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fayes-fics · 11 months

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Second Son

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...

Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3

Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.

____

His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.

He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.

But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.

____

“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death.

“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.

“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”

“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.

He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.

What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society.

So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul.

“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.

“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.

____

She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even.

Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.

“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.

“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.

“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.

Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach.

“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.

Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.

“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought.

She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.

____

Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.

“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.

“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.

“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.

“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.

“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”

“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily.

You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit.

You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.

“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.

“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.

“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”

“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.

Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.

____

Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball.

He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony.

Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.

____

You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.

“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.

He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.

“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”

You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.

“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”

You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.

“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.

Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.

“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.

“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.

____

His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone.

Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.

He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize.

And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.

____

“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life.

“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.

And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future.

____

“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.

“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.

“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.

“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.

There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.

“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.

“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.

An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.

____

He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.

“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

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tommysversion · 1 year

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Jealousy, Jealousy [ Joel Miller x Reader / Tommy Miller x Reader ]

Summary: you walk in on Joel & Tess, despite your building chemistry with him. Hurt, you turn to his brother for comfort. Joel finds out, and he isn’t happy.

CWs: derogatory language / unsafe sex / age gap implied / oral sex (m!receiving) / cum play / cum eating / choking / alcohol usage / use of pet names / very little plot it’s just a spicy mess

Tag List: @joelsgirl @loquaciousferret @dreamingofdaddydin @funnygirlthatgab

Notes: like always, this is for the girls, the gays and the theys. I wanted to finish my other WIP but this took over. Have fun.

Buy Me A Coffee?

Part Two / Alt Version

The whiskey burns your throat on the way down. You’re on maybe your third or fourth, but it’s still not enough to burn away the sight and sound you came across earlier.

You don’t have any claim on Joel, not really. Nothing has ever happened between you, even though there’s been a few close calls, but you were almost certain that he felt the same way about you as you do about him.

Until you walked in on him and Tess. Now you can’t get the image out of your head, the sight of her beneath him, the sounds…

You slam your empty glass down on the bar. It’s a shitty dive of a place in the QZ, one you all know well enough.

“Whoa there.”

You turn your head to find yourself face to face with Joel’s brother, Tommy, concern etched into his face. He’s not bad looking, not really, but you’ve never really been interested in him. Until now. Now, he’s looking pretty fucking good. Or maybe you’re just noticing him. Who cares.

“Come on, let’s get you home before curfew.” He holds out his hand to you. You don’t need it, not really, you aren’t drunk enough, but you take it anyway, let him lead you out of the bar and onto the streets.

“Why’d you come looking?” You ask as you let him walk you home.

“You didn’t show up to drop off this afternoon. Figured something was wrong, figured I’d find you here.”

“Didn’t think anyone would notice. Joel and Tess seemed too busy to care.” You can’t help the bitterness that creeps into your voice as you mention it.

“Ah.” Tommy shrugs, “try not to worry about it. My brother’s an idiot.”

Normally you’d argue. Jump to his defence. Tonight you just don’t feel like it, too hurt by what you saw to argue. Reaching your apartment block, you turn to him.

“You gonna come in for a drink? Least I can do after you walked me home.”

You know what you’re implying, don’t mind if he takes the hint that you’re offering more than a drink. You almost don’t expect him to follow you, but he does, up the stairs and into your apartment, shutting the door behind you both while you fish out two glasses and a bottle.

“Make yourself at home.”

You pour the liquor while he drops himself down onto your couch, spread out and lazy. Really, he’s quite attractive. You’ve never really noticed before, and maybe it’s the fact that you’re so angry and hurt that’s making you see him in this light, but still.

You hand him one of the glasses, down your own before you sit yourself down on the floor by his feet. You’re being forward as hell and you know it, but you’re tipsy and hurt and you just want to forget for a short while.

He looks down at you, surveys you with dark eyes so similar to Joel’s. The thought makes your heart hurt, so you push it away.

“What are you doing, hon?” His hand comes down to catch your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him.

Tommy doesn’t know what’s going on between you and his brother. Knows that Joel’s an idiot if he doesn’t realise that you’re interested. If he was a better man, he’d push you away, but, well…

It’s been a while since he’s gotten anything, and if his older brother is too stupid to realise you’re right there, dumb enough to fuck around with your feelings and Tess? Well, he doesn’t mind being the collateral.

“Trying to decide whether or not to suck your cock.” You admit, not bothering to be coy as you look up at him.

“Oh, yeah? What’s holding you back?”

“You haven’t said that I can.” You shrug, fingers creeping up his thighs.

“There’s a pretty girl on her knees for me askin’ to suck my dick, you think I’m gonna say no?” Amusement colours his tone.

“Well… I wanted to be polite and ask.” You smirk as your fingers find the zip of his pants, tug it out the way, your small hand reaching in and wrapping around his cock, stroking lazily.

He just leans back into the couch, watches you as you rub your thumb over the head of his cock, brushing across beads of precum, collecting them on your fingers to lick them up.

“Christ…” his eyes darken as he watches you, your eyes on his as you lean in and press feather light kisses to the tip of his cock. He’s nice and big, thick, slightly curved, and you love the slightly salty taste of him.

You don’t like to brag, but you know you’re good at this, enjoy it even, pressing little kisses along the length of him, tiny kitten licks to the slit in the tip, teasing until he fists a hand into your hair and yanks your head down onto his cock, almost making you choke.

You recover quickly, sucking his cock like he’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted, moving your head up and down, guided by the heavy hand in your hair.

“Fuck…” he rocks his hips up into your mouth, getting deeper into your throat, “such a sweet little mouth…”

You hum around him, urged on by the praise, eager to keep pleasing him, so desperate to be wanted…

You know full well this is messy and sloppy, your drool coating his cock, eyes watering slightly as you look up at him. You can’t see it, of course, but you’re a vision to behold, on your knees for him, mascara running down your face as your cheeks hollow out for him, his cock disappearing into your throat like you were made to take him.

God, he’s impressed, both by how well you worship his cock, and by how quickly you’ve worked him up.

“Gonna make me cum, pretty thing…” his hand releases your head, strokes your cheek lazily.

You pull away from him for a moment, wrap your hand around his cock and stroke slowly.

“Cum on my face.” You tell him, hazy with lust and drink. “On my tongue.”

He groans, moves to guide your mouth back to him, but you move faster, wrap your lips around him and let him rut up into your throat, moaning around him. Fuck, he tastes so good, exactly what you needed.

You can feel him becoming more erratic, groaning softly before he pulls out of your mouth, wraps his hand around his cock and strokes it roughly as your lips part, tongue flicking out to catch the hot ropes that spurt from his cock as he groans.

Fuck, you’re a sight to behold, on your knees, makeup a mess, lips parted with his cum on your tongue and your face. You lean in and lick him clean, swallow every drop you can get.

His fingers reach out, swipe through the mess he’s left on your lips, press them into your mouth.

“Suck ‘em, that’s a good girl.”

You do exactly as he says, swirl your tongue around his fingers until you’re satisfied they’re clean.

“You want me to -?”

You shake your head. You’re exhausted, your throat hurts, and while the offer is nice, you don’t think you can stay awake for it.

“Nah, ‘s okay. I just wanted to give you something.” You offer him a small smile as you get to your feet, watch him tuck himself back into his pants.

To his credit, he’s not a jerk. He makes sure you’re safely in your bed with a glass of water beside you before he heads off into the night, leaving you almost wishing you’d taken up his offer.

——

A week later, you’re sitting in the same bar with one of your friends, pointedly ignoring Joel a few seats away.

Once again, you’ve had a few too many to drink, and it’s loosening your tongue.

“So, what’s the deal with you and that guy anyway? The mystery man you were telling me about the other day?” Your friend knows exactly the right questions to ask, and while normally you’re not the bragging type, seeing Joel again has sent that spike of bitter resentment and jealousy through you.

Sure, it’s not like he’d ever promised you anything, but he’d damn well seemingly made it clear he was interested. Only for you to walk in on him fucking Tess like he loved her.

You hate him for it. Hate him for hurting you. More than that, though, you hate yourself for not being brave enough to confront your feelings.

But right now, you’re feeling spiteful, and you know damn well he can hear every word you say.

“Oh, it wasn’t really anything, just a one night thing.” You shrug.

“What did you say his name was again? Jimmy?”

“Tommy.” You run your finger around the rim of your glass.

“As in Miller?”

“Mmhmm.” You can feel Joel’s gaze burning into you as you speak. “He walked me home, one thing led to another…”

“Fuck, he’s so hot though…” your friend sighs, “I bet he has a great dick.”

“I mean… I liked it.”

You giggle, a very uncharacteristic sound, but still. You don’t regret what happened, not at all. You like giving head, and it wasn’t like he had an unpleasant dick. If anything, you kind of wish you’d let him fuck you. Maybe another time, seeing as Joel is clearly no longer interested.

“Are you gonna give me any details, or?”

You’re about to open your mouth when a hand clamps down on your shoulder.

“Outside. Now.”

You don’t need to look to know Joel’s pissed; you do anyway, are met with his stormy glare.

“Nice to see you too, Joel.”

“I mean it. Outside, now, or I’ll drag your ass out.” One look at him tells you he’s not kidding.

Sighing, you excuse yourself from your friend. Follow Joel out of the bar into the street, or rather, let him tow you out. Let him drag you by the wrist back to your apartment. Nobody wants to be caught in the streets at this hour.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You demand as soon as he’s slammed the door behind you.

“Don’t you what the fuck me.” He growls, crossing his arms over his chest as he backs you into the small room.

“I absolutely will, what’s your goddamn problem?” You hiss at him, furious. Furious and still hurt, because the last time you saw him he was fucking another woman, and no matter what you do you can’t get rid of that image.

“You! You’re my goddamn problem, running your mouth in that bar where anyone could hear you.”

You roll your eyes at him, your own temper flaring.

“How is what I was talking about any of your business?” You demand, glaring at him. “How is what I do any of your business?”

Admittedly you’re not very intimidating in comparison, but still.

“You were making a damn fool of yourself. Do you ever know when to keep your fucking mouth shut?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask your brother? He seemed to know how to shut me up.” The words come out before you can stop them.

Joel exhales slowly, pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

“Is there a reason you’re being such a goddamn bitch? Fucking my brother included.” He’s so damn frustrated right now, not understanding what’s gotten into you.

Usually you’re so sweet to him, the pair of you dancing around the mutual attraction you share. He’s not going to push it if you don’t, but maybe he’s misread things?

You stare at him.

“Are you fucking serious right now? You don’t know why I’m mad at you?”

He just stares at you.

“I heard you and Tess, you asshole. So yeah. I know that for all your sweet words and the way we’ve been dancing around the subject? That’s just how you are, right? Anything to get laid, I guess.” You spit the words.

Something in his gaze snaps as he crosses to you, backs you against the wall, slams one hand into the cracked plaster beside your shoulder, the other settling on your throat.

You’re too angry to be scared, even though you know he’s dangerous, know you’ve pushed him too far, like poking a goddamn angry bear.

“First, don’t fucking assume that you know any goddamn thing about what happened that day.” He’s leaning right down to you, you can smell the whiskey on him, but still you aren’t afraid.

“Second, don’t presume that I’m that sort of bastard. You really think I’d do that to you?”

You glare at him.

“You already have.” You hate that your voice shakes as you say it.

Joel sighs as he looks at you.

“I’ve known her almost as long as you’ve been alive. Almost but not quite. There’s a difference between me fucking her when it means nothing, and what you’ve done.”

You glare at him again, because you don’t see any difference.

“It may not mean anything to you, but it definitely does to her.”

“And that’s her fucking problem, I’ve made it goddamn clear to her that I don’t see her that way, that that would be the last time. Then you go and fuck my brother?”

Somehow, suddenly, it becomes important to clarify. As if somehow it will make him less angry.

“Technically, I didn’t fuck him.”

“You-“ Joel stops mid sentence and looks at you. “You didn’t?”

“No. I mean, I sucked his dick, but… I was angry, I was so fucking angry and I just wanted to feel something. I just wanted to feel wanted.”

Joel stares at you like he’s never seen you before. Like he’s trying to understand you.

“And I don’t make you feel wanted?”

“Not when I walk in on you fucking someone who hates me, no. Not particularly.” You look away from him, before you do something stupid, like cry, which is a very real possibility whenever you think about what you saw, what you heard.

“Guess I need to change that.”

His hand drops from the wall, the other one releasing your throat as he leans in and devours your unsuspecting lips in a kiss. It’s desperate and angry and hungry, but you cling to him, your fury and your need pouring into it as he lifts you up, carries you across the room and into your room.

You pull him down on top of you, not letting go when he sets you down on the mattress, kisses still full of fury and rage but of something else, too, something you’ve been holding back for far too long.

“Still can’t believe you let my goddamn brother touch you.” Joel growls it into the soft skin of your throat, grinding his cock against you, your clothes still in the way.

You shove your skirt up, hands finding his belt. He catches your wrists in one hand.

“Were you this fucking eager for him, too?”

There’s that dark glint in his eyes again, possessive and jealous, even though he started this, even though he knows that really, he has no right to be angry. It doesn’t stop him.

“Does it matter, Joel? You really think I’d have done it if you’d just fucking…”

“Just what, sweetheart?” He releases your wrists, only because he needs his hand to tear your panties down, cup your bare cunt in his rough hand.

“Just fucking admitted you wanted me first!” You snap at him, grinding yourself against his hand in spite of your temper.

“Yeah, well. We all make mistakes, don’t we?” He plunges two fingers knuckle deep into your cunt, effectively stopping you from answering with anything but a strangled moan.

Your hands tear at his belt, yank his jeans down, your hand wrapping around the length of him. Fuck, he’s big, bigger than his brother, thick and hard and dripping pre cum, all for you, all because of you, because in spite of how angry he is, he still wants you.

Just as you want him, your cunt aching and dripping onto his fingers as he fucks you with them, hard and fast and punishing.

“I should make you suck my cock, refuse to touch you; but if I do that, what’s to say you won’t go and whore yourself out to someone else?”

His words are dark, gaze feral as he looks down, watches his fingers disappear inside you.

“Better I just take you, ruin you for anyone else. You won’t want anyone else when I’m done with you, it’ll be nothing in comparison.” He leans in and bites your throat, right above your collarbone.

“Is that right?” Your hand strokes him roughly; you can feel how needy you are for him, feel yourself tightening around his fingers but it’s not enough, you need more.

“Don’t fucking push me, sweetheart.” He growls it, drags his fingers out of you, presses them to your mouth.

Automatically you part your lips, suck on his thick, rough fingers until they’re coated in your saliva rather than your slick, your eyes on him the entire time.

He groans, a sound that’s still closer to a growl than a moan.

“Fuck sake…” he’s still furious with you, that fury coming back tenfold at the lewd way you suck his fingers, as if they were his cock.

“This how you sucked him off?”

“I don’t know,” you challenge, “are you gonna fuck me like you fucked her?”

He glares at you, and for a moment you’re afraid he’ll pull away, that you’ve pushed him too far.

He does the opposite, moves so fast you can’t keep up, lines himself up and slams into you, every inch of his cock pressing deep. You scream out for him, half in pleasure, half in surprise.

Fuck, he’s so big it hurts, you feel so full you’re not certain you can take him, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t give you any time to adjust, one hand bracing himself on the mattress, the other gripping your waist to pull you onto his cock, over and over until your back arches off the bed.

“No,” he growls in answer to your question, “I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve.”

He’s relentless, pounding into you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, rough and hard, growling against your skin the entire time, covering every bit of exposed skin with bite marks and bruises.

“Joel…” it comes out half squeal, half moan as he hitches your leg higher around his waist, gets deeper inside you.

“That’s it, sweetheart, can feel how needy you are for me. Don’t think you’ll ever want anyone else, huh?”

You shake your head, mute except for mewls and sighs of pleasure, your nails digging into his arms, trying to hold on, but unable to think straight, barely able to see or focus.

“That’s what I thought, baby, gonna get you so fuckin’ addicted to my cock you’ll forget all about anyone else. This sweet pussy is all mine.”

Fuck, he wishes he’d done this sooner, wishes he’d avoided this entire fucking debacle, because he’s afraid it’ll always hang between you now, unless he fucks you so hard you forget.

“Already was, Joel, always been yours…” you moan it out for him, fingers finding the sweat damp curls of his hair and tugging, hard.

He moans, a deep, guttural sound that you immediately commit to memory, the sound alone making your cunt throb around him.

“Oh, you like that, baby? You like hearing what you do to me?” He shakes his head, grinds into you slowly before resuming his relentless pace.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m gonna…”

Oh, he knows. He can feel you fluttering around him, tight little hole becoming even tighter as he fucks you, leans down and presses a searing kiss to your mouth before he pulls out of you.

You whine at the loss, but before you can say anything else he has you flipped onto your front, face buried in the mattress, ass in the air as he slams back into you, both hands on your waist as he fucks you so hard you see stars.

There’s no holding back, not anymore, your hands clawing at the mattress as your eyes roll back slightly from the pleasure, feeling yourself tighten painfully around him before your climax hits, hard and fast, washing over your entire body, leaving you shaking beneath him, screaming his name loud enough that the entire goddamn building can hear.

“That’s fucking right baby, you scream for me. You tell everyone that you’re mine.” He yanks your hair back, holds you upright as he ruts into you, thrusts becoming more and more sloppy and erratic with each movement.

“Every fuckin’ inch of you is mine, you hear me?”

“Yours, Joel, all yours…” you moan it for him, still on the high of your climax, entire body over stimulated.

“That’s goddamn right.” He slams in deep once more, one final time, grinds against you as he cums, fills your tight little pussy with hot ropes of his spend, groaning the entire time.

He stays there for a moment, catches his breath before he pulls out of you, flops down beside you.

There’s a moment’s pause, where you aren’t sure whether you’ll still see rage in his eyes if you look at him. Aren’t sure whether he’ll see it in you, either.

He saves you having to look, answers the unasked question by pulling you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest.

“I’m so-“

“Don’t.” You reach up to touch your hand to his lips. “Don’t be. I should be the one apologising.”

“I think we both owed each other an apology, to be honest.” Joel says finally, “though, uh… maybe that was a good start?”

You laugh, lean into him.

“Skip the apology and go straight for the makeup sex, huh?”

Joel smirks, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Oh, darling. That wasn’t the makeup sex. That was the I’m fucking furious sex. You’ll like the makeup sex a whole lot more.”

Smirking yourself, you roll on top of him, lean down so you can press a kiss to his mouth.

“I like the sound of that. How do I sign up for it?”

“You promise we won’t touch anyone else. Ever.”

You press a long, heated kiss to his parted lips.

“Easy enough for me.”

“Good.” Another smirk before he rolls you, pinning your smaller frame beneath him. “I fucked you like I hated you. Now you’re gonna find out how I fuck when I love you.”

You just whimper, wrap your fingers into his curls and drag him into another kiss. It’s going to be a long night.

#my writing #joel miller #the last of us #tommy miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #Tommy Miller x reader #joel miller smut #tommy miller smut #pedro pascal character fic #tommy miller x you #joel miller x you

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Three for One 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: The ho-lidays are the daddies and the baddies.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You bob around to the tinkling of carols as they waft over the store. Unlike your coworkers, you enjoy the repetitive tunes. They are so fun and bright and help the time pass between customers and stocking. Not that there isn't more than enough to keep you busy.

In the rare moment where you aren't distracted, you let yourself browse the colourful lipsticks and shining perfume bottles all around. You don't have anyone to shop for, not even yourself. You have your dollar store glosses and discount nail polishes. You don't see the need to spend too much on those things. Or maybe you just prefer what you know. Simple and cheap.

Around lunchtime, traffic really picks up. Several customers ignore your approach and brush by you before you can entice them into buying some Chanel. You've already hit your sales targets but you never really think of numbers.

A woman stops you and asks for a very specific palette. You know just the one. You think it's cute, it looks like a cupcake, and while you adore the aesthetic, it isn't worth the price tag. It's just powder!

You show her where it is and Luanne comes over to take the reins. She's the makeup genius, her flawless contour is proof enough. You turn to float back to your zone and see a man watching you. You recognise him! Vaguely. You see a lot of people in a day.

"Good afternoon," you sing as you near him, "anything I can help you with?"

His throat bobs as he cheek ticks, "uh, yeah, er..." he pushes back his gray jacket, tucking his hands in his pants pockets, "you remember me?"

You smile as you try not to show your cluelessness, "I think..."

"I came in last week," he says.

You think, scrunching up your face as you tap your chin, "yes! You bought Liz Taylor for you mother."

"Mother-in-law," he corrects you, not unkindly.

"Yes, that's it," you jab your finger upwards, "you complimented my sweater."

"Yeah, that was me," He finally smiles, "anyway, I was thinking of getting a gift for my wife. Just a little stocking stuffer."

"Oh, that sounds so cute," you nearly squee. You get so excited to help people shop for a loved one. At the same time, you feel that void. Maybe one day you'll have a husband thinking of you. "We have some great gift sets, actually. They come with different scents so you're wife can figure out which one she likes best." You direct him over to a shelf, "oh, and if she has a favourite, you can get her a full bottle for Valentine's!"

He gives you a look. His eyes narrow just a bit and his cheeks round, "that's a good idea."

He glances over the shelf and you wait patiently. He turns back to you, his eyes flitting over your name tag as he reads it out, "do you have a suggestion?"

"Me?" You perk up, "well, I actually like the Coach. It's not too expensive and it's nice and subtle."

"Is that what you wear?" He asks.

"I don't... I use some cherry blossom body spray but I usually smell like the whole store by the end of the day," you shrug.

"Cherry blossom," he nods, "oh, by the way, I'm Andy."

He offers his hand in an overly formal way. You giggle but take it nonetheless. You don't really get that often.

"Sorry," he squeezes your hand firmly before letting go, "lawyer, habit."

"No, it's fine," you assure him, "I'm just a perfume salesman, is all."

"Well, you're really good at your job," he praises.

"How do you know?" You say.

"You're friendly and helpful. I have no complaints," he reaches past you and claims the Coach pack, "she's going to love this. I owe you."

"No problem. Do you need me to ring you up?"

"Actually," he sighs, "she has this idea. Christmas card. I'm supposed to find a sweater. So, I need to look around some more."

"Oh, that's so cool. A Christmas card? The sweaters are just over in the men's, right near the east entrance," you point, "they have some really cute Charlie Brown ones."

"Charlie Brown," he repeats.

"Anyway, I'll let you go," you clutch your hands together, "I hope your wife likes the perfume."

"I'm sure she will," he agrees, hesitantly clapping the kit between his hands, "uh, thanks. Again." He leans back on his heel, "oh and, that's a really nice colour on you."

"Uh," you look down at your gem green blouse, "thank you, sir."

"Andy," he insists, walking backwards, "again, you're a life saver."

You grin proudly and he spins on his heel, nearly knocking into Luanne as she comes over. He apologises as he side steps her and continues on. She gives you a strange look.

"Geez," she grumbles, "people. This time of year makes everyone so crazy."

"Well, he was nice," you say.

"Kinda cute, too," she intones.

"He was shopping for his wife."

"Lucky lady," she scoffs, "so, you wanna go on lunch first? I'm dying for a latte."

"You can go, I don't mind," you say, "I'm not very hungry."

"Deal," she winks, "I'll get you a hot chocolate for your trouble."

"You don't have to do that."

"I don't have to, I want to, sweetie," she preens.

"Fine, fine, I accept your coerced hot chocolate.”

🎀

Another day close to complete. It's like checking off items on a list. Each evening seems to darken sooner than the last, every morning rising too soon.

You yawn at the empty fragrance section as it’s only you left for the last hour. There isn't much to do except balance the till. Your headset keeps you entertained as electronics calls out possible shrink and home goods argue about their numbers.

“We need a body at returns,” Lucille cuts through the chatter. “Now.”

No answer comes and you slowly slide your hand up the wire. Before you can hit the button, your name is snarled from the other end. You're ordered up to cash to assist with the hordes.

You leave the ghost town that is beauty and as good as skip up to the front. You calm your step as you see Lucille sneering at you from behind a machine. You give a tiny smile and claim the extra screen behind returns.

“I can help the next person,” you call and wave your hand in the air.

You stand back and wait for your first customer. A man comes up and throws a torn open package on the counter, the item bouncing out of the plastic. You flinch and barely catch it before it can slide off the other edge.

“Hello, sir,” you bat your lashes, “how are you today?”

“Not fucking well,” the man snarls. His mustache tickles your memory; do you know him? “It’s a piece of shit.”

“Oh, okay,” you look down at the trimmer and examine it, “you’d like to do a return?”

“Yes, I’d like to do a return,” he snaps, “are you dim?”

“Of course, sir,” you punch in your ID and passcode, “I’ll just get you going. Do you have your receipt?”

“A receipt? I bought the damn thing here, look it up.”

“Ah, alright, when did you buy it?”

“You don’t remember, little trigger finger,” he sneers.

“What do you mean?”

“Pfft, right, you think spraying people with skunk spray is fun?”

“Um, no?” Your cheeks tremor as you withhold a frown; you think you know him now as you’re hit by a sudden wave of Gucci cologne, the scent of a memory. “Did you have the card you purchased this with?”

“You don’t think I have money?”

Everything he says is aggressive. Your questions bounce off him like accusations. You don’t know what to say that won’t agitate him further, He huffs and kicks a foot out, leaning on his back heel as he reaches in his back pocket.

He flicks a black card onto the counter, “put it back on this.”

You nod and take the card, examining the nameless front. You turn it over and swipe it in the machine instead to search the number. He scoffs, “bet you never seen one of those up close.”

“Sir,” you smile bigger, letting the insult ping off of you. All the money in the world and he has no manners.

You find the purchase with the same sku and put his card back on the counter. He snatches it up as you start the return. You scan the barcode and continue on to the next screen, “what’s your name, sir?”

“Lloyd,” he answers curtly. You type, waiting, then look up at him, “Hansen.” He finishes sharply, “with an E, got it?”

“Yes, sir, and the reason for return?”

He rolls his eyes, “it doesn’t fucking work.”

“Alright. So it doesn’t cut the hair or–”

“It won’t turn on,” he growls.

“Right,” you take the trimmer and turn it over. It looks fine enough, even after he threw it. You slip the door of the battery compartment off. It’s empty, “and you had double As in it?”

“Double As?” He repeats.

“It needs batteries, sir.”

He pauses, eyes flaring, nostrils flaring.

“You think I’m stupid? That I don’t fucking know that? You’re not getting free fucking batteries from me.”

“Of course, sir, of course,” you rarely feel this addled, even this time of year, “I’ll get you your money back on a gift card–”

“Gift card? I want my money,” he holds up his card between two fingers.

“Yes, sir, I understand. As per our return policy, personal care items, once opened, are only eligible for a store credit return. Or you can exchange for another item. Would you like to look at our other trimmers? I can put this aside while–”

“What? How would I know that?” He hisses.

“It says on the receipt, sir.”

“I don’t have the goddamn receipt,” he barks.

“I know, sir, sorry. I can only refund this amount on a gift card. I can’t override the option.”

“I want a manager. NOW!” He demands as you jump in your shoes.

“I… I’ll see if she’s avail–”

Lucille has you jumping even more as she appears beside you, no doubt drawn by the raging man in front of you. She elbows you out of the way, not even acknowledging you as she puts on her mask. She leans on the counter just slightly.

“Sir, is there something I can help with? I’m the manager,” she says.

“I want my money,” he echoes once more. “I bought a defective product and I don’t want store credit. I drove out here twice for this bullshit.”

“Oh, certainly sir,” she brushes you with her hip, further edging you out, “right back on that black card, right?”

She scans her keycard, overriding the safeguard, and proceeds to the refund screen.

“Yes, exactly,” he snorts, “not like I don’t have even more money to spend here. Even if the customer service is lacking.”

You back away, unsure what to do. Do you just stand there for the transaction or do you go back to your department? You twiddle your fingers and bob on your heels.

Your eyes meet that man’s and he smirks smugly, wiggly his credit card at you. It’s fine, you won’t let him ruin your day. He’s already ruined his own getting so worked up.

🎀

It’s another busy shift. Your hot chocolate has gone cold from your neglect and you long to sneak away and shove it in the break room microwave. You can’t mourn the lukewarm drink as the line before you stretches on. You’re only a week from Christmas.

You finish wrapping the Prada bottle and hand it over the iron-haired woman with her cute curls. You wish her a good day as she waddles off. The next customer comes up, slamming down a cup so hard, the foam of the drink spits through the slot in the lid.

“Hello, sir,” you croon, “how are you today?”

“Here for a pickup,” he ignores your question.

“Right, can I get a name?”

“Why?” He challenges.

“For… for the package,” you sputter.

“Oh, uh, Drysdale,” he sniffs.

“I saw that earlier. I’m the one who called,” you brighten up.

“So you’re the annoying songbird,” he grabs his drink again, “took you fucking long enough. Line’s a mile long.”

“It’s very busy, yes. Everyone’s catching up on their Christmas shopping,” you bounce, “are you almost done yours?”

“Yeah, I bought myself cologne. So, chop chop, sweetheart.”

You nod and quickly spin. People get so impatient. You go into the small back room housed behind the shelves of lockup and you search the shelves. Drysdale. You pluck up the box and hurry back out.

“Right here,” you announce, “I have good news, too.”

“Tell me you’re gonna stop yammering,” he snickers.

“Um, no, the uh… the cologne is currently on markdown so I can do a price match and give you your money back.”

“Why would you do that?” He asks.

“Er, because… it’s policy?”

“You think I can’t afford it?”

“N-no, I didn’t say–”

“Look, I don’t need some department store busy bee to judge me, got it? This scarf costs more than your whole wardrobe,” he touches the patterned scarf around his neck.

“It’s a very nice scarf,” you agree.

He narrows his eyes, “you’re mocking me.”

You shake your head, “no, sir, I like the colours–”

“Give my goddamn package," he reaches and rips the box out of your hands, “and a tip, shut up and do your job. Maybe then you won’t have half the city waiting to get their shit.”

“Thanks,” you swallow down his anger. “Have a great day, sir.”

He doesn’t reply as he takes his cologne and storms away. You watch him and notice his cup still beside your till. It’s too late to call him back. You’ll just put it aside, you’re sure he’ll come back for it.

You move it to the other end of the counter and face the next customer, “hello, how are you?”

“Good,” the blonde woman answers with a gentle smile, “some people…” she tuts, “don’t let the grinches get to you, honey.”

“Thanks,” you feel the ice melt away, “I won’t.”

“Adorable cardigan,” she adds, “I really love the collar.”

“Oh, thank you,” you trill, “is this everything for today?” You gesture to the bottle of Calvin Klein on the counter.

“That will be it. And I’d love to have it gift-wrapped, thank you, hon.”

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house-of-lovin · 1 year

Text

legally binded

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | next part

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: famous!reader, mentions of hard substances, intoxication, mature language, real people (do not read if any of these makes you uncomfortable)

Note: Wrote a quick one, I don't usually write about real people so (this is all fiction, don't take it seriously) Can you tell I'm procrastinating on my other WIPs.

Word Count: 2.1k+

“Blacking out at a strip club in Vegas, are you fucking serious?”

Jake, your manager’s voice thunders around the office.

You sink lower into the armchair, casting your eyes down – ashamed. From your peripheral, you can see Jake pacing up and down behind his desk and yanking at his tie; roughing up his usually neat-suited appearance.

“Is it bad?” You gather the courage to ask.

There was a lot of shit that Jake lets you get away with. He’s known since you were a young teen with starry-eyed dreams. Except, your dreams did come true. You were living it, working with respected directors and actors on prestigious sets and projects; it was a shot in the dark that you would ever become a working actor much less a critically-acclaimed one but Jake took a chance on you.

But no one had warned you just how much you had to give up in order to keep succeeding at your dream. Work breeds more work, is that what they say?

Well if that’s the case, it certainly felt like it. Since your first big break, you haven’t stopped working. Seemingly flying to every crevice of the Earth to show face at yet another event they had scheduled on your calendar.

You could barely name the day of the week.

Being in your teens in the public eye was not easy and it hasn’t gotten any easier as you entered your 20s. So they can sue you for trying to have some fun for once in your life. Granted, you may have gone overboard with it… that much you can own up to.

“Is it bad?” He scoffs, reiterating your question in a mocking tone and if it were anyone else you wouldn’t have been able to stave off your annoyance. “Try the end of times… you got locked up in jail. For possession of coke. You can imagine the headlines.”

You wince, clamping your eyes shut. Yeah, that is bad. “It wasn’t mine! It was–”

“Oh, I know whose it was!” Abruptly stopping, he swipes a finger in your direction shutting you up. “You and your little boy-toy can say goodbye to each other ‘til Liv and I fix this goddamn mess.”

“I didn’t know he had it on him, Jake. And he’s not my boy toy.” Your nose screws up in disgust.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. The media caught wind of your weekend away in Vegas with that singer. Did you really think no one would recognize you with a famous musician in a strip club? They have pictures of you in cuffs, Y/N – you’re lucky you didn’t get pressed with charges for drug possession.”

You hear the tired disappointment in Jake’s voice and feel guilt crawl around in your chest. No words seem to be good enough to fix the mess you created so you stay silent. You can add this to the list of headlines he has had to clean up recently. You keep your head down, like a petulant child called into the principal’s office – which in this situation, was an accurate comparison.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me, Y/N.” A higher-pitched voice echoes behind you and theoretically, if it were physically possible to pass through atoms, you’d be 6-feet under the Earth’s crust.

Far, far away from Liv.

“I already gave her the talk, Liv. We haven’t got the time. What’s the plan to fix this?” Jake crosses his arms, one elbow propped to hold his heavy head up. The bags under his eyes were a clear indication that like you, he also hasn’t slept since he bailed you out of Clark County Jail – a mere 10 hours ago.

All you knew is that you were waking up in a cold, dingy cell with a nasty hangover and an officer shouting from behind steel bars that someone had posted bail for you. Next thing you knew, you were being escorted out the side entrance of the building and into a blacked-out Escalade then driven to a private tarmac where a jet was waiting to take you back to Los Angeles.

Liv is also someone you accredit your success to. Jake and Liv are partners and often represent clients together. You liked to call them each other’s work husband/wife. Liv is a tough lady, only in her early 30s and already one of the most sought-after PR agents in Hollywood; has a boss-ass bitch attitude and a resting bitch face to match. Where Jake often played the good cop with you, Liv was guaranteed to be the complete opposite.

Liv rounds the desk, standing beside Jake. She was dressed in business casual clothes but her hair wasn’t done like it usually was – a sign she had rushed over here upon your arrival. Staring you down with a menacing glare before rolling her eyes. “You’re not gonna like it, but I don’t care because we’re way past doing things your way.”

You sit up, a little scared. Liv is not one to mess around with. If she says it’s something you won’t like, you might as well go dig up your own grave. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I have an idea as to how to get some heat off your shoulders. Just until the press can find something else to fuss over.” She waves with a hand, furiously typing on her phone.

You and Jake shared a look, waiting for her to continue.

“Well, are you going to tell us or not?” Jake huffs, throwing his hands in the air. Was he the only one in this damn room that felt like the sky was falling?

A knock interrupts before Liv can respond. “Hold that thought… Come in!” She holds a finger up, shoving her phone in her back pocket.

You turn around, curiosity getting the better of you. Only, it was Jake’s assistant popping her head in. “Sorry for interrupting, sir. I know you said not to disturb you unless it was urgent.”

Jake runs a tired hand on his face. “Just get to the point, Em.” He says, not unkindly.

“Miss Olivia’s guests are here for the meeting. I was wondering if I can let them in?” The young assistant says timidly. Anyone can feel the thick tension in the room. No doubt she also saw the headlines plastered all over the internet of your face. There was an urgency in her mannerism that told you she wanted out of this conversation as soon as possible.

“Yes, let them in! Don’t make them wait.” She waves frantically. The door closes, leaving the three of you alone for a moment.

“Liv, what is this?” Jake asks before you can.

“Y/N, control your anger and be kind to our guests. This is for you, remember that.” She plasters a large smile with her last words as the door opens; multiple voices can be heard behind you. What the hell does that mean?

“Miss Ortega, great to officially meet you and Sarah, thank you for meeting us on such short notice.” Your head snaps to the side as Liv steps out from behind the desk to greet the people behind you.

The sight has you struck dumb. Why is Wednesday Addams in your manager’s office?

Granted, you know who she is. Who doesn’t? You can barely drive down any highway in L.A. without seeing her face plastered on some sort of billboard or building. But why is she here, in this office?

“Y/N I’d like you to meet Miss Ortega…” You were still rooted in your chair, just staring at them like an idiot. An uptick of a brow is raised as Jenna watches you remain unmoving.

“Get up.” Jake kicks the back of your chair as he rounds the desk to greet Jenna and her manager, gritting under his breath. You spring up at the thud, rubbing your back in annoyance.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Ortega.” You extend your hand when she finishes greeting Jake.

She stood a good few inches under you, dressed casually in loose pants and a hoodie. She had a pair of sunglasses pushing her hair back, which was tied in a messy low bun; headphones around her neck.

You two have never crossed paths in all your years in Tinseltown – which was surprising considering you two are around the same age. There might have been an event or two that you had attended at the same time but you have never had the chance for a formal introduction. It wasn't difficult to see why the whole world was buzzing about Jenna Ortega.

“Just Jenna is fine.” She slides her hand in yours, sending a small, shy smile. The sparks you feel when your palms connect has you flinching almost imperceptibly. You see Jenna’s eyes snapping toward your connected hands telling you she may have felt it too. But before you can think too hard on it, you’re pulling away from her grasp.

“Let’s all sit down, so we can tell you why you’re both here.”

Jenna takes the armchair to your left, and you fight to keep your sight straight ahead. “There’s no easy way to break the news. But here’s the CliffsNotes version. Over 24 hours ago, Y/N was arrested in Vegas. The press is having a field day, they already have the paps planted outside her house and every location she frequents. Our solution… a PR relationship, just until all of this has died down.”

You stare deadpan at Liv. Out of all the years, you have known her, this has to be the most balls-to-the-wall, bonkers shit she’s ever said to you.

“What?” A sweet voice piques beside you, voicing out the shock you weren’t able to verbalize.

“A fake relationship, sweetie.” Her manager, Sarah says in a much sweeter tone than Liv could ever muster.

You can see her shake her head from your side eye. “We agreed to no PR stunts like this, Sarah.”

“I know, Jen. But with the recent controversy online… we just think this may be a good look. Liv called me last night and we came up with this plan and thought it couldn’t hurt with both of your situations.” At least her manager sounded apologetic.

Jenna scoffs, feeling irritated and ambushed. “No offence, but I can handle a few nobodies online. And my situation is nowhere near as bad as hers. If anything how would pairing me up with someone who does drugs be good for my image.”

Your head snaps to her, nearly growling, “Watch it. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She bites back, turning to glare at you. “Is it not the truth?”

“No.”

“We got a drug user and a liar, great.” She mutters under her breath.

“Okay stop! You two don’t have a choice,” Sarah speaks up, sending Jenna a look you didn’t care enough to decipher.

“Get someone else,” You say to Liv, ignoring everyone else around you. “Literally anyone else, please.”

Jenna puffs out an incredulous scoff. “Screw you, dude.”

“Screw you too!”

“Jenna!” “Y/N!” The adults of the room shout over one another, chastising you both.

“That’s enough!” Jake shouts, getting you to break your intense glaring at the other actress. Jake’s tone slightly scared you, he was never one to raise his voice. And you knew you were balancing on some very thin and fragile ice with him at the moment.

“This is the plan and that’s final! Jenna, everyone sees you as America’s sweetheart after the success of Wednesday. As much as it sucks, everyone is watching your next move, personally and professionally. And Y/N, you’ve been in the press for literally all the wrong things this year, and yet, the public can’t get enough of you. It’s good publicity on both sides… So you two will learn to get along – for the sake of both of your careers.” He says with a tone that leaned on threatening and you didn’t have the balls the challenge him on that.

You had worked too hard for the life you have today just for it to be thrown away by a careless mistake. So if you had to buckle down and act in love with one of the most annoying people you had ever met, in world-record time, then so be it.

“How long…” You mumble, dropping your head in defeat.

“Three months at most. Less the quicker people forget about your night at the county jail.” Liv answers.

“Fine…” You conceded.

A few seconds of silence ring out before she answers, “Fine…”

●●●

Jake and Liv @ Reader:

I swear there's a SpongeBob meme for everything.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday netflix #legally binded

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suzukiblu · 2 months

Text

Some assorted Smallville headcanons from some of my assorted WIPs for Plot Bunny. They did not specify which WIP they preferred, so I just picked a bunch of different ones and went from there!

Smallville does not approve of Clark Kent’s parenting style: Smallville is a tight-knit, proud little community where everyone looks out for each other that is full of people who want to continue living in a tight-knit, proud little community where everyone looks out for each other. The population at large still considers Clark one of their temporarily-displaced own and were therefore very willing to pretend to believe the “cousin” story when “Conner” showed up–right up until they found out it was NOT a story meant to help Clark’s displaced kid he’d just found out about settle into the Kent family in a low-pressure environment while he got over whatever obvious trauma had happened to him. Now? Now there are pitchforks being sharpened and torches being lit. CLARK JOSEPH KENT, YOUR HOMETOWN IS NOT MAD, JUST DISAPPOINTED.

Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids: Smallville is pretty sure Jonathan and Martha did NOT get this emotionally-fraught teen mom and her weird but adorable little baby from any actual adoption agency, Norwegian or not, but what’s a little illegal immigration and identity fraud between neighbors? None of THEIR business, no sir. Especially not if any strangers ever show up in town asking QUESTIONS.

Jon and Martha, professional soulparents: Oh Jon and Martha absolutely will be clearing out the attic to make Conner a bedroom the absolute SECOND they get back to Smallville. And also being heartbroken about Clark, obviously. Everyone in Smallville is going to cry on them when they hear about Conner and be both very sad and very happy for them. And then they’re all gonna be Weird About Conner, who isn’t gonna know how to talk to ANY of them. He’s gonna get his cheek pinched by so, so many old ladies and SO many manly back-claps and it’s gonna be a pain controlling his TTK enough to actually let people do it. Meanwhile, everyone in Smallville, internally: oh he’s exactly as weird as Clark was when he first showed up, noted. Jfc, Jon and Martha, AGAIN?? WHERE DO YOU EVEN FIND THESE KIDS.

Kon is too trans for this pregnancy shit: No one in Smallville knew a thing about Kon’s physical sex, so they’re all gonna be VERY surprised very soon, but also Smallville in general is gonna take that whole reveal like CHAMPS and just roll with it, even if it might require some people having some Talks With Their Kids And/Or Slightly Bigoted Relatives. Like, there will be a few assholes and a few over-inquisitive weirdos around, because nowhere is a monolith, but overall Smallville is gonna roll with it and be chill about it while ALSO being incredibly out of touch with the up-to-date terminology/language and having very little grasp of the minutiae of queerness in general ( aside from a couple of very quiet people who are gonna feel a WAY about finding out that Conner Kent is trans and went completely unclocked all this time, and seeing how most of the town’s taking finding out really well, and does that maybe mean . . . ).

the one where Kon isn’t the father: Smallville has politely not asked any questions about Tim aside from if he wanted a baby shower or not, but also ALL of Smallville knows Tim was Conner’s “boyfriend” and Kyra is “his” daughter. That’s just gossip-by-osmosis that all of Smallville knows. A lot of casseroles and crocheted things and quilts have happened to the Kent household since Tim showed up pregnant and traumatized. And baby stuff donations. And babysitting offers. And general helpfulness in general. People weren’t necessarily close to Kon, but a lot of people felt very bad about what HAPPENED to Kon, especially after finding out about Kyra. Not that any of them actually KNOW what actually happened to Kon or the truth about Kyra, but that’s a clone of a different gene donor, okay?? OKAY.

#plot bunny #meta ecetera #wip: smallville does not approve #wip: kara gets to earth on time #wip: jon and martha professional soulparents #wip: kon is too trans for this pregnancy shit #wip: the one where kon isn't the father

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taylormarieee · 9 months

Text

~Drunk in Love~

Summary: You and Daryl are both skeptical of Alexandria. So you two go out for a smoke and a drink and things get a little heated.

Word Count:1.2k

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X Fem!Reader

Warnings: P in V Sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral (F reciving), Fingering, Creampie, 18+ Minors DNI, High and Drunk Sex, References and Use of Alcohol, Plot then Sex

You and the group arrive at Alexandria. You are very skeptical but you trust Aaron. He seems nice and you like him. The gates open and you are met by some dude who's name is Nicholas.

"Hand over your Weapons" Nicholas says.

"Ugh I dont think were gonna do that buddy. If we wanted to kill you we would have done it by now." You say shifting your weight.

"Yea uhm were gonna be holding on to these. Got a problem with that?" Rick asks tilting his head.

"No-No that won't be necessary. Were gonna let you keep your weapons. Your all gonna have to talk to Deanna though." Aaron says.

"Who's Deanna!" Abraham says. Everybody's Attention is on Aaron and Nicholas as we wait for them to explain.

"I'll take you to her. For now I will show you where will be staying." Aaron smiles walking away. " Follow me."

You walk next to Carl and steal his hat. He pushes you and easily grabs his hat back. "Cheater." You say smiling. "Thief!" he says laughing as well.

You all enter the house and is getting Interviewed by Deanna one by one. After You all are Interviewed, Deanna announces she's having A house party. You didn't want to go but you wanted to get a little drunk so you went.

Everybody looked nice, Rick had shaved his beast of a beard, and Rosita dressed nicely, same as Abraham. We all looked nice. I had noticed that Daryl wasn't here with everybody else. I made a mental note to go look for him later. I walked up to the bar and grabbed drink after drink.

"Hey Rick! Wanna drink." I ask giggling. "Sweetheart? Are you ok? Yah really shouldn't be drinkin this much." He says smiling walking over to you.

"But it's a party!! So let's party!" I say happily. Rick shook his head, "Go find some water." He says holding your arm. "You know what? I'm gonna go find Daryl! Bye Ricky!" I say sluggishly walking out of Deanna's house with a Jack Daniels bottle and two cups.

You walk to the house the group and you are staying at. You walk closer to see someone standing smoking on the poarch. You immediately know who that long haired, vest wearing man is. Daryl Dixon. You've had a crush on daryl ever since the Prison when he was finally stepping up and providing for the group. You've always found daryl attractive but you never thought the feelings were mutual.

Sometimes there were looks and glances, Touches that lingered to long, and tension in the air you could cut it with a knife. You walk up the steps and see Daryl wip around knife in hand.

"Woah buddy, It's just me. I come bearing gifts!" I say shaking the cups and Jack Daniels bottle. He smiled and laughed.

"Ya too young for tha. Whatcha know 'bout Jack Daniels?" He said walking towards you grabbing a cup. " Number one I'm not too young Mr. Dixon and Two I know alot about Jack Daniels." I say giggling

Daryl grumbles at you and scrunches his nose. " Wanna smoke wit me?" He asks taking a puff of the Cigarette.

"Yea sure!" You say grabbing the Cigarette.

After about an hour or two of drinking and smoking you both are extremely wasted, talking about nonsense.

"Ok ok!" You say giggling, " your turn! "

"I don't like this game. It's stupid." He says chuckling.

"C'mon Daryl you have to have another question you wanna ask me?!" You turn to look at him and smile nudging his arm to go on. "Ok fine. Have you ever fucked an older guy? Not like old old but like mid 20's Early 30's?" Daryl asks with a smirk.

"Oh god Daryl! You sicko! I am 26!" I say shocked.

"Still ain't answer ma question." He says smiling. You roll your eyes and chuckle.

"Fine! No Daryl I have not." You say kicking his foot. He grunts, "Well imma have to change that." He says grabbing your face to puff smoke in your mouth. You gladly open your mouth to receive it only to be met with an wet, opened mouth kiss.

You grab his neck and pull him closer receiving a groan from the man. He grabs your waist pulling you closer. You back up as he pushed you forward to the front door.

Your hands fumble around to find the door knob. after 2 minutes of struggle you finally open the door drunkenly giggling and laughing the whole way up the stairs to your bedroom.

The moment that bedroom door closed you two couldn't keep your hands off one another. Tearing off each others clothes, slowly but surely making your way to the bed. You plop down on the bed and daryl makes his way on top of you.

Your dripping wet. Slick running from your slit all the way to your thighs and soaking the bed. Daryl pries your legs open staring at your glistening cunt. "Yer so pretty you know tha?" Daryl says biting his lip

Before you can even respond you feel Daryl's warm tongue on your clit flicking back and forth, up and down and all around. Your met with a wave of pleasure between your legs. He licks from your slit and back to your clit sucking roughly on your clit. You moan out in pleasure, screaming his name over and over again.

He grunts and moans against your pussy sending vibrations through your entire body. You feel the familiar feeling in your stomach. Feels like a bubble about to burts. You grab onto his beautiful brown locs pushing his head further in while trying to ride his face.

You feel your climax approaching very quickly. Your on the edge when you feel Daryl stick two fingers inside you. You let out an audible moan followed by a series of whimpers and you cum all over Daryls face and Fingers.

You start to giggle at the feeling of your release finally being released. Daryl comes to you face and kisses you passionately, while stroking his cock. "Yer ready f'me big girl?" He says lining his cock up with your entrance. You hastily shake your head whimpering, "Please Daryl. I wanna feel you Inside me!" you whimper out.

Daryl chuckles and begins penetrating you. You wince at the feeling considering how big he is but that pain soon forms into pleasure and you moan as he bottoms out. He slowly but roughly starts thrusting into you. His thrusts are rough aggressive and slow making you squirm under him whimpering and begging him to go faster.

"Please Daryl please go faster." You beg holding onto to his broad shoulders. "So Impatient sweet girl." Daryl teases. He listens to your pleas and proceeds to fuck you at a faster and rough pase showering you with praises.

"Look at ya baby, takin me so well."

"You keep squeezin me like tha and I won't last."

"Imma cum in this pretty, tight pussy."

"Oh yes daryl please come inside me!" You whine out feeling Daryl twitch inside. you. And with a few more rough, erratic thrusts, Daryl. shoots his load inside you. He rubs tight, rough circles on your clit making you cum in a matter of seconds. He fucks you through both of your highs. All that can be heard is your pants and giggles. You both cuddle up together as Daryl whispers sweet nothings in your ear while rubbing your thigh.

"I guess fucking an older guy is better." You say smiling. "Yer damn right it is!" Daryl grunts.

You two slowly drift off to sleep, awaiting for tomorrow in this suspicious place called Alexandria.

TAGLIST: @carlsdarling @murdadixon @pandorxxx @number1gal @rickswh0r3 @sinsandsweetness @neteyamyawne @neytirishottie @darylscvmdumpster @rickydixky @dirtydixonsgirl @darklydixon

#the walking dead #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon

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onceuponastory · 4 months

Text

ball of fluff - bucky barnes

Plot: Bucky tells Y/N how he met Alpine. Pairing: BestFriends!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (but maybe there's something more there... 👀 it's me, of course there is) Warnings: A few mentions of Bucky's past as The Winter Soldier, and how we was used and controlled without his consent. Also includes mentions of how Bucky hates himself for what he did, and the nightmares he has. But as always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know! Notes: Hey, I finally finished a WIP, hahaha. And it's another episode of "this was supposed to be a drabble but it's over 1k words."

Not beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

“Morning.” Y/N smiles, walking into the kitchen at Avengers HQ. The room is mostly empty, aside from Bucky. He lounges on the couch, scrolling through his phone and laughing to himself about something on the screen. When Y/N sits beside him, he murmurs a greeting before immediately going back to laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, it’s just Alpine.” Bucky replies. “Look, I got him a new toy mouse a few days ago, and he’s already destroyed it.” He grins, holding out his phone to show her the picture. Y/N leans in, laughing when she sees the picture, especially the satisfied look on Alpine’s face. It’s nice, seeing Bucky laughing like this, sounding so happy. Although, it is a little weird.

Because Bucky looks so intimidating usually, the master of a death glare. And yet here he is, making cute cooing noises and laughing over pictures of his cat like a completely different person from what history and the news will tell you. But she likes this version of Bucky a lot.

Well, she likes everything to do with Bucky Barnes a lot. Like the way he always makes her heart skip a beat, or how she always has a lovesick smile on her face whenever she’s around him. She just can’t bring herself to tell him that though.

“If you don’t mind me asking…” Y/N asks, her brow raised. “How did you find Alpine?” Bucky’s own brows furrow.

“You’re asking that like it’s a weird question.”

“I just mean, knowing you, I thought you found him on a mission somewhere and rescued him from an evil base, from some supervillain like in James Bond.” She chuckles. “Screw damsels in distress, you rescue cats in distress!” She grins.

“What is it you actually think I do?” Bucky raises a brow, yet can’t stop another grin from tugging at the corner of his mouth. A sight that makes Y/N’s smile grow just that little wider. God, she’s got it bad.

“You know, superhero stuff.” Y/N shrugs, and Bucky chuckles.

“Well, I may be a hero, but I found Alpine in a perfectly normal way.…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

One year ago….

The room is filled with noise, and Bucky awkwardly fiddles with his gloves. He really should take them off at some point. New year, new him and all that. And, of course, being pardoned helps as well. That one might take a little longer, though. This task is small, and manageable. Although, when you have spent your entire life being used as a weapon and fighting space monsters on the regular, everything seems minor in comparison.

Right now though, it feels huge, like when they first faced down Thanos for the first time. Or when he came back to earth after being gone for five years and became a man out of time all over again.

“Hello sir, how can I help you?” The voice of a staff member makes him jump slightly. He’s still not used to this, to being noticed and to being someone, to being Bucky Barnes, rather than a weapon used and controlled without his consent. Rather than The Winter Soldier.

To be honest, he’s not sure if he’ll ever be used to it.

“Hi. I was thinking of getting a pet. I was thinking about a cat, but I’m open to anything, really.” Of course Bucky doesn’t tell him it’s because he’s so alone, and thinks he might lose his mind again if he’s alone any longer. The nights get so lonely sometimes, especially with as many nightmares that he has. Being alone with his thoughts, forced to confront what he did for so long every night, is his own personal hell. A punishment he wouldn’t wish on anyone. Maybe being responsible for another life, rather than taking it away, will be good for him.

That is, if he doesn’t fuck this up, too.

“Of course, sir.” The man smiles, beckoning for Bucky to follow, which he does. “We have plenty of cats available, from kittens to seniors. Do you have any specific breed in mind? Any age or gender?”

All the questions make Bucky furrow his brows together. Choosing a cat seems to be harder than he thought. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting to just walk in and for someone to just hand him a cat, but still. “Not really.” The staff member nods, smiling.

“That’s totally fine. You’re not the first who just wants to walk around. I’ll show you what we have, and we can go from there.”

Bucky looks at every variety of cat and kitten at the shelter. They’re all adorable, but none of them feel right, like his cat. Suddenly, he sees a little white ball of fluff curled up against the corner of a cage. They don’t even move when Bucky approaches. “Who’s this?” He asks.

“That’s Alpine.” Alpine looks up, looking for whoever came to see him. His blue eyes stare at Bucky for a moment, and he cocks his head to the left slightly before burying his face back into his fur. “Sorry, he’s really shy. We’re not sure if he likes people that much.” Bucky chuckles. Well, at least he sounds like him. Bucky doesn't like people that much either. Maybe this’ll be a good match after all. “Do you want to see some more cats?” The staff member asks, but Bucky keeps staring at Alpine, watching as his little head pops up again, checking to see if the stranger outside his cage has gone.

“Hey there, buddy.” He whispers, smiling. He expects him to curl away from him again, but to his surprise, he takes a few steps forward towards him, tentatively sniffing the air, then Bucky’s gloved hand. Bucky chuckles, murmuring an “aww.” to himself as Alpine brushes his head against his fingers, nuzzling into them and purring.

“Wow! He rarely does this. You must be special.” Yet the man’s voice fades out as Bucky and Alpine make eye contact. At Christmas time, Sam and his nephews showed him that movie The Grinch, where his heart grows three sizes after he discovers the true meaning of Christmas. Originally, Bucky wrote that off as cheesy nonsense, but now he feels it happening for real as he looks at this tiny little cat. He smiles. He’s perfect.

“I’ll take him.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Brought him home about a week later, and the rest is history.” Bucky smiles.

“Oh. My. God.” Y/N gasps. “That’s so cute. Turns out you’re just a big softie deep down, huh, Buck?” She chuckles. Bucky flushes pink, and Y/N continues to grin.

“Don’t say a word.” Bucky hisses, but Y/N keeps laughing and smiling. And despite how much he wants to keep it cool, and act like it’s not affecting him, Bucky can’t help but laugh. Because she’s right. Sometimes (more often than he’d like to admit) Bucky hangs onto his Winter Soldier persona, using it like a mask to hide behind. After all, it’s better than having to meet new people all the time, and to actually make relationships with people. People who could disappoint him, or leave him when things got too hard. Nobody would ever go near him if they thought he was still like that, still an asshole who would kill you if you looked the wrong way at him.

But with Y/N… he doesn’t want to hide himself anymore. She makes him the happiest he’s ever been in a long time, and brings out the best parts of him, the parts he thought were gone forever. Her laughter rings through the air, the sound the sweetest melody he’s ever heard, and Bucky just can’t stop smiling. Y/N likes him for who he is, and despite how much he hates himself… Bucky loves the way she makes him feel.

Well… he loves Y/N more than anything in the world. But she does make him feel pretty damn great.

“You know, Alpine sounds amazing. Maybe I’ll meet him one day.” She smiles. The thought makes Bucky’s heart grow even more, this time so big it could explode out of his chest. His two favourite people, the people he loves most in the world, meeting each other.

“Yeah.” He chuckles, smiling softly. “Maybe one day.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Maybe we'll see reader meet Alpine..... 👀

Please follow @onceuponastory-library and turn on notifications to be notified when I next post!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #marvel oneshot #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #fanfiction #fanfic

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jadequeen88 · 2 years

Text

Nothing Compares: Dad!Eddie Munson x Reader

Cross-posted on AO3

Read part 2 here Summary:

The thin walls of your apartment rattled with the slamming of your front door. You jumped awake in fear, knowing you were supposed to be alone tonight. After your initial panic, you knew by the sound of the heavy footsteps and quiet cursing exactly who was terrorizing your home at 2:45 in the morning.

Eddie Munson.

--------------

Having a kid can change people, but not always for the better...

Notes:

I wrote this faster than ANYTHING I've ever written before, so if there are any mistakes, I apologize! I wanted to try my take on Eddie becoming a dad. Although I think he means well and would be a great dad, I could see it being a hard transition for him. As always, please let me know what you guys think. Hopefully, I will be adding more chapters to The Last In Line soon! I also have a couple of more WIPs in google docs that I'm very excited about. Looking forward to all your comments! ALSO! There will definitely be a part 2 to this!

TWs:

Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Soft Eddie Munson, Dad Eddie Munson, Oral Sex, Making Out

Eddie Munson.

The specter who never seemed to stop haunting you, no matter how many times you tried to exercise him from your life. Maybe those assholes back in high school were onto something calling him the spawn of satan. It’s one of the only reasons you can come up with at this point. You knew it would be best to go ahead and wake up. The longer he spent ransacking your apartment, the more riled up he’d get and the longer it would take to calm him down.

You pull your robe around yourself and slip into the hallway, wincing slightly at the cold wood beneath your feet.

“Where is he?”

You grimaced. Eddie had clearly gotten wasted after the show tonight. He stood in the middle of your living room, cropped tee still damp around the neck with sweat and eyeliner skewed. You hated how your gut lurched with want at the sight.

“Who, Eddie?”

“Who?” he looked at you with that infuriating expression he wore when he was exceptionally worked up. You wanted to slap him and kiss the breath out of his lungs in apology at the same time. “My fuckin’ son, that’s who!” His eyes are wild and he’s nearly screaming. If his fit resulted in old Ms. Connor calling Jim Hopper again, you’d string him up from a light pole.

“Eddie, I told you Sunday at drop-off that Wayne wanted to keep him tonight. He took him fishing this afternoon and now he’s sleeping over.” you walked a little closer trying to school your features. You knew if the rage you felt bubbled over with Eddie in this state, you’d have to call Jim yourself to haul you and your ex to the station.

“Did not. I would have remembered,” He mumbled, still walking around opening closets and doors.

“I can’t do this tonight,” you sighed. Your hands started to shake.

“Oh, you can’t do this tonight? Huh? And why is that? Got your little pencil dick boyfriend hiding back here?” Eddie stomped towards the bedroom you used to share, hell-bent on catching you in a lie you’d never told.

“Eddie, you know I don’t have one!” Maybe you should save yourself the trouble and call Jim at home. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time you had to disturb the Byers-Hopper household in the middle of the night.

“Stop fuckin’ lyin’ to me, Birdy,” the old nickname sent pain through your chest. Sometimes, you wished for a quick slap instead of these painful exchanges. At least the sting from a blow would fade instead of crawling inside your body and festering like Eddie’s words had a habit of doing. “You went on a date with him last weekend.”

“One date, Eddie!” your voice pitched higher as he threw open your closet. He slammed the door to the ensuite bathroom against the opposite wall before looking under your bed. “I never called him back!”

“Oh, dear! Why ever not?” Once Eddie was satisfied that you weren’t hiding a man in your apartment, all his attention focused on you. His arms crossed over his chest, head cocked to the side, waiting on a response.

“You know why not,” you blinked rapidly, refusing to give him any more of your tears.

“Tell me,” he demanded softly, walking towards you. He was close enough now that you smelled the vodka seeping from his pores. How long had he been drinking tonight? You watched his arm rise, standing still as a statue as he reached out towards you. His ringed hand sat heavily on your neck. Eddie bent forward, trying to meet your downturned gaze. The thick callous of his thumb felt like fire against the underside of your jaw. You knew if you looked into his eyes, your resolve would shatter. You used to joke with Eddie about how his puppy dog eyes were his superpower. If only you knew then that they’d be used against you one day…

“Birdy…” you could hear the tears in his voice. You couldn’t take this anymore.

“Stop calling me that, please,” you wished you’d yelled it. You wished you’d have sounded strong and determined. You wished you could shove him away and scream at him. But you were just too fucking tired. Instead, your plea came out a watery, weak whisper.

“Don’t want to,” he whispered, now both hands cupping the side of your neck. His forehead fell down to connect to yours, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “I miss you so goddamn much. You know that?” he sniffed back tears and your own finally fell from your eyes.

“You’re just drunk, Eds,” your hands came up to his chest to push him away, but only lingered there, digging into his sweaty shirt. “You only miss me when your drunk.”

You felt him shake his head and grip your neck tighter. “Miss you all the time. Just too scared to say it sober,” his words slur even worse through his tears. “You know I’m a fuckin’ coward, baby.”

His wrists felt so solid beneath your hands. The sick, sad, lonely part of your soul rejoiced at the sensation, of him touching you and you touching back. Reluctantly, you pulled his hands away and turned to sit on the foot of your bed, openly weeping now.

You remember sitting in the same spot the night you kicked him out last year. Eddie still behaved like a child while you had a toddler of your own to think about. All the hours away at band practice, the drinking, him dealing even after you said you didn’t want that around your baby. The straw that broke the camel’s back was finding the blonde in his lap at a party you tracked him down to. You’d been up all night with a sick toddler, not knowing where on earth your husband was. Thank God his saint of an uncle was around to watch the baby while you combed through the dark streets of Hawkins looking for Eddie. Of course, he’d been at that asshole Billy’s place…

You remember the sick smirk Billy Hargrove leveled you with, ice blue eyes looking at you up and down shamelessly. He gleefully pointed to where Eddie sat, girl in lap, drunk out of his mind.

“You know,” he’d reached his arm around your waist and purred into your ear. “If you really wanna get under his skin, I’d love to help you out with that, mama.”

You shoved him away, vibrating with fury. “Fuck you, Billy.” you stomped across the room as he responded with a, “Yeah, that’s the point I was makin’, sweetheart!”

Eddie looked up at you in shock, pushing the girl away roughly.

“Fuck you, Eddie Munson. I’m done,” you wrenched off the thin, gold band he’d given you the day he proposed to you under the tree you’d played under when you were both just two poor trailer park kids. You didn’t care to hear his excuses. You didn’t care that he swore he’d never cheated, that he was so drunk that he didn’t even realize a girl was on his lap. You saw the writing on the wall. You knew it would only be a matter of time before his desire to play rockstar would destroy your already fragile little family.

So you kicked him out that night. Since then, you’d raised your son mostly on your own with help from Robin, Steve, and sweet Uncle Wayne. You never kept Eddie from his child, he was an excellent dad when he wasn’t in his own head, but Wayne usually handled the drop-off and pick-up times. You could tell it hurt him to see his nephew potentially becoming like his father. He always promised his uncle that he wouldn’t become his father. Wayne stepped in when the crime and alcohol took a front seat in his life, rasing Eddie as his own. Nowadays, Wayne wasn’t too sure his nephew would keep his word.

After a few months, however, the drunken visits started. At first, your resolve was solid. You were determined to keep Eddie’s shit out of your life and out of your son’s life. But the loneliness and heartache got a little more prominent with each fight. Going on that date last week solidified it… You still loved Eddie. That wouldn’t change, no matter the time or distance.

Eddie hadn’t seen you cry since the night you ended things. You made sure of it. You knew that once he cracked you the slightest bit, there’d be a very real danger of him making his way back into your life. It was a gamble you didn’t want to take.

But tonight, the dam burst. Eddie dropped to his knees in front of you, lying his head in your lap.

“Don’t cry, Birdy. You’re killin’ me,” his hands rubbed up and down the sides of your thighs to comfort you. “Tell me why you didn’t call him back. Please, baby. Just say it,” you sobbed as you pushed his curls away from his face. You still couldn’t look at him, but you felt his gaze on you. “I gotta know you still love me, Birdy. I gotta know because sometimes I think I might die ‘cause I love you so much.”

“Eddie, stop,” you gripped his hair as you felt him nuzzle his tear-soaked face into your stomach.

“No, goddammit! I won’t! You gotta listen this time,” you softened when you felt his arms wrap around your waist. “I know I’m fuckin’ stupid, okay? I know I fucked up a lot, but I never ever cheated. I never could. I can’t live with myself anymore knowing you think I did something like that.”

“There’s so much more to it,” you finally opened your eyes, looking towards the ceiling to gather your thoughts. “The drugs and the constant partying… Eddie you know I love all the guys, and I love you being in the band, but you can’t find a balance between all of that and being present for us as a dad and partner.”

“Birdy, I will! I swear on my mom’s grave, I will do better!” at the mention of his mother, you finally looked at him. He never talked about her unless he was deadly serious. You wiped his black tears away from his cheek, still avoiding his eyes. “I wanted to tell you earlier, call you before the show, but I got all fucked up in here and couldn’t,” Eddie pointed to his head to emphasize his point. “Gene hired me back at the shop,” you raised an eyebrow, finally meeting his gaze. The only job Eddie kept for any considerable length of time was working on cars downtown at Hawkin’s Tire. It seemed to be one of the only honest jobs he didn’t outright hate. “Full time. I’ll be workin’ forty hours.”

“But Eddie, you said-”

He shushed you gently, shaking his head. “For the past year, I’ve scraped by with dealing and playing gigs, and I’m fuckin’ miserable,” his voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears spilled past his lashline. “If I don’t get to go home to you two every night, nothin’‘s worth it. Not the music or the high. I’m starting to hate every second of it.”

“You’re drunk right now,” you ran your fingers through his hair and watched him melt into your touch. “How can I believe you?”

His grip around you tightened, and he sat up a little straighter, “Give me a week,” he whispered. “Let me come home next Friday when I get off work at the shop with my first paycheck cashed.” Eddie’s hands traveled to your hips. You gasped when he gripped you tight. “I’ll bring you yellow roses and that wine you like. I’ll bring the little squirt pizza and rent that one stupid Muppet movie he loves,” you started to smile reluctantly. Eddie’s own grin matched it. “And after, I’ll give him his bath and read to him while you open that wine,” you gasped when Eddie’s lips brushed along your exposed collarbone, but you didn’t move to stop him. “When he’s asleep,” he kissed the top of your cleavage and bit back a moan. “If mama wants,” you don’t stop him as he pulls one side of your robe off your shoulder, exposing the soft bralette you fell asleep wearing. “I’ll worship her all night,” his thumb lightly traced your hardening nipple. You gasped and grabbed his shoulders. “Like I’ve been aching to do for months.”

You pulled Eddie up from the floor, standing with him. Your lips met in a flash, months of pain and longing seeping through every brush of tongues and touching of lips. The outline of Eddie’s cock was already pushing into your hips and your mouth watered. When your hand met his denim-clad bulge, he let out the sweetest, filthiest moan. Before you could get very far, he pulled your hand away.

“No, baby,” he planted a wet kiss on the corner of your panting mouth, “Wanna taste you. That okay?” you nodded as he backed you towards the bed.

Even though Eddie’s hands were shaking, he took his time, just like he always did.

“Tell me there hasn’t been anyone else,” he spoke into the skin of your inner thigh.

“No one, Eddie,” you gasped as his tongue met the fabric of your soaked panties. “Only you.”

“Not even Harrington?” he growled, hooking a finger into the crotch of your underwear and pulling it to the side.

“Christ, no!” you groaned as he went straight for your swollen clit, sucking and nibbling it. “You know better than that,” you sighed, grabbing a fist full of sweaty, dark curls. Eddie groaned and you could see his narrow hips grinding down onto the mattress.

“Pull harder,” he gasped. You obeyed and he doubled his efforts on your clit, kissing, licking and nibbling on it. He moaned into your pussy, grinding down onto the bed harder. “Oh, fuck,” he murmured, “Gonna cum in my jeans like a teenager.”

“Do it,” your voice was husky as you found your confidence again. You sat up and slung one leg over his shoulder, gripping his hair even harder. “Show me how pathetic you are, baby,” you rolled your hips into his mouth and the hold Eddie had on your hips tightened. “Cum in your pants while I use that smartassed mouth,” He nodded enthusiastically and you threw your head back. Eddie helped move your hips with his iron grip and a few moments later, you were orgasming into his open mouth. As you came down, you brushed his hair from his sweaty brow. You could tell by his anguished expression he hadn’t come yet.

“Sit up here,” you said, grabbing the back of his neck. Eddie didn’t hesitate to obey you. “I told you,” you purred into his ear, “to cum in your pants for me.” you straddled his lap and he nearly let out a shout when you put your weight down on his crotch.

This was all relatively new territory for the two of you. Normally it was you underneath Eddie being reduced to a whimpering mess, but neither of you seemed too bothered by the new dynamic. Quite the opposite, actually. You can’t remember seeing Eddie this worked up since you were teenagers.

You devoured his mouth as your hips rolled against his, coaxing his release from him. Eddie came with a shout that you happily swallowed. After a few moments, you both started to giggle. You knew you should get up and let him clean himself up, but it felt so good to be near him again and he made no moves to get up form the bed.

“Please don’t think this is a complaint,” he said, kissing your neck lovingly. “But what the fuck was that, huh?”

“Guess that’s what happens when I go that long with no sex,” you laughed. Eddie groaned and wrapped you in a tight hug.

“Never thought I’d be so happy about cummin’ in my jeans, sweet thing,” he growled, rolling you over to lay on top of you.

Things got quiet again and the reality of your situation began to set in. “Eddie?” you questioned. He looked up at you from where he lay on your chest. Thankfully, he seemed to have sobered up considerably.

“Don’t make me regret this, okay?”

“Never, Birdy,” he smiled with with whole face, laugh lines deepening and eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll prove it to you Friday.”

“Friday,” you said, hazarding a small, hopeful smile.

“It’s a date,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and you pushed his face away laughing.

“Oh a date he says,” you teased. “Pizza and the Muppets. Is that what dating is like once you have kids?”

“Afraid so, sweet cheeks,” Eddie walked towards the dresser, looking in the bottom drawer to see if any of his clothes were still there by chance “We’re boring now.” He smiled over at you when he found an old pair of grey sweats.

“I still sleep in them sometimes…” you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed. Eddie simply nodded and walked into the bathroom to change.

“Just don’t forget the wine and roses,” you warned, raising your voice so he could hear you through the door. “I might never forgive you if you don’t follow through on that part of the deal.”

“I would never,” he said in mock offense as he opened the door. You thought he looked even better in the old pajamas than he did in the tight, ripped jeans. “But you’re forgetting the most important part.”

“What’s that?”

“The worshipping,” he crawled up the bed towards you again. “Might want you to boss me around again, Birdy.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you said as you slapped his hip lightly.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded as he cuddled into your side. He threw the blankets around you both and before you realized, you were drifting off into the best sleep you’d had in months.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #jade writes smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you

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weirdbrothers · 2 months

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Stranger Things Fic Rec

Let me get one thing out of the way: absolutely nobody asked for this. But I love these pairings and stories so much I had to share it with you all. This is heavy on Steve/Billy with some Steve/Eddie sprinkled in.

If you've never read Stranger Things fic, or when you saw this post thought "oh yeah, that 80s kid monster show" I encourage you to give these a try! You don't have to know much about the show besides the bare bones of the plot. (And my ask box is always open for Qs!) If you like angsty teenage boys who are in denial about their feelings and hate their hometown, read on.

Now, on to the porn and depravity!

if i stare too long by @brawlite & @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger | Steve/Eddie/Billy

After the end of the world, Billy Hargrove is a mess. But at least he has company.

Notes: Literally one of my favorite fics of all time, I will never shut up about it. Gay threesomes. Angst. A sweltering midwestern summer. Homoerotic undertones that builds to filthy gay porn. The vibes are all there.

Pressure by Yellow_Blue_Books | Steve/Eddie

"You never did tell me your name," he called at Munson's back. The older man was already in the trees when he turned back around and stated his name, eyes bright and grin wide. Steve never heard it; he couldn't read his lips from so far a distance between them. So instead, he watched Munson walk away; the teen, now wide awake, went to sit on the hood of his car to wait for Hopper to show. On that crisp, cold January night in 1985 - Steve Harrington heard the sound of Eddie Munson's voice for the first and last time. He never even knew his name.

Notes: The only WIP on this rec list, and totally worth the wait. Great characterization. So many little tidbits of information that have me squealing with joy. But also dark and grounded in reality.

chokechain by @brawlite | Steve/Billy (and Tommy is there)

Tommy H. invites Billy to a party at Steve's house. Billy expected hot chicks and booze, but when he shows up, there's only the latter. Steve and Tommy teach Billy that in Hawkins, sometimes you just gotta make do.

Notes: When I think of this fic I literally start sweating its so sexy. The fic that got me hooked on Steve/Billy and gay Steve in general. Its so subtle and gritty and grimy and hot. And Tommy is egging everyone on, yet oblivious, just how I like him.

so good at being in trouble, so bad at being in love by @the-copperkid Steve/Billy

Steve's sophomore year, Billy showed up.

Notes: A fandom classic. The perfect example of Steve/Billy getting together in world, and dealing with their feelings (+ porn, because I'm me and I need porn in all my fic).

We'll Go Down in History by @eternalgoldfish | Billy/Steve

Hawkins High takes a field trip to Baltimore to see historical sites and Steve would rather jump out his hotel window.

Notes: So much teenage angst and tomfoolery in this one! A little more lighthearted than others on the list. Gets to that theme in ST that I love: the idle hands of teenage boys are the devil's playthings.

Dom 4 Hire by @lazybakerart

Steve is naked, on his hands and knees, in the apartment he shares with his high school sweetheart for a man he only just met in person five minutes ago.

Notes: From the second I saw Steve Harrington on screen I knew that boy was a sub dying for someone to call him a good boy. And Billy is just the dom for the job. My only complaint is that I wish this was longer!

Maybe we're something uncool by desert_dino | Steve/Billy

It’s only noon; Billy knows neither of them have work that evening, and their shitty gen-ed biology lab was cancelled. They’ve only been hanging out for an hour, and maybe Billy isn’t quite done fucking around with Harrington yet. Maybe he’ll indulge him.

Notes: Cocky Billy is what the world needs! Great banter and dialogue. Just a snapshot of what I imagine their afternoons would look like, and the teens of Hawkins would be like "why the fuck are they always hanging out?" totally oblivious.

slipping through by sightetsound | Steve/Billy

It was the weed, and the pilfered whiskey from Steve’s daddy dearest they passed back and forth. It was actually how Steve’s eyes caught the moonlight. How his mouth moved when he spoke, and how it curved on a grin Billy would call relaxed when they were alone. Admitting as much felt too much like giving ground, and so it was the weed and whiskey.

Notes: Really bittersweet, heartfelt, and sincere. A different kind of pace for this pairing.

You Get Too Close by @trashcangimmick | Steve/Billy

Steve sits at the back of the bus on the way to a basketball match in Gary. Billy Hargrove sits right across from him.

Notes: Be for real- when we saw that basketball and shower scene we were all hoping it would go in the direction of this fic. Gives me the vibe of an 80s porno in the best way.

Reflecting on the Longest Wavelength by @trashcangimmick | Billy/Hopper

Billy’s heat hits early. Jim Hopper happens to find him before anyone else does.

Notes: This pairing is a little rouge, I don't see it often and its hard to pin down for me past all the basic tropes. I really like the A/B/O world-building here and find myself returning to it.

#stranger things #stranger things fic rec #harringrove #steddie #fic rec

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

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Dirty Work 20

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: weekends aren't for rest, they're for being sick and anxious so Monday will be a treat.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you enter, you try your best not to make too much noise. You set the bags down lightly and ease the inner door shut. You can hear your dad and the soft sound of puzzle pieces meeting the table.

“Ya know, thirty years almost, but I can see her just like yesterday,” he says.

Your heart clutches. You never heard him talk about your mom. When you were a kid and didn’t know better, he just ignored all your questions about her. When you got older, you stopped asking. You figured it’s easier for both of you to pretend she never was.

“I’m sorry, hon,” Leslie comforts, “you know, in my line of work, I’ve seen it over and over. It’s a wound you can’t heal.”

“Oh yeah,” he grits, “yeah, I’d say…”

You swallow and lean back on your foot, crinkling the bags behind you. You cringe as you hear sudden movement. You turn and work to slip off the white loafers. You pretend like you weren’t listening as Leslie’s shadow looms from the archway.

“You’re home,” she proclaims, “we didn’t think you’d be so early.”

“Me either,” you say as you face her.

Her lashes flick and her mouth opens, “oh my, you look so good! Weren’t you working today?”

“Uh, did some work,” you lie, “I got a few hours off so I… did some running around.”

“Oh, gosh, come on, you have to show your dad,” she takes you by the wrist and tugs you around, “Charles, look at your girl.”

She presents you with her hands on your shoulders. You can’t even look at your dad as the couch creaks and he grunts at your appearance. He snorts and pushes another piece into the puzzle.

“What am I looking at?” He sneers.

“Charles, don’t be like that. Look at her hair, and this dress,” she touches your hips, “must be a nice job, huh?”

“It’s alright,” you shimmy out of her grasp, “I just… needed something more presentable–”

“Something shorter,” your father scoffs, “so when she’s bending to tidy the floors you can see right up.”

“Charles, that’s gross,” Leslie reprimands.

“Truth can be like that,” he snickers, “think some man’s buying her fancy clothes so she can sweep? We both know how she pays for you.”

“No… it’s not…” you shrug and give up, “I’m gonna put my stuff away and start dinner. If you want, you can head off early too.”

“Oh, I don’t mind sticking around,” Leslie says as she once more sits beside your dad, “let me know if you need any help with dinner. Don’t wanna get anything on that nice little dress.”

You nod and hesitate. You can’t tell what she means by that. For as much as she can call out your father, she often speaks with an edge of her own. Just like the cigarettes, she must assume his insults are your fault.

You leave the room and grab the bags. You carry them up the stairs to your room. You shut the door and sit on the end of the bed. You bend and cradle your head, trying to set it straight after the dizzying day.

👠

The bus provides a momentary break from your hostile world. There is no safe place for you. Home is barely that and work is… confusing. Your only escape is to focus on your tasks and get through them. Get through Mr. Laufeyson’s list then come home and the chores left untouched.

Your look at the time on your phone and black the screen. You get a glimpse of your reflection off the glass as you do. You didn't do too bad with the makeup. It looks okay. You tried not to use too much as you recalled Eliana's instructions.

You shake off your doubts and airy feeling around your legs. You're not use to the skirt or the pretty fabrics. You feel overdressed and out-of-place, but the latter is so new to you.

Through the gate and along the edge of the drive, you hear your name flutter in the air. You stop short as you see Frigga strolling along the hedges, caressing the petals of a rose. She draws away and strides towards you, an ivory skirt paired with a golden brown blouse and nude heels.

“You do start early, don’t you?” She approaches and takes your hand, “come, let’s have tea.”

“Oh, uh, I…” you let her tug you along the walkway towards the front door, “the carpenter is coming today–”

“Ah yes, Loki mentioned you were working on restoring the gazebo. That’s lovely. We used to have tea there, me and… his wife. She was a laugh.”

“Mm,” you hum. Whoever this woman was, she must’ve been very special. You imagine a beautiful woman with silky hair and long legs like Frigga. She must’ve fit right in.

“I suppose if it was meant to be, it would be. I only hope my son can find happiness again,” she squeezes your hand before she lets you go.

She opens the door and waves you in ahead of her. You slip out of your flats much easier than your usual lace-up sneakers. She steps out of her heels and sighs.

“That’s his problem, you know? He’s lonely but too proud to admit it,” she sidles around you and leads you down to the kitchen. You follow and watch as she goes to the counter and pours from the waiting teapot. “Though I haven’t seen him today. I suppose he’s sleeping in, it is the weekend.”

You tilt your head but don’t comment. For as long as you’ve worked for him, not very long at all, he’s never slept past your arrival. Well, not so far as you know.

“I do love this skirt,” she comes back around the counter and touches the tweed, “wonderful pairing,” she touches the blouse with the petal shaped cutouts around the high-collar, “you’re learning.”

“Um, yeah, all the clothes are so pretty,” you say.

“Please, have your tea. I’m sure you have time before the carpenter,” she urges.

“Right, er, I’ll just take my bag upstairs first,” you say, “out of the way.”

“Sure,” she accepts with a kind smile, “how about I take this out to the patio, we can enjoy the sun?”

“Alright,” you agree and hike up your bag, “thank you.”

You quickly flit off and head upstairs. You weren’t expecting her to be there. You just hadn’t thought of it. You only dreaded facing your unbendable boss and his persistent stare.

You go into the library and tuck your bag under the writing desk. You double check the schedule in your phone; Ronan, 10. You have an hour before he arrives.

Your mind is already on the gazebo as you scurry back into the hall. As you shut the door gently, you hear a groan. You peer down towards the unusual noise and blink at the slightly ajar door. The main bedroom. Mr. Laufeyson’s. It rises again before a drawn out exhale, his timbre rumbling low.

You quickly set back to your path and flee downstairs. Maybe he’s talking in his sleep, or more likely, stretching out a few kinks. Your curiosity quickly dissipates as you pass through the dining room and out into the patio.

Frigga sits with large pointed sunglasses over her eyes. She tilts her face up to the sunlight as you sit before the other cup of tea. You pull it close and look out at the yard. A streak of green catches your gaze.

You watch the hummingbird hover over fuchsia petals. You stare dreamily, lulled by the peace of the moment as Frigga merely sips and basks. This isn’t so bad. The bird zips between flowers before disappearing behind a tree. In his stead, the skittish chipmunk scrambles along the railing of the patio. You smile at his fluffy tail.

“I’ll be off tomorrow,” Frigga states, “my husband will be expecting me. Oh, but I’ll miss you, darling.”

“Is it very far?” You wonder.

“Four or five hours,” she answers, “not very far but enough. It’s so lovely up where we are. I wish you could see. Perhaps one day. When things are better.”

Before you can answer, there’s a subtle click behind you.

“Morning,” Mr. Laufeyson’s voice is unleashed onto the scene as the patio door swings inward, “mother,” he pauses before he enunciates your name, “beautiful day out.”

Your shoulders stiffen and nearly touch your ears as you sit straight. He pulls out the chair at your other elbow and sets down another teacup with a clink. He sits and smooths back his dark hair, tucking the spiralled ends behind his ears.

“Late morning,” his mother remarks, “any tea left?”

“Some, shall I–”

He puts his hands flat, moving to stand but she shoos him as she’s quicker to rise, “I’ll get it myself. And you darling,” she dips her chin in your direction, “more?”

“Oh, no thanks, I’m still… working on mine. Thank you, Frigga,” you say, mindful of each syllable.

She leaves and the door clicks shut behind her. You stare at the brim of your cup, turning it slowly between your hands as Laufeyson raises his own to his lips. He drinks carefully before putting it down again.

He’s quiet. He shifts and plants an elbow on the table. He turns his attention to the yard and watches. You dare to look up as well, the chipmunk poking his head out from the bush where he hides. He ran away at Mr. Laufeyson’s arrival.

“Cute little fellow,” he remarks as he faces you again. You quickly lower your eyes.

“Uh, yeah…”

“Mmm,” he drones and taps his fingers on the porcelain teacup, “you… that’s a nice shirt.”

“Thanks,” you lift your cup and drain most of it, gulping painfully as you put it back down, “I should go start. Ronan will be here shortly–”

“The carpenter?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I have him penned in–” You explain.

“And? He is a carpenter, he knows what he’s doing. I doubt he needs you watching over his shoulder.”

“I know, uh, but I should be there to let him in,” you slide your cup off the table.

“You’re not even done your tea.”

“I’ll finish on my way in–”

“You’re avoiding me,” he accused and you wince.

“What?”

“You’re running away? Why?” He challenges.

“I’m not, I– I have work to do.”

“Work I give you. I’m your boss, you may sit and finish. I’ll permit it.”

You falter and set the cup on the table. You lower yourself back to the seat and fold your hands. You look at your lap and push your shoulders back. He is back to his haughty demands, you find that part of him easier to handle.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I wasn't running away.”

He scoffs thinly and his nostrils flare as he stares off at the hedges that edge the patio, “I wonder why you can be so quick to flee me when you sat and let my brother feel you up.”

“Huh?” You blanch, stuck by the accusation. “Mr. Laufeyson, I–”

“I know him well and I’m not as blind as my mother. I saw it. You didn’t say a word. You just let him do it,” he clucks, “why?”

Your eyes round and you bat your lashes. You nearly choke, the acidic flavour of the tea drying on your tongue. Was it that bad? You tried not to think about it, to let it affect you, even as the memories flashed in your head, you just tried not to feel anything about it.

“I didn’t… well… he’s your brother, Mr. Laufeyson, I didn’t want to assume… to offend–” you stammer.

“So you let him do what he wants?” He snarlss as he turns his sights on you, a brow arch tritely. “You do not work for him, you work for me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do,” you sputter, confused by his anger. “I tried to…”

Your voice trails off. No, you didn’t try. You were too afraid too. He’s right, you let Thor keep touching you and you didn’t say anything, you didn’t move, you just froze up.

“It makes me wonder,” he cups his chin, leaning on his elbow, “how far would you let him get, hm?”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you whimper, “I’m sorry–”

“Did you like how he touched you?”

“N-no, Mr. Laufeyson, no, of course not,” you plead.

“You do not want him to touch you?” He prompts.

“No, I… didn’t know how to say—”

“Shhh,” he hushes you, lifting his chin from his hand and pressing his finger to his lips. He pulls his hand away to point at you, “I’ve a better question…” He reaches towards you and you flinch. You quiver as he traces the cutout along the top of your blouse, “how far would you let me go?”

You squirm as he hooks his finger inside the teardrop window in the fabric. His fingertip brushes you as he gives a slight tug, looming closer as he draws you towards him. He smirks as you stare dumbfounded. What is he doing?

“My brother will not touch you again,” his voice is low and rocky, “I will make sure of it.” He tickles you slightly and rescinds his hand, “and you will make sure to remember who you belong to.”

He sits back and hooks his fingers in the handle of the porcelain mug. As if on cue, the french doors open behind you and Frigga trills as she emerges, “oh, just enough tea,” she announces, “I added a dash of honey this time.”

She places the cup by her empty chair but does not sit. She twirls and paces around the patio, going to the flower boxes along the rail. She leans in to examine them.

“Perhaps the carpenter could have a look here, it’s crooked,” she declares. “And I dare say the guest room has a loose floorboard right near the bed.”

“Mm, perhaps, mother,” Laufeyson drawls as he once more raises his cup, his eyes stuck on you, “my house manager will be sure to ask, won’t she?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you wisp out through your constricted throat, barely registering his command.

You can only hear his previous words echoing, over and over; remember who you belong to. Belong to… No, you only work for him.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #dirty work #au #maid au #avengers #mcu #marvel #thor

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dokiyeom · 10 months

Text

2:33 AM . K. SOONYOUNG

PAIRING: idol! soonyoung/hoshi x gn! reader

GENRE: fluff!

WORD COUNT: 1.1k!

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption

NOTE: i haven’t finished a wip or posted a written fic in forever i am so sorry <//3

SOONYOUNG SPORADICALLY CALLING YOU DURING ODD HOURS IN THE NIGHT wasn’t particularly unusual, given his odd work schedule, but tonight was different. from what you were aware, he shouldn’t have much time to call while he’s away filming something for his group’s variety show. nonetheless, it's 2 am and your phone is ringing because your precious boyfriend wants to talk.

“hello? babe, is everything okay?” you ask once you pick up.

“hi yn!” soonyoung whisper yells, “we’re playing hide and seek so i have to keep quiet,”

“do you want to text instead then? so your voice doesn’t give you away?” you offer, smiling inwardly as you envision your boyfriend tucked away somewhere undetected. he’s always had an exceptional knack for hiding, having been distinguished as the reigning king of every variation of hide-and-seek that his group seems to conjure up.

“no, no, i want to hear your voice,” soonyoung insists, “and we took off our mics so it’s okay!”

“alright then,” you smile, “so, how’s everything going? what’d you guys do?”

“mm, things are nice! we had a few snacks earlier and we’re going to cook dinner soon,” soonyoung eagerly reports, his smile falters a bit suddenly as his tone drops, “i wish you were here with us though. i want to be hiding with you right now,”

“so we could play speed and you could rest on my shoulder?” you muse, resting your chin on one hand.

“so this wouldn’t have to happen! yn! your chin should be on MY shoulder, not your hand!” soonyoung objects quietly, “and hiding with you is so fun, don’t you think? we could have fun conversations and discuss a game plan for whatever we end up playing next,”

“and most importantly, we could play anything as a team!” soonyoung proudly proclaims

“even if your members decide to split into a 2 v 12 game?” you giggle, recalling some of the retreats you tagged along to that concluded with you and soonyoung being less than functional due to jeonghan and joshua pushing for the two of you to team up against the rest of the group because in their words, not yours, ‘being a truly good couple means that no obstacles can stand in your way’.

apparently to soonyoung, that signified you two would win every game because he thoroughly believed you and him were the ultimate couple and team.

“especially if we end up in a 2 v 12 game yn! babe we are the dream team. you’re the brain and i’m the tiger. together we’re going unstoppable! as long as you can convince jeonghan and joshua to not cheat, we’re good!” soonyoung gives you a thumbs up to accentuate his resolve, making you burst into a fit of laughter.

“of course, of course, but soon, babe, don’t you think you have a bit too much faith in me? i’m not sure that i, or anyone, could convince jeonghan and joshua to ease up on us,” you hum. your smile widens to incomprehensible lengths as you watch soonyoung’s eyes illuminate.

“babe, you’re one of the smartest people i know, of course, you can!” soonyoung bobs vigorously.

“oh! i almost forgot!” soonyoung stiffens suddenly before easing, “we were supposed to all take a shot earlier together before we started playing hide and seek, but i hid mine so we could take it together,”

“aw soonyoung,” you melt and position your hand over your heart, “you’re too cute,”

soonyoung giggles softly over your remarks, his eyes morphing into charming upturned crescents, “you can just drink whatever drink you have nearby! it can even be water! anything’s fine, i just want to take my first shot of the night with you,”

you nod and hold up your mug of tea to the screen as soonyoung swiftly produces his hidden shot glass. the two of you tap your glasses to the screen as soonyoung dubs a faint little “clink!” before he gulps down his shot of soju and you sip your tea.

“so, how was your day?” soonyoung sings, hugging his legs closer to himself as he lays his head atop his knees.

“very quiet, not as eventful as yours,” you reply, “i got a bit of a rest day, so i mostly just read and got some work done,”

your phone buzzes with a text notification and its abruptness momentarily takes your attention away from your boyfriend, which instantly sets off lighthearted protests from him.

“oh! seungkwan texted,” you inform him.

“noo yn, can you ignore him so we can keep talking?” soonyoung helpfully suggests as you laugh and click on the notification.

boo 🍊: hi yn, sorry to bother, but can u tell hoshi to come out? we found him already but we didn’t want to interrupt and we’re gonna cook shin ramyeon now

yn 🍙: okok sorry to keep him away from u guys!! ill let him know and enjoy urselves !! pls take lots of pics and send them over :)

boo 🍊: ok!! sorry we couldn’t invite u to come :(((( and ik hoshi wants u here and so do we

yn 🍙: no need to apologize at all!!! u guys are there for going sev! we can hang out together next time when u guys have time :))

boo 🍊: for sure!!!! also dokyeomie says hi yn i miss u :)))))

yn 🍙: hi kyeom !!!! miss u && everyone else tooooo

“yn? ynnn!” soonyoung hums, waiting for your attention.

“yes, soon?” you match his singsong tone.

“do you think they’re ever going to find me?” soonyoung marvels, “i’ve been hiding here for a while,”

“they have, babe,” you reply, laughing a little as soonyoung’s eyes widen in shock, “seungkwan just texted to let you know that they found you earlier and now they’re going to start cooking ramen,”

“aw i don’t want to leave you though,” soonyoung pouts, clearly conflicted about what he should do, despite knowing that only one option will prevail.

“i’ll be here when you come back, okay babe? just go enjoy your snacks and drinking games. but don’t get too drunk please! take care of yourself,” you reassure him, wishing you could reach through the screen to ruffle his hair and kiss his cheek.

“okay fine,” soonyoung sighs, wavering before speaking again, “but when i come back, we’re going to have a game night with everyone! you and me versus them, okay?”

“anything you want,” you promise, “now go before they get mad!”

“okay bye yn! send me photos of whatever you eat for breakfast tomorrow please!”

“will do,” you beam, “i love you soonie!”

hoshi waves at the screen and holds it close to his face until the background is completely obscured by his radiant eyes, “i love you too yn! goodbye!”

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