#this is the fluffiest shit I've ever written

[railingsofsorrow]

hiiiiii!!!! i saw your requests were open and i’m so excited i love your writing so much!! i was wondering if you would be willing to do a coffee shop au of spencer x barista!reader? i feel like it would be very fluffy :) <3

a healthy caffeine addiction

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: spencer finds a new coffee shop near work and he may be going there not just for the coffee...

pairing: s.reid x gn!barista!reader

w.c: 3K

warnings/content: a lot of flirting; mentions of case related stuff but you blink and you miss it; fluff fluff!! (you asked for it); swearing.

A/N: hi! I used gender neutral pronouns because you didn't specify so I thought it would fit best. the coffee shop is called “enchanted brewing” just do you don't get confused. one more thing! I mixed two of his best eras, glasses + long hair just because I was feeling a little silly. thank you for the request <3

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

[requested] ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Oh, look, it's boy genius again.” You muse upon seeing a certain long-haired FBI agent next on the line. He's wearing a purple tie today which checks out your theory that it's his favorite color because he's always wearing something purple. It would be funny if it was an unconscious choice. “What's your order today, Dr. Reid? Maybe some coffee with your sugar?” You ask as if you hadn't seen him earlier in the day and had repeated the same thing.

You've met Spencer Reid when he walked in one day as the coffee shop you work in was still closed. He hadn't seen the closed sign. After spending five minutes straight apologizing, you delivered him his coffee order promising he wasn't bothering you. Especially if he was a cute guy with glasses. But you didn't say that last thing out loud, of course.

He's been coming to Enchanted Brewing for two weeks now. You have his order memorized from each early morning that he strides in through the entrance, his satchel hanging from his right shoulder as his bright honey-brown eyes scan through the menu on the wall. He always did that in spite of ordering the same thing from the first day.

Your timeline is slightly offbeat today. Your favorite costumer usually comes in on his way to work, once a day. Except that today he showed up twice. You're not complaining, you're currently trying to hide how happy you are that he appeared right on time for your lunch break.

“I want something different,” he says, adjusting his glasses as he looks at you with a timid smile. “Surprise me?”

“Oh.” You quickly recovered — did you? — from the spell he had you in and moved to prepare his drink. “I'll definitely surprise you, boy genius.” You already had one in mind. Your boss shots you a glare from the other side of the counter where he's delivering an order for a regular. He had reminded you of your lunch break an hour ago but you ended up attending clients and time passed by. You mouthed that it was your last one before lunch and he rolled his eyes with a knowing smile.

You take Spencer to a table outside. The day was good enough to not worry about a storm interrupting your afternoon coffee. Not yet, at least.

“So.” You utter after taking a bite of your sandwich. Spencer is sipping on the surprise he asked for and you are no profiler but your guess is that he liked it. “Aproved?”

“One hundred percent approved. What is this?” He makes a sound of satisfaction as he drinks it again. A smug grin reaches your face. “It's so good.”

You hum, “It is. From how much you like your sweets, I thought you'd like this one. Though, it barely tastes like coffee.”

Spencer silently agrees with you. “What's it called? I can taste caramel.”

“It's a caramel macchiato,” you reply, sipping your watermelon juice. “Caramel is all you can taste, boy genius.” You laugh at the way his cheeks turn pink at your nickname. Ever since he told you about his PhD's and his age. “To what do I own the pleasure of seeing you twice in a day?”

He takes his time putting the cup on the table, fingertips grazing the sides in half circles. When he meet your gaze, you were already staring, but you have the decency to look away, feeling your cheeks heat up. Thank god you were done eating or else you'd be blushing and attempting to swallow your food. Not a good view.

“Um, I... I didn't have a case today and I finished paperwork early so I thought I'd come, um.” He stammers, straightening his posture and exhaling. The middle of his forehead creased a bit and you find it incredibly endearing seeing him trying to figure out the words.

“...you were craving caffeine so you came to the best place near your work?” you complete his sentence with a playfully smirk dancing across your lips.

“Yes!” Spencer exclaims, clearing his throat realising his voice had failed. He offers you a sheepish smile, to which you respond with a grin of your own. “Yes, and... well.”

“It's okay,” you tap your fingers against the hard wood. “You can admit that I make the best coffee.” The convinced stance you had made him chuckle, eyes traveling over your frame discreetly. He could only hope he was being discreet.

“I wanted to see you.” He admits. “And for the coffee, of course.”

Sometimes you had the impression that he did know the effect he had on you, either that or he just didn't want to see it.

“Of course.” You nod as if it was obvious. “Sure.” He wanted to see me? Me?

He pulls his glasses up again, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. He was about to say something when he jumped on his seat, groaning as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“I have to go,” he says, disappointment lacing through his tone. You brush off his apologetic expression.

“That's completely understandable. Duty calls.” Both of you stand up. You still had half an hour left of your lunch, you guess you would have to resort to play your mobile game instead of flirting with a handsome FBI agent. “I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Hopefully,” Spencer picks up his work bag and the coffee cup you thought he had already finished. The corners of his lips raise a bit when he catches the boy genius written in a messy handwriting on the cup. “It's not a local case...”

“Oh,” you try to hide your lack of joy. “Alright. Be careful then.” Spencer nods, giving you a tight-lipped smile. “And don't betray me for another barista, boy genius.” That got you one of his short laughs that made his eyes crinkle in the edges.

“Never.”

──────────────

Spencer was back three days later. The case was a hard one, one of those were the unsub decided to not make their lives easier and kept moving across state lines to hide. He was keeping a victim hostage in the trunk of his car and thankfully, they were able to save her in time. Everybody was granted a day-off to get some rest.

It's not like Spencer was married to his work, in fact, he could enjoy a little alone time in the comfort of his home with a book and some coffee to accompany his quiet reading.

But that's the problem.

Routines are hard to create and they are hard to let go of. Ever heard the saying “old habits die hard”?

Ivan Pavlov researched about classical conditioning. According to him, you have a stimulus and a response in a given situation. It is likely that you'll keep repeating an action if it proves to be beneficial to you. If you like doing it, you'll barely notice it became an habit.

He's been visiting your coffee shop almost every day for the past weeks and that is an habit he's gotten quite comfortable with.

Therefore, in order to not disturb his routine that is very very important to him — honestly? Spencer can't handle changes — he drives down to Enchanted Brewing. The soft jingle of the bell alerted of his entrance.

Spencer gets in line. There's seven people in front of him, maybe because it's lunch hour and all of them are rushing to get their orders. Spencer waits. He still hasn't heard any flirting remarks or winks sent his way and he's not sure if you are not behind the counter today or if his lenses are just really blurried that he can't see your pretty face.

“Afternoon, sir. What would you like to order today?”

You are definitely not behind the counter and he's slightly confused before listing off his order. The clerk notes it down, then he stops midway, studying Spencer with narrowed eyes.

“You're boy genius?”

Spencer blinks, startled. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish and really, what is that question? How is he even supposed to answer that? You call him that, so is that a yes? Is he supposed to say yes—

“Sorry,” the guy says, shaking his head with a laugh, “they told me about you.”

“Oh.” Spencer doesn't know what to say, thankfully, he doesn't have to because he carries on.

“You two have kind of a system going on, right?”

“A- a system?”

The clerk's polite smile widened into a smirk. “Well, yes.” He says slowly. “You order the same thing and they make you an entire difference drink, isn't that it? They explained it and that's how I got it.”

“Uh, yes. I think so. But you don't have to—”

Your coworker waves him off, “I was just making sure you were the guy, really. They left a special order for you in case you appeared while they were still sick.” Spencer's concern is visible through his face. “Sore throat, I asked them to stay at home this week. You know, they don't care about day-offs so I forced it upon them to have it either way since they're sick. Really stubborn, that one. I'm Tim, by the way."

“Spencer.” He gave a little wave while introducing himself and was quick to add. “Are they okay?”

Tim turned to look at him in the middle of the beverage making. He nodded. “Yes, they'll be back in a day or two. Nothing serious.”

Spencer lets out a sigh in relief, leaning against the counter to wait for this order to be ready. He hopes you get better soon and that you were taking proper care of yourself. If he knew, he would have brought some jell-o and mint tea, they are great remedies to soothe a sore throat. After he paid for his surprise drink, he sat down on a table outside, there wasn't a lot of people and he enjoyed his alone time while mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

Maybe if he had gotten your number, he could ask how you were. But he didn't because Spencer doesn't think. He doesn't have game as Derek says, whatever that means. It's not his fault that he can't think straight around pretty people, is it? He can't help it!

He left the café that day with another great drink to add to his list and his mind set on one thing: he's going to ask for your phone number next time he sees you.

──────────────

Every person in the whole freaking world decided to appear at Enchanted Brewing today. Nothing wrong with people. You love people, really!

But your back is aching and your hand is cramping from how much you used the hand mixer. God, you needed to lay down for a month and wake up maybe never.

A costumer just left and you finally turn the sign to closed. Thank god. You're finishing cleaning up the tables when you notice the silence. Being around people all day long can be a little exhausting, especially if you have to yell a name in order for someone to pick their order. Your recently recovered sore throat does not appreciate that.

You're alone tonight. Tim left early to run some errands and you're in charge of closing. You don't mind, it's actually peaceful to close the shop and make your way home. You don't live far and the streets aren't too busy nor totally empty.

Boy genius didn't show up again.

You know his job is demanding, he's occupied being a hero and using his brain to solve difficult cases and catch bad guys. You feel bad complaining about your work, knowing what he does. He must get exhausted daily.

You miss him. And it's weird, you're not one to get attached easily. To be able to call Tim your friend took about half a year, you just don't trust people fast. Spencer just feels different. He makes you feel comfortable, despite not having the experience of hanging out with him outside of your work, he's that kind of person that has a safe ambience all over him. You could be wrong, you're aware of that, you don't really know the guy. He's a regular, he loves your surprise coffees, he's got a cute smile and an awkwardness that is endearing. You don't know more than that, but you'd really like to.

After placing your uniform in your assigned locker, you check one more time to see if everything is in place before leaving.

The doorbell scares the shit out of you and you grab the first thing you see to defend yourself, which is your phone.

It's closed. You turned the sign. The lights are off. Who the fuck is entering a coffee shop when all of the lights are off?!

“Uh, what... Why are you threatening to throw your phone at me?”

And there it is, the man you cannot stop thinking about materialising in front of you. Not a burglar.

Your shoulders slump in relief and you lower your phone back to the counter. “Fuck, genius. Don't do that. Why do you always ignore the closed sign?”

“Sorry,” he responded, bashfully, realising how the situation came out. “I saw you were inside and I just came in, didn't thought it through.”

“Mm. You scared the shit out of me.” A soft smile formed on your lips and it soon became a wide grin. “God, you're so...”

“Annoying?” he offers, grimacing as he buries his hand on his overcoat. Both his cheeks and the tip of his nose are pink, reminding you of how cold it is outside. “Sorry, I'll just— I'll leave you be.” The regret on his features is what puts you out of your dazed stare.

You sprint over to the door, blocking his exit. “I didn't say that.” You let out with bated breath. He halts right in front of you, big doe eyes staring down at you in surprise and you're beaming at him again. “You could never be annoying, boy genius. I was about to say amazing, actually.”

Morgan and Penelope are two people that keep making his life miserable by the amount of nicknames they make up for him. But this one? This one he doesn't complain at all. Boy genius. You could call him that every day and he would never dare be annoyed by it. The reason is because he loves your voice — which he realised it's a bit hoarse right now — but that's besides the point.

That is a nickname he missed dearly.

Were they about to call me amazing?

“I have a confession to make.” Emily is one hundred percent right when she said his IQ is slashed to 60 while around pretty people, because now that he's seen you he can't seem to remember what he came here for. “I betrayed you.”

You raise a brow, surveying him with amusement. “Oh?”

“Yes. I, I ordered a caramel macchiato on a cafeteria in Fairbanks.” He elaborated, lifting his hand to brush his hair behind his ear. You wanted to find out if it was as soft as it looked. “It wasn't good. I don't know, it wasn't the way you made so I didn't— I didn't though it was good.”

Your chest swells for a reason you're not sure.

“What I'm trying to say is that... Your coffee is better. No. It's not actually that—”

“Breathe. You're turning red like a tomato.”

That made him impossibly redder. He pushed his glasses up his nose, swallowing hard.

“Spencer,” you say, dropping your flirty facade in fear of him combusting in front of you. You nudge your finger against his hand, timidly. “I won't bite. You can talk to me.”

“Okay.” He croaks out, playing with your fingertips. And without looking directly at you, he lets out a sigh to muster some courage and says, “I like you.” He manages to say, pretending as if the way you said his name didn't affect him that much. You're smiling at him and suddenly he's fourteen again with butterflies in his stomach because his first crush just greeted him in class.

“I like you too,” you confess in a whisper. You're too close yet so far.

Spencer shakes his head, lifting his gaze to yours since he was staring at your hands. “Not like that. Not in a I like-your-coffee-and-your-flirting kind of way.”

You fear you're misunderstanding him and you don't want to make a fool out of yourself, so you remain quiet, getting lost in the twinkle in his brown eyes provided by the street lamp outside.

“I like you in a... I-want-to-spend-more-time-with-you way.” Finally, he says it. Could he have explained it better? Yes. Is he able to do it? Not with you looking at him like that. “I-Mm, I mean, I love your company and spending time here but I would like to take you on a date.” You were supposed to ask for her number first! What are you doing, you idiot?! “If you want to, of course.”

You can't hold back the giant grin taking over your features. “Boy genius,” you drawl out, doing what you've been fantasizing from the first moment you've seen him: touch his hair. You pull a stubborn strand behind his ear and from the way he almost flutters his eyes shut and leans into your touch, you assume he likes it. “When I said that I liked you, I didn't mean as a favourite-cute-costumer-of-the-month kind of way. But in an I-think-he's-cute way.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” You laugh. “Spencer, I would love to go on a date with you. Preferably, somewhere where we don't drink coffee.”

The crinkles around his eyes show up as he chuckles, nodding. “Okay, yeah, we can definitely do that.”

“Cool.” And you can't stop smiling like an idiot.

Spencer not only got the number but a date with the cute barista. He'd say that's very cool.

#reader insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #requested #spencer reid fluff #this is the fluffiest shit I've ever written #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine

[questioningwriter]

(Y'all remember when I said I'd have second parts out to stories... yeah, then this happened.)

(I typed this in a hurry to get something out, so it's relatively unedited. I skimmed it once, so I may have missed something.)

Boredom

TW: suggestive @ the end

"I'm booooooored." Villain flopped over the side of the sofa in the shared apartment. "Come sit with me?"

From the desk, Hero snorted. "You're such a crybaby." They teased their partner. "Come on, can you wait? I'm working."

Villain pouted. "No." They walked over to see what their partner was working on. "What'chya doin'?"

"You're not the only villain out there, you know." Hero said. "I have to find counter strategies for every possible plan that Supervillain or the others could come up with. Superhero wants them by the end of the day."

Villain sighed. "Fine, I'll go." They walked away, leaving hero to their work.

~

A few hours later, Hero gets a call from the Hero Agency. More specifically, Superhero.

"Come and get your partner." Superhero snapped before Hero could say anything. "They're glaring a hole through me because I gave you work on your day off."

Well, shit. "I'm on my way." Hero grabbed their go-bag, and threw their uniform on over their clothes. "Sorry about this."

"No, I'm sorry." Superhero said as Hero got on his motorcycle drove out for the Agency. "I never should have given you work on your day off. I'll never do it again."

Hero sighed. "Villains holding a knife to your throat, aren't they?"

"Is it that obvious?" Superhero tried to joke as Hero pulled up to the tall building the agency was in.

"I know Villain." Hero answered. "So yeah, it is."

Hero made their way to Superhero's office, thinking every curse word in the book. When they got there, they saw Superhero sitting in their chair, with Villain standing behind them in their villain getup, pressing a knife to their throat.

"Hey, baby!" Villain said cheerily, as if they were just happy to see them come home.

Hero sighed. "Sweetheart, baby, love of my life, I love you with every fibre of my being. Please let my boss go."

Villain pouted, but removed the knife from Superhero's neck. "Come on, baby." They muttered. "You have to see where I'm coming from here. You were ignoring me."

"As if I'm not allowed to work from home." Hero grumbled, but they were smiling.

"Nope!" Villain danced over to their partner, throwing their arms around them and mashing their bodies together. "When you're at home, you're mine!"

Hero winked. "Than why don't we go home and you can make me yours all over again?"

Villain smirked. "Yes, lets."

#hero x villain community #hero x villain #hero #villain #possesive villain #fluff #The Fluffiest Fluff #This is literally the fluffiest shit I've ever written #Superhero #writing #creative writing

[becca-alexa]

i am THIS CLOSE to finishing my next chapter but i need to be up early tomorrow :'(

#becca.txt #i need to push through the tired and get this out so i can REST tomorrow #god this goal of over 3k words for every chapter is working great but i'm running out of energy here #the fluffiest shit i've ever written #and an even slower burn than my last story #god i want to sleep #also making a note here that i need to call my dentist

[writethrough]

Bad Boy Type

(Billy Hargrove x Female Reader)

Synopsis: Girls' night at Billy and Max's new place takes a turn when El insists on you marrying Billy.

Warnings: Mentions of Neil, extreme fluff, mutual pining (because I'm a whore for that shit), language

Word Count: 4056

A/N: This might be the fluffiest thing I've written. It's also the longest. And yes, I still have requests to finish. But life really said, "It's Billy's time," and I'm not mad about it.

You were fiercely protective over Max and El since you met. They became the younger sisters you never had. You’d do anything for them. And you always made sure to plan something with them as often as possible.

Today, you three were holed up at Max and Billy’s new place. It wasn’t much. It was a steal since it’d been so run down no one else wanted it. You and the rest of your group helped fix up what you could. After everything you’d all been through, it created an untouchable bond. And everyone was eager to help in whatever way they could, especially once Max confided in you about Billy’s father. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Neil was a shitty person. He gave off enough hostility to power a freight train. A few months after renovating, the house was finally livable. And between your car and Billy’s, they moved within the hour.

All three of you were on the floor around the coffee table, snacking on candy and discussing very important business.

“Okay, okay,” Max said, trying to rein in her laughter. “El, kiss, marry, kill…The Outsiders.”

You grinned and leaned closer as El looked down in thought.

“Kiss Sodapop, marry Johnny, and…I don’t want to kill anyone,” she said timidly.

And because it was El, you and Max accepted that.

You faced Max. “I’m guessing yours would be the same?”

“I’m killing Steve,” she added, and you snickered. “What about you?”

You hummed, running through the characters before picking three.

“Kill Two-Bit, kiss Darry, marry Dally,” you said with a nod.

“Dally’s an asshole!” Max groaned, slapping her thighs.

“But he’s hot,” you countered.

“But he’s an asshole,” she repeated, giving you a look.

“But he’s hot.”

After a few seconds, you all started giggling. You really loved spending time with these two.

El grew quiet, deep in thought, and she made you and Max stop laughing with her question.

“What about Billy?”

Your brow furrowed. “Billy?”

She nodded. “Would you marry him?”

Your face grew warm. Did El think because you liked the bad boy character in a film, you liked one in reality?

Billy had never been outright rude to you—his attitude rubbed you the wrong way—cocky and smug like he knew he could get away with almost anything. It wasn’t until after the Mind Flayer that you befriended him.

You’d describe your friendship as…quiet. You didn’t hang out together—only in a group with everyone or Steve and the other adults. Usually, though, you saw him most when you, Max, and El hung out.

You were the girls’ friend first and foremost. When you started picking Max up when they lived with their parents, he always scowled at you through the door as she raced to your car. Later, you thought it had something to do with Neil’s reactions to his stepdaughter not being home even though he knew where Max was. You had enough knocks on the door from Billy to put two and two together.

Now, Billy was relaxed when you picked her up or stayed over. You sometimes wondered if he was glad Max had you to rely on now that it was just him and his stepsister. If she ever needed anything, he could count on you to lend him a hand.

So while he wasn’t the same rage-filled boy you knew in high school, his reputation still preceded him. Though now you knew him in a different light—provider, protector, and maybe that was why you started to like him.

You shook your head to rid yourself of that thought.

“I…Well, I…I don’t…” Jesus Christ! How were you supposed to answer this without giving yourself away?

Just then, a car door slammed. Billy’s home.

He threw his jacket on the hook and his keys on the table and stopped when he noticed you, Max, and El.

His eyes seemed to linger on you before addressing everyone.

“Hey,” he said, mentally kicking himself. Couldn’t he think of anything better to say? Maybe “you look nice,” not “hey.”

“How was work,” you asked, still trying to shake off El’s question and the fact that he walked in as if summoned.

“Fine. Didn’t know you’d be over.” He would've cleaned up and made it look nice. Maybe then he could cook you dinner.

He had to stop from asking if this little get-together was overnight. He sure hoped so.

“I dragged her out of her house for girls' day. They’re sleeping over, too,” Max said. Maybe she could read his mind—maybe that was why most of your time was spent at Billy’s place and not yours—because Max knew he needed an excuse to talk to you since the Mind Flayer.

He nodded slowly and gestured toward the bathroom.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Order pizza or I can make spaghetti?” he asked.

You tilted your head at his words. Billy cooked?

It made sense. You’re sure he’s had to fend for himself most of his life. You just never thought about him in the kitchen.

Before you could say anything, El said, “I like spaghetti.” And that seemed to settle it.

When Billy left, Max leaned forward. “Don’t worry, he’s actually a really good cook.”

And to play off your daydreams of Billy cooking you breakfast, you said, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

—

When Billy emerged from the steamy bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips, you were both relieved and disappointed your back faced him.

The girls were telling you their boyfriend troubles, and it took everything in you not to imagine the remaining water tracing Billy’s toned stomach.

“Sometimes I think you have the right idea,” Max said, flopping back in the chair.

You blinked, coming back to reality. “Me? What idea is that?”

“Being single.” She shrugged. “Boys are a pain in the ass.”

You rolled your eyes. “While that is true, sometimes I think it’d be nice to have my person, you know?”

“Your person?” El asked, furrowing her brow.

“Someone who’s always there for you, no matter what. They accept every part of you, good and bad.” You sighed. “They're the person you want to be around the most.”

She looked at you seriously. “We are your person.”

It nearly brought tears to your eyes. One of the many reasons you loved El was her heart.

“C’mere,” you whispered, holding open your arms.

She scootched toward you and wrapped her arms around your waist.

“You too.” You motioned Max over.

That’s how Billy found you three, hugging each other on the couch like you were trying to absorb into one being.

“Am I interrupting some girl thing?” he asked, opening the cabinet.

You let out a breathy laugh and shook your head. “No, you’re fine.” You looked over the back of the couch. “Anything I can help with?”

He gave you a flirty smile. “Don’t worry. I got it.”

It didn’t take long for him to announce it was ready, and you all grabbed your plates and huddled around the coffee table again. A little thrill went through you when Billy sat beside you, taking your dish from you and setting it down so you could lower yourself.

It was quiet for a few minutes as you all took your first bites. It was only pasta and marinara sauce, but it hit the spot. Maybe it was because Billy made it.

“I’m impressed,” you said, waving your fork around your plate.

“I’m a man of many talents,” Billy mused, warmth blooming in his chest.

“Does this mean you’ll marry Billy?”

You nearly choked on the bite you took. You wished she could read minds so you could scream, “Not the freaking time!”

Billy’s face flushed as he glanced between you two.

“Am I missing something?” He tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating. You wanted to marry him? Well, no. It sounded like you didn’t want to marry him. Why didn’t you want to marry him?

“No,” you said quickly. Billy tried to convince himself his chest didn’t constrict at that word. 

“(Y/N) would marry Dally,” El said. “And Dally’s an asshole.”

You put your face in your hands. There was no stopping her.

“And I’ve called you an asshole so many times.” Max provided as an explanation.

Billy could only look at you, and as you curled further in on yourself, he smirked—even though he’d been called an asshole twice—maybe there was something to El’s question.

“Didn’t think you were into that type,” he said, leaning back against the couch.

“I’m not. Not really.” You couldn’t look at him, opting to push the noodles around your plate.

“No? Then what is your type, sweetheart?”

He was teasing you. You could push back with teasing.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“That’s why I asked.” And the way he said it, it took on a seriousness you weren’t prepared for—like he really wanted to know because he cared about the answer. Like it meant something to him.

“I—”

The phone saved you. And Max jumped up.

“It’s probably Lucas,” she said. They’d been having a good week.

You took the opportunity to excuse yourself. “I’m gonna change.”

You grabbed your things and closed the bathroom door.

—

Billy watched as you fled. It was cute how flustered he could make you. And that’s when an idea struck him.

With you and Max busy, he turned to El.

“You think she likes me?” he asked, leaning toward her.

“Do you mean like like?” She stared at him with those big innocent eyes.

He nodded.

“I think so.”

“You think so? She hasn’t said anything to you or Max? Girls talk about that stuff at girls' night, right?” He bit his cheek. Was he reading the signs wrong? Were his feelings clouding his judgment?

Since his recovery, you’ve always been there. You made sure he took care of himself and kept an eye on Max. When he told you about the rundown little place he found, you got Hopper on board to pull a few strings and help remodel. Hell, you got everyone to help.

He still remembered the day you painted the walls, and you and Robin put handprints on each other's chests. He and Steve had said, “What about us,” and you and Robin fitted them with their own set. He still had that shirt.

Even the shit that went down with Steve. You were somehow able to mend things between them. It took a lot of work, and arguments popped up, but with you there, he did it. He didn’t have many friends at Hawkins High—they were a means to an end. However, now? He had ones that would have his back in an apocalyptic world. And it was because of you.

You were his rock, even if you didn’t know it. And he wanted to be that person for you.

“She doesn’t tell us,” El said. “But she looks at you the way Nancy looks at Jonathan.”

He knew the look she was talking about, and he hoped she was right.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“You…You like her, right?” she asked tentatively.

He smiled fondly. “More than Eggos.”

El giggled.

He shook his head slightly, smile remaining, mumbling, “Just want her ‘round all the time.”

She beamed, but before she could say another word, you and Max returned.

—

Everyone seemed to forget about the conversation before the phone rang. When you came out of the bathroom, El asked if you could start watching movies, and Max quickly put The Karate Kid in.

What surprised you the most was Billy making popcorn and bringing everyone a soda. You thought he’d retreat to his room like he usually did, but he sat next to you on the couch as the girls spread out on the floor with their own bowl of popcorn.

Halfway through the movie, the sun had set, and the air grew cooler. You rubbed your arm absentmindedly, focused on the screen. You vaguely noticed Billy disappearing somewhere, and when he returned, he held a sweatshirt.

Your heart sped up a little at his offer.

You played it off and raised an eyebrow when he handed it to you.

“You’re cold, right,” he asked, putting it in your lap when you didn’t take it right away.

You shook your head. “It’s not that. I’m just shocked you own a sweatshirt.”

He rolled his eyes but held back a smile. “Very funny.” Then when he was settled. “Indiana’s fucking cold.”

You slipped it over your head, the material warming and engulfing you in his scent. Bunching the sleeves into your fists, you leaned against the cushion and tucked your legs under you.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

The movie soon ended, and Max inserted the second film.

Neither you nor Billy spoke after that. It was…nice...being there with him.

Between him and his sweatshirt, you were surrounded by warmth. The noise from the TV lulled into the background, and before you knew it, you were asleep.

Billy noticed almost immediately. He’d been arguing with himself about whether to put an arm around you after he gave you his hoodie.

After the shit he went through, Billy didn’t go after women. He was so in his head about what he’d done—what the monster made him do—he thought everyone was better off if he stayed away. And his body wasn’t the same afterward. Part of him wondered if you’d recoil if he touched you.

And then your head was on his shoulder. Your soft breathing in his ear. And he froze for a second. But then he sunk into you.

If this was the only time you’d be this close to him, he would take it.

He carefully moved his arm to pull you closer, and you shifted in your sleep to snuggle into him. He let his cheek rest against your head for one…two…three…four…five seconds, then lifted back up. He didn’t want Max or El to catch him and ask questions.

It wasn’t long until the movie ended, and the girls were passed out on the floor. And Billy debated staying right where he was, but he knew he shouldn’t.

He did indulge and place a feather-light kiss on the crown of your head before laying you down and pulling a blanket over you. He did the same for El and Max. And once the VHS was safely back in its case, he walked to his room with a final look at you thrown over his shoulder.

—

When the rising sun hit your eyelids, all you wanted was to turn over and go back to sleep. The sizzle of a frying pan and the smell of pancakes made you sit up.

Billy was by the stove, waiting to flip them and keeping a watchful eye on the bacon.

“Smells good,” you whispered, mindful of the two sleeping girls. Billy’s sweatshirt protected you from the morning chill.

He glanced at you and quirked his lips up. “It’s almost ready.”

You gave him a small smile in return, and it took you a moment to realize he had never done this before. Dinner was one thing, but breakfast was entirely different.

“What brought this on?” you asked, pouring yourself a cup of coffee.

He shrugged. “Maybe I wanted to impress you again.” He finally turned around to face you and crossed his arms, spatula in hand.

You let out a breathy laugh, looking down before eyeing the cooking pancakes.

“Don’t let them fold in on themselves when you flip them, and you’re golden,” you teased. 

He raised a brow at you, turned around, and seamlessly flipped both over before setting the spatula down and facing you once more.

You held your hands up in surrender. “Consider me impressed.”

“Good.” He pulled a mug out of the cabinet for himself. “You sleep okay?”

You shrugged. “Good enough. Didn’t even realize I fell asleep.”

He would have gladly lent you his bed. He didn’t even need to be in it with you. He would’ve taken the small couch he had crammed in his room.

“Good thing you don’t snore. I think Max would’ve suffocated you,” he said.

You bumped your shoulder with his. “She likes me too much.”

You stared at each other for a moment. Something about Billy in the morning, with the soft light from the sun reflecting in his eyes and shading his hair, was almost breathtaking. He was relaxed, and you hoped it slowly became his new normal.

His eyes trailed down to your lips, and you swore you stopped breathing until you glanced away and saw the pancakes.

“Better watch before they burn,” you said, swallowing to rid yourself of your dry throat.

He had forgotten about them as he took you in. From your pajamas to your still-sleepy gaze and the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest—you seemed so…at home here.

He tried to shake that thought as he plated breakfast and set it down at the kitchen table.

You could lean against the counter every morning, sipping coffee as he made you both breakfast. He’d peck your lips each time he passed you for something, and as he waited for things to finish cooking, he would wrap his arms around your shoulders and bury his nose in your hair. Your arms would tighten around his waist, and you’d both stand there, completely content as the warm rays filtered in.

Since last night, since El’s question, a spark had ignited within him. The flicker of…hope, something he hadn’t felt since…since…he didn’t even know when. You didn’t say you wanted him explicitly, but if El saw a connection between him and Dally, then maybe you did too. He couldn’t deny that he’d been a dick in the past. He was still trying to correct those mistakes. But where Dallas Winston had Johnny, Billy had…well…the closest he could think of was you.

And potentially having a life with you? That didn’t sound too bad. Not at all.

You sat across from one another. You could feel Billy’s eyes on you. When you glanced up from your breakfast, he gave you a smirk as if to say, “Impressed?”

You were about to speak, but he beat you to it.

“So, we didn’t finish our discussion last night.”

“Discussion?” You tilted your head.

He nodded and tried to keep his smug smirk at bay. “You into the bad boy type, sweetheart?”

Your eyes widened before you covered your face with your hand. “Didn’t the time for this pass?”

“Nope.” He grinned. “C’mon, tell me, what’s it about him that gets you goin’?”

You shook your head and attempted to suppress your smile. Even though this was embarrassing, you still found Billy cute.

“I’m not doing this with you and that dirty mind of yours. It’s too early. Besides, the girls are still sleeping,” you said, taking a sip of coffee.

“Oh please, Max used to hear me with girls.” He stated it like a fact, without pride or accomplishment in his voice.

“I know. She’s complained to me multiple times,” you said matter-of-factly.

He cleared his throat, cheeks flushing pink. It surprised you.

He shrugged as if to shake off his actions. “Guess Winston and I are different then.”

“That’s not such a bad thing.” You hoped your smile told him that it really wasn’t a bad thing—that you genuinely liked the person he was growing into—that you cared for him.

“Hope so,” he said softly, taking a bite.

You could’ve stayed there and stared at him for the rest of the day. His eyes were so blue, his hair still a bit messy, and he just looked…he just looked content.

You wanted to reach across the table, grab his hand, hold it between yours and trace each finger. Maybe he’d stop you by pulling your hand to his lips. Maybe, you’d follow with your own.

And as soon as that thought reared its head, Max and El strolled into the kitchen.

“You made pancakes?” Max’s face scrunched up.

“We have guests,” Billy said with a shrug. Like he was concerned with being a good host.

At least for you, he was.

“When has that forced you to do anything?” she asked, stacking her plate.

You locked eyes with Billy from across the table and smiled shyly.

—

“So, you coming here next week?” he asked, putting your bag in the backseat for you.

You shook your head. “It’s at mine next week. Parents are away for a few days. I was thinking of making it an all-weekend thing.”

He slowly nodded, disappointed he wouldn’t see you—only to drop Max off and pick her up.

“Just let me know when I can get the shitbird out of my hair.” It’s all he thought to say to hide his discontentment.

You pursed your lips. It was now or never. “Actually, I was thinking—if you weren’t too busy, maybe you could come over, too? I know it’s technically ‘girls' night,’ but…last night was really nice.”

He tried to keep his face neutral, make it seem like he wasn’t experiencing heart palpitations, but his smile couldn’t stay hidden. It made you immediately relax.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

The way he looked at you sent shivers up your spine and heat through your veins. It was like he couldn’t believe you were real. You’d never seen him have this warmth in his gaze. Like he’d happily follow you anywhere and listen to every word you said.

You returned his smile with a gentle one of your own. “Good,” you whispered, tilting your head slightly.

He really was beautiful in the sunlight. His skin full of its own sun. You were so close to each other earlier that you felt it radiating off him. It took everything in you not to rest your head on his shoulder and nuzzle in.

He took a step forward, resting a hand on the roof of your car. “You gonna make me sleep on the floor at yours?”

You lightly bit your lip. And fuck, you were in for the best kind of trouble. “Depends on how much you impress me.”

“And what do I have to do to make that happen?” There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do.

You tried to repress your smile as you leaned to whisper in his ear. His hands instinctively went to rest on your hips. He shivered when your breath hit his skin.

“You’ll have to figure it out.” You pulled back with a little smirk, and he let out a soft chuckle.

His gaze flitted from your eyes to your lips and back again. His hand came up to caress your cheek, grazing his thumb there.

“Not even a little hint?” he asked teasingly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You pushed your head further into his hand.

He hummed. “Guess you’re right. Have to earn it.”

You grinned. “I have complete faith in you.”

And even though you were both joking with each other, that meant more to him than he would ever admit. You believed in him. You had gotten to know him and helped him through the hardest parts of his life without even knowing it. He wanted to prove to you that trust wasn’t misplaced. That he deserved your patience, your kindness, your love.

Without another thought, he pulled you into his embrace. He held onto you like he was afraid to lose you—like you’d suddenly change your mind and not see him.

You could feel it in the way he held you. You struck something, something crucial, something he needed to hear. So, you hugged him back, smoothing your hand up and down his spine.

When you pulled away, you slipped your hand into his. “I should probably get going.”

He nodded. “Get home safe.”

“Thanks, Billy,” you said. “I’ll see you next week.”

Before you could step around him, he encircled your wrist gently and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“See you next week, sweetheart,” he said, a smirk slipping back onto his face.

You shook your head slightly as you climbed into your car, waving to him as you pulled out.

He stood there, watching you drive further away from him. And he knew you two were about to be much much closer.

#stranger things #stranger things fluff #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargrove #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things imagine #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove deserved better

[buttdumplin]

The sweet, lovely poly 141 boys and their Spanish-speaking latine partner.

This was meant to be a quick little thing, but boy did this get away from me lmao. This is the fluffiest shit I've ever indulged in and I love it. Big thank you to @mikichko for inspiring and helping with this!!!

CW: poly 141, gn!reader, latine reader, mexican slang, hint of d/s dynamics in Johnny's

Price, god love the man, is the one who seems to stumble the most. It's almost comical, considering the fact that Spanish and Arabic are so similar due to their histories. But there's a big difference between the Spanish he's learned to recognize and what you throw at him on the daily. He truly thinks it's because of his age, window of acquisition and all that. John does not expect to be able to speak fluently with you, but he does at least want to understand you. What he really wants, though, is to make you feel more fully at home with him, and he is forever grateful that you feel comfortable and safe enough with them to embrace all parts of your identity.

"Hola, amor mío. How was your day?" you greet him from the couch, eyeing him from tip to toe and almost whistling at seeing him in uniform. "Sigues rechulo, mi güerito, so I assume all went well?"

John swings down to kiss you, gripping the back of your neck to prolongue the kiss, trying to soak in as much of the affection as he can while also disguising the fact that he still doesn't fully recognize what came after.

"Yours was good too, I trust?"

"Yeah, but my brother called. El güey still con sus pinches mamadas and asking for my help. Aguas, in case he shows up this week."

"I... will keep an eye out, dove."

"Call me si les arma pedo and I'm not around."

He just nods sagely and squishes up against you on the couch, letting your warmth seep into his tired bones.

Later that evening, he rounds up the boys while you're in the shower and pulls out a small notebook where he's written things out phonetically. John may not have all the knowledge he needs, but he sure as hell is good at getting it.

"'Güey,' that's the brother's nickname?"

"No, that's like 'man/guy.' But it's also an insult. But not always," Johnny supplies.

"Fuck me, okay. 'Rechulo' is... I got nothing for that one."

"The 're' is for heavy emphasis, 'chulo' is 'cute/handsome/pretty.' 'Re' can go on practically any adjective," Simon steps in.

"'Aguas' and 'pedo' CANNOT be what they are, right?"

Kyle takes his hand and chuckles, "No, sweetheart. The first is like a warning, the second a fight or scene or scandal. In this context."

John's shoulders finally relax and he lets out a heavy sigh, putting the final touches on his notes of the day.

"Thank you, boys, for your patience and your kindness. And your secrecy," John huffs a little laughter and gives them his sweetest smile, the one where you can see the dimples poking out through the beard.

They all reach over to gently caress him, taking turns kissing the parts of him they can reach.

"Thank you, John, for trying so hard."

~

Beautiful, wonderful Kyle, the delight of a man that he is, is the one giving it as good as he gets. He's the one crooning in your ear, showering you with the most decadent terms of endearment, knowing full well they make your knees much weaker in Spanish. He'll use the advantage every single chance he has, don't doubt that for a second. But truly, it's the soft seclusion of those moments that he cherishes most, when you're looking up at him with big bright eyes, knowing you fully trust him to take care of you.

You're grumbling away as you wash dishes after dinner when Kyle comes up behind you, arms making the way slowly around your waist, chin dropping onto your shoulder.

"Oh, tesoro mío, look at you working away, working so hard for us."

You refuse to look at him and give a fussy pout. He knows it's your least favorite of the house duties. So much so that you're always willing to do almost anything as long as you don't have to touch wet food.

"It looks like you've done enough, cariño. Come join us in bed."

"No. None of you wanted to trade with me so se aguantan," you try to wiggle and bump his head away from yours.

"Come on, cosa hermosa, we need you with us to settle for the night," he pulls your hands from the water, drying them and turning you towards him.

You immediately bury your face into his chest. Can't look him in the eye, he'll win you over the moment you do.

"So they send in the smooth talker, huh?"

Kyle laughs, clear and bright, and he wraps you back up in his arms, gently cradling your head until you give in and look up at him.

"Or," he says, making you both rock gently, "I'm trying to sneak in a little solo time."

Your body melts against his as the words sink in, big eyes blinking softly up at him, "Besito?"

"As many as you want, mi vida. Until you grow bored of me," and you're letting out a sweet sigh as those soft lips meet yours.

His hands move to bring your body closer to his, to milk this quiet moment for as much contact as possible, to sear it all into his memory.

"You two are awfully quiet out there," Simon calls from the bedroom and it makes you break apart with a little jump.

You hear frantic rustling that has to be Johnny, "Hold on, what happened to doing the dishes!"

A chuckle escapes the two of you, sparkling eyes meeting in the low light from the stove hood. The sound of John huffing to get comfortable floats in from the bedroom.

"Just a minute more, hermosura," he mutters against your hair. "Wanna stay here a bit longer."

"Really liking all those pet names, aren't you?"

Kyle laughs again and gives you a squeeze, "Mean every single one of them."

And you happily linger, not pointing out that you've noticed an endearing pattern of Kyle wrapping up nights in the kitchen with you in his arms and a faint love song echoing down the hall for you two to sway to.

~

Beloved, darling Simon, he hides his own understanding of the language. He understands it nearly perfectly, with just the tiniest margin of error, nothing too big to bring attention to it. Overall, he's able to catch almost everything you mumble. It's not to be sneaky or anything like that, Simon would never do anything to compromise your privacy. It's more that he doesn't quite see the need to verbalize it. To him it's nothing special, no need to make a spectacle. Instead, he lets it seep into his actions, ever the acts of service lover that he is.

You're spread out on the couch, on the phone with your mother, complaining, "Como chingan los del trabajo. Me pidieron un reporte para el viernes y ahora me reclaman que todavía no se los he dado y apenas es miércoles."

There was a tension in your shoulders when you came home from work, he didn't miss that. Caught you jolting to a stop mid-stretch. And as the call goes on longer, Simon picks up on more.

"No he tenido chance de lavar ropa, ni una putisima pijama... Traigo un pinche antojo de mole, pero es un chingo de trabajo y ahorita no le puedo dedicar el tiempo..."

He quietly moves to gather the boys as you continue ranting and pace around the room. You're too caught up in your call to see them forming a massive huddle and their nodding at Simon right as the break and throw their joined hands in the air.

By the time you're off the phone, it's dark out and you notice the house is quieter than usual. You move to look for the boys (they can't have left without telling you, right?) when Simon pops out from the hall, crooked smile you love so much adorning his face, and he simply takes your hand to pull you into the bathroom. A hot bath greets you, some honeyed bath bomb already dissolving in the water and your laptop set up on a bucket besides the bath, your comfort show already pulled up and ready to play. Simon then points to your softest pajamas washed and set out on the counter for you.

"And you'll help me with my lotion too?"

He kisses your forehead, "When do I not?"

"The boys?"

"Setting up dinner. Kyle and I are making your favorite."

You whip around to face him, eyes wide and excited, "With fresh tortillas?"

With a low, affirmative hum Simon pulls you in closer and just holds you. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. But he lends you his strength, which is all he can really hope for. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms around you help release the tightness in your body. Letting out your own little hum, you give him a squeeze and he squeezes back harder, crushing you in the way he knows you find comforting. There's a soft devotion in his tenderness with you, an unshakable support in every single thing you do.

"So you gonna undress me too, or...?"

A peal of laughter escapes you as he playfully swats at your butt, "Undress yourself. I've got cooking to do."

A day without hearing your laughter is a day poorly spent to Simon.

He's almost to the door when you pull him back into you, hands tugging on his shirt to bring him down to your height. His own laughter rumbles in his chest as you cover his face in loud kisses, and he stays locked in place. He will for as long as you need him to, never mind his back. If it's gonna go out eventually, he'd rather it go out from his time spent like this.

~

Johnny, bless the boy, is desperate to hear it, to have you address him directly. You speak plenty around the house, on phone calls with friends, talking back at the tv (some shows have been put on temporary bans, or at the very least you're not supposed to watch them alone), at the lovely crooked cat yall adopted. You shower them with pet names with every breath you take. And he loves it all! Loves that you so willingly share so much of yourself with them. But Johnny boy is dying for something specific- "Love, why don't you call me papi?"

When he voices it, it's a complete surprise. Simon and Kyle both laugh so hard so suddenly that they find themselves choking on their own spit. Price himself is caught so off-guard that he fully looks up from the dinner he's prepping in the kitchen, raw chicken slipping out of his hands and plopping back into the flour bowl. You at first laugh it off lightly, thinking it was one of his cutesy jokes he makes to get a giggle out of everyone. That would have made the most sense, honestly. But when he looks away, big blue eyes shining with the softest hint of embarrassment, it sinks in.

You shift in your seat a fraction, "Johnny, I don't even call any of you that in English. You know it's not exactly the same thing, right?"

"I know but the little old lady from the corner shop calls me "papi" and so does the older man who brings the water and other people too and it's always so affectionate and so I thought..."

He spares a glance at you, hoping he hasn't completely overstepped.

"Where did this come from?"

"Ale let it slip last time we grabbed coffee and the joy on Rudy's face was so blinding that I thought maybe we should try it."

"Honey--"

"Please, just once."

"But I--"

"It doesn't have to be a title! It can be soft and casual, no expectations."

"You don't--"

"I promise I'll be good for it."

Oh.

Your gaze meets the other boys' and you all take a good look at your Johnny. At some point during his pleading he brought himself down to kneel in front of you. His broad shoulders are slumped forward in submission, his hands clenched together so tightly his fingertips are completely white. Price nods at you, the other two eagerly nodding along as well.

Leaning forward, you grab him by the jaw, gently bringing his head to rest against your thigh.

Running your fingers through his hair, you utter out a low, "Sweet little thing like you just wants to be good, don't you papi?"

Johnny's eyes glaze over slightly, a shy, dazed smile growing on his face. There's not an ounce of hesitation in him as he nuzzles his face into your thigh, just sweet elation. Pleased grumbles escape the others, making Johnny's smile grow bigger.

You make sure to add it into your regular circulation.

#poly 141 #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 x latine reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #i cannot emphasize the poly of this enough #this is truly some of the most self indulgent shit i've ever written and i've never been happier lmao #honestly this is just precious moments with each of them #i'm definitely going to be writing more 141 x latine reader #prepare to be fucking sick of me #frfr tho this is the first long thing i've written in years and ngl it feels good to be doing it again #also yeah i tend to sprinkle in commas like they're condiments

[this-do-be-therapeutic]

Like Me Again

Eddie Munson x FReader

Summary: Everything is going swimmingly with Eddie. I could not be happier. But one day, everything just takes a turn for the worse. Angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3,883

A/N: Heyyyyyy. I'm going through some good ol' life shit, abandonment issues for the win, am I right? So I'm sorry if this is a mess and not well done, I was literally sobbing while writing this. Also, the reader has a good relationship with her father, I'm sorry if that seems unrealistic. I just like my dad and refuse to write anything about a bad dad.

This is the longest thing I've ever written. I'm not very proud of it, but I hope you enjoy. <3

Eddie and I have been dating for just a little over 3 months now and everything is going great. We have movie nights every single week on Friday at his house. We have a going out date every other week on Wednesday. We even have some spontaneous dates every now and then. I stay out of his Hellfire stuff because I simply don’t understand D&D. And we’re obviously together every day during lunch. Which is where we’re at now, lunch on Friday. 

I land in the seat next to him with a bit of a huff, exhausted from my last period. I place my chin on his shoulder, excited to see him. “Hi Eddie Bear.”  

He gives me a small smile and pats my head before wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “Hey sweetheart. Boring class?” 

“Ugh, yes. We were working on rhetorical analysis. I don’t understand it at all.” He chuckles a little and gives me a little kiss on the lips. He then feeds me the food that I brought with me, understanding that I simply could not be bothered.  

“Are you excited for movie night tonight?” He asks me. 

“You know I am. What are we watching tonight?” 

“The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2.” 

“Noooooo, you know how I am with horror movies!” 

Eddie gives me a big toothy grin. “That’s exactly why we watch them. It’s fun when you have to hide in me. And then you have to stay the night because you’re too scared to go home.” 

I give him the biggest pout I could muster. “You just like it when I suffer.” 

He laughs out loud, “You know I do!” 

That night I head over to his house already wearing my comfy pajamas and my fluffiest blanket- it’s Eddie’s favorite to cuddle under. Before I can even knock on the door, Eddie is opening it, having heard my car. 

I just have to stare at his glorious countenance, thinking about how lucky I got to be with such a handsome and cute man, his big brown eyes always carrying such love and kindness for me. His smiles that never seem to not light up a room. And it’s all mine. 

After staring at him for just a little longer, I realize he’s trying to get my attention and give him a smile. “Are you okay? You’ve been staring at me in silence for 30 seconds.” 

“Yeah. I’m wonderful. Just thinking about how much I love you and ow lucky I am.” 

Eddie practically melts at that, looking down with a huge smile trying to hide his blush. “You’re just trying to butter me up so we don’t have to watch the scary movie, aren’t you Princess?” 

I bite my lip with a little shake of my head. “Maybe.” 

He grabs my arm and pulls me close, holding me against his body. “It’s not going to work. I’ve learned of your temptress ways.” We both laugh a little as he wraps his arm around me, shutting the door at the same time. Eddie places a quick kiss on the top of my head before muttering, “I love you, too.” That’s always been my favorite thing to hear from him. 

We head over to the couch and set up everything we’ll need for our movie session, popcorn, skittles, m&ms, all the good stuff.  

After the movie is over, I’m clinging to Eddie with my entire being, my arms wrapped around one of his and my legs wrapped tight around his hips. He plays with the ends of my hair as he laughs at me. “Come on baby girl, it wasn’t that bad.” 

I turn my head to look at him with a small glare and pout, which just makes him laugh harder at my predicament. “Yes it was. It was awful. I can’t believe you made me watch that. 

Eddie simply shakes his head and picks me up- I refuse to place my feet on the floor when I’m scared. The monsters might be under ALL of the furniture- and takes me to his bed to sleep. He wraps his arms around me just as tight as my legs are around him, kissing the top of my head before whispering a sweet and gentle goodnight.  

In the morning, he sends me off with a full belly of eggs, toast, and apple juice, along with a kiss and a request that I call him when I get home so he knows I’m safe. Which I do, of course. It ends up being a 3 hour phone call before my mom gets mad and makes me get off so she can talk to one of her friends about a lunch they’re having. 

Monday morning, Eddie comes to pick me up for school. He comes and knocks on my door, doesn’t give me a kiss on the head for some reason, opens the van door for me and drives us to school. 

“Hey Eddie Bear. How’d you sleep?” 

“Good.” He lets out a sigh having to answer that simple question. He would usually tell me about how he would have slept much better if I were with him, or tell me about a crazy dream that he had. But he probably just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, we all have those days. 

“Did you have any fun dreams?” 

“No.”  

The rest of the car ride is spent in an uncomfortable silence. 

When we get to school, he comes and opens my door for me and offers his hand to help me out. I take it and go to hold it after I’m down, but he just pulls his hand away from me. He doesn’t talk to me for the rest of the morning, just brushing off every comment I make in attempt for conversation. 

When lunch comes around, I come and sit in my chair, trying to be more cheerful than usual for his sake, and rest my head on his shoulder, but he moves to get me off. “Hey Eddie Bear.” 

“Hey.” 

“How was class?” 

“Same as usual.”  

I nod and look at him. “Can you look at me for a second?” He does. His lips are set in a stiff line and his eyes still hold the same loving look in them, but with a feeling that I don’t quite understand. “Are you okay?” 

He nods and goes back to staring at the table, not even touching his lunch. I can tell something’s wrong, but I trust he’ll tell me when he’s ready. We agreed to never hide something that is bugging us from the other, deciding that communication is one of the biggest and most important parts of our relationship. 

After school, I get the same treatment as I did this morning. He walks me to my door and is about to walk away when I grab his hand. “Eddie, do you want to come in? Talk?” He shakes his head and continues to stare at the ground. “Okay, I love you. I hope tomorrow is better.” He simply nods before leaving me. I watch him get in his van and drive away before I head inside.  

When I get to my bed is when my brain starts working in overdrive, thinking about every piece of our interaction today and on Friday. Everything seemed normal and perfect on Friday. What did I do wrong? 

Am I too annoying? 

Am I too clingy? 

Is he tired of me?  

Is he cheating on me and that’s why he looked so off and maybe guilty during lunch? 

I can feel the tears want to start running, but I hold them back. No, I know he loves me. He would never do anything to hurt me. He tells me all the time that I am the light of his life. But what the hell is going on? 

This continues on Tuesday. But when I come to lunch today, Eddie’s interacting happily with the boys and I feel the pain in my chest lighten slightly. He’s finally in a better mood. It was just a fluke. 

However, when I sit down and try to hold his hand, he goes quiet and quickly moves his hand out of the way. I close my fist and shake it a little before pulling it back into my own lap. 

“Hey guys, hey Eddie Bear. What were you talking about?” I look to Eddie to answer my question, but it’s Gareth who speaks up. 

“We were just talking about how epic the last campaign was and how excited we are for the one tonight,” He speaks animatedly, something that Eddie does, did, a lot, too. 

That makes me smile, happy that Eddie is still doing something he’s passionate about while he’s going through such a hard time. “That’s awesome! Do you think I could maybe come and watch tonight? I’ve been kind of curious how your campaigns go.” 

Eddie is quickly shaking his head. “No, you wouldn’t understand anything that’s going on.” 

“Oh, um, okay. Sorry.” Did he just call me dumb? I mean, I might not understand what’s going on, but there’s always the possibility that I might. My heart sinks a little. Eddie has never said anything to me that could be rude. Ever. 

I space out for the rest of the lunch period, thinking about what Eddie just said, and how he’s been acting. Maybe he thinks I’m just too dumb to be his girlfriend. I have pretty average grades, but I don’t have much street smarts, I guess.  

Maybe I just need to learn about it on my own, then I can impress him and maybe try to either make my own character or even my own campaign! I can even ask my dad- who started playing a couple years ago with a few of his buddies- for help!  

I smile a little before the bell rings, blow Eddie a quick kiss and head off to my next period with a pep in my step. 

When Eddie drives me home, I go in and raid my dad’s stack of D&D books in the corner of our dining room, reading through everything and taking notes.  

The next day when Eddie cancels our Wednesday date to do who knows what, I’m not as disappointed as I imagined I would be, just excited to get back to learning about the things that my boyfriend is passionate about.  

The treatment continues all through to Friday. When I sit down for lunch, I turn my entire body to face Eddie. 

“Hey Eddie Bear, so I’ve been thinking about our movie date tonight. I kind of want to just talk to you instead of watch the movie. I’ve been working on something I think you’ll absolutely love.” 

He won’t even make eye contact with me as he says, “Um, sure. I guess we can do that.” As the days have been going on, Eddie has been looking less and less frustrated. At least with everyone else. It hurts, but I’m going to make everything better tonight, I just know it. 

So when I show up that night with my pajamas- and both a character sheet and a fun campaign that my dad helped with- in my backpack instead of wearing them, I’m literally dancing around as I wait for Eddie to open the door after I knock.  

When he does, I launch myself into his arms, hugging him as tight as I can, and he just holds his arms up in the air, as if hugging me back might hurt him. So I let him go and go sit on his couch. “Hey Eddie Bear! Are you ready to have your socks absolutely blown off?” 

He scratches at the back of his head and looks down at his feet, mumbling a little, “I’m not wearing socks,” which is the closest to a real conversation I’ve had with all week, so I giggle for a good five seconds before I get a hold of myself. 

“Okay, well I’m about to blow your mind. At least I hope so.” I pull out all the papers that I had carefully placed in a little folder to present them to him. 

“What is this?” He takes it and flips through the first few pages not really looking at them.  

“Well,” I start, drawing out the l, “I know I haven’t exactly been the best girlfriend and haven’t been showing an interest in your favorite game, so I did a bunch of research and made my own character! I even had my dad help me write a campaign!” He plops down on the recliner next to the couch as he starts actually reading through it.  

When he finishes, he clears his throat and says, “This is sweet and I appreciate the thought, but I still don’t think you would understand anything that happens in the game.”  

I deflate only a little. “But that’s the great part, my dad agreed to help me learn everything about it! He and his friends are starting a new campaign soon and they’re going to make it a little easier for me to learn, so I can finally come play with you!” 

He runs his hand over his face in exasperation with a small groan. “But I don’t want you to come play with us, alright? You happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

Now that’s what deflates me completely. My face falls and I feel my tears threatening to come back, but I refuse to cry over something like this. OF course, he wouldn’t want me to come play with them. This is something he does with his friends, we spend enough time together. “Oh, um, I’m sorry for overstepping. I understand why you wouldn’t want me to play with you guys.” Eddie just looks at me in silence, not giving away anything he’s thinking about through his expression. 

“Do you,” I start, my voice cracking so I clear my throat, “do you think we could maybe watch a movie now?” 

“You said you didn’t want to watch one, so I didn’t rent one.” He is continuing to be very short with me. 

“Oh, can I still spend the night though?” 

“I think it would be best if you left, honestly.” 

I officially feel a tear slide down my cheek as I nod and stand up. “Okay, I love you. I’m sorry I upset you.” I pick up my stupid papers and shove them in my backpack before leaving. I take a glance back at him before I leave. He’s sitting with a hand over his mouth, his leg bouncing as he stares at the wall away from me.  

When I get home, I immediately run to my room, sobbing silently into my pillow, hoping nobody else in the house can hear me.  

As I lie there, I think about other ways that I could try to be a better girlfriend, what else I can do to make him like me again.  

I spend the rest of the weekend trying to hide my hurt feelings from my family and not looking forward to Monday.  

On Sunday night, Eddie calls. He tells me he can’t give me a ride to school tomorrow. Which is fine, I can’t bear to continue to be a disappointment to him. 

I don’t sit with the group during lunch. I go to the library, still trying to figure out what I can do to appeal to my boyfriend once more.  

When I first walk in, I take a look at the bulletin board, and suddenly a lightbulb goes off. Sitting in the middle of the board is a flyer to Corroded Coffin’s performance at the Hideout every Saturday night. Of course! Eddie and I don’t share much of an interest in music, but I can learn to love it! I can feel my spirit start to return. 

As soon as school lets out, I run to the music store. I go through the cassettes and do my best to remember the bands that Eddie loves, and buy every one that I can find.  

I continue to not sit with the boys at lunch, instead I sit in the library listening to as much metal music as I can. I do the same when I’m at home and even in my car. And on Friday, after Eddie finds me to tell me that he can’t watch a movie with me tonight, I go shopping for a more metal outfit that I can wear to his show tomorrow. I end up with a black tank and a black ripped skinny jeans, finding some chains that match Eddie’s, loving the fact that I’ll get to match my sexy boyfriend. 

When I show up to the Hideout, Corroded Coffin is already set up and on stage, about ready to start their performance. I look around and find some other metalheads, a few of them girls, and a few drunk dudes strewn about the joint.  

Eddie starts playing a song I don’t recognize, and he looks completely in his element. I imagine it’s similar to how he looks when he is playing D&D, and it just makes me fall deeper in love with him.  

When he starts singing, I can’t help but cheer along with all the other metals, remembering all those nights that Eddie would sing my favorite songs to me after we would watch a horror movie to help calm me down.  

When the song ends he takes a hold of the microphone to speak, “This next one goes out to my favorite fan,” he must have seen me! I’m so glad I put in the extra effort to be here. “Bethany.” Then a slower song starts, and I immediately recognize it as a song that he always sang to me.  

I look at the other girls and can tell which one is Bethany. All the other ones are looking at her and giving her knowing looks.  

When I look up, I see Eddie looking right at her, playing and singing for her. So I leave.  

When I make it to my car, I slam my forehead into the steering wheel with a scream before I start sobbing into the silence. I rip off the ugly chain that was supposed to match him, not caring that it ripped the belt loops on my pants. Rub at the makeup I put on to match the other girls and come to a decision. 

I have to end things with Edie. 

He made it pretty obvious that things were over between us, he just didn’t have the balls to do the messy breakup thing. So I’ll do it for him. On Monday. 

On Monday, I get to school before Eddie does, and I leave a note in his locker asking to meet up at the spot in the woods after school. If he thinks it’s for a drug deal, he won’t back out. He needs all the money he can get to take Bethany out on nice dates like he did me. 

After school, I let him get to the spot first, that way he won’t have a chance to see me and run.  

When I get there, I call out to him. He turns and his eyes widen as he stiffens. My heart tightens as I look at him, still absolutely in love with him. 

“Edward.” He winces. I never use his legal name. 

“Y/N. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing. Just decided I could show some mercy on you and do this for you. We’re over. I can’t do this anymore.” 

His brows furrow. “Do this for me? Sweetheart, do you think I want to break up with you?” 

“You’ve made it pretty damn obvious. Especially on Saturday night when you dedicated a song to another girl.”  

“You came to my show?” 

“Yes, Eddie! I came to your show! Like I should have the whole time, because that’s what a good girlfriend would do! I’m sorry I’m such a shitty girlfriend and I didn’t support you as much as I should have.” My emotions are starting to pour over once again as I feel my throat tighten and hear my voice break. “I’m so sorry I drove you away. I didn’t mean to. I just wish you could have told me before you decided I wasn’t worth it anymore. I would do anything to make you happy.” At this point the tears flowing hot and free. I can’t even see Eddie from how my eyes are watering. 

I’m shocked when he pulls me into him, burying his face in my hair. “Baby girl, you are not a bad girlfriend. Shit,” I hear his voice break now too. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to break up. I just got so scared.” 

“W-Why would you get scared?” 

“After you told me that you were thinking about how lucky you are, it got me thinking. About how you could do so much better. And I thought that if you looked at me long enough you’d realize that and just leave me. So I shut down and shut you out. I’m so sorry.” He starts rocking us back and forth. 

“B-But I love you so much,” a whole new wave of tears starts pouring down my face as I think about how much I really do. “You’re the best boyfriend I could ever have. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I thought you were getting tired of me because I wasn’t interested in all the stuff you are.” 

“Is that why you learned about D&D? Because you wanted me to like you?” I nod. “And why you came to my show on Saturday?” 

“Mhm. Even bought a whole new outfit to match you and everything.” 

“Oh baby girl, I’m so sorry you felt like that.” He kisses the top of my head again. “I promise I love you. I could never get tired of you.” 

“So,” I sniffle, “who’s Bethany and why did you sing that song to her? I thought that was only for me.” 

“Bethany is our biggest supporter. She gave us large donations after our first performance so we could get new instruments. And she specifically requested that song. Some of our audience likes more boring music like you.” 

“Hey!” I pull out of his embrace to smack his arm. “Not cool man.” He laughs and cups both my cheeks to give me a gentle kiss, the first one in so long.  

When we pull away, we both have huge smiles, and when I look in his eyes, I can see the love he has for me back in his eyes. “So is she still your favorite fan?” 

“Not if you’re a fan, Princess.” He messes up my hair but I don’t care. 

“Of course I’m a fan. My boyfriend is rocking on a super cool guitar and singing sexy metal music. Which I listened a bunch to and actually really enjoyed. 

He lights up even more at that. “Really?” I nod. “That’s awesome! But now I kind of want to see the outfit you bought just for me.”  

I grab his hand and drag him back to our cars, “Right this way, Eddie Bear.” 

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie munson angst #Eddie angst #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things angst #Eddie Munson x femreader

[leiawritesstories]

Next Thing You Know, 2

hey @tomtenadia it's here! thank you for encouraging this story <3

PART ONE

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: very very tiny bit of language, some innuendo, and absolutely tons of fluff. probably the fluffiest thing i've written in months haha.

Enjoy! (and yes, there will be a third part)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Standing on the beach beneath a quickly constructed arch of flowers and greenery, Rowan clasped his hands behind his back, surprised to find himself nervous. To his side, Lorcan cleared his throat, a subtle reminder to get his shit together. Rowan rolled his eyes at his close friend, refraining from mumbling the curse that slipped to his tongue. Also beneath the arch, Rhoe Galathynius coughed, his own reminder to the younger men to behave themselves. 

A moment later, Elide appeared, her simple, soft lavender dress floating around her body, a small bouquet of wildflowers in her hand. She threw Lorcan a wink as she took her place opposite him and Rowan, waiting for the bride to make her appearance. 

Burning gods above. 

Aelin locked her eyes onto Rowan’s as she approached the arch and took her place, her lips curving into a wickedly satisfied smile. She looked–she was–breathtaking. 

Clad in a form-fitting golden dress that molded to each line and slope and curve of her body, Aelin was a living flame in the dusk. And her gleeful grin only accentuated how brightly she burned. 

Rhoe cleared his throat, bringing everyone’s attention to him. Casting his daughter a soft, proud grin, he opened the small book in his hands and began. 

“Dearly beloved…”

~

“You may now kiss the bride,” Rhoe concluded. “Congratulations, son.” 

Nothing on the earth or above the earth could compare to what Aelin felt as she looped her arms around Rowan’s neck, bowing into his tender embrace, and kissed him, sealing their union as husband and wife. They lost themselves in each other’s kiss, not even caring that their friends were watching and cheering and probably even catcalling a little. 

When they pulled apart, both were grinning widely, newlywed joy shining bright in their faces. 

“I love you,” Rowan whispered into her ear, lacing his fingers through hers. 

“I love you,” Aelin whispered back, tugging on his hand and leading him down the “aisle” to much cheering and applause from the three others gathered there. His smile was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 

After sharing laughs and a few tears and lots of hugs with their few friends, Aelin found her way to her father, wordlessly pressing herself into his proud embrace. 

“I’m so proud of you, Fireheart,” Rhoe murmured, his voice thick with emotion. 

She sniffled. “I’m still a little scared of how Mom and everyone are going to react when they find out that we eloped, and that you did the ceremony.” 

“Let me handle that,” her father replied. “Your mother will understand, I know she will.” 

“I…okay.” She took a deep breath and hugged her father fiercely. “I love you so much, Dad.” 

Rhoe brushed his hand over the top of his grown-up daughter’s head. “I love you more, Fireheart. Now go find that husband of yours, I’ve got a few words for him.” 

She chuckled wetly. “Don’t beat him up, Dad. I need Rowan to be unharmed for the next few weeks or so.” 

“I’ll leave him in one piece.” Rhoe hugged Aelin one more time before letting her go. “I’m so proud of you, my daughter.” 

Aelin slipped up to Rowan’s side, linking her hand with his as she rolled up onto her tiptoes to whisper into his ear. “Dad says he wants to talk to you.” 

“Why does that scare me?” Rowan mumbled, mild concern flickering through his eyes. 

She chuckled. “He said he’d be nice…”

“And I’m sure he will be?” 

“Well, considering I told him I need you in one piece…”

“You’re a menace, my love,” Rowan laughed. 

Aelin beamed. “I’m your menace now, my buzzard.” 

He flashed her a tiny, secret grin. “Yes you are.” Before he went over to Rhoe, he stole another kiss, not even caring that Elide and Lorcan both whooped at the sight. It was his and Aelin’s wedding day, after all; they could kiss as much as they wanted. 

Rowan stood with Rhoe for only a few minutes, the two men sharing a brief, muted conversation before Rhoe wrapped his arm around Rowan’s shoulders, grinning. Rowan returned to Aelin’s side shortly later, only a little bit dazed. 

“He called me son,” he murmured, wonder coating his tone. 

She beamed up at him. “Dad has seen you as his son practically since the first day you came over to my house. This is the best day of his life–he was right about you and me.” 

“Best day of my life, too.” Rowan tipped his head down, brushing a soft kiss behind Aelin’s ear. “Shall we, Fireheart?” 

“We shall, buzzard.” 

He lifted her into his arms, grinning at her half-squawk, half-gasp of shock, and strode off towards his truck, both of them waving at their friends as they left. Like the gentleman he was, he handed her up into the passenger seat, grinning like a little kid when he swung himself into the driver’s seat, turned on the ignition, and laced his fingers through hers as he drove away into the night. 

“We did it,” Aelin breathed, half convinced it was only a dream. 

“We did it,” Rowan whispered, flicking her a grin while still keeping his eyes on the road. Mostly on the road. 

The short drive to the beach house went by far too fast, both of the newlyweds lost in the giddy glee of the realization that they were married. For the first little bit of their honeymoon, Aelin had convinced Rowan to stay at the Galathynius family’s beach house, since it was conveniently available. 

“And so many of us forget it’s there,” she added, laughing wryly. “We used to love going there as kids, and now we’re all so busy that the place stands empty most of the time.” 

“How convenient,” Rowan chuckled. 

She smirked. “Indeed.” She brushed a soft, teasing kiss just below his ear. “For I don’t intend to be disturbed for at least a few days.” 

“Days?” He arched a brow, tamping down his wicked smirk. “Awfully high expectations, my love. Gonna back them up?” 

“We’ll see,” she hummed, her eyes sparkling in the dimness of the truck. “Think you can make it more than three minutes, old man?” 

Rowan pulled into the driveway, threw the truck into park with more force than strictly necessary, and leaned over into the passenger seat, pressing Aelin’s back into the seat cushion. “Old man?” he growled, the rasp of his voice dancing along her spine. 

Trailing her fingers through the silvery strands of his hair, she nodded languidly. “Mhmm.”

His lips brushed across her pulse point, the kiss a bare hint of his intent. “We’ll see,” he whispered darkly, parroting her earlier teasing. He felt more than heard the shaky exhale she released at that, her chest heaving. 

“So much talk and so little action.” she murmured, that snark of hers still in full force. 

So he hopped out of the truck, pulled open her door, and all but hauled her over his shoulder as he strode up to the front door. 

Her shocked gasp quickly gave way to a giggle when he shifted her into his arms to carry his lovely bride across the doorway. “Such a gentleman, darling husband.” 

“Only the best for my wife.” 

A shudder raced through Aelin’s whole body at the promise in those words. Rowan set her down and stepped out of his shoes, so she took a second to kick off her heels before turning back to her husband, the words she wanted to say suddenly failing. 

“Ro–” 

“Fireheart,” he whispered, tracing his fingertips along her cheekbone, no more than a breath of space between them. 

And then her lips were pressed into his, her kiss slow, unhurried. She rose onto her tiptoes to reach his height, but when her knees wobbled from the sheer overpowering emotion of it all, he lifted her into his arms, letting her legs wrap around his waist. 

For an endless moment, they just shared that kiss, needing nothing more than each other. Rowan slipped his lips down Aelin’s jaw, kissing along the elegant line of her throat, drawing a soft, breathy gasp out of her. Her head tipped back against the wall, allowing him access to her neck, and his whole body shuddered. 

“Aelin,” he panted, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, knowing his own were darkened with desire. “I–”

“I love you,” she breathed, her voice remarkably steady despite her fluttering pulse. “I’m yours.” 

“As I am yours,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers. 

It was barely a few seconds before her nimble fingers slipped beneath his untucked shirt, her touch electric against his skin. His hands flexed beneath her thighs, where he held her, his control rapidly fraying. “Gods,” he gasped, “Fireheart, please.”

“Begging for me already?” she teased softly, winking at him. 

Almost before she could blink, he’d walked them into the master bedroom and closed the door, pressing her back into the smooth, cool wood. “Oh, love,” he purred, “I don’t intend to be the only one begging tonight.” 

Fuck, that tone of his did bad things to her failing self-control. Her breath escaped shakily, her heartbeat racing as he lifted his hands to the straps of her dress. “Can I…” 

“Yes.” She rested her hands atop his, tugging the dress’s straps down. “Yes, Ro.” 

Slowly, he slipped the dress off her shoulders, letting the fabric pool at her waist. His gaze followed, tracing down her exposed curves, her skin bared to the low lamplight. She felt how sharply he inhaled when he realized she hadn’t been wearing a bra. “Fuck, love!” His heart thundered beneath her palms. “You’re trying to kill me.” 

“It’s working,” she smirked, dancing her fingertips over her skin. 

Quicker than she could blink, Rowan’s hand replaced hers, his touch tentative, exploratory, his callouses rougher than her manicured nails. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, returning his lips to her neck as his fingers skimmed over her collarbones, over the swell of her breasts. “Absolutely perfect.” 

She walked her hands down the front of his now-unbuttoned shirt, pushing the offending material off his shoulders and drinking in the sight of his bare chest and the tattoo spiraling up his arm and side. “You’re not so bad yourself, love.” 

He chuckled into the crook of her neck. “How kind of you.” 

Her fingers skated up his side, along the words inked there. “You’re gorgeous, buzzard,” she murmured, her admiration breaking into a groan of pleased shock at the way he palmed her breasts. “Oh, gods!” 

“No, just me,” he smirked. 

So she pushed her dress all the way down to the floor, revealing her complete and utter lack of undergarments. 

Rowan loved that golden dress on her. 

He loved it even more when tumbled to the floor. 

Resisting the sudden urge to cover herself with her hands, Aelin just lifted her eyes to her husband’s, nervousness flickering across her face for an instant. 

“Fireheart,” he breathed, absolute awe coating his words, his face, “you are stunning.” 

Then, he laid her gently down on the bed and proved it. 

~

Aelin’s whole body was shaking. 

She clutched her hands together to keep her fingers from spasming, twisting her wedding ring around and around her finger. It was an old nervous tic of hers, toying with her rings, something she only did when she had to force her mind to be calm rather than a storm of anxious worry. 

Ding! Her phone’s timer chimed. All of a sudden, she was a blur of motion, leaping up from the edge of the bathtub to turn off the timer and then, not quite sure if the butterflies stampeding in the pit of her stomach were excited or terrified or both, she turned her eyes towards the two white plastic sticks on the bathroom counter. 

And found two blue lines on each stick. 

Gasping, Aelin grasped the edge of the countertop to steady herself, her jaw falling open in complete incredulity. The tests…they were positive. Positive. Unconsciously, one hand slipped down to her lower abdomen, some ancient protective instinct guiding her to cup the tiny little life growing inside of her. 

Just to be completely sure, she took a digital test, a shocked sob breaking from her throat when that one, too, confirmed that she was pregnant. Three weeks pregnant or more, according to the little screen on the test. 

She and Rowan had only been married for two months. 

Before the butterflies crowding her stomach could turn into buffalo, Aelin picked up the positive tests, hid them carefully in the bathroom cabinet, walked out into the bedroom, sat down on the end of the bed, and exhaled long and slow. She was pregnant. She and Rowan were going to be parents. 

She just had to figure out how in all hell to tell him. 

Luckily for her, Target was only a ten-minute drive away, and the baby clothing department there was always well stocked. 

~

Rowan’s truck pulled into the driveway just after six-thirty, the door thunking shut and the truck beeping when its doors locked. He walked in a minute later, dropping his work bag and kicking off his shoes, loosening his tie with a groan of relief. “I’m home, Fireheart!” 

“Hey, love.” Aelin leaned into his side, rising onto her toes to capture his lips softly. “Long day again?” 

“Always,” he grumbled. “Better now, though.” 

“Good.” She ran her fingers through his mussed hair. “Hungry?” 

“Very.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in for another kiss. “Even dessert.” 

She swatted his arm, her eyes dancing. “Real food first, Ro.” 

He smirked. “If you insist, my love.” His nose twitched. “I smell awful, I’m going to shower before dinner.” 

“Please do,” she deadpanned. 

He clutched his heart as he headed for the bedroom. “Cruel woman!” 

“I love you too,” she called back, chuckling. 

Laughter would do nicely to temper her thundering heart, which raced with anticipation and terror at the knowledge that it would be only moments before Rowan walked into the master bathroom and discovered the little surprise she’d laid there. 

It hadn’t been five minutes before there was a muffled thud in the bathroom. 

Seconds later, Rowan reappeared in the kitchen, one of the pregnancy tests clutched in his hand, his eyes huge and shimmering with tears. “Ae…Aelin?” he choked out, voice stumbling in disbelief. “Is this…are you…?” 

“I’m pregnant, Ro,” Aelin murmured, her own tears breaking free from her control and sliding down her face. 

“You’re pregnant,” he breathed. His body betrayed him then, knees weakening and causing him to sink to the floor, staring up at her in pure, overjoyed shock. “Fireheart, we’re going to be parents?” 

“Yeah.” She joined him on the floor, cupping her hands around his jaw. “We’re going to be parents, my buzzard.” She sniffled, beaming through her tears. 

His thumb brushed stray tears off of her chin. “I love you so much,” he whispered, his own smile matching hers. 

“I love you more,” she whispered back, a sob clogging her throat. 

“Impossible.” Unbidden, his large, warm hand slipped around to her stomach, hovering over her skin as if he was unsure whether he could touch. Aelin wrapped her hand around his wrist, guiding his hand down onto her stomach. 

“We love you,” she murmured. 

And Rowan released a heaving sob, overcome by the shock and the exhilaration of everything they were about to experience. 

~

Three more weeks. By this point, it was the only thing keeping Aelin going. Three more weeks–just three!--before she and Rowan met their baby. She was feeling the oddest mix of nerves about giving birth and eagerness to have the baby out of her; damn Rowan and his massive stature for making the baby measure in the 97th percentile, as she so often teased him. 

“Baby’s still comfortable in there,” Aelin’s OB laughed, disposing of her gloves and handing Aelin a towel to clean the ultrasound gel off her bump. “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly normal. You’re only thirty-eight weeks, and first babies often come after forty weeks. Technically, that’s considered over term, but it’s very normal for a first baby.” 

“Bloody hell,” Aelin grumbled, throwing Rowan a playful glare. “This is your fault, y’know, buzzard.” 

He winked cheekily. “Doctor says it’s normal, love.” 

“For you to make massive demon spawn–ouch, you stop that, little one!” She rubbed her bump, soothing the place the baby had just kicked. “Damn, already Dad’s best friend and not even born yet.” 

Dr. Towers chuckled. “Right, Aelin–we’re all done for today, and I hope the next time I see you, it’s in the delivery room.” She winked. “Call me if you hit forty weeks and little one is still chilling, okay? We might have to talk about inducing labor if that happens.”

“Is that normal?” Aelin’s brows furrowed. 

The doctor nodded. “Very common. Don’t worry, Aelin; it’s most likely that you’ll go into labor naturally, especially with a 97th-percentile baby.” 

Aelin muttered something about so size does matter that the doctor chose not to hear. 

Rowan, though, flushed bright red and spluttered. “Aelin!”

She snickered. “Love you too, Ro. Thanks, doc.” She pushed herself awkwardly off the ultrasound bed, wrapping her arm around Rowan’s waist for support. Dr. Towers waved and headed out, leaving the couple to themselves. 

Rowan was still fighting his blush. “You’re incorrigible, Fireheart.” 

“You love it,” she grinned. 

He sighed dramatically. “Yeah, I do. Want to get a milkshake?” It had become their post-appointment tradition. 

“Hell yeah!” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Hear that, little one? We’re getting a milkshake!” The baby shifted around, as if in agreement. Aelin beamed. “I think she wants chocolate.” 

“So confident it’s a girl,” her husband teased. 

“Mother’s intuition.” 

“Mhmm, and does that also tell you what flavor milkshake the baby wants?” 

“Of course.” She winked and leaned in closer to his side, a wicked smirk curling her lips. “Mama prefers a certain kind of milkshake, but we can’t buy it in the shop.” 

For the second time in ten minutes, Rowan’s face flushed beet red. He clamped his lips together, forcing the saddest thoughts he could conjure into his mind to keep his…male instinct down. “Fireheart,” he groaned, visibly uncomfortable from the way his jeans had tightened. “Why?” 

She giggled. “Because it’s so fun to watch you get all flustered, love. And I like you all flustered, I really do.” 

He sighed, rolling his eyes skyward. “Love you too, Ae.” Leaning down, he kissed her bump. “I love you too, little one.” 

Baby kicked again, stirring at the sound of Rowan’s voice. 

For the gods only knew how many times, Aelin’s eyes clouded with tears again. Hell, she couldn’t wait to make that man a father.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #next thing you know #rowaelin fanfiction #fluff #all fluff #i PROMISE #frederick was banned from this fic

[sunwarmed-ash]

Fic tag game!

tagged by my buddies @cuillere and @lizzy0305! thank you for this!!

How many works do you have on AO3?

93 😎

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

831,467 (holy fucking shit when did it get that long?!?!?! #ThatsWhatSheSaid

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Stranger Things, Detroit become human, the breakfast club, marvel/spiderverses, Ted lasso, House MD, Harry Potter

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Tony Stark: Billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, Daddy: (starker) 1074

I think I need help: (harringrove) 927

Call me Doctor: (Chase/House & Chase/House/Wilson 739

Rockabye Baby: (Wincest kinda??) 670

You know what they say about assuming. (steddiegrove) 645

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Every. Single. One. Comments are the lifeblood to my work. Its so intimidating to be posting to a empty void but y'alls comments give life to the achieve and are just as important to a WIPs development as anything I write on my own!

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Idk, I have ALOT of wips without endings/one shots. Probs the most angsty one I have in general is either The New Kid or Silence isn't Golden

wait wait wait, I found a dual suicide Wincest fic, that wins

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

uhhhhhhh this Thor/Bruce fic may be the fluffiest one I have haha

8. Do you get hate on fics?

HA! yeah, but oddly its just the ones with sex work in them. Who would have guessed 🙄🙄🙄🙄

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes 😈😈😈 kink wise all over the place, from super vanilla to BDSM and anything else I can think of. Peoplewise LGBTQ and queer characters, canon or fanon, polycules. Trope wise, enemies to lovers is my fav, but I also love pining or tragic love 👌

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Yes!! not too many, but I've written a few. This one isn't crazy but it is the most developed of all the wips. It's a Supernatural/The Breakfast Club crossover called Supernatural activity at shermer high

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

a few times by a bot, im really really hoping it doesn't happen again but with AI about to fuck us all out of work, im a lil worried.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! two of my Starker fics were translated into Russian and on fic book but that website got torched a few years ago :( I think I also had a reader translate a TBC fic into Portuguese

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Many! probably 20-30 at this point

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

not possible for me to choose. So here's my favs of the moment. Hankconvin800 or hankvin1700, steddiegrove, parksborn, steadyhands

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

get a few scotches in him and he'll hit on anything in a 5 mile radius.

its a cowritten work I worked on years ago and just, meh idk I dont really wanna go back to it haha

16. What are your writing strengths?

I've gotten compliments on my dialogue, dynamic character relationships, smut, and angst

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

proof reading and editing

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i never trust google translate to do a good enough job so to avoid looking like a fool i dont do it. I should try though, expand my horizons. I'm learning Danish so maybe ill make a fic using that.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

all of them hold significant places in my heart. they are all pieces of me and I'm trying to learn to love all of me. And that's gotta start somewhere!

tagging all my mututals and anyone who wants to do it

@sweeteatercat @disdaidal @sweetasblack @writerwhowritesao3 @geekinglikeaboss @destroya-hargrove @kissoflightning @moviemuncherao3 @cuillere @late-to-the-party-81 @spaceofentropy @strangebrainrot @treeffles @heiko-goes-detroit

#sinful sunday #find me on ao3 #sunwarmed ash #links in bio #stranger things #i post new stuff every sunday #detroit become human #the breakfast club #house md #marvel mcu #harry potter #supernatural

[desert-fern]

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

I was tagged by the very sweet @fayes-fics (who writes some of the best Bridgerton fics I have read). Thank you for the tag on my side blog! 💕💕

How many works do you have on AO3?

Just one. It's a Bucky oneshot and I am trying to collect my shit to post my only series (A Gun Amongst Daggers) on there soon.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? / Tumblr word count?

2,210. Like I said, just a bitty oneshot on AO3

On Tumblr? Approximately 138 800 words.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now? Just TGM, but I have been known to write some Marvel/Avengers fics

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos/notes?

Because I only have one fic on AO3, I'm just going to do Tumblr notes

AGAD Part 1 (The Seal in the Bar) - 1,344

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day - 879

The Walls are Caving In - 833

AGAD Part 2 (Goddamn Pilots) - 693

Roll With the Punches - 616

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do my best to get to every comment that gets sent my way and if I don't reply, I always read them. I love being able to connect with the readers and their kind words mean the world to me!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

With what I currently have out? Probably This Love is Fireproof; it's not really all that angsty but I wrote it as a way to process my feelings around a wildfire burning near my home, so the ending is kind of open. Otherwise my angstiest fic isn't out yet, it's been a WIP for months now 😅

7. What is the fic you wrote with the fluffiest ending?

All of them? Ring Around my Rosie and I Just Need a Hug came to mind immediately, but I'm sure most of my work can fall into this category.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really. I've had one anon telling me that I was selling out by writing a WWII au (which is just living in plot-landia right now), and I have had a few confrontations with anons in my inbox saying some awful things about a good friend, but most of the time I try to keep it chill. If someone has an issue, DMing me is the best course of action because I want to handle things like an adult.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

If you know me, you know that the answer is no. I much prefer fluffy to smutty, but I have written it once or twice as a part of AGAD. I'm still practicing lol

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I haven't ventured in that direction just yet. Maybe in the future, but they aren't really my thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Once. I had a copycat rip off A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, to the point where the title was a bunch of synonyms for mine. Some of it was changed, but yeah. It was taken down, thankfully, but I'm always wary of it now.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. Never. I'm not all that well known in my fandoms for writing, so I haven't ever been approached with an offer like that.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Not in so many words. I am working with @footprintsinthesxnd on my WWII AU right now, she's been so generous as to offer her help with research, but I don't think I can call that co-writing, unfortunately.

I'd be interested in attempting one, if an opportunity ever presented itself.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

I have too many! But probably Stucky, those two got me through some tough times lol

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Umm... this one I have where Jake gets his callsign of Hangman. It's also my angsty ending one and I think I need to go back to the drawing board on it. It's as of right now, started but unfinished, but I think that I can maybe slam it out. Just depends on the timing of everything.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Not a clue. I'm leaning towards really well-rounded and developed characters but I think I should leave that up to my readers.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Umm... smut. Which makes sense to me as I literally have nothing to draw from other than what I read and maybe scene descriptions. I feel I describe the scenes the same way and use the same words over and over, but maybe that's just me.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I haven't actually found a way that I feel does the language justice. I would totally add some French into a fic if I felt it was needed (its the only other language that I am fluent in, so that's why). Other times, I'm relying on Google Translate so I will usually just stick to English.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Percy Jackson back when I was 13. I wrote a few things over on Fanfiction.net and read shit that I should not have lol

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I love them all, but it has to be A Gun Amongst Daggers without a doubt. I poured 10 months of work into this fic and the characters will forever be a part of me. It is also the first series that I have ever finished, so I have so much love for this work of mine.

No Pressure tags: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @blue-aconite @horseshoegirl @teacupsandtopgun @dakotakazansky @footprintsinthesxnd @chvoswxtch @madwomansapologist @entishramblings @auroralightsthesky and anyone else who sat through this whole long ass thing!

#fern rambles #tagging the houseplant #fic writer questions

[walkinginland]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

very kindly tagged by @freneticfloetry and @three-drink-amy. thanks, friends!!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

20! Three of those are drabble compilations, how I keep my 100-word drabbles organized for different fandoms, but I'm counting them 😂

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

35,104. I don't know how to write long lmao.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Most of my fics (15 of them to be exact, as well as the main longer fic I'm writing atm) are for Outlander, but I've written for a total of 5 fandoms, and hop between them at different times. In addition to Outlander, I have fics/drabbles for The Song of Achilles, The Last Binding Trilogy, 911, and 911: Lone Star.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

To Heart and Home (Outlander, multichap, canon divergent) - by farrrrr, which makes sense, as it's my only multichap

Foundations (Outlander, one shot, canon compliant)

return my fists to fingers (The Last Binding, one shot, canon compliant)(i need more of yall to read these books and write fic for them. i need it)

Sunlight (The Song of Achilles, one shot, canon compliant)

Grievances Raised (Outlander, one shot, modern au)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I don't post often enough that I get an overwhelming amount of comments or anything, so it's not a huge burden to reply to them all. I just am continually baffled by people reading what I write, it genuinely blows my mind.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

hmmmmmm. a lot of what I write is pretty angsty, but I love finding and weaving out the thread of hope that lives in those broken places. That said, does heaven have enough angels yet is pretty rough. It's a canon compliant little snippet from the pov of a stillborn infant so like...... she's sad. there's still hope tho! always still hope.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

ooo probably the fluffiest happy fic I have is All the Colors in the Rainbow! It ends with all the Frasers going off to Pride, and it makes me hella happy.

The happiest fic story-wise is probably To Heart and Home, just because it fixes The Main Fuckening that happens in Outlander and brings that family back together earlier.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

*knocks on wood* i haven't yet!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't, I'm not brave enough. The closest I came to it was with Grievances Raised, wherein Claire pegs the brains out of her husband, but I only wrote the aftermath.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven't done one yet!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of 🤞🏻

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don't think so? I feel like I remember someone asking me to translate To Heart and Home a few years ago, but I don't know if anything ever came of it.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I haven't! I feel like I would be the worst co-writer lol, I am farrrr too slow.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

to write? idk, probably Jamie and Claire? I just feel like I know them, inside and out. I don't have to look for their voices, they're right there.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oh god, so many outlander ones lmao.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I am really good at matching the tone of the source material! Once I get the voice of the characters/narration/general story style, I feel like I can reproduce the general vibes of canon. I think that's why I sometimes have an easier time with writing fic from stories in the form of books - there's a written tone I can internalize. And consequently, why I've had a harder time with nailing a voice for 911 or Lone Star, even though I do want to eventually write fic for those shows.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue and plot! I write Vibes™, but I don't know how to write actual Stories. I would love to be that writer who could crank out a whole story with a plot and shit, because I love that type of fic with my whole self, but my brain just functions in vibes.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I am a Coward about it. I've written a fair amount of Gàidhlig into my Outlander fics, especially in To Heart and Home, and honestly I think I've done a pretty good job with it. I spent a lot of time researching the language, up to and including researching grammar structures and taking duolingo lessons at the beginning of the pandemic for a few months. I've forgotten most of it now though, despite duolingo being extremely persistent with its reminders lmao.

However.

If I were to write for 911 and Lone Star like I would like to, I would like to include some Spanish into those stories (especially with Lone Star), and I just don't think I would do it justice. I failed Spanish miserably in high school, and haven't taken a stab at it since. If I include it I want to do it well and respectfully, ya know? I'm bilingual (just not with Spanish lol) and an interpreter, and I think that has brought with it a better understanding of just how complicated language is, and how easy it is to fuck it up when you don't know what you're doing. And as a very white person, I also don't want to act like I know fuck-all about a non-white language and culture when I don't.

Sooooo, I'm a coward about it atm. Hoping to get better eventually though!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Outlander! Never ever thought I would write fic, didn't think I was "allowed." Hadn't ever written anything creatively before (in english at least), so it was a big jump for me. this makes it sound like english is my second language, when really it's just that the first time that anyone made me write creatively was in my deaf lit class

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Oh god this changes all the time. At the moment I've feeling very tender towards into the empty parts of me. It's a really tragic part of canon, but just gorgeous character potential. I loved how gentle this turned out, how John and Claire had a moment of healing in the middle of their tragedy.

But also I think that the fic I'm writing right now is gonna turn out to be my favorite ❤ once I get the writing juices flowing again for one last section 🤞🏻

I'm not sure who all has done this already, but no pressure tagging @liminalmemories21, @flyinghome-againstthewind, @theawkwardterrier, @homerforsure, @paperstorm

#textin #tag games

[judas-is-so-so-silly]

jude.. could i get a short prompt for a lactose intolerant reader and primo, because i made bad choices and am now suffering 🫶 ily

Yes sir I'm also lactose intolerant and this sounds so cute

Literally the fluffiest shit I've ever written under the cut

Mentions of being in the bathroom and tummy troubles ofc. Also reader is described as a dude

Primo loved children and had made it a point to always have at least a handful of candy for little ones around the Ministry, he would call children to him and place one in their palm and curl their fingers around it like it was a treasure to be protected. The smiles that would spread across their chubby faces warmed his heart, he even used his little candies to flirt on special occasions.

He remembered seeing you waltz through the Ministry doors like it was yesterday and of course he was caught in a predicament. He had knelt down to gift one of his candies to a little boy who had been crying and when he tottled off, Primo was very much stuck on his knees. He groaned and grunted as he tried to force his feet under him and from across the foyer you saw him and immediately your heart was racing. He was adorable, trying so hard to be strong when he obviously needed help. You realized you were staring at the poor old man who needed help, and that staring was doing nothing.

"Papa! Let me help you!" A sweet voice echoed across the marble, Primo looked up to see a young man rushing to his side. The old man chuckled and offered his hand,

"Grazie, fratellino." He grunted as you pulled him up, his hand was warm and calloused against your own. When Primos eyes met yours he was spellbound as he simply offered you a small candy;

He's remained spellbound, even now as you whine to him through the bathroom door about your tummy issues. His smile remains as he hums back to you,

"Mio fiore, you will be fine. Maybe you should not eat the cheesecake next time you are offered, though." Your groan tugged at his heart strings as much as it made him laugh, he knew you were in pain but satanas you somehow remained to be adorable.

"But it's so good, I even took my meds!" Ah yes, your little pills. When you mentioned how milk caused you so much anguish he began carrying them around too, he would always offer them when he saw something with dairy on your plate. You found it sweet, how he made sure you felt your best.

"I know, fiore, I know, but you know I dont like seeing," he paused, remembering how you made a beeline to your shared cottage only a couple minutes after destroying 3 entire slices of the dessert. He chuckled, "well, hearing you like this."

You chuckled back, finally starting to feel the pains melt away. "I'll consider it, is that good enough?"

"For now, I'll take it." The sound of you shuffling around quickly followed by the door swinging open and you falling into your Papas arms. He noticed your tired smile as he held you, his hand slid into your hair as he kissed your forehead.

"Thank you, Papa."

"Hm. None of that," Primo slid his hand down to your chin and tilted your face up to meet his gaze before kissing you so gently you barely felt it. You couldn't keep the whine in when he pulled away, but his mismatched eyes were so full of adoration words escaped you. "To you, mio fiore, I am Primo. And only Primo." You scoffed,

"Even when you ask me to call you Papa, when you look all sexy and mean?" You smirk up at him and he considers you for a moment before scoffing back at you,

"Maybe just then."

#hope you like it victor!!! #this was rlly fun to write :) #not proofread btw

[resflower]

This is the link to Burnt Into My Skin which is finally complete! And below, is an alternative ending that I wrote but ultimately decided didn't work for this story. It is however some of the fluffiest work I have ever written so I thought folks might want to take a gander. If you'd like to see where it fits in, it is the latter half of Chapter 7 in what became the finished product. Please be kind because this is an UNEDITED ROUGH DRAFT.

(Alternative Ending)

"I had a great time tonight." Adora is sitting in Catra's car, her feet hurt from dancing.

"Me too." Catra grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together as they pull up to Adora's house.

"Do you want to come to my house? We can have a night cap?" Adora suggests.

"Yeah 'Dora? A night cap? You haven't even let me kiss you yet." Catra's tone is suggestive as she waggles her eyebrows.

"I'm just not ready for the night to end." Adora admits. Catra melts into the leather car seat.

"How can you just say shit like that." Catra mutters, trying to hide the blush on her face.

"Yeah blondie let's have a night cap." They walk into Adora's house with minimal fuss.

"You can take a look around while I look for something for us to drink." Adora says as she heads towards the kitchen.

"You are going to regret giving me permission to snoop." Catra says gleefully as she theatrically opens a random drawer.

"I don't have anything to hide Cat." Adora calls from the kitchen, laughing at Catra’s antics.

Adora is rooting through her liquor cabinet looking for a fancy after dinner Micah and Angella gifted her last year when she hears Catra's voice calling for her.

"Adora is that you?" Catra's voice sounds strangled. Weird. Adora leaves the kitchen to see what has Catra upset.

Catra is standing over by some of the pictures Adora has framed on her walls. She can't imagine what would be upsetting there.

Adora peers over Catra's shoulder to see what she is looking at. She smiles at the picture of her with a baby Angel, just shy of his second birthday.

"Hmm, yeah me at the beach. That was Angel's first time. You should have seen how cute he was running about in the sand."

"Is that—that your soul mark?" She pointed to the abstract heart that looked tattooed onto her left shoulder.

"Yeah Cat. You'd never seen it before?" Adora racks her brain for a time where she actually showed Catra her soul mark and came to a blank.

"No no—I would have remembered it." Catra looks about to pass out and Adora starts to feel panicky. She doesn't want the mention of soul marks or soulmates to ruin her date with Catra.

"Cat what is it? Are you worried about my soulmate, we can talk about—"

Catra interrupts her. "Adora that's—that's my soul mark." Catra looks breathless as her eyes bore into Adora.

"You're soul mark? No Cat that's my soul mark, it's literally on me."  Catra is busy scrolling through her phone and pulls up an older picture of her and Scorpia. There on her left shoulder, an identical replica of Adora's soul mark.

"Oh. Oh Stars. So you're—you're my—?" Adora tries to catch up with what is happening.

"Yeah. I am." Catra whispers, looking up at Adora. Adora feels tears running down her face as a sob tears through her.

"Adora why are you crying? Are you disappointed? If you want me to go-" Catra's voice trembles. That snaps Adora out of it.

"No, no, no, Cat." Adora almost chants. Adora pulls Catra into a hug positively crushing Catra into her chest. "You being my soulmate is the single most fantastic thing I've ever heard." Adora feels her body shaking as she looks down at Catra.

The relief on Catra's face was palpable. "You aren't afraid?" Catra asks tentatively.

Adora shakes her head quickly. "Maybe I would have been afraid if I had known when we met. But now? How could I be afraid of my soulmate if it's you." Adora presses her forehead onto Catra's leaning down to get closer to her.

"You know, I looked for my soul mark on your shoulder the night we met." Adora confesses.

"I felt so dumb at the time, but I guess a part of me knew even then." Catra stutters a laugh. 

"You cannot possibly say something that romantic and not kiss me." Catra looks at Adora with hooded eyes.

"Kiss me then." Catra gently holds Adora's jaw and closes the distance between them.

Adora has never felt so moved by a simple kiss. It tastes like salt from their tears and something else that's uniquely Catra. It feels like she was always meant to do this with Catra, any former kiss a facsimile of the real thing. Adora sighs into the kiss.

Suddenly, Adora feels her shoulder start to warm, like a beam of welcome sunshine focused in on it.

They break apart, Catra frowning at her shoulder as she pulls up to look at it. And something incredible happened. Catra's soul mark is back on her shoulder.

Seeing her soul mark—their soul mark—on Catra's skin left Adora speechless.

"How—it was gone!" Catra is looking at her left shoulder in confusion. She glances up and her eyes catch sight of the soul mark on Adora. She looks dumbstruck.

"Wow." Catra whispers, eyes never leaving Adora.

"Yeah." Adora breathes back. Adora places a kiss on Catra's shoulder and it feels like her skin crackles under Adora’s touch. Catra's darken and her breath goes ragged.

"Adora, I'm not leaving your house tonight." Catra says as she wraps her arms around Adora's neck. Adora quickly nods and pulls Catra up by her thighs, encouraging her to wrap her legs around her.

"You aren't going anywhere." Adora agrees as she kisses Catra's jaw. She was going to kiss every inch of Catra she could reach and then some.

#spop fanfic #fanfiction #catradora #gay love #fanfic #shera fanfic #she ra fanfic #catradora fanfic

[eliteseven]

i love your writing, I could eat that shit all day! I love your Tav, she looks like a bad bitch, and how you write Shadowheart bc she’s a softie and deserves all the love in the world. Thanks for writing and promoting your tumblr lmao!

THANK YOU SM!!!! I could cryyyy this is so sweet, thank you! I am *just* about finished with the first part of the cottage epilogue (pt.1 is just abt the fluffiest sappiest shit I think I've ever written (It's just Shadowheart being happy for once), pt2 is just smut lol.

so hopefully I'll be able to post to AO3 today if I finish work at a decent time!

I also fully geeked out and made one of those "my ship in 5 mins" sheets for them so... fully in my brainrot era

#bg3 #nls series #oc: serena tavyndir #shadowheart #bg3 spoilers #ask

[fantasyescapes17]

I’m vv excited for the war series! I saw you put sacrifice for soonyoung and I’ll say now if he gets hurt I will not be able to recover 😭😭😭😭 angst with happy endings pleasseeeeeee

Thanks, I'm really excited about the new series too! I have always loved dystopian themes and I won't lie to you, there's a lot of angst and suffering planned for this series and it will be pretty dark.

Having said that, I assure you that Hoshi is my baby and I would never hurt him. Case in point: his regency!AU installment is the absolute fluffiest shit I've ever written 😂

#dystopian ask

[galatially]

❝𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲❞

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐈𝐕: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬!𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 x 𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐞!𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — she was my sun, my moon, the flesh i never shed; it is said that falling in love is like finding a home in the warmth of someone's chest

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 7.1K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, unprotected sex (to was ancient times, y'all — no one was using anything lol), honorifics (sweet girl, love), Declarations of Love™

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — this is the fluffiest shit i've ever written, not even being hyperbolic lol

The sky was a mosaic of oranges, pinks, and blues. 

You’d gotten through dinner as well as you could manage — your left leg bobbed and your words flew out of your mouth so quickly, you sounded like the ancient texts you heard Lady Agatha and Wanda read aloud in temple. 

As the sun lowered over the horizon, you threw a hasty goodbye over your shoulder and headed towards the temple. 

You felt like a teenager again, sneaking out to meet the object of your fancy without your sisters knowing. Your body buzzed with excitement,   

When the great oak tree came into view and you didn’t see Pietro, dread bloomed in your chest. Your eyes scanned the expanse of the field and the limbs of the tree with no signs of the demigod.

Of course.

You looked up to the sky, now fading into indigo, and let out an incredulous chuckle. “Fucking demigods.”

You turned on your heel and started back towards your home, praying your sisters were asleep by now. For some, walking through the woods at night would raise alarm. Nymphs, on the other hand, were accustomed to the domains they were born to. You’d known these woods like the back of your hands and often found yourself drawn to roaming them as a child. It was the stillness that you enjoyed; the familiar quiet of cicada hums and flowing rivers. 

“Y/N?”

You turned, a smile rising to your lips before you could stop yourself. “I was certain you’d stood me up, bard.”

Pietro chuckled. “Apologies, m’lady. I found myself mulling over what exactly I wanted to share with you tonight, how much I wanted to divulge despite us only knowing each other for so short a time.” He took hold of your hand and led you back towards the tree. “Tell me more about your relationship with my sister. How did you two meet?”

You chuckled. “I met your sister two years ago when I was trying to work up the courage to convince Lady Agatha to take me on as a pupil. I had to have been on the temple steps for at least an hour before she happened upon me. She asked if I was there to worship and I told her that I wanted to become a scholar for Lady Agatha.” 

“I’m sure she advocated for you,” he said, bringing you down to sit beside him on the ground, “my sister is compassionate that way.”

“She didn’t, at first.” You smiled to yourself. “Just like you,  she thought it odd that a nymph would want to be a scholar. Asked why I would want to become a scholar. I remember she said, “I don’t know many nymphs that come to worship, let alone want to become a scholar.’  You’ve not known me long, but she can tell you that I’m quicker to acting than I am thinking.” You tipped your head back. “I think I said something along the lines of her being quite arrogant in thinking that nymphs weren’t capable of more.”

Pietro snorted. “I bet she got red at that.”

“She did! Told me that I was rude and she’d hoped that Lady Agatha would turn me away. Now she’s one of my best friends.”

“Why do you? Want to become a scholar, I mean.”

“My sisters and I run an apothecary not too far from the village across the fields. Alma and Daphne raised me since our parents’ deaths when I was very young and they taught me everything they know. Though I don’t inspire the same adoration as they do from the villagers, I love healing and I love helping my sisters, but I want more than that. I want to be able to travel the realms and write the histories of my people. But I’m afraid.”

Pietro frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t know of anything outside of my sisters and Thrace. I often wonder if anyone would care for the words and histories of a woman.” You shook your head. “I’m rambling, I’m sorry.”

“I enjoy listening to you, Y/N. It…quiets my own thoughts,” he said, plucking the strings of his kithara. “I’m not burdened by memories that I’d sooner forget.”

You put a hand over top of his. “You don’t have to share anything with me that you don’t want. What’s yours is yours.” When he started to push the top half of his tunic down his shoulders, your cheeks warmed. “Pietro — ”

Your words died when you saw the scars; silvery, puckered skin following the curves of his shoulder blades and some intersected others. What made your stomach twist painfully were the imprints of talons going down the length of his spine. You clasped your hands together to keep from tracing the marks with your fingertips. 

“I’ve tried my best to keep my scars hidden from my family.” He turned to face you. “I know they mean well, but they hover me as if I were a fragile babe. It’s selfish to expect them to not care, I know that, but I hate seeing the pity in their eyes.”

“Why do you assume it’s pity?”

“Isn’t it? ‘Poor Pietro, come home from war broken and scarred.’” 

You scoffed. “How arrogant of you to assume that they did not lose someone as well, Pietro. You were gone for three years. Do you not think that they spent every waking moment they had wondering if any day would be the day their fears, their grief, would come true?” He stiffened. “You were scared, yes, but don’t discredit their feelings because you refuse to let them in.”

“So what am I to do, Y/N? Tell them every horrid detail of the war? How I killed great beasts and held my fallen comrades? That I don’t sleep because when I do, I can hear them? Hear the voices of men who, just like I, had families and loved ones and homes that they can no longer return to?” His chest rose and fell as tears started pearling in the corners of his eyes. 

You stood to your feet and took him into your arms. At first, he was frozen. Your arms were crossed at the back of his neck and your hands gently molded to the back of his head and eased it into the crook of your shoulder. Then, his shoulders sagged and he pulled you into him, his arms tight around your waist, desperate. Like he was anchoring himself to you. 

“You listen to me, Pietro of Thrace: if you cannot confide in anyone else, not even Wanda, confide in me.” You pulled back, a soft half smile on your lips. “I may not share the bond of family, but I am someone that will listen.”

“And if I am cruel to you? If I push you away?”

You wiped at a tear with your thumb. “I will be waiting beside you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. For a moment, time slowed. Heat pooled in your cheeks and your chest was tight with…anticipation? Excitement? It was just you and him, holding each other’s stares.

You cleared your throat and moved your hand to your side. “I’m forgetting myself.”

“How so?”

“I shouldn’t be here,” you waved your arms out, “with you in the woods at night. You’re the Prince of Thrace! I should be thinking of the scandal this could bring.” The thought twisted your stomach again. “Gods, I can hear Wanda now.” 

“I told you earlier; I’m not the man I was before.” He ran a hand through his curls. “I’ve barely looked at another maid since I’ve been back. Not counting you, of course.”

“Of course,” you teased. “Tell me, demigod, what about me draws you to seek me out?”

Pietro tipped his head back, facing the starry sky. “You didn’t spare me a glance when we met. I remember thinking once you’d gone to temple that I’d never had someone decline my advances with a smile the way you did.” He peered at you out of the corner of his eye. “I liked it.”

“So, your magic is in your music,” you asked, quickly changing the subject. “I noticed this afternoon that wind moved with your song.”

“In short terms, yes. Like how Wanda and your Lady Agatha can manipulate the world around them with their magic, I can influence the elements. During the war, I’d sung a song that drowned out Siren song, using the wind to project my voice and playing.”

“That’s amazing!”

He let out a small chuckle. “Should you ask my companions, they claim we won the war solely due to my presence, but I’m not much of a fighter.” His scars flashed in your mind’s eye. “I can use my gifts to give me some advantages, but they are more offensive rather than defensive. I’m lucky to be alive.”

And he was. You helped heal many of the soldiers of the village enough to know that beasts like Sirens and ogres rarely let their prey roam free. 

“Tell me about your family.”

Your brows rose at the sudden change in conversation. “Oh! Um, my sister, Daphne, is the eldest and my sister, Alma, is the second eldest. Daphne is beautiful; she’s tall and warm and everyone that meets her falls in love with her. Alma is equally beautiful but not as severe. She’s like a warm summer wind, familiar and comforting.” You smiled. “They’re my best friends.”

“What of your parents?”

You lifted a shoulder. “They passed on when I was a small child. All I remember of my mother is that she smelled of jasmine and sea salt. I’m told that I have her eyes and my father’s features.” He shifted closer to you. “Sometimes, when they think I don’t notice, my sisters look at me with such sadness in their eyes. I’m not as careful with my words as Daphne or as brave to even ask why like Alma would, but I wonder if they’re mourning themselves.”

Pietro’s brows scrunched. “I don’t understand.”

“They’ve given up everything to raise me. Daphne’s turned down suitors and Alma’s stayed to help the apothecary and as much as I appreciate the company, I know that they don’t want me to be alone.” You wrapped your arms around your legs and rested your chin against the tops of your knees. “And I can’t tell them to leave because I have only ever known them and I’m not sure how I would handle being alone.”

“You’d have Wanda. You’d have me.” Pietro’s voice softened at the end. 

“Perhaps. Unless either of you decide to find much more interesting maids to befriend.” You couldn’t fault them for that, after all. Unless you were at temple, you were at the apothecary or you were home. Meeting new people never interested you because you’ve been so hellbent on becoming a scholar. Young women your age were getting married and having children or at least courting someone. No one’s ever stayed your attention. No one except —

“I think that you’re perhaps the most interesting person I’ve ever met.” 

Heat pooled in your cheeks. “You seem sure after barely an hour alone with me.”

The smile that cut across his lips robbed the air from your lungs. 

“I am certain you’re going to be someone profound to me.”

“So, what should we do this afternoon?”

Temple was postponed for the day since Lady Agatha needed rest and Wanda was with her parents for the day, so you and Pietro decided to meet at the great oak tree. It had become a ritual of sorts for the two of you these past few months; if he wasn’t attached to any prior engagements, he’d meet you at temple and you’d make your way here, talking until the moon arrived. 

Often you spoke about his temperament since the war. When he refers to a memory or an event, it’s like he’s speaking about someone he once knew and not himself. One particular comment has stuck with you the most: “Remembering the man I was does nothing but keep me there. My scars feel fresh, my fear renewed. It’s like I’m watching myself die over and over again.”

That was the first time he’d cried in front of you. You’d half-cradled him in your arms and let his sobs sink into your skin. When you’d made it home that night, you cried for him. Someone as hopeful and kind as Pietro shouldn’t have that light dimmed. It wasn’t fair. 

From then on, if he was willing to speak about it, you listened. You didn’t interrupt, you didn’t give any advice. You sat beside him, your hand overtop his, and took in his words. It was the least you could do for your friend. 

Friend.

The word seemed too…soft for whatever you two were. You couldn’t say lovers because, outside of a few prolonged gazes, there had been no romantic contact between the two of you. 

It would be inappropriate, anyway. Pietro’s just come back from war. He’s learning to reconcile with the trauma he’s endured. Romance has no space in his life, at least not yet. 

But sometimes you couldn’t help thinking what loving Pietro in that way would mean. Was he as passionate and flighty as Wanda said he once was? Has time tempered him into being a slow, patient lover? Would his large hands be warm against your skin? Would his lips claim your mouth gently or rough and desperate?

The thought brought a warmth to your core more nights than you’d care to admit. 

Whenever his head was turned, you allowed yourself to study his form: how his head and body connected in sharp, beautiful curves, how soft his eyes were when he regarded you. How his laugh lines and cheeks dimpled when his lips stretched into the brightest smile. It was even growing difficult not to thread your fingers through his curls to see if they were as soft as they looked. 

“Y/N? Did you hear me?”

You turned to face him, a devastating smile on his lips. 

He tucked a few errant curls behind your ear, his blue eyes probing yours. “Where did you go, sweet girl?”

Warmth seeped into your cheeks. “I was thinking about a passage from a time I’ve been studying.” You thanked the Gods that Pietro couldn’t scry thoughts like his sister. 

“Always thinking.” He pressed a finger to the middle of your brow. “I wonder if I ever pass through that beautiful mind of yours?”You snorted and lightly smacked at his hand. “You were saying?”

“I asked what you wanted to do this afternoon?”

You cocked your head to the side. “How about…you write me a song?”

“Of course.” He grabbed his lyre from his satchel and started to pluck the strings. “What kind of song would you like?”

“Something that makes you smile.”

His gaze softened as he nodded. The music from his instrument was faint at first, so low that you could’ve mistaken it for a whisper. When you could finally hear the sweet tones, the winds had started to pick up. They were warm, skirting along the tops of your shoulders and the length of your arms as a lover would. The birds started harmonizing with the lyre and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

Cheeky. 

When Pietro opened his mouth to sing, you froze; you’d heard many a bard sing, some more beautiful than others. But this…this was ethereal. His voice was soft at first, a murmuring, prayer-like sound that whispered against the curve of your cheeks, growing into a warm, throaty tone that burrowed into your chest and made heat pool into your face. 

“Like teeth to flesh ripped bare

Your hands bruised my skin

Kisses robbing my lungs of air.”

He sang of a lover that was like a storm, their love damaging and consuming. The song sounded more like an exploration of an unrequited love rather than something that would make the demigod smile. 

You cleared your throat. “This lover of yours must have been very special to you.”

“Special, yes, but not quite my lover.”

You hummed, absently pulling at a blade of grass. “What was she like?”

He let out a dreamy sigh and turned his gaze to the sky. “It felt like I knew her for millennia, though we’d met a short time prior.” He put his thumb and index finger to his chin in thought. “Smarter than most people I’ve met and with this quiet intensity to her that made me want to know everything she did.”

She sounded amazing. Leagues more interesting than you. You stopped yourself from snorting. “What happened?”

He smirked as he glanced at you. “It would seem we both were waiting for the other to confess our feelings towards each other. You see,” he shifted towards you, “for her being so brilliant, I could tell that she didn’t see herself the way that others did. Whether it be from truly not knowing or self-doubt, I haven’t figured out.”

You lifted a shoulder. “Maybe compliments didn’t come easily for her so she couldn’t recognize them.”

“Perhaps.” His knee brushed up against yours. “Perhaps she didn’t believe that I could feel for her what I hoped she felt for me.”

“Did you tell her?”

He moved to kneel in front of you, his large hands on the tops of your knees. “I thought that I’ve been very direct with my intentions, but maybe not.”

“And you’re sure she’s someone you want to declare your love for? No offense, but she seems to be quite dense.”

He chuckled. “You think you’re dense?”

You frowned. “What? No.”

“You said that the woman that I want to declare my love to seems to be dense if she doesn’t see that I’m preparing to do so.” He nodded to you. “The maid I’m referring to is you.”

Your eyes widened some and you opened and closed your mouth, words rising and dying on your tongue.

He pressed a kiss to the top of one of your knees, his blues eyes intense. “You don’t have to say anything yet, Y/N, but know that I become yours one way or another.”

          “You sound so sure.”

He smiled against your skin. “You will. I know it.”

          You pressed the tip of your index finger to one of his knuckles, your voice small when you spoke. “And should you love someone else? What will you do then?”

His features softened. “There will be no one else, mortal or god, that I will ever deign to love the way that I love you, Y/N. Never doubt that.”

“And if I don’t return your affections?”

“Then I will mourn the love that could’ve been and remain your confidant.” A smile curled in the corners of his mouth.  “Your reticence will not dissuade me, nymph. Whatever answer I receive, I’ll stay by your side. Of that, I promise.”

“Y/N, someone left this for you overnight.”

Natasha, one of the worshippers of the temple, handed you a small parcel as you were walking in with Wanda. 

You creased your brows, reaching out for the parcel. “That’s odd.” You didn’t recognize the scrawl and that puzzled you further. Who’d be sending you things to the temple of all places? And at night?  

You thanked the redhead and tucked the package under your arm, heading into the temple. 

“Y/N!”

You turned, tucking the parcel under your arm. “Wanda! I thought you were having your lessons with Lady Agatha?”

“She stopped early since she has a christening sometime tonight.” She looked you up and down, her brow quirked in suspicion. “What do you have there?”

“Hmm?” You held up the parcel. “Oh, this? I just received it from Natasha.”

“Who’s it from?”

“I don’t know but I clearly have an admirer that prefers vague correspondence over meeting face to face.” You sighed. “I don’t want LadyAgatha to think that I’m being frivolous.”

“You’re one of if not the most dedicated person in temple. She dotes on you.”

“You’re her protégé, Wanda,” you said, smiling at her. “She dotes on you more than the rest of us.”

“Anyway,” she said, swiping the parcel from your grasp, “let’s see who this is from.”

You let out an annoyed noise. “It’s probably from one of my cousins or from one of the neighboring temples.”

Wanda waved off your words, her thin fingers undoing the string and tearing at the brown paper. She let out a snort. “It’s from my brother.”

“What?” She pushed the gift into your hands: a leather bound book and a quill. A smile had found its way to the corners of your mouth. “That fool.”

“You two are getting close.” Your gaze found Wanda’s, a wide smile on her lips.

“No, we’re not,” you argued. 

“Oh? I’ve never known my brother to send gifts unless he’s pursuing someone.” 

Your face warmed as you took the journal from her hands. “We’ve been spending time together, yes. But it’s innocent, really.” She threw you a flat look. “Honest, Wanda. I told him that I used to keep a journal as a child when I felt that I couldn’t vocalize my feelings. I figured it’d help him.” You tried to school your features to a passive expression. “Perhaps he’s just making a nice gesture.”

Wanda threw her hands up, a smirk on her lips. “If you two want to pretend that there’s not palpable tension between you, fine. But the rest of us have eyes.”

Heat pooled in your cheeks. “There’s nothing to see, I can assure you.”

“What are we talking about?” Carol, a warrior of the temple, came up beside you, draping a muscular arm around your shoulders. 

“Nothing.”

“It sounds like Y/N is denying that she has a suitor,” Lady Sylvie said, a grin curling up at the corners of her mouth. “From what some of the other girls have been telling me, it’s a strapping young man with wild hair. Quite handsome.”

Of your fellow worshippers, Carol and Sylvie were just as close to you as Wanda. The warrior woman was impressed with your vast knowledge of medicine and healing, often calling on you in the temple gardens to help teach the other soldiers. Her features were both handsome and beautiful, soft and devastating. It didn’t help that she flirted with most of the women of the temple so you never knew if she was being sincere or just teasing when she extended the same pleasantries.

Sylvie, like Wanda, was a sorceress-in-training. She was classically beautiful: warm blonde hair, alluring eyes that bordered between green and blue. The kind of maid that people waged wars over. While at first she could be impersonal, once she got to know someone, she was lovely. Sharp-tongued, but still sweet. You often found yourself spending late nights with her, regaling you with tales of her family that she’d gotten separated from as a child.

Carol let out a boisterous laugh. “Is our Y/N enamored with a local boy?”

“Local enough,” Wanda added slyly.

Sylvie’s blue eyes lit up. “Do tell, Y/N!”

You shrugged Carol’s arm off of your shoulder, pouting. “I have to get back to the library.”

“Come now! We’re all friends, are we not?” Carol took hold of your wrist, her light brown eyes glittering. “Is this mystery suitor someone familiar to any of us?”

You and Wanda shared a quick look before you shook your head.

“Is he from one of the neighboring kingdoms?”

“He was born and bred in Thrace,” you answered. “I can assure you all that he and I are nothing more than companions. And should that change, I’ll be the one to let you know. Not any of the other girls.” You held up a hand to your friends. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have tomes to study and you all have your duties.” 

Wanda and Carol called after you, their laughs echoing throughout the temple.

“We can’t wait until we meet your mystery boy!” Sylvie said, a smile in her tone.

You’d decided that Pietro was incapable of subtlety. 

His back was to you as he leaned up against the stone steps, the muscles of his back and shoulders begging for fingers to be pressed against the firm skin of them. He had his head half-tilted back, warming his face in the sun. 

“There will be no one else, mortal or god, that I will ever deign to love the way that I love you, Y/N. Never doubt that.”

The declaration sat heavy in your chest. As sure as he sounded, you were still hesitant. How easy it may have been for him to say those words, but something kept your confession behind your teeth. You shook the thoughts from your head; what’s the use in speaking up when you can’t place what’s keeping your feelings at bay?

You called out his name. “What are you doing?”

He turned to face you, a smile blooming along his lips. “I’m waiting for you.”

You smiled and walked past him down the steps, feeling him catching up to your strides beside you. “Your sister suspects that we’re courting.”

“Oh?” You could feel him lean closer to you. “And what did you tell her?”

Heat crept up your neck. “I told her the truth; that we’re barely getting to know each other.”

He hummed, a smile growing at the corners of him mouth. “Is it? The truth?”

“It’s as much of the truth as I’m willing to disclose at this time,” you said, raising a brow. “Your feelings still have time to change.”

He chuckled. “If you say so, Y/N. Did you get my gift?”

You pulled the journal and quill from your satchel. “I did. You realize I am a scholar? I didn’t need a new journal to write in.”

Pietro lifted a shoulder. “But I’ve never gifted you a journal before, Y/N, so it’s different.”

“I see,” you acquiesced, laughing. “Well, then, I thank you, Pietro of Thrace, for this most thoughtful gift.”

He bowed. “Anything for you, sweet girl.”

Your pulse kicked up at the endearment. You cleared your throat, your eyes suddenly focusing on the path ahead. “So where have you been? Your sister mentioned that you went to Athens.”

“I went to visit a friend of mine, Steve. He got married recently and I haven’t gone to give my regards.” He put both of his hands behind his head. “To be candid, I’ve been avoiding seeing any of my comrades from the war. They’ve sent letters, but I never know what to say.” He tipped his chin to the sky. “It was nice seeing Steve, though.”

“What’s he like?”

Pietro chuckled. “Steve Rogers is one of the bravest men I’ve ever met. Nothing he does is for himself but for the good of others. He went on the quest for the Golden Fleece not for the throne but for his father’s honor. When we first met, it was like being blinded by Helios himself. Everything about him was bright and good and pure.”

“Sounds like an admirable man. One that many would go to battle with,” you remarked.

“Have you thought about what I said?” he asked suddenly. 

You paused, your gaze going to the ground. Flashes of the dream you’d had two nights prior played in your mind. When Pietro said your name, you moved a hand to the back of his neck and brought him down for a kiss. You moaned into his mouth, using your free hand to fist his tunic for stability. Or rather a reminder that you were, in fact, still on the ground and not floating. 

He cupped your face between his hands, pulling back slightly. “What was that for?”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about what you said.” You leaned into his palm. “If I can be candid, I don’t think my feelings have been platonic for some time now.”

“Oh?”

You smirked. “I may not be as poetic as you are, bard, but I should hope that my affection could be felt.”

His lips molded over yours again, one hand moving to the base of your neck, keeping you against him. He licked into your mouth, deepening the kiss. For a fleeting moment, you remembered that you were both not far from the temple. You didn’t need more gossip swirling about but you didn’t want him to stop claiming you. 

His.

That’s what this kiss meant. That you were his and no one else’s. Intrinsically linked from here after. 

Your hips surely had matching bruises by now.

Your hands threaded into Pietro’s curls, pulling his head to rest against the curve of your shoulder. You let out airy grunts and breathy moans. Pleasure clouded your mind, burned behind your eyes like a rising flame. 

“You’re beautiful — an absolute masterpiece,” Pietro grunted out between pants. 

You kept the rhythm of your hips steady, riding the brunet languidly, a drunken smile on your lips. His praises made your heart flutter in your chest, doing your best not to preen whenever he’d lave you with them. You could feel him tense inside of you as his hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you up and down on his cock at a brutal pace. 

“Pietro,” you rasped. 

“Let go, love,” his voice was rough as he spoke, “You can do it.”

A whine built in your throat as the coil in your stomach tightened. You gripped Pietro’s shoulders, half-moons embossed into his smooth brown skin, as you rose to the precipice of your pleasure. You felt the callused pad of Pietro’s thumb against your slick nub and a sob fell from your mouth. His hushed praise of, “just like that, Y/N. That’s my sweet girl,” tipped you over, a guttural roar leaving your throat. 

Pietro let out a breathy whine as he tensed, his release painting your walls. He cupped the back of your neck and pressed a bruising kiss against your lips. If you couldn’t breathe before, your lungs surely burned at the passionate act. He pulled back and rested his forehead against yours, a smile lifting at the corners of his mouth. 

You couldn’t get over how beautiful this man was. Even now, with his skin damp with sweat and curls sticking to his forehead, you couldn’t tear your eyes away. You pressed a kiss to the curve of his jaw and turned to face the window. 

This routine of yours — bedding him any and everywhere as much as your schedules permitted — was the most reckless you’d ever been. You’d be lying if you claimed to not enjoy the secret meetings and hushed promises against each other’s lips. The heated pleasure as he took you apart with his hands, his mouth. The memories left behind on your body. 

But apart of you, that small, insecure voice in the back of your head, wouldn’t let you fully lose yourself in Pietro. You both feel the same way for now, but what about a fortnight from now? A month? Surely his parents had a list of possible brides waiting in the wings. And if they did accept their union, would you have to give up your aspirations to be the princess consort?

Lips pressed against your spine. “Stop that.”

“What?”

“You’re tense. Which means you’re thinking heavily about something and it’s more than likely something that either isn’t happening or hasn’t happened yet. So, stop.”

You sucked your teeth and turned over to face him. “And what constitutes as ‘thinking heavily’?”

“Whatever has you slipping out from between my arms so hastily.” Pietro cupped your cheek in his hand. You tried to still your pulse, keep the feeling that had been burrowing itself into your ribcage from flourishing. “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

“Nothing.”

He let out a scoff. “Then why do you run?”

You shifted out of his hold. “I’m not running away, Pietro. I’m just going home for the night. Is that so bad?” You moved to your feet and stepped into your tunic, pulling the straps up your shoulders. “Am I not allowed to return home?”

“Do you not want to stay with me?”

You paused. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Of course, I do,” he rose from the bed and took your face in his hands, “When have I ever given you a reason to believe that I didn’t?”

Your eyes dropped to your feet. “I just thought that perhaps our…arrangement was temporary.”

“Our arrangement?”

Your face warmed as you frowned at him. “It would be foolish to believe that the future king of Thrace would want to court you, no?”

He tipped your chin up. “You’ve completely and utterly consumed me, Y/N.”

“No,” you pointed to your chest, “you’ve consumed me. I find the breath expanding in my chest or leaving all together when you’re near. You’ve tainted my thoughts, and my body remembers everywhere your hands have been. The only thing I think of, Pietro, is you. And I fear that I’ll be the only one of us to keep these feelings. ”

“Y/N —”

You put a finger to his lips. “Let me finish; I’m not usually in the business of being vulnerable for just anyone, demigod, so believe me when I say that I’m baring myself to you. Excising every wound, every fear. So I don’t want to be alone with these feelings if you don’t feel the same way.” 

His large hands gripped the underside of your thighs, wrapping one of your legs around his waist. “I’ve known from the first day we met that you will be the person that will bring me to my knees, that will ruin me. You will be the fearsome reckoning in my otherwise stagnant life.” A broad smile cut across his face. “You will be the howling winds that I will allow to sweep me away. If I had to wager, you will become the single most important thing in my life.”

Your pulse raced. He’s a poet; everything he says sounds romantic and compelling. But as you looked into his blue eyes, you saw his sincerity. The reverence he held for you colored his words, how he touched you. 

A smiled eased into corners of your mouth. “You sound so sure, demigod.”

Pietro moved the bedsheet from between you, pressing himself into the front of your body. The blunt head of his cock touched the top of your mound. A deep, dimpled smirk on his lips.

 “Shall I continue to show you how sure I am, nymph?” 

“I’m not seeing a problem here.”

Your sisters decided to close the apothecary early and have a picnic. It was a warm day, the beginnings of spring finally cresting in the air. 

You groaned, taking a bite of your honeyed fig. “We haven’t known each other long, Daphne. He can’t possibly be feeling this way about me.”

Your middle sister, Alma, chuckled from the other side of you. “But that’s what you think, Y/N/N. Not everyone is so rigid in their thinking.”

“So, if a man told you that he was going to let you consume him, body and soul, you’d be fine? No worries? No questions?”

“Of course not,” she said, rolling her eyes, “but I’m not going to dismiss his feelings because they’re more than I’m willing to deal with.” 

Daphne put her hand against your cheek and guided your head to her shoulder. “Take a deep breath, Y/N. Calm down.” She took in a deep breath and waited patiently as you mimicked her actions before exhaling. “You’ve spoken of nothing but his praises since you both crossed paths and now you’re having second thoughts?”

“Not quite second thoughts,” you answered, “I just…what if he finds someone else? A maid fit for someone like him?”

“And what exactly would a maid for him be like?” Alma countered. “Some silly mortal from the countryside?”

“Don’t listen to her, Y/N,” Daphne said, giving your sister a dark look, “Anyone would be lucky to have someone as beautiful and smart and loving as you.”

“You’re my sister,” you rebutted, “you’re biased towards me.”

“And what about me, then?” Alma asked, one brow raised. “I think the same things and I’m your sister.”

“You’re too blunt in your delivery,” you said, smirking. 

“Whatever the case may be,” Daphne cut in, “you’re smitten with him and he with you. Don’t look for the negatives.”

Alma moved to sit in front of you, her brown eyes surveying yours. “Where is this timidity coming from, Y/N/N?”

Your shoulders sagged. “I care for him deeply, I do. I may be well on my way to loving him. But I can’t help but think that I’m just someone to distract him from the pains of war. What if it’s easier to be with me than it is to heal? Or perhaps he means what he says. Then what about my life? Am I to just throw away who I am to be married to the prince?”

“Have you said this to him?” 

You shook your head. “I think it often, though. More so, lately.”

Daphne took hold of your hands. “Invite him to dinner.”

You balked. “What?”

“Invite him to dinner. It’s time we meet this mystery suitor, don’t you think?” She smiled. “You’re allowed a life outside of the temple and this family.”

Your brows canted. “I know that.”

Alma made a noise. “We’re your sisters, Y/N. You don’t think we know when you’re lying to yourself?” You frowned. “You’ve been helping us run the apothecary since you were a child. You helped us raise you without any bitterness or angst. You practically made taking care of you a burden for only your shoulders.” She smiled at you. “But we both know why you’ve stayed in Thrace.” 

Daphne put a hand overtop one of yours. “You don’t have to mold your life around ours. Believe it or not, we love our home. Could we have left Thrace? Gotten married and had children? Of course. I can’t speak to Alma for this but, for me, just seeing the woman you’ve become is all I need. I want you to travel the world and fall in love and pursue whatever dreams you have. You deserve it.”

“But that doesn’t mean that you have to feel bad for wanting more,” Alma added, pulling you into her for a hug. “If you love this prince, then love him, understand? Live the life you want to live.”

You blinked back tears. “What am I supposed to do without you both?”

“We’ll always be here,” Daphne said, grinning. “You will always have a home here, Y/N. Never forget that.”

“Do I have to invite him?”

Alma frowned. “Are you embarrassed of us, little girl?” 

“I’m more worried about the stories you’ll tell him,” you answered. “Just promise me that you won’t tell him about the time I almost drowned trying to save a turtle.”

“We make no promises.”

“Y/N!”

You jolted forward, sleep still fogging your mind. The heavy rapping against your door grew louder and you groaned. You looked around to make sure that your sisters wouldn’t rouse before rising from your bed and to the front door. You wrenched the door open, sleepy-eyed and furious. 

“Pietro, what are you doing here! It’s the middle of the night!”

His blue eyes sparkled like the brightest stars, a smile sitting on his lips. “I needed to see you.”

Your brows bowed. “Are you drunk?”

“What? No! I am sound.” 

“So, explain yourself! What are you doing here?”

He took hold of one of your wrists and pulled you from the doorway. You threw a panicked glance back to your home before turning back to your hand in his. He led you some feet away from your home, stopping in front of a dark tree. 

“Marry me.”

Your lips parted. “What?”

“Marry me.” Pietro smiled brightly. “Marry me, Y/N.”

You let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Pietro…you’re not serious.”

Pietro took hold of your hands and smiled. “Why wouldn’t I be? I love you, you love me. What’s stopping us?”

“Besides the rest you’re keeping me from, there’s the matter of neither of us having met the other’s family and the fact that we’ve only known each other for half a year.” You crossed your arms, tight. “If you’re not drunk, perhaps you’ve imbibed in something else?”

“I am sober, sweet girl. I want you to meet my parents, I want to meet your sisters. I want us to marry in the spring or the summer.” He pulled you against his chest. “I want the world to know that I am yours and yours alone.”

“Tell me: when we wed, am I to stop my studies?”

He frowned. “Of course not.”

“Should I expect to devolve to being princess consort?”

He took your face in his hands. “Where is all of this coming from, sweet girl?”would 

“I love you, Pietro Maximoff. I love you more than I thought I would in so short a time, but I don’t want to lose myself. I don’t want to walk away from the temple or Lady Agatha.”

He laughed. “In title, yes, you’d be princess consort. But you wouldn’t have to give up anything for it. The world is changing and I’d only hope that our union wouldn’t regress to antiquated marriage roles.”

Your features softened. “Really?”

“Y/N, I fell in love with your tenacity as well as your beauty. I love that you want to be a scholar and make your own mark on the world and I want to be beside you when you do.” He rested his forehead against yours. “Sweet girl, I want nothing more than to be with you.”

“Ask me again,” you said softly. 

Pietro pulled back, smiling. “Y/N Y/L/N, it would bring me no greater honor than to share my life with you. I want to wake up beside you in the morning and lay beside you at night. Marry me.”

You nodded, tears pearling in your eyes. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

You got on tiptoe and pressed your lips to his. “My sisters want to have you over for dinner, by the way. Perhaps our engagement should breathe for a time before we disclose?”

“We could elope tomorrow morning.”

You swatted at him, his laugh echoing through the night. “You’re impossible!”

“As long as I’m yours.”

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — it only took me a millennia, but we got part four y'all!

#galatially #take me away #when love is born #what tragedies #what tragedies series #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x black!reader #orpheus!pietro maximoff #orpheus!pietro maximoff x eurydice!black!reader #greek myths au

[soshhy]

I don't usually post personal stuff but hey... Storytime: how wangxian saved my Christmas.

It's a couple of days before Christmas 2020. The Alpha strain of covid is spreading across the UK. London is on lockdown, my plan to see my family for the first time in 6 months is dashed by the sudden new regulations. My flatmate doesn't do Christmas. The rules for meeting people from other households say you can see one person at a time, outdoors, at a distance of two metres, for exercise only.

I'm feeling pretty down.

I'm sitting on a bench in my local park, in the freezing cold, with my giant coat on and my laptop on my knees because I can't be stuck in my flat for another minute. And I'm writing.

I'm writing about the park with its weird straw sculptures, and the birds on the little lake, and the cafe (currently closed because of covid but wow, their cardamom buns are amazing) and how on a wintery day it's quiet and empty.

(It's not quiet and empty. It's bustling with people because there's nowhere else to go. But it should be.)

And because The Untamed has been my lifeline throughout the pandemic, I'm writing about wangxian.

I write about Wei Ying and Lan Zhan walking the paths around the lake, getting coffee at the cafe, reading the signs about the water birds, and feeling all the excitement and nervousness and joy of a first date with the person they don't yet know will be theirs forever. I write the cutest, fluffiest, most romantic, least angsty story I've ever written. (I write a lot of fluff, so that's saying something.)

Suddenly it's not so bad.

I write that story in the park, and I write it at home on my lonely Christmas day. It's the second part in a series of cheerful silliness. When I post it I think about putting an author's note saying how it was written, how miserable I was, and how it helped so much. But I don't. Because out there are people who need exactly what I needed - a fluffy escape from all the shit going on. I just put a little note about how the fic is dedicated to my local park. It's my secret how when I'm walking round and round that lake because there's nowhere else to go, I'm looking at the cafe where wangxian got coffee, and the place where they fed the ducks, and the place where Wei Ying got scared by a dog - the same place they had their first kiss. And it's really not so bad.

My friend loses her dad to covid the day after New Years. Thousands more people lose their lives, pointlessly, meaninglessly, alone, with nobody but nurses to hold their hands. I find myself thinking about death the whole time. I go back on anti-anxiety meds. I'm struggling.

Over the next few weeks I write three more ridiculously cute, fluffy fics in that series, and I get comments with squeals and awws. The world is miserable but sometimes I'm not. And I'm helping a few hundred other people out there not be miserable too, just for a few minutes.

So now it's Christmas 2022. I'm visiting my family. Covid isn't over but the world seems to have forgotten. And it feels like it's time to tell the void what those stories meant, how having the escape of fanfic was such a huge support. I'm so glad I didn't write that author's note. I can reread those stories and not remember unless I want to. The only reminder I have is that when I walk around the lake, when I pass the signs about water birds, when I go to that cafe, I get a little bit of the happiness that I felt in a really hard time.

So, thank you fanfic. And thank you to all the people who commented and kudosed my Love Cats series two years ago. If you read this far, maybe you'll have some idea how much you meant to me.