, somewhere nice"

"Not a pub?"

"Not a bloody pub, it's too early anyway" he flexes his fingers, beckoning you over, "don't make me exercise my rights"

You chuckle "what?"

"The bloody card"

"You want to use one, for this?" You wave the rewards card after grabbing it from your pocket "must be some place important" you tease him.

"Yes, now give me the bloody thing" Hobie snatches it from your fingers, punching out the logo, you see it float down on the table. He hands it back to you, tucking it safely inside your pocket.

"Ooohh one down nine to go" you finally stand up.

"Let's go before they close" He slings his arm over your shoulders.

"Are we taking your bike?"

"Of course, I'm not letting you ride the tube, don't worry I brought your helmet"

"You're such a softie, y'know"

"Yeah, yeah" only for you, he wanted to add, maybe next time he gets to finally say it to you.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it, as always likes and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*pictures above are from pinterest*

#thread the needle #thread the needle chapter 1 #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #the kr8tor's creations #spider man across the spider verse #x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv x reader #atsv fanfic #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #fanfic

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artists-ally · 3 months

Note

Hi! I love your writing and I just wanted to ask if you could make a fic about Azriel and a chronically ill reader? I have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, and it can be really difficult sometimes. I’m currently in a flare-up and I would love to see what Azriel would be like if he had a partner with a chronic illness 🩵 please and thank you!

{The Fixer} Azriel x Reader

Hi my love!!! While I myself do not know what it's like to live with a chronic illness, my mom has chronic migraines and I was always the one taking care of her. I hope you enjoy and are taking as best care of yourself as you can through this flare-up my love <3 Title and story inspired by this song.

Word Count: 2,193

Warnings: struggles of chronic illness, headaches, vomiting, fluff

Tagging: @cyrygher @thelov3lybookworm @librafairy @blessthepizzaman @needylilgal022 @bubybubsters @harrystylesfan2686 @justdreamstars

Summary: Azriel notices. Even when you try to hide it from him. There is nothing he hates more than seeing you in pain, and it's his mission to make you feel as comfortable as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~

Whether it was the dots spreading across my vision or the ache set deep in every bone in my body, I knew I was off. Short of the normal dizziness and weakness I had, I felt like shit.

I rolled over in bed to find Az gone, and I sighed. Getting to the bathroom was going to be tough. Half an hour went by before I could fully open my eyes and not see the world spinning before.

The snow was blinding across Velaris, burning my eyes and making me jerk my neck too hard in the opposite direction. Much like my hips and ankles, the joints in my neck screamed for relief. Just a few steps away was the bathroom. If I could get there, to the cabinet above the sink I could get my-

My sweater pocket caught the post on the bed and I got yanked to the floor. Landing shoulders first, pins and needles raced up and down my left arm. Fingers numb. With more than a groan, I rolled off of it and found a new ache in… well, everywhere.

It took a long time to roll on my hands and knees, but I did it, and now I was on the cold tile. It did wonders for the radiating heat in my freshly injured palms, but it chilled it to the marrow of my bones.

As much as I wanted to, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand. The pounding of my head and the rolling of my stomach was enough to force me to sit against the wall opposite the toilet.

I pulled my head back and tried to breathe.

Those life changing blue pills that Madja gave me would be useless now. They could only prevent a flare-up if caught at the earliest signs. I’ve been able to catch the past few, but I wasn’t expecting this one.

Azriel was right when he told me to take it easy during training yesterday. All I wanted to do was prove to him that I could keep up. I knew I couldn't, and so did he, but that wasn’t the point. He shouldn’t just assume I can’t because I’m sick.

Yet here I am, paying for it on the bathroom floor.

I could feel the circulatory pattern of my pulse. A never ending cycle of pain. Starting in my head, down my neck and in my teeth. To my shoulder, numbness down my arm and tingling in my finger. The surge of agony in my hip, through my leg and in my knee. Gods my ankle, what did I do to my ankle?

A quick check under my sock and I could see the culprit. A huge bruise accompanied by an abundance of swelling. I must’ve kicked the post in the night again. Or it could’ve been from sparring, or our sprint up the stairs.

I gave up trying to keep tabs on all my possible reasons and focused on the fact that I was all alone in the House of Wind. Azriel, Cassian, and Nesta were all away in Illyria for the day to train a group of new recruits. Nuala and Cerridwen were here, but I always feel weird asking them for help.

I can make it to the evening. I’ll get up and I’ll take that pill, even if it will only decrease the length not the strength of this flare-up. Anything. I’ll do anything to get it over quicker so I’ll be back to normal.

On the count of three, I’ll get up. I’ll push with the strength I’ve built up from training with Az. I’ll push myself up and grab the pill and go back to bed.

One.

Two.

Three.

My arms do nothing but scream in pain, and my legs lose feeling. I go nowhere but back on my ass. I try again, after another count of three. Nothing. Holding my breath while doing it only makes the dizziness worse. And the nausea.

I drag myself over to the toilet and empty whatever is left in my stomach. It’s not much, and it burns on the way up. Tears fill my eyes and mucus fills my nose and throat. I know when pain and headaches get so bad you vomit, the episode is going to be particularly brutal.

My skin is damp and I start to shake. Water. I need water.

I flush and manage to make it on the toilet. I turn on the sink with some blind movement and I’m greeted with the lovely sound of water. I can’t lift my left arm any more and I think it might be out of socket. I can’t tell. Doesn’t matter. I scoop some water into my mouth, but most of it makes it down my shirt instead.

I let it run and run and run, letting the cool liquid calm my swimming head.

At some point I laid my head down and didn’t pick it back up. I stayed in this awful state of micro sleep, sometimes drifting off, sometimes thinking I’m dreaming but I’m just letting my mind wander. The bright morning sun turned into the dull brightness of the afternoon. I think.

My heart beat loudly in my ears. Then it would stop, and then it would start again. My pulse was taunting me. It must be. It sounded like Azriel’s wings which only made me miss him more. The memory of his scent blasted through me and the tears started.

I want him so bad. I need him.

“Shhh, it’s okay, just breathe, Yn.”

My eyes snapped open, and through a blurry mess of tears, Azriel kneeled in front of me. “W-What are you doing here?”

“The second you woke up I could feel your pain,” his thumb slid across my cheek. “I turned around when I realized why. You need help.”

I shook my head, or tried to. It just sorta rolled back and forth.

“Squeeze my fingers, Yn.” Azriel placed two of his digits in my palms and I squeezed as hard as I could. Not even the tips of his fingers turned red from the pressure. “Are you going to let me help you or are you going to be difficult?”

“I don't want to be difficult. I’m in so much pain.”

“I know, my shadow. I know.”

As gently as he could, he sat me up and carried me to the bed. He took off his armor somewhere along the way, the bony ridges of the scales not digging into me like they normally do. I was eternally grateful for the small detail he remembered.

Even our mattress hurt just as much as the floor.

“I need to take a look at you. Where are you hurting the most? Did you fall?”

I nodded deliriously, “My ankle’s a mess. And so is my shoulder. M’arms numb.”

As carefully as he could, he propped me against him and peaked around. I didn’t hear him make any gasps, but I could feel that pull on the bond that meant he didn’t like what he saw.

“How bad?”

“Bad enough for me to call Madja. She’s on her way. I told you to take it easy-”

“Don’t.”

Azriel completely disregarded whatever he was going to say next. “I’m sorry.”

“Just get me the pill, please,” I faulty gestured to the bathroom. He didn’t even move, but then a pill and a cup of water was pressed into my lips. Those shadows of his are so helpful.

“I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I just don’t like seeing you in pain. It makes me… it makes me wild.”

“I appreciate it, I do Az, but you can’t protect me from everything. And I don’t want you to. There's a reason why I wanted to train with you in the first place.”

“I know, but there's no need to exert yourself to this just to prove a point. I know how tough you are, Yn. You are the strongest, most resilient soul I’ve ever met. But making yourself like this in spite of me is something I never want you doing.”

I smiled, cheeks heating up as I leaned against his chest. His body radiated heat like a roaring fire, and I soaked up every morsel of it.

With enough pillows and heat packs, I was propped up against the headboard. Soon after, Madja and Nuala came in. I could smell the fresh bread and juice from across the room and my stomach growled.

“It’s cheese bread with a nice tomato and herb soup. Azriel requested the sweet tea just for you.”

I smiled up at him, my eyes suddenly heavy with love and adoration for my Shadowsinger.

I ate as Madja poked and prodded. Az held my hand and kissed the tears away when she had to reset my shoulder. By this point, my body was in so much pain that I couldn’t think of anything else. The healer was kind enough to give a sedative and an injection that did something.

“She’ll be asleep soon,” Madja said across the room to Azriel. “When she wakes, send for me again and I will bring one that doesn’t make her drowsy. Do not let her out of that bed unless she is in your arms, Shadowsinger.”

“Thank you, Madja.” And the door shut. Once again, the bed dipped and he trailed a gentle hand up my legs. “Just go to sleep, my shadow.”

“I hope you know that shot will do nothing, Az.”

“I thought they were working?” He asked, puzzled.

I shook my head, “I thought so too, but they’re not. There isn't anything you can do to ease the pain, Az. No amount of pills or injections or stimulation therapy will do the trick. I just have to wait it out.”

“So you rest until it passes,” Az climbed in beside me. “I will be here when you wake up.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” I hissed, frustrated tears spilling down my face. “I want to train and go to dinner and drink red wine and dance like the rest of you.”

I couldn't bear to look at him. Couldn’t bear to see the sadness in his eyes. After a long silent moment, he took a deep breath.

“It’s okay if you need rest. You’re not expected to work or thrive in the condition you’re in. I could tell last night you weren’t feeling good.”

That made me perk up. “How?”

“You get this hazy, far away look. That's how I know you’re in pain.” Azriel muttered, snuggling in close so I could latch on for warmth. “Let me take care of you. Don’t focus on anything other than healing and my warmth. I will be here when you wake up.”

I didn’t care to read into how much he read into me. My heart blazed with thoughts, all of him and those offhanded looks and questions he always asks. He is such an observer.

“I’m the spy for the Night Court, my shadow. Of course I’m observant. I notice everything about you. What makes you smile, what doesn’t. The foods and drinks that give you headaches and swelling. When your flare-ups are coming and when they’re finally withdrawing. I make it my mission to make sure you are as safe and comfortable as possible. I am sorry I wasn't there to help you this morning, love.”

“I felt fine last night, no need to say sorry.” I kissed his cheek, then he kissed my lips. “Thank you for turning around.”

“Cassian thought I had been shot with an arrow with how hard I dove down to the ground to turn around. I felt this rush of pain from you and I thought for a second it was my own. But don’t feel bad. I want to be here anyway. You’re much better than any of those awful camps.”

“I’m a lot better,” I smiled, nuzzling into his chest.

The glint in his voice was enough to make me swoon, “Yes, my shadow. Everything about you is better than those camps.”

-------

Through the rest of the day, Az laid with me, running hands through my hair, massaging my legs when they cramped up. He got me water, food and snacks. Kept the entertainment up when I was in too much pain to nap. All through the night, Azriel held me steady so I wouldn’t accidentally roll around.

Madja came in the morning with more useless injections, Nuala with a stack of chocolate chip pancakes and fresh bacon.

I made Az eat some because I didn’t see him steal a crumb earlier.

Later, he took me into the bath where he scrubbed my scalp, massaging my temples. I tried to do the same for his back and wings, but he refused to let me move. Just sat me in his lap, chest pressed against my back and let us soak for hours.

As we got out, he sat me on the bed while he gathered clothes for us. Per my request, he kept his shirt off and just through on a set of lounging sweats.

One foot at a time, he put me in the comfiest pair of pants I had. The fleece lined inside keeping out the cold. He put thick socks on my feet and found something to wrap around my top half so I didn't have to move my arm.

We laid back down, me tucked in his arms. I absently stroked the back of his scarred hand.

I was calm. The ache is still present, but ignorable with a few of his stories. I drifted to sleep, in the safest place in Prythian.

"Thank you, Az," I murmured, sleep evident now

He kissed me softly, "Anything for you, my shadow."

~~~~~~

#acotar #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel imagine #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader

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lunitawrites · 5 months

Text

Both Sides of the Moon - part one

pairing: biker!joel miller x fem!reader rating: explicit word count: 2.8k summary: After a troubled childhood you move back to your hometown. You are trying to avoid facing the dark past of your family, but you realize it will be harder than you thought when a mysterious stranger appears in town trying to take revenge. TWs: no-outbreak AU, age gap (reader mid-twenties, Joel is late forties), loss of parents, reference to sex work, reference to foster homes, guns, knife, alcohol consumption, cigarettes, Joel being violent towards reader, petnames, reader has hair long enough that it can be grabbed, otherwise no physical description, no use of y/n a/n: hey! so this is my first attempt at writing, I really hope some of you out there will like it. I am eternally grateful to @papipascalispunk who reviewed and edited my work. Thanks a million to @toxicanonymity and @hier--soir for their suggestions! Shoutout to the other Joel Millers on bikes: a minute from home by @agentmarcuspike, jailbird by @toxicanonymity and little mouse by @katiexpunk & @josephquinnswhore masterlist

You are fidgeting with your nametag in front of the mirror, trying to apply it to your uniform, but you must have bent the needle when you removed it last time because it won't stay up now.

“Don’t worry about it darlin’,” you hear Arlene shout from the kitchen, “It's a small town, everyone knows you by now.”

“I suppose they do,” you mumble and drop the pin to the dresser. She's always been nice to you, almost mothering you, since you started working together in the diner. You take one last look in the mirror, smoothing out your uniform and walking through the kitchen to start your 7 PM shift.

It's a slow start. The townsfolk don't start coming until the sun paints the sky purple and orange, until the dust strats to settle and the cicadas’ song fills up the night. Your shift begins at the bar; whiskey, beer, salted peanuts, a smile or two for better tips. The bar fills up with a subtle buzz, stench of alcohol and anticipation.

Later on in the evening, Sam asks you to wait tables instead. You usually prefer staying behind the bar, but it's Friday night, the dining area will get busy soon. Arlene will need the extra pair of hands taking the orders anyway, so you pick up your notepad and pen and head out to the floor.

You are always cautious out here, you have to be. The men are not violent, but they always try to take what they think they deserve. A brush of a knuckle on your thighs, eyes lingering on the swell of your breasts, an inappropriate comment disguised as a compliment, fingertips on the curve of your hips as they pass by. Sam, your boss, always makes sure that it’s not more, keeping an eye on you at all times from behind the bar. Sam is one of the few people who knows about your past, who knows that there were times when you were giving a lot more than a smile for some crinkled up bills, who knows that just a few months ago, your uniform was nothing more than a pair of thigh highs and your underwear.

—

You were six when your dad died, and you moved away with your mom right after. You stayed with her for another few months until they diagnosed her. She passed away before the next Christmas. By January, you were in your first foster home. After you got out from your last foster home with nothing more than a few pairs of clothes and the fifty dollar bill that you stole from your foster dad's wallet, you really didn’t see another option for survival.

It started at a gentlemen's club called Red Rose, just outside of Austin, all neon lights and kitsch, velvet and satin from a decade before. They gave you a room in the motel next to it, but only if you worked the after hours shift, so you agreed. You didn't know what after hours meant at the time, but you would have agreed to almost anything if it meant that you would spend the night in a bed and not somewhere outside.

The after hours, you learned quickly, meant selling your body to anyone who took interest in it during the opening hours of the club. So while you did spend your night in a bed, it was with a truck driver named Dylan, who paid you hundred dollars for an hour of you being a good girl, as he described. Forty of those dollars covered the motel bill and twenty went to the club manager for organizing the deal.

You spent six years working at Red Rose, eventually saving up enough money so you didn't have to stay at the motel. You rented a flat with black mold and sticky linoleum floors, sharing it with three of the other girls from the club. You were driving an old Chevy that one of the girls passed onto you after she moved up north. Six years of Dylans and Bobs and Johns and Joses and Miguels. Six years of sweat and spit and bruises and slaps and come, until you couldn't anymore.

You moved back to your hometown, although it was never really your home, and while you knew little about the circumstances of your father’s death, you were still afraid to come back, terrified to face the past. But as it turned out, you never had to, as if there was some silent agreement amongst the town that they never spoke of your family. No one gossipped, or if they did, they did so silently that it never reached your ears. They welcomed you into town as if you were a stranger.

You moved into your old family home at the edge of town. White paint chipped from wooden boards, almost two decades of dust and sorrow covering every inch. You slowly made it your own home, settling into the master bedroom that was once your parents’, but leaving every other room untouched. You have not dared to open the door of your old bedroom yet.

You still drove the old Chevy when you started working at Sam’s six nights a week, the only diner in town, serving the majority of the people who lived there.

—

It's Friday, which means a good crowd and better tips. Friday means an extra drink for everyone to celebrate yet another week survived in this dusty town in south Texas, just above the border. So you move among the tables with a smile so wide that your face starts to hurt.

It's almost eleven now and most of the tables are occupied; workers for their well-deserved after work drink, youngsters pregaming before driving up to Austin for a night out, some couples leaning over their drinks to be closer to one another, families finishing up their meals, greasy hands stopping you to order another basket of fries. The buzz is loud now, the air in the diner thick and heavy with alcohol and laughter. A usual Friday at Sam’s, until it isn’t.

The door squeaks open, heavy footsteps on the floor, broad shoulders in the doorframe. You really shouldn't be able to hear it over the sound of Friday in the diner, but you do. You lock eyes with deep amber, a pair of sad eyes, searching for a place to sit. Strong arms hidden under a black leather jacket, dark wash jeans, disheveled brown curls, almost halo-like, lit by the street lights behind him. The diner seems to catch up with you, surprised faces turning to the direction of the door, sentences left unfinished, whispers let out, cheeks turned red in surprise, Adam’s apples bobbing up and down. Is it? It can’t be. The sounds of Friday fun turn into whispers, and whispers turn to silence. Fear creeps up in your spine, something primal, something unexplainable.

He walks up to an empty table, heavy boots on sticky floor are the only sound now. The squeal of a chair, denim rubbing against the fake leather of the booth, fingers tapping on the tabletop, an impatient sigh. You move your feet from where they were rooted to the ground just a minute ago. Sweaty hands flipping paper on the notepad. You clear your throat before closing up the space between you and his table.

“What can I get you?”, your voice comes out raspy, almost scared. He looks up at you, a faint smile on his face, eyes not quite meeting yours. Instead, he looks at your lips, gaze burning on your skin, you press your lips together, as if you could hide them entirely. Your eyes flick over to the bar, searching for another pair of brown eyes, searching for comfort. But comfort is not what you find, Sam looks back at you with a wild gaze, almost panic in his eyes.

“Whiskey, neat,” the stranger says, now looking at his hands on the table.

“Coming right up!”, you answer with fake cheerfulness in your voice. Legs heavy as you move, “A whiskey, neat,” you say when you reach the bar, waiting for Sam to prepare the drink. You understand that the questions are not for now, the questions are for later. The people slowly turn their attention back to the drinks in front of them, conversations starting again. But still, the air stays as if it was frozen the minute the stranger came in, Friday never has been so quiet at Sam’s diner..

“There you go”, you say as you place the glass in front of him, voice heavy with the accent you thought you never had.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, not looking up at you this time.

Time feels slow, dragging on every minute, every second of the night. You cannot take being inside anymore. You feel like you are going to suffocate.

“I am going on my break,” you say quickly and don’t wait for anyone to acknowledge, just disappear through the kitchen.

The muggy evening air hugs your skin as you open the back door of the diner. Being outside is just as suffocating as being inside, but at least it's quieter. You take a cigarette out from the crumpled package in your apron, place it between your lips but don't light it just yet. You should quit. You exhale sharply and put the cigarette back. Istead, you lean your head back to the wall, looking up at the moon. She's in her full glory tonight, casting pale light to the dark forest in front of you.

You are not sure what happened inside. This man who you are sure you have never seen in your life just woke up something deep inside you. You feel like you are drawn to him by a strange force, a force that is so foreign to you. There was a certain kind of sadness in his eyes that you only see when you look into the reflection of your own eyes. Grief. Lost. Denial. Something that balances between madness and sanity.

You hear the front door open with a squeaking sound. Footsteps, drunk laughter and heavy drawls take over the silence of your break. You are about to go inside when you hear an intoxicated voice call out:

“Where do you think you’re goin´?” the drunk man shouts. “You think you can just walk in here and have a drink like the rest of us? Like you fuckin’ belong here.” he spits. The rest of the men stop talking. Now he is the only voice. “Let me tell you. You don´t. You should not come around anymore. You are not welcome here and you should know that.”

“So what happens if I do come around?” the stranger's voice is laced with coldness. You slowly start walking to the front. You need to see him again. You need to understand what's happening. You feel yourself shaking, despite the warm humidity of the night. 'You should just stay out of it,' the voice in your head says, but you keep walking.

You peek around the corner of the diner. There he is with six men from the town. They all seem fairly drunk. They seem like they are looking for trouble.

“Well, if you are so fuckin´ sure you gonna come around,” he drawls “we might as well just give you a taste of what we are plannin´ to do with you. Right, boys?” he laughs and the men laugh with him, like a pack of coyotes. They all sound way too drunk to do any real harm, but there are six of them against him.

“Try me” the stranger grits through his teeth. He doesn't seem to be afraid, he seems like he would not care if he lives or dies. He seems like someone who gave up a long time ago.

“That ’s enough!” You shout and start walking up to the crowd. ”Go home or I will call Sam out and we will see who won’t be allowed to come around here anymore”. The loudest one flashes you a drunk grin and says: “That is just fuckin’ hilarious. You wanna protect him?” he asks.

“I am not protecting anyone, it’s my job to keep this place running. So I am doing just exactly that.” you say putting your hands on your waist. “Now, gentlemen, I would appreciate, if you all went home and cared about your wives and kids just as much as you care about your liquor. I reckon you had enough fun for tonight. Go! All of you!” you order them.

You are surprised to see that they do. It might be the mention of their wives and the reminder of how they would react if they saw them coming home drunk and all beaten up. The loudest one turns back for a second and addresses you. “You don’t know what you are doing.”

“I guess not.” you whisper and turn your head to the stranger.

“You didn't need to, darlin’. I can defend myself,” he says, drawl thick as the night above you.

“Mhm, you seem like the type who can,” you say with a half smile. He laughs at that, but there is no humor in it. It should not be possible for a laugh to sound that sad.

“You new around here?”, he takes a step forward, cornering you to the wall. His eyes are searching for the name tag on your uniform. As he cannot find anything his eyes flick back to your face again. His gaze lights something up in you, deep inside your stomach. Frozen flames licking your insides. You are terrified of it, you are terrified of him.

“You can say that, moved back recently. And you? It seems like everyone knows you around here.” you say, heart pounding in your throat.

“Wasn't hard to sense that, was it?”, you can feel his breath on your skin. Whiskey, burning on your cheeks.

“No,” you say, casting down your eyes. Somehow his proximity makes you restless. His presence makes the blood rush faster in your body. Your reaction is almost instinctual, you want to rip his flash and sink your teeth into him. To be closer or to get away. You are not sure.

He must sense it, a sly smile across his lips. He lifts his hand, hovers his knuckles over your cheeks tentatively. You are red burning fire. He brushes his knuckles over your left cheek, your chin, the curve of your neck. He rests his palm on your shoulder at last.

“You are shaking,” he murmurs. He takes his hand away. It's almost like you couldn't breathe while he touched you. Lungs filling up with air again. You lock eyes with him. “So what's your..,” he starts but cannot finish, Arlene opens the back door and calls your name.

“Everything okay here?”, she asks.

His eyes darken. Amber turns black. “It's you,” he says, “I should have fuckin’ known.” One hand grabbing your hair, the other turning you around. Rough denim scratching the back of your thighs as he pushes you up to the wall. Head knocking on wood, you feel dizzy. You hear Arlene’s muffled scream, the door opening again. Cold steel pressed into your throat, you taste your death. “I couldn't have planned this better, could I?”, he whispers into your ear.

“Who the fuck are you? What do you want from me?”, you spit, fear blinding you as you try to grab a hold of him behind you.

“You don't know who I am? That's good. That´s just fuckin’ good”, he laughs, blood freezing in your veins from the sound of it.

You hear footsteps, Arlene’s breathy cry in the background. Boots then. Heavier than she could be.

“Joel Miller,” Sam says with venom in his voice, “Leave her the fuck alone!”

His gun is pointing to Joel’s temple. Sam takes a step closer, “Get out of here. Right fuckin’ now.” Joel slowly releases the handful of hair he still has in his fist. As he does, a bitter smile spreads on his face.

“Another time then,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. He steps back, walks slowly to the parking lot where he swings his leg over a 1990 Harley-Davidson, the exact same model that is in your father's garage.

You look at Sam, eyes blurred with tears and confusion.You are certain of one thing, and one thing only. Joel Miller wants to kill you.

—

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated. Please let me know if you'd like to be on the tag list for the next parts!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller series #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #biker!joel #dark!joel miller #dark! joel miller #joel miller #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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