#are they all just pulling a grey worm?

[ghost-proofbaby]

friday, i'm in love (eddie munson x reader)

summary: one of these days, you'll talk to the cute boy at your coffee shop. just... not today. (wc: 6.3k+)

order up! i've got one cup of sunshine for @munson-blurbs ♡

Today’s the day. 

You take a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your bag as it digs into your shoulder.

Today’s the day. 

You pull the door open for your local Starbucks, your preferred study date destination. 

Today’s the day. 

You smile at one of the other regulars, a kind and older gentleman named Jim. If you focus on Jim, your eyes won’t avert to him. 

Today’s the day.

You already know he’s here. You delude yourself into believing you can specifically hear the scratch of his pencil on paper, that every click of a mouse or clack of a keyboard is coming from his laptop. Hell, maybe if you closed your eyes, you’d convince yourself the music humming over the shop’s speakers is actually the muffled tone warbling out of his headphones. 

Today’s the day.

You order one of your normal drinks, one brimming with caffeine and drowning in enough sweet caramel drizzle to give you instantaneous cavities. It doesn’t matter – today’s meant to be a sweet day. The weather’s nice, nothing like it was last week when you’d been ordering a hot Earl Grey tea sweetened with honey each day, and you tell the young man taking your order that it’ll be iced. 

He’s new. You have no doubt in your mind, because he wasn’t here last week, and one of the baristas you do recognize is hovering to the side as he rings you out. 

You’re a creature of habit. All the baristas know you well, other regulars (see: Jim) even recognize you these days. You used to only come in once or twice a week, either to cram for tests or play a morbid game of catchup with all your homework, but something changed in the last two months. 

He showed up in the last two months. 

Today’s… not the day.

You turn with your overly sweet drink in hand only to be met with sore disappointment. You were right, he is here, already seated at his usual table. 

And he’s joined by a girl and boy you’ve never seen before, but he surely has, by the way he’s all smiles and laughter focused directly at the pair. 

You try to not let your stomach drop too low, to catch it before it hits the ground and gathers any unwanted attention your way. It’s fine, it’s okay, it’s good – today wasn’t the day, but maybe tomorrow will be. Maybe tomorrow can finally be the day you speak to the boy from the coffee shop who’s overrun your thoughts one day at a time, the boy you see every day like clockwork, the boy you’ve never exchanged a single word with. 

“Dingus, you can’t just say that to a girl!” the girl seated in front of him, her back to you, yells as she smacks Dingus on the chest. 

Your coffeeshop boy only cackles in delight, and you feel as if the sunshine that has broken through the cloud cover outside has wormed its way into your veins. His laugh is brilliant and warming as it echoes in your chest, and you try to remind your beating heart that it isn’t yours to keep. That doesn’t stop your arteries and veins from wrapping their way around the sound and thrumming to match its pace. It doesn’t stop your ribs from trying to hopelessly capture the sunshine. Maybe one day you’ll make him laugh like that, maybe one day you’ll find the nerve to strike a conversation with him.

Tomorrow has to be the day, since this sunny Monday hasn’t been.

—

Tuesday also isn’t the day. 

You don’t even have a good excuse this time. He’s alone today, just as he usually is. His headphones are already in once you’ve arrived and you can hear tinny guitar solos blaring out of them from across the room. You almost convince yourself that that’s a good reason to approach him, to tap his shoulder and let him know how listening to music that loudly can permanently damage your eardrums, y’know? 

But then you realized how prissy that made you sound. If you did that, you’re sure Chrissy, one of your favorite baristas here, would absolutely taunt you for days on end, probably making jabs about you being a grandma, going the full mile and offering you a senior discount just for shit and giggles. 

So you stay seated. And you meet the peculiar look of Chrissy as she watches you and Eddie, the only two customers in the lobby this time of afternoon, as if she’s waiting for something to happen. Anything. The raise of her eyebrows serves as a painful prodding in your side as if to say “Well? What are you waiting for? Go on.” 

You don’t go on. And that’s the issue – for the last two months, you have let the idea of some stranger completely occupy every thought you have to spare without even knowing his name. He was just always here; two months ago, your once quaint and nice study spot was infiltrated by wild curls and drumming fingers, plush pink lips that could make the older ladies that pass through absolutely swoon with a simple smirk and hello. You’d talked the ear off of all your friends for nearly an hour the day he’d worn grey sweatpants in rather than his normal ripped jeans. You’d caught yourself staring intently at the various rings that decorate his left hand on more than one occasion, trying to make out what the various symbols of silver were. 

“This is getting painful to watch.” 

You hadn’t even noticed Chrissy round the counter and head over to your table with a cloth in hand until she was looking down at you with a soft, childish pout and her big blue eyes framed with furrowed brows. 

“What?” you question, putting down the pen you’d been clicking on and off for the last ten minutes, making no move to properly revise and submit the essay lighting up the screen of your laptop. 

Chrissy keeps her voice low, moving to lean down closer to you under the guise of wiping the table beside yours, “The two of you. It’s painful, babe. One of you has to stop making eyes and make the first real move eventually.”

Real. A word you had cursed over a glass of wine with your roommate last night. 

She’d pointed out the way you only liked the idea of your coffee shop boy thus far, how you had yet to introduce yourself to the real him. Which, she was right, of course. It was easiest this way; from a distance, he can be anything you want. He could be your easy Sunday mornings, sleepy smiles over toast and coffee made at home. He could be your tired Thursday evenings, coming straight home from whatever class or shift had wreaked havoc on your mind and right into his arms, popcorn and a movie already waiting for you to decompress over as you told him about your day. He could be a source of comfort on cold nights, a breath of fresh air on warmer mornings. He could be anything, as long as he continued to be just your coffee shop boy. A fruitless crush you’d always observe from across a bustling lobby. Keeping him at an arm’s length kept both of you safe: from disappointment, from complications, from reality. 

“Just because we both come in everyday to use your free wifi and drink your mediocre coffee, doesn’t mean you get to play match-maker when you’re bored,” you try to keep a straight face as you say this, forcing a look of disinterest as Chrissy stares you down. 

Normally, this would be the part where you’d snap at Chrissy that if she was so piqued in her interest with your coffeeshop boy, she could ask him out herself. But he wasn’t Chrissy’s type – the round enamel pin on her apron with a faded, baby pink  background, multiple cats stacked on top of one another in different shades of pink, orange, and white, told you as much. The heart eyes she’d made at the girl that had been here with him the day before confirmed it. 

“Don’t be so pissy,” Chrissy teases, “Or I’ll revoke wifi privileges.” 

“You don’t scare me, Chris.” 

“I should.”

“You’re all bark, no bite,” you scoff, a bit louder than before, and don’t even notice your boy subtly taking one of his earbuds out, fighting to keep his eyes down to the page he’s scribbling on rather than glancing up at your interaction, “And I use bark sparingly, considering your bubblegum pink aesthetic doesn’t exactly scream scary dog.” 

Chrissy grins wider at your words – you’ve never backed down from being brazen with your humor against her. You don’t treat her grossly delicate or thickly lay on fake niceties. You’re genuine. It’s probably a contributing factor to you being her favorite regular.

He snorts, and you just barely catch the echo of the sound, making both you and Chrissy glance in his direction. 

His eyes are glued on his notebook as a blush begins to spread up his neck. You can’t help the shy smile that urges the corners of your mouth upwards. 

Talk to him, Chrissy mouths obnoxiously as she grabs her rag, taking slow and exaggerated steps backwards before she spins, her blonde ponytail bouncing as she speed-walks back behind the counter.

One day, you’ll talk to him. Soon. 

—

Soon comes too soon. Far too soon and far too embarrassing of circumstances. 

One moment, your eyes are glued to the statistics textbook in front of you, laptop set off to the side with your headphones connected in and a study playlist queued up on Spotify. The next, someone’s frappucino is spilling across the pages of numbers and percentages, making you gasp and jump back to no avail. The damage is done – your book is ruined, the front of your shirt is soaked, and all of your handwritten notes are now soggy and unreadable. 

“Oh, shit!” the poor kid who had been the culprit stands before you, stunned and red with embarrassment as his friends quiet their cackling from behind him. It’s clear the group had been rough-housing, and that’s what led to this accident. 

You zero in on a melting glob of whipped cream that settles into the open spine of the textbook, mouth falling agape as tears fill your eyes immediately.

Shit. No. No, no, no. This was a rental. 

None of the younger boys are the one to make a move to help you. The baristas don’t stand a chance, delayed in even noticing the commotion. You’re a statue of bleary vision and panicking breaths as you realize the sticky mess is everywhere, including your laptop. 

Your coffeeshop boy notices immediately. He’d noticed the moment the young boy had lost his balance beside you, was already scooting out his chair and jumping up before the blended coffee had even made contact with your table. 

You come to your senses right around the time he’s at your side, a fistful of napkins, uselessly attempting to save your textbook that was already clearly ruined.

“Ah, fuck,” he whispers as he uses up all the napkins he’d managed to snag, looking up wildly at you, eyes zeroing in on the mess on the front of your shirt. You can’t even relish in the fact that this is the first time you’ve heard his voice so closely; you’re mortified and trembling, still unsure of whether you’re more angry about your textbook, your laptop, or your shirt, “Hey, you okay?” 

Tears. There’s tears streaming down your face, hot with embarrassment and anger and defeat. You think the kid whose drink is now in your lap has been apologizing, but you pay him no mind. 

“Go get cleaned up,” the coffeeshop boy immediately moves out of the way, motioning you out of your seat, towards the bathrooms, “I’ll watch your stuff, try to clean it up some, too.” 

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You’re up in an instant, ignoring the stares of the baristas and the other boys, racing to the back corner of the shop where the two single-person bathrooms reside. You rush into one blindly, trying to calm your erratic heart and the impending panic attack. 

It takes you twelve minutes to do so. Three splashes of cool water to the face, two pep talks about how it “wasn’t that bad”, and another whole minute of blankly staring into the mirror at the baby-hairs that frame your face that are now wet and plastered to your cheeks and forehead alike, just wondering where you’ll come up with the money for your damaged textbook. 

And laptop. It also got on your laptop, son of a bitch.  

You also have to come to terms with the fact that you’d burst into silent tears in the middle of your favorite coffee shop. In front of your coffee shop fantasy crush. You may never recover from that embarrassment, if you’re being honest with yourself.

A small knock comes from the door of the bathroom, forcing you to sigh deeply before gathering up all your composure and broken pride. 

“Yeah?” you ask through the crack, hardly opening the door. 

It’s Chrissy, standing wide-eyed and hopelessly holding two pieces of clothing in her hand, “Okay, so uh, we don’t have any spare shirts here. But… But I have a spare apron? And a spare jacket? I’m sorry, these are awful options.” 

“I…” I’d rather die than wear that apron, or ruin someone’s jacket. “It’s fine, Chris. I’ll probably get going anyways.” 

“But your shirt is all-” she pauses, and you could burst into tears all over again at the way she scrunches her nose so adorably, “-sticky.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“It’ll get all over your car.”

“It’s already all over my stuff. Might as well go big or go home.” 

“I owe you a free coffee now, you know that?” Chrissy’s shoulders finally deflate in defeat, accepting your stubbornness as the winning contender, “Next time you come in, probably tomorrow. Whatever you want. It’s on the house, I sw-”

“Damn, now I wish some twerp spilled their mocha cookie whatever all over me,” it’s him – your coffee shop boy. A boy who came to your rescue, a boy who lives in all your bedtime fantasies, and a boy whose name you still don’t know. Chrissy turns and the two of you both look at him, you opening the bathroom door wider despite your embarrassment. He immediately throws up a hand in surrender, “Sorry, I’m, uh- shit, I’m interrupting. But I just… Uh, well. Okay, this is weird. Really weird. You can ban me if this is too weird,” he turns to Chrissy with wide brown eyes, making her immediately cross her arms across her chest defensively, “Seriously, okay? Say the word, I’ll accept my banishment. I just-”

“What’s behind your back?” Chrissy narrows her eyes. You hadn’t even noticed the boy hiding something, too busy being enamored by his stumbling words and adorable blush. Fuck. You hated it; you hated the fact that everyone was right, and the real him was even more adorable than you could have anticipated. 

He brings his arm out from behind him, and when you see what’s in his clutches, you nearly scream in frustration. 

He’s not just more adorable than the fantasized versions of him you’ve created – he’s more thoughtful, too. It spells out trouble for you and your restless, irrevocably romantic heart. 

“I keep spare shirts in my van,” he explains sheepishly, “I swear it’s clean. It’s for- well, I… It’s for ‘just in case’ situations. Sort of like this one, I guess.” 

Chrissy is quick to take it from him, passing it along to you as she keeps staring him down, “How convenient.”

“Very,” he nearly cowers under her stare, swallowing hard before turning to you, “You don’t have to give it back or anything. You can even burn it, for all I care. It’s just some shirt for… for, uh, some shitty band.” 

You don’t think too much about the comment, just shut the door and leave Chris alone with the coffeeshop boy, silently praying she doesn’t tear into him unnecessarily after the act of kindness. You change shirts, dabbing at your chest with wet paper towels between peeling off your coffee-stained blouse and switching it for your coffeeshop boy’s shirt. 

Corroded Coffin. It’s not a band you recognize, as you read out the jagged writing of the logo across the front of the black t-shirt. The white font pops and you’re already trying to think of an easy segue into maybe discussing whoever this ‘shitty band’ is with coffeeshop boy rather than the mortifying disaster you’d just endured from a group of young teenage boys who knew no better.

But when you leave the bathroom, that group of scoundrels is gone, along with coffeeshop boy. Chrissy wears an apologetic look over the shoulder of a customer she’s taking the order of at the front counter. It does nothing to wear on the sinking feeling of disappointment in your gut, that deflation at realizing he didn’t wait around for you. The customer pays and leaves the counter, and Chrissy almost looks to be expecting you to stop and say something, but you don’t.

You don’t say a single word. Only rush and gather your things off the table, which are surprisingly clean. Coffeeshop boy did a good job.

Too bad you don’t have the chance to tell him. 

Reality, you decide, has something in common with the coffee; it’s always going to end with a bitter bite, no matter how much sweetness you suffocate it with. 

—

You don’t return for several days after Wednesday’s incident. Thursday turns to Friday, Friday bleeds into Saturday, and by the time Sunday rears its ugly head, you’re still wallowing in self-pity. Embarrassment has a way of sinking deep into your bones, and no amount of curling up in the center of your bed will make it fade. You try to sit up at your desk and finish some of the revisions you’d been working on that awful day before wearing some kid’s frappucino, but you can’t focus. The pages of your rental textbook are still sticky, your S and K keys now only work half the time, and you can’t find the right study playlist. The atmosphere is wrong, the vibe is wrong, everything is just wrong. 

At least you hadn’t resorted to wearing Coffeshop Boy’s shirt. You’d thought about it, of course, but you hadn’t hit that low of a point. Not yet, at least. 

Your roommate can’t take it. She insists you get out of the house, simply because your moping is “too fucking sad” to witness. To which you obviously had to retort, “how do you think I feel?”.

So now you’ve been standing outside of your usual Starbucks for five minutes. Squinting like a weirdo through the large, front windows, trying to make out if he was there. Or maybe the ‘twerp’ who had spilled the frappucino. You weren’t looking for a fight – you just needed to avoid every individual who had witnessed the most embarrassing day of your life to date. 

“He’s not here,” a voice suddenly says from behind you. You jump a fraction before spinning and catching sight of one of those damn witnesses: Chrissy, “He never comes in on Sundays. You don’t, either, by the way. What gives?” 

“I’ve come in on Sundays before,” you deflect.

Chrissy laughs, shaking her head, brushing past you with her green apron rolled up into one of her fists, “No, you haven’t. So I’ll ask again,” she pauses, opening one of the front doors and motioning for you to enter first, “What gives?” 

Your feet drag as you walk past her, the lobby eerily quiet. At the very least, she’s right – there’s no sign of your coffeeshop boy. Just some old dude with a newspaper in your usual corner, and a girl with a laptop, seemingly in some sort of video meeting, in coffeeshop boy’s usual spot. 

“No hidden romance there, unfortunately,” Chrissy notices your staring and waves between the patrons. Neither so much as look up, “You and Eddie are our store’s only modern Romeo and Juliet.” 

“Who?” 

“Eddie,” she repeats, watching the realization spread across your face. A smirk appears on her glossy lips as she clarifies anyways, “Your knight-in-shining-armor. The boy you’ve been making heart eyes at for weeks. The dude of your dreams-”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you cut her off, cheeks already warming as you glance again to the girl and the old man. Still no reaction. Your mortification today, it seems, has no audience. 

Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. 

The name thrums through your chest, excitement and a twinge of guilt racing through your veins. 

Your coffeeshop boy’s name is Eddie. 

“I never knew his name,” you whisper quietly, catching yourself staring in the occupied seat that is usually his. “I… Have you known it this entire time?” 

Chrissy shakes her head, “No, I asked him Thursday. You know, the first day of your disappearance.” 

You can’t even process her slight jab at you, or the way she tilts her chin as she waits for a reaction. You’re too busy thinking about Eddie. Eddie, who doesn’t come here on Sundays. Eddie, who keeps spare t-shirts in his van– Eddie, who drives a goddamn van.

He’s suddenly tangible. It’s dizzying. 

“He asked about you, y’know,” Chrissy’s voice is low and you finally glance back to her, “On Thursday. And Friday. He asked about you.”

Eddie, who you’ve been waiting for the day to introduce yourself to. Eddie, who asked about you. 

“What’d he ask? Specifically?” you question, taking a deep breath and trying to clear your thoughts. 

“If you’d been in, if I’d seen you. He even asked for your name.” 

“Did you tell him?” 

“Nope,” she grins, blue eyes sparkling, “I figured I’d give you the honor.” 

It’s on Sunday that you decide the next day you see coffeshop boy, that you see Eddie, it will be the day. It’s only fair that he knows your name now that you know his, after all. 

—

Monday isn’t the day, and neither is Tuesday. You show up to the Starbucks, you take your usual spot, you spend hours studying – Eddie never shows up. Wednesday and Thursday aren’t the days either, filled with finals and celebratory dinners at twenty-four hour diners with friends. 

By Friday, you’re missing your coffeeshop romance terribly. 

But Friday, as it turns out, isn’t quite as unlucky as the rest of the week. You wake up that morning, and you can feel it in your bones; today’s the day. You’ll see Eddie today. You’ll introduce yourself to Eddie today, without a Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappucino soaking your shirt. It’s an acknowledge truth in your bones, maybe even in the stars. Everything is aligning, and you were going to stop spending your days with your head in the clouds. Maybe it would fizz out, and the crush that had kept you on the edge of your seat, that had kept you mildly entertained for months would lead to nothing. But maybe, just maybe, this could be a beginning. A leap of faith into reality that could turn into something real. 

 When you first show up, you don’t see him. It’s during the tail-end of the morning rush that you make your way in, ordering your usual iced coffee and taking your usual seat with the perfect view of Eddie’s usual seat. Customers filter in and out, a line occasionally forming before the baristas take care of it quickly, but not a single person is the one you’re looking for. 

You distract yourself. You busy yourself with pulling out your laptop, glancing over whichever grades have been finalized, pondering over the ones that have yet to be set in stone. Once you’ve beat that horse to death and have nothing left but scholarly anxiety bubbling up, you’ve moved on to making a spreadsheet of all the books you want to read during the summer, with all the free hours you definitely weren’t going to waste, and would totally make use of. You even color code by genre. 

You think you have more fun making the spreadsheet than you will enjoy the actual reading over the novels you listed. 

Just as you’ve finished your iced coffee, ready to move onto looking at goddamn Yahoo news to entertain yourself, a cup is sat down in front of you. A hot grande cup. 

You read the sticker turned towards you before you even spare a glance to the person who’d sat down the drink: a grande Earl Grey tea, sweetened with one packet of honey. 

“Chrissy, I only get this when it’s rain-” you start, assuming the barista would be the one standing over your table. It isn’t. It’s coffeeshop boy – it’s Eddie. You can’t help the curse that falls from your lips, “Oh, shit.” 

“Sorry,” he bites his lip as if holding back a life, hands nervously shoved into the front pockets of his jeans as he rocks on his heels, “I just… I honestly don’t know what you usually get. But your cup was empty when I walked in, and the one time I got here before you, this was the drink you got, but now that I think about it, it was raining that day and that didn’t even cross my mind-”

Your smile is slow as it uncurls, so saccharine and so enamored as you finally cut off his rambling, “Thank you.” 

He doesn’t look reassured in the slightest, paling as he stutters out, “Oh, God. I- I’m a creep for remembering that, aren’t I? Fuck, I’m sorry. I just wanted to do something nice because I know Thursday was so rough-” he cuts off at your subtle wince at the reminder of that entire tragedy, “Sorry. God, how many times can I say sorry, am I right?” 

Eddie, who is absolutely fumbling over rambles like a fool when he approaches you to talk to you first. Eddie, who is quickly shaping up to be better than even your wildest dreams. 

“First of all,” you start, nervously making eye contact, trying to calm your nerves by reminding yourself he’s an even bigger mess than you right now, “You’re not a creep for remembering that. That’s… it’s really thoughtful, actually,” he breaks out into a restrained smile, the smallest glimpse of relief on his face, so you continue, “And second of all… I mean, who knows? Maybe it’ll rain and you saved me some trouble.” 

He lets out a bark of laughter at that, and immediately, all frozen awkwardness around the moment shatters. Whatever pedestal you’d set the boy on the last several weeks has crumbled with ease. Reality comes crashing down, and you relish in it. 

You relish in the golden streaks through his messy curls, and you drown in the richness of his brown eyes, entrancing this close up. You relish in that dimple in his right cheek, deep enough to swallow you whole as he recollects himself. You relish in the fact that he’s here, it’s Friday, and today is the day. 

“There is absolutely rain on the forecast, and you should absolutely just take my word for that and not fact check me,” he jokingly replies, “I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“I know,” you blurt out with thinking, and immediately regret it. You can’t tell if the shock on his face is laced with amusement or not and you panic, desperate to defend yourself, “I- Chrissy told me, I swear. I’m sorry, that was weird, I just-”

He’s the one interrupting apologies now, “It’s okay. Can’t be weirder than knowing a stranger’s rainy day coffee order.” 

Grinning. God, you can’t stop grinning, even as you breathe out your name. 

“Sorry?” he asks with furrowed brows, hardly catching on to the whispered reveal.

“That’s my name,” you explain before repeating yourself. His cheeks undoubtedly ache the same way yours do, “Now I’m not a stranger. Makes it less weird.” 

His smile is downright radiant, and oh, God what you’d given to hear him murmur your name under his breath again in that odd, peculiar manner he just did. As if he’s trying it out, tasting it on his tongue and deciding if it’s worth repeating. 

His eyes shine; you have a feeling you will be hearing it again. 

“Say, is this seat taken?” 

You assume he’s meaning the chair across from you, tucked neatly into the table covered in your belongings, and you immediately shake your head to tell him it’s not, motioning for him to join you. 

He wasn’t meaning the chair. He flops himself down beside you on the bench seating, settling into the plastic plush as his thighs brush against yours. 

“So,” he starts, propping his elbow up on the table beside your laptop, resting his chin on his fist,“Tell me about yourself, not-stranger.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Everything,” he answers, making your heart clench, “But maybe, let’s just start with your coffee order for days that aren’t rainy.” 

Hours. You and Eddie spend hours talking. The baristas behind the counter rotate, the sun eventually sets, and you don’t even notice when clouds form and light spatters of rain spit out onto the sidewalk outside. You dive headfirst into reality with Eddie, and it’s like the first breath of Spring. 

He wakes you up in a way no shot of espresso ever could. It’s as if something deep inside of you had been sleeping for so long, you’d forgotten it existed until he magically awoke it. Something shining, something wonderful, something new. Something real.

Everyone was right. The tangible Eddie is infinitely better than the idea of coffeeshop boy. 

“You know,” you’ve drained your earl grey, laptop long since closed as your body mirrors Eddie’s and twists until your kneecaps press against each other. His arm rests casually along the back of the seat just over your right shoulder, “I’m still curious who Corroded Coffin is. I know you said they’re shitty, but-”

“Oh, God,” Eddie throws his head back in laughter, running his free hand over his face, “So, uh, funny story.”

You quirk an eyebrow, “Funny story?”

“Yes. Hilarious, actually,” he affirms, “Corroded Coffin is… uh, well… Corroded Coffin is my band.”

You can’t stop the snort, realization dawning on you. That’s why Eddie had the spare shirt in his van – it’s his own damn merch.

“I’m going to pretend you’re laughing with me, not at me,” he hums, leaning back and watching your giggles continue to hit you in waves.

“I am-” you start to reassure, broken off by another gasping laugh that even has him chuckling along, “I am, I swear! I just… Why would you tell me you guys are shitty?” 

“A bad joke,” he hums, waving his free hand, chuckles still lingering at the edge of his tone, “I tend to tell a lot of those around pretty people.” 

Pretty people. He thinks you’re pretty. 

“Yeah?” you choke out, laughter abruptly fading as the realization hits you.

He thinks you’re pretty. 

“Yeah.” 

Oh, God. He thinks you’re pretty. He’s in a band. He remembered the drink you got on a rainy day ages ago (him forgetting the rainy detail can be forgiven because he remembered without even knowing your name). He smells like spice, like everything kind and gentle and warm. It mixes so well with the smell of the coffee already in the air, you wouldn’t have noticed it was his cologne unless you hadn’t spent a better part of the hour leaning in closer and closer to him, the scent getting stronger and stronger. 

Maybe reality can be sweet. Maybe it’s not always bitter. 

“You know, we have a show coming up,” he continues on, tilting his head at you curiously, “Tomorrow night, actually.” 

“You do?” you ask dumbly, not catching on, not yet.

He nods, the corners of his lips curling up, “Yeah. It’s at this venue not far from here, a small bar. It’s not much but it’s an upgrade from where we started…” he trails off, eyes diverting to the wall behind you and across the store, “Uh, you obviously don’t have to… but, I mean, if you’re not busy, I could always add your name to the guest list. It’s no pressure, obviously! I mean, you don’t have to go, it’s just an id-”

“I’d love to,” you stop him with a hand on his knee, grounding him from the returning rambling, “Tell me when and where tomorrow night, and I’ll be there.”

Your heart might just burst. 

“Right,” he seems to still entirely beneath your touch, eyes darting down to where your hand rests, “Yeah. I can write it down for you-”

“Or I could give you my number.”

“Or you could give me your number.” 

You’re both grinning, blushing fools. He takes a second, just staring at you, seemingly in awe, before you have to remove your hand from his knee and put your palm up as a signal for him to hand over his phone. 

He nearly drops it in his flurry to get it into your waiting hand, bouncing his knee the entire time it takes you to put in your contact information. You make a point to add a coffee cup emoji after your name. 

“Hey, guys,” the two of you are suddenly interrupted just as you’re giving his phone back. It’s the barista from last Monday – the new one, the one who’d taken your order when you’d been convinced that would be the day you were going to speak to Eddie. Funny how clueless you had been at the time, “Sorry to interrupt, just wanted to let you guys know that we close in about ten minutes.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie gasps, sitting up straight as he tucks his phone back into his pocket, “Sorry, man. We’re heading out.” 

The new guy’s eyes light up ever so slightly, shrugging off the apology and just nodding with a polite smile. 

You wonder if you’ll even get the chance to break the news to Chrissy. Something tells you she’ll be finding out before you see her again. 

The boy retreats, and you’re quick to grab your laptop and move to shove it into your bag. Eddie stands and waits, unbothered and encouraging you to take your time before you swing the heavy bag over your shoulder. 

Eddie, the boy who’s show you’ll be going to. Eddie, the boy who now has your number. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get sick of his name echoing through your mind. 

“Thank you again,by the way,” you say as you pick up that empty grande cup, turning for the trash, “The tea was good, even though-” 

It’s raining. It’s steadily sprinkling outside, trees shifting with a gentle and stormy breeze. You can tell easily, even with the darkness of the evening having fallen. There’s rogue raindrops racing their ways down the window in front of you. Your reflection stares back faintly, and over your shoulder, you can see Eddie smile shyly. 

“It’s raining,” you murmur. 

“I told you,” Eddie says softly, “It was on the forecast. Also, I might have noticed the clouds building up on the drive over.” 

You turn to face him slowly, heart thumping against your ribs, “Did you… You knew it was my rainy day drink, didn’t you?” 

He blinks once, twice, before swallowing hard and nodding, “I did.” 

“How?”

“I mean, I wasn’t lying. I did hear them call it out that one time. Also, you always have a hot drink especially when it’s raining.” 

He looks like he might pass out from embarrassment, but you just let a grin overtake your features, “Oh?”

“Like I said, it’s creepy. Do I need to apologize again? I can apologize again.” 

Oh, your grin grows. 

“What else did you notice?” 

“Excuse me?”

You shrug, “What else did you notice about me? For example, I’ve always noticed your rings. Also, you listen to your music far too loudly. You’re gonna go deaf one of these days, you know.” 

He melts, color returning back to his features as he realizes you’re not upset or creeped out, “You noticed me before the other day?” 

“I did,” you try to downplay it, keep an even tone as your heart screams, “And it sounds like you noticed me too.” 

A boyish grin and two steps forward, he’s approaching you and evading your space with that warm smell of spice once more. 

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, ears and bridge of his nose alike tinged in a spackling of pink, “I noticed the faces you made whenever you’d work on math homework. And the way you’d cringe every time I turned up my music. And the way Chrissy never stopped teasing you, the same way she’d tease me on the days you weren’t here.” 

“Wow,” you sigh, looking back down at that empty cup. That goddamn empty cup that just revealed to you that he thought of you just as you’d thought of him, “We’re idiots.” 

That feeling that still rings in your bones. No longer just the feeling that today is the day, but that there’s more good things to come. There are lazy Sunday mornings to be had, relaxing Thursday nights to enjoy. There are tangible things to have and to hold in your future, materializing right out of nonsensical ideas you’d clung to just days before.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs in agreement as you toss the cup into the trash, “Yeah, we’re fuckin’ idiots. Don’t tell Chrissy, capiche?” 

Today was the day. Today was just the beginning. 

“Capiche.” 

It’s not until a month later, when you and Eddie come in together on one of your slow Sunday mornings, that Chrissy gets her I told you so moment. After the shock of seeing her two favorite customers on a Sunday, of course.

[wettvagina]

STICKY ICKY

desc: ohmygod! eren yeager, the college jock everyone wants to fuck, got his dick leaked all over campus. with his dickpic in every girl's phone, what happens when you finally get to see it.. warnings: p in v , creampie , blowjob , hottub sex a/n: dont do this irl guys, you will get an sti!

The bottom of your sandals clicked as you walked through the hallway of your apartment, the crisp air smelled like baby powder and cold donuts, the air conditioning system pumped frigid wind onto your face, causing a shiver to go down your spine, your face scrunched as you hurried to find your keycard, almost excited to get to your comfy queen sized bed, located in your cozy, homely room.

You saw the card scanner emit a green flash of light, indicating that the door was unlocked, with a flip of your wrist you unlocked the door, hearing everyone's voices in full volume. "No way! Is this what....the second time?" Sasha snorted, "No, this is the first time." Mikasa retorted in her usual calm voice, a slight smirk on her face as she conversed amongst the group of Ymir, Historia and Sasha.

The four of them sat on the floor of your living room, the pink, fuzzy carpet under your coffee table provided an area for Sasha to lay down as she snacked on some gummy worms in her hand, "Oh you're home, come look at this." Ymir's voice rang, your brows furrowed and you briskly deserted your belongings onto the couch before looking at what was displayed on Ymir's phone.

"WOAH!" your eyes widened as your friends snickered, "Thoughts?" Sasha chirped, "First of all, why is it so big?" you announce, "And veiny and pink." you went on, "Guess who?" Sasha snorted once again, "Wait that's real, no way, I thought that shit was AI generated or something the way how big it is." you mention as you crossed your legs to sit on the floor.

"Oh, yeah, it does look kinda fake cuz' it's zoomed up." Ymir mentions before taking her thumb and index finger to pinch at her screen, showing you the original picture, "No way! Is that?" you shouted, "Uh huh." Ymir nodded, you looked at Ymir's phone with wide eyes and a slightly heated face.

The erotic picture on Ymir's phone showed the school's thotty hottie, Eren Yeager, shirtless, grey sweatpants slightly pullled down exposing his hard cock, his phone was in his hands, half-way blocking his face but everyone knew it was him. His tense abs glazed with sweat and his dick was just panty wetting.

"No way." you iterated, in complete disbelief, feeling a sense of loss as Ymir pulled her phone away, "I mean, definitely not surprised." Historia chimed in, "He is him, after all." Mikasa sighed, "A manwhore." Sasha snarled while chewing, "Wonder who leaked it though." you say chewing on your nail.

"Hm, I say it probably got surface from his hidden Twitter account or something." Ymir suggested playfully, "Or OnlyFans." Sasha teased, "I wouldn't doubt it." Historia shrugged, "His fans are definitely getting off to that." Ymir taunted, "I know I am." you say, half heartedly. "Gross." Historia giggled, "What? I mean did you see that thing, it's like a uterus pounder." you sneered.

"That is nasty, but you're right though." Sasha agreed, "I dunno' how I'm gonna look at him the same." Mikasa shook her head, causing everyone to giggle. "Can I see that again?" you questioned, making Ymir turn on her phone, pointing the screen at you to which you grabbed, examining the entire picture oncemore.

"Hm, yeah I think I wanna fuck him now." you admit, "C'mon, have some respect for yourself." Historia joked, "No like seriously, he's carrying a third leg." you say straightforwardly. "Well I mean, if you wanna take a ride on that horse, go for it. Eren is pretty easy." Ymir states, "Yeah, wear a condom though, you wouldn't want to get any...disease." Sasha encouraged, "You know there is that party tonight." Historia mentions, "Well, it's confirmed, I'm fucking him tonight." you declare with heavy emphasis on the word fucking.

"Good luck, girl." Mikasa cheers on.

It seems the universe had been on your side that night, as Eren was nowhere to be found in Connie's condo party, you looked in every corner, bathroom and bedroom, he was absent. What if he did show out of embarrassment, I mean his dick literally just got leaked everywhere, or wait, did he have a girlfriend? And was he hooking up with her???

You obviously did not think this plan through, leading you to go on a sex-deprived, drunken rant to everyone about how you hadn't had any good sex in three months, leading Jean to pushing you outside Connie's condo, telling you to 'get some air', so you went at the top floor, to actually get some air.

And there you found him, smoking weed near in the hottub. Oh boy it was a scene, he was half naked, those God-carven abs on full display along with his v-line, his hair was free and rested delicately along his shoulders.

Smiling to yourself, you had schemed a profound plan. You threw your dress of your body, thanking yourself for wearing a matching underwear set of a pink push-up bra and matching panties. You composed yourself, barely walking in a straight line as you approached the hot tub which was sectioned off in a small square near the pool.

"Oh, I didn't realize the hot tub was occupied." You say, your glossed lips pursed once you finished talking, "O-Oh. I don't mind." Eren says calmly, taking a final puff of his blunt before discarding it. "Really? Well if you don't mind." you smirk to yourself before getting into the hot tub, the space was small, but wide enough to keep you both at an appropriate distance from eachother as you sat parallel to him, your face facing his as he exhaled the smoke.

"I've seen you before." Eren immediately striked conversation, "Yeah? I've seen you too." you smirk, Eren blushes, seemingly getting at what you were saying, "Right, we have the same major?" he asks, "Hm, what's your major?" you ask, noticing has gaze raking your body. "Huh?" he asks like an idiot, "I said what's your major?" you repeat with a sweet, calm voice, "Oh- Computer Science." he says, "Mines Econ, we probably share some classes though." you mention, "Yeah." he agrees.

"I didn't know you live in this building." Eren admits, "Oh, right." you say awkwardly, it's cuz' you dont, your broke ass lives in the building atleast four blocks away because it was the cheapest option, only rich guys with sport scholarships live here.

"Well, you barely know me, haha." you giggle awkwardly, "Well, wanna change that?" he asks with a smirk. "What are you trying to say?" you question, and in one swift motion his body is near you and his hand is ontop yours. "You know what I'm trying to say." he says, and with that final sentence, he leans in for a much anticipated kiss.

His pink, swollen, warm lips rode against yours, as you felt his hand wrap behind your neck, pulling you in closer as he slides his tongue into your mouth. His body cages yours as your back presses against the wall of the hot tub the warm water surrounded your body seemingly intensified it's tempurature.

His hand lowers to your ass, grabbing at the plump flesh as he presses kisses along your neck, his hand lowers to behind your knee, hooking both hands behind each of your knees as he pulls you up onto him, continuing to kiss onto your neck, you drape your arms around his neck feeling your clit throb against your panties.

Feeling his dick slightly poke against your inner thighs, you feel him pull away. "No- we should stop." he says almost shyly, still holding you up, "Why?" you question immediately, "I don't have a condom." he says while looking down. "Good, I wanted you to fuck me raw anyways." you say eagerly.

He grins before letting you off of him, spinning you around so that your pelvis pressed against the walls of the hot tub, you feel his hand on your ass underwater and his lips come near your ears, "You sure?" he asks, "Mhm." you hum, and feel some water splashing as he takes his dick out, you look back at at, seeing it in the flesh.

Lawd, it was bigger in real life, you couldn't wait for him to just fuck you already, you knew that you probably added some liquid into this hot tub with how wet you were. You continued to watch back as he slipped it in, slowly rocking his hips onto your ass, you arch your back as his huge dick was only half in.

"Shit." you hear him groan, and you push back onto him, his entire dick entered your pussy and you watched as his face contorted to match the pleasure he was feeling, his brows shot up and his eyes glassy. "'m gonna move." you hear him say, your hum in response was turned into a moan that fell off your tongue as he harshly pressed himself against you, grabbing onto your hips as he pounded into your pussy.

The only sounds you heard was his groans and grunts, as well as the sound of his skin slapping onto yours which was muffled by the splashing of water. "Oh shit." you cried out as you felt his fingers dig deeper into your hips, his pace increasing.

"Shit." his breaths were ragged as he watched down to where his dick slid in and out of your welcoming pussy, he slightly smirked at the sight as he leaned his face to the back of your neck, inhaling your scent before kissing onto your skin.

You were a bit surpised since he was fucking you like if you were his wife or something, you barely knew him, but you had no complaints and your thoughts were immediately slammed out of your head when you felt his dick tense inside of you, "Oh-" his words were cut off when you felt your insides get warmer, hearing him pant as he released his warm come inside of you.

"Shit." he groans, pressing himself deeper into you, his pelvis jamming against the curve of your ass as he rides out his high, moaning and groaning into your mouth as you turn your head to look back at him, only for him to kiss you oncemore.

He pulls out of you swiftly and you hear the water splash, "You think you can go for one more." you ask looking back at him, "Sure." he smiles, "Follow me." you say, climbing out of the hot tub, and grabbing onto his hand as you lead him the the changing rooms, you go into the women's changing room with your hand in his.

It was late and the room was empty, you passed through a series of empty toilet stalls to get to the other side of the room which was a changing room with showers, "Sit." you instruct, watching as he sits on the bench in front of you. You get onto your knees between his thighs, pulling at his waistband watching how his cock already erected again.

You didn't hesitate to take his cock into your mouth, sucking on the tip before licking onto the entire shaft, your lips pressed around his tip as you swirled your tongue around the slit, licking at the beads of precome around the swollen tip.

"S-Shit." you hear him groan as your head bobs on his cock, you continue to suck on the tip while stroking the parts of his dick where your mouth wasn't on. You released the tip from the warmth of your mouth to spit on it, taking it back into your mouth oncemore as you try to fit his entire length into your mouth.

His fists clench and his knees were almost shaking, loose strands of his hair hung in front of his face as water droplets ran down his bare chest and down to his chiseled abs. "Fuck." he grunts, hand digging into your hair, you look up at him as he jolts his hips forward into your mouth, making his tip hit the back of your throat.

And within seconds he's coming in your mouth, you feel his hot, white come in your mouth as he groans, thighs shaking as you continued to lick at his tip while he comes in your mouth. "Fuck!" he curses as he rides out his second high, hips stuttering slightly when you rub at his dick while he's still coming.

"I need your number." he says between heavy breaths.

[megalony]

Stay With Me

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, requested by the lovely @klovesreading, I hope you all like it. Feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @topguncultleader @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream

911 Masterlist

Summary: After an argument with Eddie, (Y/n) picks up an extra shift at work. Both of them wish she didn't when she gets shot on duty.

Enjoy.

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

(Y/n) hauled off Eddie's hoodie that she had been wearing all afternoon and slung it over the back of the dining room chair before she headed through into the kitchen. It felt strange to have the house deathly quiet and barely alive like this. But she had just taken Chris to spend the night with Evan since they hadn't had a lot of time together recently and Chris was starting to miss his uncle Buck.

She loved Chris to death, he had quickly wormed his way into her heart and when he started to call (Y/n) mum, it was the best day of her life. She wasn't used to having the house this quiet without him playing his video games or dancing away to music. But it would be nice to have a night with Eddie without having to worry if Chris could hear them or if he was alright and check what he was doing.

She knew he was with Evan and having the time of his life; whenever her brother came round Chris never wanted him to leave. Last week he went as far as having a meltdown when Evan had to go on shift and leave them. At least he didn't have to be upset this time, he could spend the full night with 'his Buck' and (Y/n) knew Eddie was relieved that Chris's first night away from home- other than being with his grandparents- was with someone they both trusted.

Rounding the kitchen counter, (Y/n) tiredly looked in the fridge, trying to decide if she was actually hungry or not. She had been feeling sick today and the past few days she had no energy, even when she was at work all she wanted to do was go home to bed.

(Y/n) could hear that Eddie had put the tv on in the living room a few minutes ago when he came home and she guessed he would soon be looking for a movie to watch together. With his work pattern, whenever Eddie got an evening or a day off, he binged a few good movies because he didn't have a lot of free time to watch movies. Other than the same five cartoon movies Chris was currently obsessed with.

"When did you get this?"

Pulling away from the fridge, (Y/n) heaved it shut with a sigh and turned on her heels to look over at Eddie.

Her eyes raked over his frame, noticing the way his hair was brushed back on his head and curling up at the ends like he had run it through with wax. He was wearing a dark grey sleeveless shirt and his body was leaning up against the kitchen doorway. His arms were crossed over his chest and for a second, (Y/n) wasn't sure what he was referring to, until her eyes landed on the small box he had put on the counter in front of him.

A pregnancy test.

"Oh, uh, I don't know, last week maybe?" She leaned forward on the counter and arched her back out with her arms folded in front of her.

(Y/n) had bought so many pregnancy tests this last year that she couldn't remember when she got most of them. Usually when she thought she had one in the bathroom cupboard, she went and found she'd already used it and had to go for another. That was probably a spare one she'd bought on the off chance of needing it.

It was a sore subject to talk about at the moment.

A whole year they had been trying. A year of wanting to get pregnant and coming up empty handed with a lot of false positives. Chris had become (Y/n)'s child as much as Eddie's when they got married, he was calling and referring to her as his mum and (Y/n) was in the process of adopting him. But it didn't stop her wanting to have a baby of her own.

She yearned to have a baby and see Eddie with a baby in his arms and Eddie had as much baby fever as (Y/n), but nothing was going to plan. (Y/n) was pregnant two months after they got married but it hadn't been straight forward. (Y/n) thought she might have been pregnant, she had a suspicion but before she could take a test or book a doctor's appointment, she woke in the night with horrid cramps and found out she'd miscarried without really knowing she was pregnant.

That was as close as she came to being pregnant. For the year that they had been trying, nothing had happened and (Y/n) didn't know what to do with herself or how to get out of the slump it was putting her in.

"I thought we agreed not to do any more tests for a while?" Eddie uncrossed his arms and crossed the kitchen to reach her but he hated the glum, broken look in (Y/n)'s eyes when she looked up at him.

Without replying, (Y/n) simply shrugged and started to tangle her fingers together. She didn't acknowledge Eddie's hand on her lower back because she knew where this conversation was going to go. All she did was tilt her head to the right when Eddie's lips merged with her neck and she let herself melt into the feeling, just for a while.

"Mi amor?"

"I wasn't intending on using it, not yet anyway." She didn't remember when she bought it, she had on intentions of sitting and looking at a negative test.

"That's what you said before," Eddie rolled his lips together and took a deep breath when (Y/n) shrugged out of his touch and turned to face him with one elbow leant on the counter.

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to joke. We said we wouldn't take any more tests after last time."

Eddie didn't want to come home and find (Y/n) slumped on the floor, staring into the void of a negative test. Unable to move, unsure what to say. If she wanted to do a test Eddie would rather (Y/n) do it when he was home with her but that being said, he didn't want to take any more tests. Not unless they were dead certain they were within a chance of having a positive.

He was sick of seeing the negatives on the test and watching a little piece of (Y/n) break each time they took a test. Eddie would rather forget about tests all together and forget that they were trying for a baby. If they didn't overthink this, then maybe they would have a baby without having to focus and try so hard.

"And we're not." (Y/n) dragged her fingers through her hair, brushing the strands further back on her head and out of her eyes. She moved away from the counter and grabbed the dreaded test that had become her enemy rather than her friend.

"Good."

"Why is that good?" She couldn't drag her eyes away from the test to look over at Eddie. Just this once, (Y/n) wished she could tear it open, try the test and have it come back positive.

Just this once. Was she really asking too much by wanting a baby?

"Because I don't like seeing you break down every time we get a test. Hide the damn thing and forget about it. We might get lucky without all the pressure." Eddie leaned back, using his quick reflexes to catch the test when (Y/n) tossed it his way. If he wanted to hide it, he could go ahead and they would see if his relaxed way would go down well or not.

(Y/n) clamped her hand down on her hip and leaned her other side into the counter. Her eyes watched her husband with intrigue as he tossed the test from one hand to the other like it was burning hot and scolding his skin. But her heart dropped down to her stomach when she noticed him glance towards the bin. It was a quick, swift movement, barely noticeable, but (Y/n) saw. She almost expected him to toss the test in the bin but he settled on throwing it on the top shelf in the medicine cupboard.

"May as well forget about it, we won't need it."

His words were like a knife puncturing through (Y/n)'s stomach and she could feel bile creeping up the back of her throat as her stomach twisted and clenched.

"Why would you say that?" The pain in (Y/n)'s eyes matched the croak in her voice and she furiously rubbed her sleeve against her eyes to stop herself from crying. She had cried enough, she wasn't in the mood to break down about this, again.

It hurt more than Eddie could comprehend that when he and Shannon had Chris, they hadn't been trying for a baby. Chris was the reason they got married, both being Catholics and raised with the installed thought of 'doing the right thing.' Chris was a surprise, the best kind, he and Shannon didn't have to try for a year to have a baby and Shannon took that and the family she had, for granted.

And here (Y/n) was, married to the man who stole her heart from the first moment they met. She loved him and Chris and they had their own little family together, but (Y/n) couldn't seem to catch a break when it came to a baby. They had done things the way Eddie's family would have wanted, marriage first, then children. But none were arriving.

(Y/n)'s teeth started to grind down together when Eddie stared across at her with those big doe eyes that were full of panic and fright.

He hadn't meant to say that outloud.

"No, baby I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't." His hands moved to clamp down on his hips and his head tilted to the side as he looked at her with a hardened, unhappy expression. "We don't need a fucking test right now, we need to stop panicking. We have time and it'll either happen or it won't."

He didn't like the way (Y/n) scoffed and her lips curled into a snarky smile. Why could he not see this from her perspective?

"Why not just give up, hm? Shannon didn't even have to try to have Chris and I've been with you almost five years and all I get is a false positive and then a miscarriage. Clearly it's not happening."

"That's not what I'm saying. Do you think I enjoy seeing you upset like this? I'm sick of seeing you so broken and not being able to do anything about it. At least whenever Shannon did a test she didn't cry when it was negative,"

"Well it's a fucking shame you married me, Edmundo."

Eddie knew he had taken it too far the moment he spoke and hearing his full name from (Y/n) only made him cringe and back up into the counter. He hated the way she said his name. He knew he well and truly fucked up when (Y/n) croaked his name like that and had to fight back tears from his crudeness.

He didn't mean it.

Tears welled up in the corners of Eddie's eyes when (Y/n) bypassed him, moving as far to the counter as she could so even her arm didn't brush his chest an inch. And panic bubbled up in Eddie's chest when he watched his wife barge through the dining room, grab her bag from the table and march towards the front door.

What was she doing? Where was she going? He didn't want her to leave, he wanted to stay and talk and make up for the stupid things he had just said that he well and truly didn't mean.

"Wait- where are you going?" The panic in his voice almost made (Y/n) crumble. Almost.

With her jacket slung over her arm and her bag on her shoulder, (Y/n) grabbed her keys and unlocked the door.

"I'm going to work."

"You're not on shift. Baby don't leave, I'm sorry I didn't mean it-"

"I'll pick up the night shift and pray I won't be such a cry baby by morning." When the door slammed shut behind her, Eddie slumped his back into the wall and let himself slide down to the floor with a thud.

What had he done?

***

"Are you okay?"

(Y/n) slumped down in her seat and leaned her head against the window that felt cold and soothing against her burning temple. Night shifts always caught her off guard, they didn't make her feel great when most of her shifts were day shifts since Eddie did a fair few nights.

Every time she went onto a night shift, (Y/n) felt like she was going to collapse the moment she got home and she could never sleep during the day which made her feel even worse. But being on shift was preferable to being at home with Eddie and either sitting in silence or carrying on the argument.

"Just tired,"

"Hm. Makes sense that you'd pick up the late shift if you're tired." Athena tilted her head to the side and gave (Y/n) a knowing look, sporting her signature, calming smile.

Since moving down to LA with Evan, the siblings both felt like Athena and Bobby had taken them under their wings and become their surrogate parents. Bobby looked out for Evan at the station and was always there for him outside of the station when he needed him. And when (Y/n) became a cop, she had Athena to look out for her and be there when she needed a shoulder to lean on.

"I'd just rather be anywhere else right now." There was no point divuldging why she was here and not back at home on her day off. It was easier to try and forget the reason why she wasn't going home yet and pray that in the morning, the atmosphere would be gone by the time she walked through the door.

A bolt of relief surged through (Y/n) when the radio went off, asking for assistance. She needed something to focus her mind on because she wasn't the one driving tonight. Driving the streets aimlessly was something she and Eddie did when they or Chris couldn't sleep and it was only going to make (Y/n) break down and want to go back home.

"Anyone available to assist in a house call? Neighbours are reporting raised voices and items being thrown."

"This is Seven-two-seven-L-thirty, responding."

(Y/n) looked across at Athena as she shimmied up and sat up straight in her seat to try and liven herself up. It was strange to see Athena without her usual sunglasses she always wore when she was on shift, but she didn't wear them out on a night shift. It tended to give people the wrong impression and they didn't exactly help.

"Off we go," (Y/n) heaved herself out the car and stretched, clicking her back into place as she shut the door behind her.

As soon as she was on her feet, (Y/n) felt like the cold air was wrapping her up and suffocating her. Her stomach was still churning from earlier and she was sweating despite the cool midnight breeze.

"The side gates open, I'll take a look."

(Y/n) nodded and watched Athena move away from the path towards the right side of the house. The gate was swinging open in the wind, creaking back and forth which wasn't alarming but it could be something to worry about.

With a deep breath, (Y/n) followed the narrow path up to the front door and tried to peek into the window to see if there were any lights on or any sound of noise. The neighbours called in raised voices and items being thrown about but the house was deadly quiet right now.

"Police, could you open the door please? We're here for a welfare check." (Y/n) knocked on the door three times before she leaned towards the window when she heard some movement. "Open the door please." She tried again with another round of knocking but whoever was inside was now rummaging around. They weren't going to open up.

A sigh passed her lips as she took a few steps away from the door and moved back onto the path. Her hand curled around her radio and she did a sweep around the quiet street.

"Athena, any luck round back? I might check in with the neighbours- oh, someone's opening up."

When the door unlocked and creaked open, (Y/n) walked back up the steps but she stopped short when a woman shot out the door. She collided into (Y/n)'s shoulder, pushing her back and causing her to twist on her feet as she regained her balance. Falling on the pavement wasn't going to do her any favours tonight.

"Miss- miss wait-"

(Y/n) scrunched her hand around the girl's sleeve and tried in vain to stop her bolting away and rushing down the empty street. But just as her hand left the girl's shoulder, everything seemed to stop when a shot rang through the air.

At first, she thought Athena had come through the house and was trying to apprehend someone. It didn't dawn on (Y/n) that it was someone else in the house shooting until a blinding, horrifying pain coursed through her left shoulder.

Her body tilted backwards and she managed to stay upright for three wobbling steps back while her right hand moved to press to her shoulder without thinking. Blood soaked into her palm. The touch on her shoulder made it ignite in white hot pain. No air went in or out of her lungs and her knees caved in on her.

She didn't reach the floor before another shot imbedded in her left thigh just before her back hit the ground.

Her head smashed into the pavement, sending her vision black with little white spots like the stars had fell down to Earth and were dancing in front of her eyes.

The collision seemed to act as a button that turned her hearing off. All (Y/n) could hear was static. It was buzzing in her ears, ringing around in her head and worsening the way her body was shaking when she couldn't hear what was going on. Her eyes wouldn't focus on anything but the flashing stars blinking in front of her. How could she protect herself if all she could see were stars and all she could hear was blinding, buzzing background static.

(Y/n) couldn't help herself if the gunman came outside and tried to shoot at her or the civilian who most probably had fled the street by now. She couldn't protect Athena if she didn't know what was going on or where (Y/n) and the shooter were.

All she could do was lie there like prey, giving in and ready to be killed for sport.

"Shots fired! Officer down I need immediate back up and an ambulance to my location now!" Athena slumped down on her knees, dragging her eyes over (Y/n)'s frame. She had handcuffed the shooter to the radiator in the doorway after she entered the house through the open back door.

She could feel Athena's hand briefly grab hers to let her know who it was beside her and that she was safe.

"(Y/n), can you hear me? You just stay with me, help is on the way."

Something akin to a gurgling scream burned at the back of (Y/n)'s throat when she felt something tight strap around her thigh somewhere near the wounded area. She couldn't pinpoint where she had been shot. Her leg was tingling from her hip bone all the way down to her toes that were cold and numb in her boots.

Her head turned to the side and her hands blindly reached out while her vision slowly started to come back to her. She could just about see Athena hovering over her and she soon realised Athena had used her belt as a turniquet around her thigh to prevent the blood loss. As soon as she pulled it tighter, (Y/n) screamed and thrashed her upper body down against the concrete.

Everything started to shake. Each breath she took made her chest shudder and spit foamed at her mouth as she pushed her breaths through gritted teeth that were puncturing down into her tongue.

Everything burned. Everything hurt. She was trapped in a body that was on fire and tearing itself apart.

Why did she bother coming on shift tonight? Why didn't she stay home with Eddie? An argument wasn't worth getting shot at, she should have talked things out with him.

He begged her to stay, why didn't she stay?

"Stay with me, sweetie, stay with me."

Tears stained (Y/n)'s face and burned into her skin like acid when both Athena's hands pressed down on her shoulder. She couldn't tie anything around her arm or chest as a turniquet, all Athena could do was apply as much pressure as she could to slow down the bleeding until paramedics came to help.

The pressure made (Y/n) choke and she reached a hand out, fumbling around until she could curl her fingers around Athena's wrist.

"Eddie. Eddie."

"Sweetie let's focus on getting some medics here-"

"Eddie!"

She screamed her husband's name at the top of her lungs until she saw Athena grapple with one hand to fish her phone out of her pocket. She had to keep (Y/n) calm or else she was going to go into shock and that wouldn't do her any favours when she had two gunshot wounds.

Blood smeared onto her phone when she swiped a shaky finger across the screen and scrolled down to Eddie's contact. As soon as she clicked on his name, she returned both hands to (Y/n)'s shoulder and pushed down as hard as she could until it felt like her hands were going to burst through (Y/n)'s body.

"Athena? Everything okay?" Eddie's confused voice came through the speaker and just the tone of his voice made (Y/n)'s head loll to the right towards the phone, wishing he was here instead of on the other end of the line.

Sirens wailed in the distance before she could answer and it made her jaw clench. She shouldn't be calling Eddie yet, it was too early when all the attention needed to be focused on (Y/n), but if she didn't, she had a feeling (Y/n) would become very hard to calm and control.

"Eddie I need you to listen carefully. (Y/n)'s been involved in an accident, you need to meet us at Mercy hospital."

"No, no what kind of accident? Is she okay?!"

"Eddie," (Y/n)'s eyes dazed around in circles, unable to focus on anything except the sound of her husband's panicked voice. His name slipped past her lips again, but much quieter this time and (Y/n) found she couldn't hear his response, or anything Athena was trying to shout at her.

"(Y/n), honey you stay with me now, help is here. Eddie meet us at the hospital." She ended the call, swallowing down the guilt consuming every inch of her being when the last thing she heard was Eddie's scream of protest. She couldn't have him on the phone when she could feel (Y/n)'s pulse was starting to fade. They had to get her to the hospital and Eddie would have to drown in the same panic as Athena until he got there.

***

This had to be the one. This was the third ambulance Eddie had seen pull into the parking bay just at the side of the emergency room entrance. He hastily parked his car as close as he could get and stood to the side of the ambulance entrance to the hospital. Eddie knew if he went through the reception in the emergency room he would be pushed to the side and would have to wait for hours in agony.

Whereas if he waited here, he could see Athena and (Y/n) come through the emergency room and he could stay with them that way.

Two ambulances had parked up since Eddie got here and neither of them had brought in his wife. He was starting to lose the feeling in his fingers and feet and at any moment he was sure he would throw up. If he hadn't of started the argument, (Y/n) wouldn't have gone on shift and she wouldn't have been hurt somehow.

The only silver lining here was that Chris was staying with Evan for the night. Eddie didn't have to panic and flutter about finding someone to look after Chris and waste time driving around. He had been able to get straight in the car and drive down to the hospital.

Eddie looked down to his phone again, desperate to call Athena but he knew better. His eyes flitted between his phone and the latest ambulance and he took two steps closer when the back doors opened.

Bingo.

"Athena!" He slipped his phone back into his pocket and skidded across the path to reach them, growling when one of the medics tried to push him back.

"Sir stand back-"

"That's my wife!" Both Eddie's hands moved to tangle in his hair and he started to yank harshly on the strands, feeling a few hairs coming loose between his fingers. His elbows pressed out at his sides and each breath started to run away from him when he realised what they were doing.

One of the medics was stood on the side of the stretcher, hands interlocked, arms straight, pushing compressions down on (Y/n)'s chest. Her heart had stopped.

There was an airbag attached to her mouth and nose, pushing each breath she needed through her system. Eddie spied a turniquet on her left leg and a bundle of gauze and rolls of bandage wrapped around her upper thigh that were starting to turn crimson. Another medic was stood on the other side, applying pressure and a large wad of gauze down onto (Y/n)'s left shoulder but the blood was everywhere. Soaked into her shirt, smeared up her neck, lathering the medic's hands and wrists.

Blood was splattered all over Athena. Her shirt, her hands all the way upto her elbows. A few droplets were even dotted on her cheek from back splash when she tried to stem the bleeding.

Eddie's feet were moving before he could comprehend what was happening and suddenly he and Athena were bolting inside down the hall after the gurney. They stopped only when the gurney travelled down a restricted corridor and the pair of them were left waiting, helpless in an empty corridor.

"What happened?"

"We were doing a welfare check… a woman fled the house and the husband open fired on the lawn. We didn't know he had a gun, there was nothing we could do."

"S-someone, shot her?"

He wasn't sure why, but gunshots didn't cross his mind when he saw the blood and the gauze padded onto his wife. He thought of knife wounds or a car accident. Eddie was married to a cop and a gunshot didn't even cross his mind.

He had to call Evan. And Maddie. He needed to find someone who would be able to watch Chris so Evan could come down to the hospital, he wouldn't be persuaded otherwise once Eddie called him and told him the news. (Y/n)'s siblings were the closest people to her, they were her world, the people who raised her when their parents couldn't. They would want to be here, waiting with Eddie for news.

What had he done? Why did he let her leave?

***

A groan tumbled past Eddie's lips and he slowly brought a hand up to his eyes, rubbing forcefully to try and wake himself up and take a look around. He could of cried when he realised he was in the same spot he had been hours ago. He wasn't waking up from this nightmare, he was trapped.

The moment he tilted his head up, his neck clicked into place and sent a shudder running down the base of his spine. His legs were numb and tingling, stretched out in front of him and his back was aching from falling asleep on the floor, leant up against the wall.

The chairs had been too uncomfy to sit on for long and when a panic attack took over him, Eddie curled up on the floor and hadn't moved since.

He stretched his arms above his head but when his eyes locked on a doctor aiming his way, Eddie jumped to attention. He stood up on wobbling legs and braced himself back against the wall with his hands clasped together in front of him. In the time it took the doctor to walk across the corridor to him, Eddie's hands were dripping with sweat and the back of his neck prickled with heat and goosebumps.

"Mr Diaz?"

His throat was too tight to speak so he settled for nodding his head and moved across with the doctor to sit on the chairs a few feet away.

Suddenly, Eddie was glad he was alone. If this conversation went the wrong way, Eddie didn't want to be around friends and family when he had a break down. Evan and Maddie were on their way here as soon as they could drop Chris off with Hen and Karen. Athena had gone to get changed after her interview with the chief of police and she would be back later with Bobby.

That left Eddie to sit and panic in the corridor for the last three hours, riding out the early morning in a state of perpetual fear he had never felt before.

"Your wife is out of surgery, it went very well."

Relief washed over Eddie like the tide claiming the sand and he let his body slump forward to land his head in his hands.

Thank God. It worked. She was okay.

"We removed both bullets, the one in her thigh was less severe. I'm afraid the shot to the shoulder managed to fracture into the joint. It will take longer to heal and your wife will need physiotherapy."

"She… she coded when she arrived…" Eddie wasn't sure what he was asking but he could feel the panic swirling around in his head. (Y/n) had stopped breathing when the ambulance pulled up. She had CPR on her way into theatre, that could have had a lot of adverse affects and cause lasting problems, depending on how long she was not breathing.

"We restarted her heart upon arrival, she's had normal rhythm since then and two blood transfusions. We were rather worried surgery would push her body into a miscarriage, but so far the fetus seems fine. We will keep doing daily observations just to make sure."

"What are you talking about?"

Her expression faltered and Eddie watched the way she fiddled with her hands on her lap, grimacing at her mistake. She should have eased into that conversation and tied to gage whether Eddie had any inkling about this or not. Now she had put her foot right in it.

"I'm very sorry, I presumed you would have known. Your wife is pregnant, congratulations, you are both very lucky under the circumstances."

Eddie's hands clamped together and he leaned forward, pressing his mouth against the side of his hand with a sudden desire to bite down into the flesh and rip it apart.

What had he done?

Their argument earlier in the night had been futile and pointless and he should have stopped her from leaving. If they took the test the night would have gone very differently. If they had worked things out and stayed home together, they would have found out this news in a few weeks and everything would have been better. (Y/n) wouldn't need to be pent up on bed rest and undergoing surgery and physio and cardiac arrest. She wouldn't have gone through all of this and ended up being shot if they didn't argue.

"I want to see her."

"Of course, this way."

Eddie could barely feel his legs when he stood up. He was trembling all over and he raked his nails over his thighs to try and ward off the sudden energy and adrenaline fuelling through his system.

"Eddie," The way she said his name when he bolted through the door made him shiver. He couldn't get her voice out of his head. When he closed his eyes, he could still hear her crying out for him while he sat motionless and powerless to do anything to help his wife. He was never going to get that shrill cry out of his head, no matter what he did to try and forget.

Tears were already streaming down his face by the time he stumbled over to the bed and reached out for her.

He could see the way her eyes blinked rapidly and how she tilted her head groggily to the side to try and lock her gaze onto him. She had only just started to come round from the anaesthetic.

Eddie let himself slump down on the side of the bed and he took a second to rake his eyes over his wife's frame. Her left arm was wrapped up in a sling, bound to her chest which she seemed rather put out and confused about. And he didn't dare look under the blanket to see how badly her leg would look. He could only imagine how discoloured, swollen and sore it was going to be. Eddie had had his fair share of bullet wounds in the past.

When her fingers curled around his bicep, Eddie slipped his hands beneath her back as carefully as he could and gently pulled (Y/n) up when she tried to lean over for him. Her right arm curled around his neck, scratching her nails into his skin and her face slumped forward onto his shoulder. While Eddie wrapped one arm around her lower waist to keep her pinned into his chest and his other hand cupped the back of her neck.

He buried his nose into her hair and sighed against the side of her temple, pressing as many kisses to her skin as he could manage.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

(Y/n) turned her head until she could press a butterfly kiss against the underside of Eddie's jaw and her hazy eyes tried to focus on him when he pulled his head back to look down at her.

"Hm?" What was he sorry for? From what (Y/n) could recall, Eddie hadn't been the one to shoot her. He hadn't done anything wrong, he didn't force her out the house or make her pick up that shift. She should have gone for a drive to clear her head instead of pushing herself to go on shift when she didn't need to. It was stupid of her.

"I shouldn't have let you walk out the door. If I didn't say all those things, you wouldn't have been hurt." Eddie tilted his head to the side and swiped his cheek against his shoulder to rid the tears from his eyes. words were never going to be enough to explain how horrid and idiotic and ruthless he felt for what had happened tonight.

"Baby, I walked out… I k- I knew going to work would be a bad idea," (Y/n) leaned forward again and buried her face into Eddie's neck, groaning into his shoulder when it felt like a storm was rolling into her mind.

"We should have taken the test,"

"Hm?"

(Y/n)'s lips twitched against Eddie's neck and she curled her hand against his back and nuzzled her nose into his neck. She couldn't see what he meant by that, unless there was some secret undertone she was missing. Her eyes soon opened and her lips parted when Eddie's arms suddenly unravelled from her skin and moved to cup her face instead. He smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks and gently lifted her head up from his neck so he could look down at her.

The hazy look in her eyes made his heart melt and when she tried to smile so sweetly up at him, Eddie shivered. She had been shot, twice, and had been on the brink of death and here she was trying to smile to calm him down.

"Mi amor, you're pregnant."

Confusion flooded her face and her eyes narrowed while her smile morphed into something closer to unsettling panic.

If this was some sort of joke, it was in very poor taste and it wasn't funny in the least. But the longer (Y/n) stared up at Eddie, the sooner she realised he wasn't trying to play some sick joke on her or guilt trip her. A cry burned at the back of her throat and she choked on her breath as her head started to shake.

"But… I," (Y/n)'s hand fumbled towards her shoulder and her leg twitched at the memory of being hurt. If she was pregnant, she had put herself and the baby in danger by going on shift tonight. She had been shot, how could the baby be okay after that?

"Shh, it's okay, you're both okay." Eddie's fingers brushed across her cheeks, wiping away the tears falling down her face before he leaned down to kiss her. "And I'm gonna make sure nothing else happens to you. I swear."

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part two —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 4k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: let me establish some things/characters/relationships ya know.

You dream of that house in Norbury. The one you grew up in. Your mother calls you for lunch. You are caked in dirt, fingers just leaving the soil where they’d searched for bugs and worms. Your sister watches in disgust but now she is pulling your arm.

You follow her, bare feet padding the wood floors. The lunch is on the table - pine needles on a porcelain plate. An empty glass which should be filled with juice. Your stomach howls. You look up to ask your mother for something else.

Right before your eyes, she melts into something grey. Maggots bleed from the corners of her eyes. The irises turn white, staring down at you with hunger even stronger than your own.

“Mom?”

Across the table, your sister melts away, too. Her body is mangled to the point that it tumbles to the kitchen floor.

You wake up just as your mother’s decomposed hands grab your shoulders and her mouth finds the crook of your neck.

Your eyes peel open to find darkness.

Not the house in Norbury, just a sheet of black that covers the cold forest. This has become your new home, and likely, your soon-tomb.

You wipe your eyes.

You lean back against the tree which you have managed to hoist yourself in. Sleep finds you again, but this time, the nightmare arrives when you wake up, once more in the form of a rotten smell and hissed groans.

These ones are real.

By the time you awake at dawn, your joints ache. You barely remember how you got up here, or how you got back up after the man and his daughter left. You sat there next to the broken bow for minutes, hours. Then, something moved you. The last piece of your humanness. It stood you up, forced you to find some pine needles to swallow down since meat was now out of the question, and brought you to this tree branch before the night settled.

The sunrise over the white forest is pretty, you think.

But you hear something. Smell something.

You look down and what your eyes find beneath the tree branch is not pretty in the slightest.

"Are you serious?" your numb lips whisper, now fully awake.

Only a few meters below you stand three Greys.

They must have wandered near the tree during the night, catching a waft of your smell from up above. Their tattered heads are tipped back, pale eyes pointed at you. Mindlessly, their arms squabble up towards the branch. But it's too high for them to reach. One of them, once a young woman your own age, pathetically claws at the tree trunk.

The thing with Greys is that they are terrible climbers. That is something they all share because their infected brains cannot muster enough strategy for it. What they don’t share is how long they have been decomposing, and what kind of physique they started out with. For instance, a Grey with a child's body will be less of a threat than one who was once a thick-boned man. Similarly, a Grey who was recently infected will have more muscle mass than one who has been rotting for years.

If you had your bow, you would be fine. But Skull-Face took this from you. Bitterly, you understand why. Who was he to trust that you wouldn't point it at them the moment they turned their backs?

But now there is no way to kill them.

You will have to figure out something else.

You shift on the branch to get a better look.

One looks bigger than the others. It still has some hair left. The others only have exposed skulls and a few clumps jutting out that resemble black worms. The female clawing the tree looks pretty weak and slow. You could probably outrun her. But even if you are faster, the Greys do not tire. They don't have the need for rest that you do, and even after a night's sleep and some pine needles, you are beyond exhausted.

Fuck. He really should have just killed you.

You want to cry. If you were hydrated, you would.

But instead, you carefully stand up on the branch, hugging the trunk to keep your feet steady. You scan the area. You didn’t make it very far from the pond the man and girl found you near.

What direction did they leave in?

You think you remember but even if you run that way, what sort of protection will you find?

You don’t know, but it seems like the best bet you have. Desperation seals this plan in your brain. First, you need a head start, so without much to lose, you shrug off your coat and wait until the three are close together before dropping it over their heads. It’s enough to disorient them, even for a moment, so you can slip down from the branch, scraping your knees at the bottom, and take off.

The cold bites but the adrenaline warms your muscles. Your body feels heavy despite being so thin, but something drives it. Your legs carry you towards the pond and past it.

But it is not long before they trail behind you with grunts and clambered, uneven footsteps. You don’t need to look over your shoulder to know that the biggest one is running the fastest. By the sound, there is likely only a ten-meter gap between you and him, living and undead.

It must only be a few minutes before your stamina nose-dives. So little fuel.

They’re gaining on you.

You whirl past trees and snow.

A camp.

A high fence around a small cabin.

The sight is enough to push you forward, energy spent but your instinct driving you. It must be them. You run and run, but then you stop, a gasp slicing through your lungs when your feet just barely stop in front of a deep trench. It is dug around the perimeter of the camp, wide enough to require a jump.

There is no time to think. In an instant, you decide you'd rather be killed by his knife than turned Grey. Bitten.

So you leap across it.

Your boots just barely land on the other side.

You fall from the impact and there is a sudden intense pain as something sharp under the snow pierces your torso and causes your eyes to roll back, fingertips clawing at the frost. A ringing in your ears.

You make out a flurry of sounds: the pathetic moans as the Greys fall in the pit behind you, someone's heavy footsteps crunching the ground, and then a gritted-out “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

Then, blackness.

You wake up to the touch of rough fingertips.

"Should be enough. Hand me the knife, Blue."

Eyelids heavy, you see log-stacked walls that form a small living room. Your body lays on what you believe to be a sofa, the sprung cushions so different than the hard surfaces you’ve slept on for years now. Your coat - Paul's old coat - is long gone. You are left with only your soiled shirt, the fabric hiked up just below your breast.

Seconds later, you are aware of the two other people in the room. A girl with mouse-brown hair stands over your head. She hands something to the behemoth sitting on the stool, who is leaning over to inspect your midriff.

Knife.

He will finally put an end to it all. He should have done so the first time. You clamp your eyes shut and inhale, ready for it again, but the stab to your gut never comes. Instead, a soft hand brushes your forehead and you hear the sound of his knife cut something.

"Hey, it's okay. He just finished the stitches."

"What?" you mouth.

"You may or may not have fallen on one of our caltrops," the girl says apologetically with a scrunch of her nose.

Confused, your head shifts against the cushion to look down. You see it now. The wound. Black sutures unevenly close it up, but still, some blood seeps.

“Don't get comfortable. Fixed it for you, but tomorrow you're out." He shakes his head as he speaks in a growl under his breath. "You have some goddamn nerve, you know. Leading those fucks over here."

"I— I had no other option," you croak, but just these few words take so much energy to push through your teeth, and you lean your head back.

"She made a smart choice," the girl comments quietly. Blue. She nudges her father's shoulder and clears her throat. “Come on, Ghost. Maybe she could—"

"No."

A petulant sigh blows up a piece of her hair. She looks back at you and in your half-aware state, her youthful eyes remind you of your long-dead nephew.

You are not awake for even a minute longer before your eyelids flutter shut again.

Blackness.

The next time you awaken they are sitting at a table in the corner of the room. You lift yourself against the couch with a wince, your hand instantly holding your torso. Your shirt has been tugged back down over the wound, and your brain is a bit more aware than before. You look around again, taking in more of this new environment. 

When was the last time you’d been inside a house?

It's a modest cabin, but far homier than the tents of your old camp. There is a shorn rug on the floor and a small stack of board games: Scrabble, Monopoly, Battleship. Against the wall is a steel fireplace, the ash inside suggesting it was recently used. A lamp on the table casts a soft, yellow glow. You notice the outlines of windows that have been boarded up with planks of pine.

When your eyes finally land on the food they are eating at the table, your stomach hisses.

Ghost has his mask inched up so he can chew on a piece of meat. Blue sits on her knees in the chair, scooping her fingers in a jar of peanut butter. Some of it coats the corners of her mouth. He notices and reaches over to swipe a thumb against her lips. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. She swallows a mouthful as her eyes curiously drift across the room. They widen when she sees that you are not only awake but trying to sit up.

“Ghost. She’s awake again.”

His response: wordlessly nudging a small plate and mug in front of the free chair at the table. 

Warily, you swing your feet down, nostrils flaring to rake in the smell of food rather than dead flesh this time. Standing is a difficult task, one that causes the muscles around your wound to spasm. But hunger is stronger than your pain. Desperate. Starved. You don’t have it in you to question the situation, not yet.

The small plate truly is small; it looks like he has given you pitiful scraps of things they didn’t want. Stale crackers. The hard pieces of dried meat from an animal you aren’t sure of. But it’s more than you have had in a week. With just how fast you inhale it, there is no time to wipe the crumbs from your lips. 

Blue is staring wide-eyed when you are done. 

You gulp down the mug of water.

“Shit balls. You really were hungry.”

Ghost pulls his mask back over a stubbled jaw and lets out an irritated groan. “I told you to stop with that. What are you even sayin’?”

“And I told you—“ she shoots him a look, tongue poking out. You sit there with your chest rising and falling slowly, each breath requiring more energy than you have. “ —that I like to be creative with it.”

They are talking to each other as if you are not even there. 

“There is no being creative with it. If you’re gonna swear, do it right, yeah?”

A few more bickers. One voice low and gravelly. A cockney accent. The other voice, soft and pettish. But you don’t care to listen. Rather, your eyes stare at your empty plate and you press the tip of your thumb to the crumbs and lick them off like a scrounging rodent.

The moment Blue is done with the peanut butter, a big boot under the table taps the leg of her chair. 

“Time for bed, kid?”

“Dad—”

“Go on.”

He juts his chin in the direction of a small hallway where you can make out the shape of a few doors in the dim light. One must be her room because, with a sigh, she stands from the table and heads towards it, leaving you alone with him.

He is a man who threatened to kill you, and now a man who has stitched you up and fed you.

Tomorrow you’re out.

Sucking in a breath, you look up at him. “What is your game?”

He narrows his eyes. “That how you say thank you?”

“Thank you for what?” your voice rattles through fragile bones. “Keeping me alive for one more day? You should have left me there to bleed out.”

“I should have.”

“So why didn’t you? Are you fucking evil or what?” Your teeth tighten and the muscles of your face clench. “I have nothing. No one. You know I won’t survive out there. What was the point of this— “ you gesture to the spot where your wound lies under the shirt, then to the plate in front of you, “—and the food? There is no good reason to, right?”

“There is no good reason,” he repeats in a murmur. "Maybe I jus’ pity you. You look like you’re one of ‘em already.”

He leans back in the chair as his eyes drag over you. He is covered head-to-toe. Wearing a long-sleeve black shirt and jeans. The mask is just as intimidating as before, a plastic skull sewed crudely to the black fabric and two faded, white lines painted down the chin of it.

Where you’d been terrified of the sight the first time, you are now angered. Your breath quickens through sore lungs.

“I don’t want your pity. I want you to stop being a coward and fucking kill me already,” you say, waving around a bony hand, “...or fucking help me. Make up your mind, but don’t send me out there again to suffer.”

You continue, quieter, wiping your wet nose.

“You can do it now,” a curl at your lips. “She’s not here to stop you.”

Dark eyes flicker away and stare dully at the cabin wall. He is boarded up like the windows. There is nothing to see except for the growing tension in the muscles under his clothes and the way his hands roll up.

The silence is dizzying. It could be fatal.

But finally, he looks back at you.

He pulls his broad shoulders into an intimidating posture before offering his decision in a growl.

“You will sleep outside," and your heartbeat staggers, "You won’t have any of our medicine. You will get food for yourself once that shit is healed. And—“ his voice lowers into something that makes your frail body shiver, his hand moving to grip the table. “—if you lay a finger on her, your neck will be the next thing I break. Understood?”

Your lips part. They close.

Your eyes flutter shut and you lean back in the chair. With a gargled gasp, you nod.

“Understood.”

Something soft touches your foot that first morning.

It gently rouses you.

"Hey, I heard you're a part of the team now."

A head pokes into the small shed you've been banished to and sunlight filters in. Groaning, you shift against the dusted floorboards. Your body only fits with its knees bent. Ghost gave you a thick blanket to sleep with, but nothing to lay on. Still, this shed is within their fortification.

You are still alive.

Somehow.

The game of survival has spat you out here, at the camp of a father and daughter. The memory of your first encounter takes the form of a phantom welt on your throat. Could you trust that he wouldn’t change his mind?

It’s not like you have a choice.

"Huh?" is all you can say, looking up at the child who you suspect had great influence on the moments leading you here.

"You know... the team."

Blue smiles down at you. The soft touch to your foot ends up moving right by your cheek. A puffy tail tickles the skin.

"What is—?"

"This is Grim," she says cheerily, and reaches down to pick up what you now see is a chocolate rabbit. "He's a good friend of mine."

"You have a pet?" you ask, rubbing your eyes in surprise. The pain in your torso has faded just a bit. Still, your body feels like a corpse. You sit up and the blanket falls to your waist. You miss the couch.

"Not a pet, a friend," she says. "Come on. Get up."

Painfully, you follow her out of the shed. Now that you are not running away from Greys, you can observe their camp better. It is... impressive. Not only is there the fence and trench outside, but within it is more than you ever had at your old camp. Covered in the snow lays a wood planter, which you assume they use to grow crops in the other seasons. Just next to the house is a large wooden hutch housing more rabbits than you have seen in a lifetime.

Blue leads you there, plants a kiss on the top of Grim's head, and slips him back in.

"You have a lot of friends.”

“They aren’t all my friends,” she says. “Only Grim. The others are food.”

Rabbits for food? It's brilliant. They breed like crazy. Having this food supply at their fingertips means they must not hunt as often as you and Paul had to— which means, fewer encounters with the threats outside.

Ghost is smart.

The mere setup of this place is evidence of how well he understands their needs. And with how well-fed Blue appears, they have not yet struggled the way you have.

But their food won’t be for you much longer. With your lack of a bow, you wonder how you’re meant to hunt.

Instead of worrying about it yet, you ask Blue, “Where is your dad?”

“Huh? Oh, Ghost is cleaning up your mess from yesterday.” She gives a shrug. “And he’s shoveling the trench. Doesn’t really work if there’s snow in there.”

“Why do you call him Ghost?”

You take a good look at her.

Her fair skin covers soft cheekbones, the skin of her rosy lips has been chewed a bit at the corner, and her eyes are truly the opposite of his: full and bright. She thinks the question over for a long moment as if it is something she’s never had to prepare an answer for.

Maybe, there has just never been anyone around to ask.

“He used to play outside with me,” she finally says. “He was in the military, you know? And when he was home, we would play this survival game. Pretend to shoot each other. Climb the trees. He had his codename, so I had to have mine.”

Military. That makes sense.

She continues, eyes flickering down to the herd of rabbits as her fingers brush thoughtlessly over the edge of the hatch.

“When things happened, I just remember him telling me that it was like we were playing survival again, except - you know - not a game this time,” her brows furrow, then she shrugs, “He’s called me by my codename ever since and I usually call him by his. Sometimes Dad fits better.”

“So," you say, "what is your real name, then?”

“I’d tell you," she gives a smile that reaches her blue eyes, "...but then I’d have to kill you.”

It is then you notice that Blue carries two knives on her. One strapped to her ankle, and the other tucked in the belt of her trousers.

Breakfast consists of what you now realize is rabbit. Again, your plate is much smaller than theirs. Ghost feeds you like one would feed a stray dog. You thought it might be awkward, sitting at the table with them. Part of the team. Except, not really. You feel more like a pest.

It's not really awkward apart from the fact that Ghost doesn't spare you even a glance. Blue's curiosity fills the space. She asks for your name. She wonders where you came from and why you were alone, her head tilted and her elbows leaning on the table. You explain your story quietly, shifting your gaze to her dad, and do your best to leave out the gritty parts. She listens, and offers a few gentle "sorry's".

"I can't imagine having a sister," she says when you are done. "And I also can't imagine having to watch her die like that."

Ghost stares at her.

You respond anyway, "I never imagined it, either."

After eating, Ghost leaves to fetch the same blanket he'd given you for sleep. Finally, he looks at you. Dark eyes that have the smallest flicker of disgust as they travel over you, causing your throat to dry.

"You smell like shit. Come on."

You learn that bathing for Ghost and Blue means using a small rag and soap made from resin. The cabin has a bathroom, but there is no running water, so instead, there is a bucket of some collected from a nearby creek. Ghost hovers near the bathroom door for a moment, before shaking his head and leaving you.

The cold water stings. Ghost was blunt but not wrong. You smelled like rot. You drag the rag over your skin and the valleys of your ribs, disgusted by what you see, and have a hard time remembering what your body once looked like. Your wound is still puffy against the stitches. Red, screaming. The small, scratched mirror above the sink shows you a ghastly face. You look away. You use the blanket to dry yourself.

Outside, you find Ghost and Blue playing tic-tac-toe in the snow. It's something you used to do with your nephew, only it was usually one-sided because he was always too withdrawn to care. Blue, on the other hand, narrows her eyes in fierce competition and Ghost sits on a tree stump, his elbows on his knees.

“How come you always get to start, huh?”

“Because,” she sings, drawn out, “Youngest goes first.”

“Doesn’t sound very fair.”

“Life isn’t fair. Remember, Ghost?”

“Jesus, kid. Not even a teenager and you’re already usin’ my words against me.”

"Don't say them if you don't want me using them."

"Just go, it's your turn."

This is how those first few days go.

It is mundane. Games, scattered meals, and walks to the creek for water. You don't join them. Ghost ignores you for the most part except to silently offer bits of food and checks to your wound. His rough fingertips never soften, not for you. He finds your old coat on the second day and gives it back with a cold: M’not giving you another if you lose it. It still smells like Greys.

You feel like an intruder, sticking to your shed most of the time. Blue pokes and prods at you curiously. It is as if she doesn’t know how much she is allowed to interact.

On the fourth morning, she greets you again with a soft wake-up call from Grim and, to your relief, an extra piece of meat that she slips into your palm while whispering: Don’t tell Ghost, okay?

And it's on this day, after breakfast, that the two of them decide to leave the camp to go hunting. Ghost is a big guy. Rabbits alone can't keep up the thick sinew of him.

"You're comin' with us," he tells you, wearing a thick SAS jacket for the occasion.

You almost choke. "What?"

"Your stitches are lookin' fine and you're walking alright." His voice is flat, with an edge to it that teeters towards irritation. "You can get your own damn food."

"I don't have anything to hunt with," you remind him.

He tucks Blue's hair behind her ear before asking her to wait outside.

Then, he disappears into a room down the hall, coming back a moment later with a wooden bow in one hand and a military-grade knife in the other. On his back is a rifle, and in a sheath on his tac pants is a handgun.

He sticks the bow in your hand, then the knife in the other. With wide eyes, you look over the carved wood. It is stronger than your old one, whittled down smooth from oak. Along the curve of it, Blue is etched in all capitals.

"She doesn't use it much," he says, before suddenly, the metal tip of his handgun presses into your torso - the wounded side - and he loops his fingers around the back of your neck, pulling you close.

"Don't even think of trying anything," Ghost growls this warning in your ear, digging the end of his gun hard enough to make you whimper as your healing wound cries out. "Do you hear me?"

"I hear you. I won't."

taglist:

@cool-0-n @savagemistresss @morganvoorhees @dinsverdika @cated18 @lolszass @jeswiii @all-good-things-have-an-ending @alternatealt @uvoiid @underatreedrinkingtea @ramadiiiisme @crissteetee67 @lexi-zsy09

[bumblesimagines]

The Cold Stars

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Daenerys encounters a lonesome stranger in Meereen who shares a bitter history with Ser Barriston

Pronouns: He/Him/His

TW/CW: Suicide mention

~~~

"I cannot hide behind walls forever, Ser Barriston," Dany spoke gently, dragging her eyes over the small marketplace in the city. She knew the dangers of being out in public but she had trust in Ser Barriston and Grey Worm, her loyal subordinates. They'd never allow harm to come to her, she knew that very well. Besides, she needed to show the people of Meereen that she cared and valued them. Trust had to be earned, not given freely. So, despite the worries expressed to her by Ser Barriston and Daario, she marched forth into the marketplace, eager to see what her people were selling. 

"I know, Your Grace," Ser Barriston sighed quietly, his eyes just as diligent and alert as Grey Worm's, bouncing around from cart to face in search of anyone with less-than-innocent motives. Most of the people watched them silently, the caution on their faces making Dany frown. She needed their loyalty, not their fear. She couldn't comprehend it well. She freed them from their masters, breaking the chains that made them slaves and they'd seemingly loved her for it. But the hesitation and unhappiness on some of their faces made her heart twist. 

"Do you think King's Landing will receive me like this?" Dany asked the older, more experienced man as they rounded a corner, slipping out of the market into an alleyway, her head angled over her shoulder to peer back at the two. Ser Barriston's lips parted to respond but his eyes flickered away and Dany noticed Grey Worm reaching for his sword. Her head snapped forward, preparing herself for the worst only to notice the young man leaning against the wall with an apple in hand, his eyes-

His eyes...

Cold and displeased and undeniably violet. Her mind flickered back to Viserys, to the mentions of her parents and Rhaegar, to all the portraits she'd seen of her ancestors and all the stories told about them. She felt as if the air had been knocked out of her, and she suddenly yearned for her family, for the mother that died moments after having her, and the father that earned the title of Mad King. For Rhaegar and even cruel Viserys. But the man before them lacked the notable silver hair and appeared more... Dornish.

"(Y/N) Dayne," Ser Barriston gaped, eyes large and pale skin as if he'd seen a ghost. "You... are a long ways from home, child."

"As are you, Selmy." His bitter voice seemed to jolt Ser Barriston, his mouth clamping shut and bushy brows knitting together. (Y/N) raised the apple to his lips and dug his teeth into the crunchy fruit, a trickle of juice dripping down his chin. He chewed slowly as he studied each of them, his hardened gaze only momentarily growing indifferent when he turned his attention to the perplexed Grey Worm. "You are far from King's Landing, Ser. As are you, Targaryen."

"You are in the presence of Queen Daenerys Stormborn, child, you will refer to her as such. Your brother fought fiercely for the Targaryens during the rebellion."

"And he died." (Y/N) licked his lips, the apple beginning to crack and drip with juices under his grasp. The bitterness, near hatred in his eyes sent a chill down Dany's spine, yet she found herself unable to tear her own eyes away from his face. "You claim to have loved and respected Arthur and Ashara but where were you when they died? Where were you when Stark slaughtered my brother and my sister threw herself into the sea?" 

"I would've given my life for either of them, you know that." Ser Barriston responded sharply, almost bristling at the silent accusation. 

"You would've given your life for the Prince." Her trance broke immediately at the mention of her brother, of the man Ser Barriston always recalled fondly. Her lips pulled back into a deep frown and (Y/N) turned his attention onto her. "You should've been willing to give your life for Elia and her children. That Targaryen-" The sneer when he spoke said plenty of his opinions on her family. "-abandoned them to die like a coward."

"Mind your tongue!" 

"My siblings are dead because of him!" (Y/N) snapped back at the knight, the apple finally breaking under his hold, different parts flying around while some of it turned to mush in his palm. Dany flinched and stepped back, one piece sliding right up to her feet and almost disappearing beneath the skirt of her dress. (Y/N) shook his hand and scoffed, pushing himself off the wall and barely sparing Grey Worm a glance when he stepped in front of Dany defensively. Ser Barriston's shoulders sagged, the fury dying immediately. "If he'd done his duty as a husband, Allryia, Aran, and I wouldn't be mourning them, Ser."

Dany raised her hand and placed it over Grey Worm's shoulder, meeting his questioning gaze with a reassuring nod. He stepped aside, allowing Dany to step forward, her shoe kicking aside the apple piece before she lifted her head to look at him once more. "Why have you come here, Lord (Y/N)? If not to ally yourself with me, why?"

"To see if the rumors were true. They say you have dragons and you'll use them to take back the Iron Throne. Ashara told me stories of dragons when I was a child. Elia, too. Dorne fought back against them during your ancestor's conquest."

"I have no qualms with Dorne," Daenerys told him softly. "And I am sorry for your losses. I am not my father nor my brothers. I wish to do things differently. The Lannisters, a common enemy between us, rule Kings Landing, do they not? We can ensure they will not bring harm to anyone else, not under my rule. House Dayne of Starfall is a noble house in Dorne with... close ties to the Martells of Sunspear. As I know it, the Martells despise Lannisters as well."

"Why would we fight for you? Justice is a mere action when you'd be getting the Iron Throne. Dorne has been at peace for many years."

"Perhaps..." Dany paused and glanced toward Ser Barriston. The older man met her gaze with an arched brow and a curious, almost concerned glint in his eye. She pursed her lips. She needed stronger allies, she needed angry allies... and even queens require heirs. "Perhaps House Dayne would be more pleased if one of their own became King Consort of Westeros." 

(Y/N)'s eyes only narrowed in response. The crown would be tempting to any man, especially one of noble birth, but he only appeared annoyed by the offer. "I'm afraid my brother, Lord Aran Dayne, is content with his wife, and Edric is far too young to marry. I've had the freedom of being the youngest all my life. Why would I give it up to become a king when I can do whatever I please?"

"Kings do whatever they please, do they not?"

"Kings like Robert Baratheon and Aerys Targaryen, sure. Your brother did whatever he pleased as prince and plunged the kingdom into war. Rulers do what the people want, what they need. You haven't exactly been keeping your people happy, Daenerys. Dorne will only ally themselves if we know we'll win. You may have your army but Tywin Lannister and his dog have been commanding far longer than you and I have been alive. Prince Doran will never allow a child parading themselves as ruler of a city anywhere near Dorne's army. You'll have better luck asking for Prince Oberyn's hand in marriage."

"It almost sounds as if you believe you can do a better job than me... if so, join my council. You'll have your freedom and when the time comes, you'll have your justice. Perhaps then, you'll feel more inclined to accept my proposal. I know Dorne is known for its... queer customs. You view bastards as equal, women are seen as fine rulers, and having multiple lovers is common. Many have their opinions of Dorne but... I'd be rather happy with a Dornishman. I will grant you the freedom of doing as you please, if you become my consort, as long as we have a-" Her voice nearly broke, forcing her to pause again and clear her throat. "A healthy heir. What do you say now, Dayne?"

[sunlightmurdock]

In Too Deep | Six | Jake Seresin x mom!reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Jake Seresin had sworn he was never going to be a father. He liked his life the way that it was, child-free, stress free and chaos free. Free being the key word. After falling for you, it becomes clear that Jake is in for an attitude adjustment, whether he likes it or not.

Warnings: no smut, maybe allusions to sex at various points, swearing, fluff and teeny bits of angst if you squint, Jake and Riley prepare to bond over their bad dad issues 🫶🏼

…

“Have a good day today!” Jake calls.

The car door swings shut behind the perpetually angry little girl and Jake sighs. He pulls the car away from the drop off zone and glances back to check that she got in okay. He hadn’t mentioned any of this when he called you last night. Only the good parts. Like Jax speaking more, playing at the park, finding the worm. Calling him dad for the first time.

He glances back at the little boy through the rear view mirror. He’s big enough now to not be rear facing, and grins at Jake as their eyes meet.

“Park?” He asks, tilting his head slightly like an excited puppy. Jake’s lips quirk softly, it’s hard not to smile when Jax gives him that huge smile.

“We’re gonna go see Uncle Rue first, but we can go to the park later.” He explains to him as the car pulls out onto the road. School drop off has always been a point of contention between you and Riley, so today is nothing different, your kid just isn’t a morning person.

But, she has barely said a word since her dad dropped her off yesterday and Jake’s not sure where he stands. The line between being negligent and nosy seems blurred when it’s a kid like Riley.

He can’t stop thinking about her attitude towards him. You’ll never agree to a future with him if it jeopardizes a relationship with one of your children, and he wouldn’t want you to. But god, he wants a future with you. More than anything, actually. Sleeping in your bed, spending time with your children — Jake feels closer to you as these past four weeks draw to a close than he ever has before.

He dreamt last night about what it would be like to marry you. Jax was a little older in the dream, and he was the ring bearer. He was beaming, and you were overjoyed at the sight of your little boy in a suit.

Riley, a foreboding and absent presence in his dream. Something missing from the perfect day that weighed in like a big grey cloud. He would want her there in real life, but he would want her to be happy to be there. Jake knows that if he proposed to you now, Riley’d be furious.

Plus, the two of you haven’t even been together a year yet, he’s not sure how you would take all of this future talk. If, a year ago, you had told him that he’d be driving your kid to school and thinking about marriage — he would’ve laughed in your face.

Jax balanced against his side and a backpack slung over his other shoulder, Jake’s juggling keys, a toddler and a water bottle in his hands as he lets the door swing shut behind him. Payback’s brows raise just slightly as he sets his coffee down on the coaster and leans back against the leather armchair that he’s situated in.

Rueben can’t pretend not to be taken aback at how quickly Jake seems to have mastered the daddy-daycare act. But then, given that this is the same man who taught himself piano in under a week just to spite Rooster, Rueben should’ve known better than to second guess Jake. He has always made everything look easy.

“Look at you,” Rueben teases, leaning forwards and smiling as Jake hands him the wriggling toddler. He sets JJ down on his knee and coos a hello towards him as Jake offloads everything that he’s holding and huffs out. “You’re a natural.”

“Doesn’t feel that way.” Jake mumbles tiredly as he sinks into the armchair opposite his friend. He smooths a hand over his forehead and tries to relax, stretching his legs out.

Rueben cocks an eyebrow at him and catches Jax’s hand seconds before it has time to dip into his still hot coffee. “Trouble in paradise, buddy?”

“Daddy.” Jax points at Jake and turns his head to look at Rueben. He points again to make his point clear. Jake stares across at the little boy and sighs softly.

“Well, that’s new.” Payback comments, brows raised. He glances between Jake and the toddler, then sets Jax on the ground so that he can stretch his legs.

“I don’t know what to do, I mean — they’ve already got a dad, and he’s gonna be pissed if he finds out that his kid is calling me daddy — but he’s never around!” Jake goes into defensive mode right away. Payback just sits there and watches, keeping one eye focused on the toddler as his friend rambles and rants in front of him.

With two daughters and a wife who is infinitely more intelligent than him, Payback has been a good listener for a long time. He just sits back and lets Jake go for as long as he needs, nodding his head as he tries to keep up with the pace of the panicked speech.

Jake finally stops with a slow inhale. He glances down towards Jax and takes note of the confusion on the toddler’s chubby features, then starts to wonder if he was even making any sense at all.

“Where’d Hangman go?” Payback taunts, giving a soft shake of his head. He looks Jake over like he’s really looking for the guy he used to know.

Unimpressed, Jake rubs tiredly at his temple. “Huh?”

“I mean Hangman’s worried about who he’s going home with tomorrow night and how much protein is in his lunch. I don’t know who this guy is, but Hangman would hate him.” Rueben’s just teasing, he’s smiling at Jake and it’s just a comment. He doesn’t mean anything by it. Jake glances down to the kid in front of him and then at the ground.

“Tell me about it.” Jake mumbles.

Payback scrunches his brows slightly, “Alright, man. What’s going on? — You’re weirding me out with all of this doom and gloom.”

Jake takes a quick look around him. It’s a Wednesday morning, right after the school run. There are plenty of toddlers in here, and adults having chats. It’s just that Jake and Payback are the only ones here that are men. Jake wouldn’t have been caught dead here when he was Hangman.

As much as the callsign was made to taunt him, Jake grew into it. He became Hangman. Confident, suave, independent. If he’s not that, he’s not too sure who he is.

“You’re right,” Jake’s shrug is cold and unattached. He won’t look at Jax as he speaks. Rueben stares right ahead at his friend. “This whole thing. You’re right, it’s just not me.”

There’s a long pause. As much as he wants to check on Payback’s reaction, Jake can’t bring himself to lift his gaze from the polished tile under his shoe for fear of meeting Jax’s gaze. There’s no way he can look into those big, round eyes and admit that he’s quite simply not enough.

The coffee shop chatter carries on around them. Jax carries on between them, toying around with the action figure that he has been clutching all morning. He crashes it into Payback’s knee and makes an explosion sound. Rueben smooths a hand tenderly over the little boy’s back.

“Jake.” His tone is dead serious now, and quiet. It’s his dad voice. Jake recognises it. He’s seen Payback gently scolding his kid enough times to know that that’s what is happening now. Rueben sits forward slightly and covers Jax’s ears with his hands. “You say that shit to me again and we’re going to have a problem.”

Jake looks up and frowns at him. “What?”

“You don’t get to quit because you’re freaked out. You do that to these kids and I swear to god, I’ll never talk to you again.” Payback swears, still covering the toddler’s ears. Jax doesn’t even seem to mind, playing calmly with his action figure and kicking his legs.

Jake adjusts the cap on his head and checks around him again. He’s fidgety and agitated, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “You don’t get it.”

“I don’t? — You think that I don’t get scared shitless like three times a week that I’m not good enough for my kids? — I’m terrified of screwing them up, but I’m here, and I’m doing what I can.”

“It’s complicated. They’re not,” Jake pauses to glance down as Jax wriggles around in Rueben’s lap, struggling to try to get down. “They aren’t mine.”

Knowing better than to fight against a toddler that has already made up their mind, Rueben moves to that Jax can get down. Right away, Jax brushes past him and heads for Jake. He stands between Jake’s legs and leans into his thigh, holding up his action figure for Jake to see.

“Daddy, look.”

Jake smiles softly and scrunches his nose just the slightest bit. Jax grins at the attention and presents the action figure closer to Jake, almost swinging it into his chin. The toddler seems to remind himself to be more gentle as he leans in against Jake’s chest. Jake squeezes at his sides, making the toddler squeal and squirm in front of him. He lifts him up and sets him down on his knee.

Rueben stares across at Jake.

“It’s complicated.” Jake insists as he smooths a hand over Jax’s wild hair to tame it. Jax taps Jake’s arm to make sure that he’s watching and flies his action figure around in front of them.

“Not to me,” His tone is gentler this time, he’s relaxed as he watches Jake and the kid together. They look so natural together. Payback motions and Jake covers Jax’s ears without question, gently kissing the curls on top of his head. “He doesn’t know who his dad is and who isn’t. He knows who’s there for him.”

“Yeah, well Riley knows and she hates me.” Jake answers back. JJ squints across at Payback, seemingly aware of the fact that they’re discussing something that they don’t want him to hear. He quickly goes back to playing with his toy.

“That’s what kids do — look, Jake, I can sit here and tell you about how much kids are going to break your heart, but,” He stops to sigh, smoothing a hand over his facial hair. He glances quickly between Jake and the oblivious kid sitting on his leg. “If you’re going to leave, man, just go ahead and do it.”

Jake’s brows scrunch together just slightly.

“But you don’t get to come back.” Payback explains calmly. He looks at Jake, deadly serious. “You leave those kids and you’re gone for good. Are you good with never seeing him again?”

Jake takes his hands away from Jax’s ears and squeezes his sides softly. The toddler turns and squeals excitedly, grinning up at Jake. It’s scary, sure. But it’s scarier to imagine not seeing this face every day, that cute little smile and hearing those excited giggles.

And god, he’s never loved anyone like he loves you. These past three weeks have been hell without you, he has been counting down the days until you’re back with him again. Never seeing you again isn’t even something that he had considered. His crisis of faith is cut short as his phone rings loud in his pocket.

He slips it from his jeans and takes the call, pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder as he keeps Jax steady in his lap. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Riley’s stepfather?”

Luckily, with the day off, Payback was more than happy to take Jax for a while. Jake quickly yanks his cap off of his head and tugs his fingers through his hair, swallowing the lump in his throat as he steps through the doors of the school. Riley’s sitting on a chair outside of the principal’s office, scowling at the floor with her arms across her chest.

The principal is crouched in front of her, trying to talk to her calmly. Riley’s silent, staring at a dirt smudge of the floor.

“Riley?”

The principal stands and turns, extending an open palm towards Jake swiftly. “Ah. Mr. Seresin. A quick word in my office, please?”

It’s clear immediately that Jake has never done this before. He doesn’t bother taking a seat, even when Mr. Anderson settles behind his desk and motions for Jake to do so. He swallows nervously and asks if Riley is okay.

The principal watches Jake’s reaction calmly as he explains what happened. Disbelief comes first, it crosses his face clearly but his Navy career has taught him better than to voice his disagreement out loud.

There just is no way that Riley would have cursed at a teacher. Jake is sure of it. He’s sure of it because he is pretty confident that if Riley knew any curse words, she would have already directed a few of them at him.

She has always been a delight in school — you were always bragging about how great she was doing in her classes.

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose as the principal explains further. Great, so not only is he annoying Riley with his mere existence, but he’s screwing up her future now too.

“We aren’t going to suspend her.”

Jake sighs in relief and leans his head back.

“Y’know, this is the first time that it has happened and we’re confident that it won’t happen again. But, um, Mr. Seresin— I really hope that you don’t think I’m overstepping here, but,” He pushes his round glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stands. Jake gets the feeling that he won’t like what’s coming next. “I’m not sure that you’re really qualified to get Riley through this time in her life. Maybe you could talk to her mother and—“

All semblance of being calm and composed flies out the window as Jake cocks his head at the geeky looking brunette behind the desk. The principal swallows softly and stops talking.

“I’ve got it. Thanks.” Jake bites.

Long day after fucking long day. Only seven more of them until you’re home and he’s no longer outnumbered. He lets the door to the office slam behind him as he steps back out into the reception. “Put your coat on, let’s go.”

“Not cold.” Riley argues, slinging it over her arm and grabbing her backpack. She walks for the door before she even has it over her shoulder. Jake turns to follow her but stops as he catches sight of a familiar face. There’s a blonde walking along the hall with a lanyard around her neck saying substitute.

It takes him a couple of seconds, standing there and trying to place where he knows her from. Then it clicks. The smiling face leaning over Alex’s shoulder the other day. His lips part as he looks back towards Riley.

“Oh, shit, Riley.”

…

We

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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@wildxwidow

@vienna

@hopeless-romanticnamed-s

@indynerdgirl

@marantha

@jostyriggslover96

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@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@diamond-3

@galaxy-moon

[greatstormcat]

I can’t stop thinking about your little Price angst thing you got going on with the song Night Shift by Lucy Dacus. It’s truly fueling me and my brain worms

I hope you are ready for this!

Catch up if anyone needs it one two three four

Gulls scream and call overhead, swooping on the wind as it whips and tears at the peaks of the waves that wash onto the beach. You’d kicked yourself when you’d realised where your brain was taking you, driving on autopilot once you’d reached the motorway with no actual plan in mind. When you’d spotted the signs overhead, you knew where you’d end up. It was a stupid, sentimental thing to do, but you had managed to get a room in a bed & breakfast in the seaside town, space to think.

Shivering in the biting wind, you huddle in your thin coat and watch the gulls and passing dog walkers venturing out now the rain has stopped. Memories play inside your head, sunny days and happy times, back when John was your entire world and you were his. Now the sky was dark, the sea slate grey and bitterly cold, and you were more alone than ever.

Your phone is back in the room, switched off since you left the house yesterday and you had no intention of turning it back on yet. You’d spent the night sobbing, mourning your broken heart and shattered hopes, broken pieces that cut and made you bleed anew each time you looked too closely.

The sand crunches under heavy feet as someone approaches, and your heart breaks as you glance to the side and see him slowly closing in, interrupting your solitude.

“Can I join you?” John asks, two paper cups of tea clutched in his hands.

“You never took a hint before, why would you now?” you sigh, sparing him just the briefest glance. Your eyes are red rimmed and tired, you don’t need him to see the mess he has made of you yet again. He lowers himself to the rock beside you and holds one of the steaming cups out to you, and you ignore it.

“Here, take it. Please,” he asks, holding one cup out to you as he sits on the rock beside you. You accept the cup with poor grace, the heat almost too much for your cold fingers, burning and uncomfortable so you put it down beside your foot preferring the chill.

“Come home, love,” he says firmly, his tone irritating you. “Come home and let’s patch this up.”

“Not this time,” you reply, shaking your head. “I’m tired of doing this again and again. You’ll make up for this, but it won’t last. It never does, and I’m just so tired of hurting because of you.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles after a few minutes of silence, and you clench your jaw, refusing to acknowledge it. “You deserve better.” His admission almost steals the air from your lungs, but adds to your resolve.

“After all this time, I finally understand that,” you admit, eyes fixed on the horizon because you cannot look at him right now, you have to hold on to your nerve. Time stretches out past that line in the distance, pulling you forward to a new future, one without him and the pain he brings.

“I know you do,” he says quietly. “I’ve always loved you, I hope you know that.”

You nod once, eyes burning with the effort not to look at him and the tears threatening to spill forth again.

“I knew it once, but that’s not enough is it?” you reply. “I can’t build a life with just a sentiment and nothing more to back it up.” You hear a tired exhale from him, the fight gone out of him now.

“No, it’s not if you want to be happy, and you deserve to be happy,” he agrees, and another moment of heavy silence falls between you filled with the sounds of the sea sucking at the sand below you.

Eventually he gets up, glancing down once at the untouched cup by your foot, the contents now cold and undrinkable after being left too long. He left you too long, he realises now, too late to make amends.

“I’ll get my stuff and move back to the base, you can do what you want with the house then. If you need anything just call me, I can have the boys help with anything you need. I won’t have you left alone and vulnerable because of my foolishness.”

You risk a look up at him, the lines deeper on his face somehow, his eyes filled with pain but his mouth set in a firm line. A gust of wind pulls at you, cutting down to your marrow and you shudder.

“Thank you, John,” you say before looking past him at the sea again. He pauses for a heartbeat, as though contemplating saying something else, before turning and walking away a few paces.

“Good bye, love,” he says over his shoulder before carrying on down the beach alone.

“Good bye, John,” you whisper to yourself.

[celestialprincesse]

That Bodyguard Gaz thought is delicious! Would you eleborate?? The brain worms immediately went to the agent being this cute, cubby, little thing and is very unsuspecting but turns out to be actually very deadly when needed!

Hope you feel better!

Oh she is so cute and clever and fucking insane I love her In my mind I sort of imagined him with my oc Kitty/Houdini, but this could also be read as X reader🎀 Reader goes by codename Hecate and She/Her pronouns💕

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

At exactly 6:14AM, on Tuesday the 17th of October, Kyle Garrick is woken by his phone ringing. Incessantly. Again and again and again. "It's shit O'clock. What do you want?" He grumbles into his phone, sitting up on the edge of his bed with a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Captain John Price's equally tired vice crackles down the line. "Laswell needs you. Says she's got someone that needs protection services. That's all she gave." "And she gave you this at 6AM? "It's 01:00 there. She's been busy. Meetup location with the charge is in your inbox."

With that, John hangs up, leaving Kyle to gather his bearings as he opens his eMail app, scrolling to the top of his newly reicived messages to find one with no subject, and no content aside from a street name and address, as well as a time that he assumes he should be there by. If it's from Laswell, and passed down through Price, he knows it's legit. Kate only ever gives him the important ones, either expensive or irreplacable. It doesn't take long for him to be ready, Union Jack cap pulled down over his brow, and a pistol in the inside pocket of his coat, just for good measure.

London is, as always, miserable. The pavements are slicked with rain and the sky is concrete grey, reflected in the cold glass of skyscrapers, towering into the sky like the scales of some rippling serpent. It's hard to spot someone when he's got no clue of their appearance or career. Why they need his protection. All he has is a name, a callsign too, for good measure. Hecate is what they call you. Goddess of witchcraft and magic. That, unfortunately, doesn't particularly narrow his search, not in a city with a whopping eight million people crowding it's pavements and flooding it's tube stations, sitting outside of cafe's or sheltering from the rain in the overhangs of shops.

Kyle, strangely enough, feels nervous. All of the guys have their things - their specialties - and VIP Protection is his. But it's been a long time since he was in charge of someone's life, trying to protect it, instead of taking it, and he suddenly feels incredibly unequipped. He'll be staying with the charge. John told him in a seperate message to bring a bag. At least enough for a few weeks as they settle in to their safehouse kindly provided by the CIA. They've splashed a fair amount of cash to get a place on this side of town, where the streets are clean and the crime rates are lower. His person must be important. He assumes, seeing as he wasn't on the receiving end of a photo or description, that they'll be seeking him out, so he dutifully takes his place outside the quiet café, paying for his coffee with cash. In the fifteen minutes he waits, (having arrived early) Kyle never once lets himself zone out or get lost in his thoughts.

What he doesn't expect to see is you. About as scary as a butterfly and quietly unassuming in jeans and an oversized hoodie, Kyle's curiosity is piqued. "You're Hecate?" He probes carefully, removing his hat to allow you a view of his face, as he does with many of his clients. He finds it stops them from being skittish with him. It's always easier to protect someone who trusts you. That's his philosophy, anyways. "Gaz Garrick?" You inquire back, wary until he slides his driver's license and tags across the table. "File's in my bag if you'd like to see that too." "This is enough. Thank you." He likes you immediately. He likes that you're careful without being outright flippant, guarded but not dismissive.

The waitress gives you an unpleasantly disdainful look, flashing you a tight lipped smile, unlike the flirty one she gave to your companion upon taking his order. "Just a regular builders for me please." Her tense smile is reciprocated as you order your tea, trying to keep the caffeine to a minimum today. You're already jittery.

Kyle opens the door of the black bulletproof SUV for you, watches the way you blink up at him with gooey soft doe eyes, and he struggles to push down the highly unprofessional thoughts that invade his head as he watches you hop up into the car before him, adjusting his cap to stop himself from openly ogling your ass. "You fancy putting the address in the SatNav?" Kyle coos at you, trying not to smother you. He can tell you're skittish. Probably not used to the idea of having someone with you, day in day out watching your every move.

Of course, Laswell would set you up somewhere like Richmond, somewhere quiet and safe. You're clearly someone important if Kate is handling your affairs personally - and his day rate has gone up substantially since joining the 141. The apartment is pleasant, soulless, but nice all things considered. Immediately upon entry, he takes notice of the added locks on the door - three of them, and the dead bolted fire escape. It's good, gives two exits incase one fails, but not so many that you could easily forget to lock the door on one of them and risk compromising your safety. There's a cluster of all sorts of technology strewn on the counter, like you'd set yourself up in a rush and not had time to get fully organised, he assumes you've not been here long.

The next morning you shuffle downstairs to find Kyle looking confused as he stares at the contents of your refrigerator, "You need something? I can swing by the shops if need be." "You have a safe in your fridge." He deadpans, looking down to you, still sporting some thin pyjama shorts and an old Marlboro tee. he can't help but wonder how you look so pretty without even trying. "Oh! Yeah ... that." You mumble, flushing profusely as you stare up at the soldier. "Funnily enough, people don't think to check the fridge. Burglars and whatnot." Kyle startles at your easy mention of being robbed, and the inference that you've potentially dealt with burglary enough to be familiar with the mindset of a potential home invader. "You get burgled a lot?" "Mm. Used to." You mumble as you root through the safe-fridge for a bottle of orange juice, pouring two glasses. Apple juice is Kyle's personal preference, or some sort of smoothie, but he takes the glass from you with a grateful smile. Best to just go along with you, keep you comfortable. Not to mention the warm smile you give him when your fingers brush around the glass has his insides growing warm.

After having met you, a woman so clearly formidable to be protected by Kate Laswell herself, to have earned the nickname of a goddess, Kyle not only finds himself far less nervous - he feels warmly optimistic. He feels, for the first time in far too long, genuine hope for connection.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Might or might not add to this at some point idk n e ways!!!💕

Badly written and not edited so sorray!!

[chiefdirector]

Looking | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Act One | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21

“Sargent Grey,” Lopez called, trying to catch up with the watch commander, “I had a look at the footage from the main lobby. No I.D. Just seemed like some kid doing an errand, paper boy maybe.”

He stopped in the corridor, brushing his hand over his face in frustration. “Right, okay. Go tell Detective Bradford, liaise with her. See if you can help in any way.”

“Already have. She said that she’s on the phone with a handwriting analysis. Run it through the database and records corresponding to anyone with the initials R.D.”

“That’ll take forever,” 

Angela hummed. “Not exactly. This analysis guy said the writing was female. Already cuts the search in half. It was also in cursive, so we can make the initial assumption that the sender has some form of formal education, if not they are highly intelligent. That’s not too many ‘R.D’’s left to determine. (Y/N)’s also sent it out for prints, see if we can get a hit that way.”

“Good work Lopez,” Grey said, starting to move towards his office again. “Let me know if you find anything. And tell Detective Bradford to stop leaving her damn coffee cups in my office.”

Angela laughed, turning to go back to the detective's bullpen. “Yes, sir.”

----------

Tim and Lucy go back to his house to try to find the location of the picture taker. And any info. Lucy questions tim on their relationship 

Lucy looked intently out of the shop window as Tim drove towards his home. He had been so strict on keeping his personal life out of his professional one, but there was something about this boot in particular that seemed to worm her way in everytime. There was something about Chen that made Tim feel comfortable sharing details, no matter how minute they were. Perhaps it was her forever optimistic nature, or the fact that if it weren’t for her, he probably never would have found (Y/N).

 At one point, he had thought about thanking her but he also knew that Chen was well aware of his gratefulness; and that she would never let him live it down if he did thank her. She was like him in that way, he saw a lot of himself in her. Tim knew that she would go far, she just needed a little guidance to get there.

“So this is where you live, hm?” Chen said, breaking the silence that had resided in the shop for the last ten minutes. “Nice neighbourhood. Seems a little out of a cops price range though…”

“Are you really judging my financial status right now, boot?” Tim snapped, although the sting in his voice was barely there. She was right, it was far too pricey for his, or (Y/N)’s, salary. Even if they were combined they would have no chance of getting a mortgage for this area of L.A. 

“No, no. It’s just that this area is nice. Like nice nice. Not Kardashian nice but like you know.”

“Someone was murdered in our house, three actually.” Tim smiled, deciding to ease up on Chen somewhat, afterall, he knew that Lucy would ask his wife and (Y/N) never spared any detail in this particular story. “We both worked the scene together. Managed to get the price lowered somewhat. Only had to change the floorboards and get a couple drywall boards replaced. Drenched in blood.”

Lucy swallowed at the information, nodding along. She turned to look out at the surroundings again as Tim pulled over to the side of the road. “All these houses have a driveway?” She pointed out.”

“And?” He said, turning the engine off and getting out of the car. Slamming the door behind him, he opened his phone, pulling up the copy of the photo (Y/N) had sent him and moving to the approximate place the photo was taken. 

He ended up halfway into his neighbour’s front lawn. The exact spot would have been covered by shrubbery lining the edge of the grass, it would explain why they didn’t catch a glimpse of their paparazzo this morning. 

“Chen,” Tim moved from his position on his neighbour’s lawn crossing the road towards his home. Calling back towards Chen as he moved, knowing that she would be following him, “Come on, we’re going inside. I need to call Grey, let him know that there’s nothing here.”

“Inside? Like inside your home? I get to see where you live.” Lucy babbled on with excitement. If someone had told her on her first day that she would be invited into Officer Bradford’s home, she would have laughed in their face. “Oh my god. I get to see how you decorate, this is so cool! I need to tell Jackson.”

“I can leave you outside if you carry on.” Tim unlocked the door, letting himself in. He held it from the inside letting Chen make her choice. 

“Shutting up.”

----------

(Y/N) hung the phone up, moving to continue typing up the current additions to the case report. Her fingers practically slammed into the keys as she typed, annoyance flowing through her. Since she left Grey’s office, she had gotten nowhere. No matter who she called, nobody seemed to know anything about who was after her. 

It was infuriating, to be so powerless. Knowing that her life hung in The hands of some mad man that she didn’t even know the name of would cause most anyone to spiral but she knew that she couldn’t afford to lose focus now, not after how far she had come. 

Holding back a sigh, she saved the file and reached for her phone. Quickly, she pressed Tim’s contact and held it up to her ear, listening as it rang and rang and rang until she reached his voicemail. She hung up before she could leave a message and went back to typing. Only stopping when she heard something placed down beside her. 

“Your coffee.” 

(Y/N) looked up, seeing Chen standing beside her. She smiled, picking up the travel mug and taking a sip. 

“Tim asked me to drop it off. He made it when we went to see if there was anything to see back at your place.” Chen leaned against the desk to the right hand side of (Y/N)’s. “He also said to tell you that his phone was nearly dead. He’s charging it now.”

“Ah okay cool.” (Y/N) took another sip, relishing in the warm vanilla taste. Tim always made the coffee in the mornings, recently he had begun making her lattes with flavoured syrups. Vanilla was her favourite, despite how often Tim said it was the most basic option. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah, actually. There is. I wanted to ask you something…”

“Shoot.” 

“I want to do some UC work after my rookie year. I think that’s where I could really thrive and I wanted to know…”

(Y/N) nodded, finishing Chen’s sentence. “If it would be a good fit. Well as someone who has done it, I think it takes a certain kind of person to be able to do it. Personally, I would never do any more long term assignments. I don’t think I’m that person anymore. I lost everything, and I’m still fighting to get it back.” She sighed, placing her coffee down on the desk. 

(Y/N) gestured for Chen to pull up a chair before she continued. “Obviously you’re still a rookie, and I haven’t seen much of you in action. You have got some way to go. But you have that spark and if it’s what you want, I could see if I could take you one day. Show you the ropes, go through some old cases of mine. Let you get the feel for it.”

“Really? That would be great.” Lucy beamed at Bradford’s words. 

“But you will have to consider if it will be worth it. Look at the mess we’re all in because of me. If I hadn’t gone on that assignment than-”

“Then it would be someone else that Regina would have gotten revenge on.” Tim interrupted, walking over to the two women. He quickly reached for the coffee on the desk, not allowing (Y/N) the time to slap his hand away before he got a sip. “But the theory was right. It definitely wasn’t Regina.”

(Y/N) looked up inquisitively at her husband as he spoke. 

“The handwriting analyst made a match throughout the system. I don’t know who but Lopez is getting the report now. She’ll be here soon. Grey wants us all in the conference room.”

Chapter 21 | Chapter 23

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @agentred27 @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4

Tags are open :)

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Thirteen

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: The first part of this is pretty plot heavy. I had initially planned for this to be a part of the previous chapter because I really don't like splitting up an event that's happening into separate parts, but it would have been super duper long. I didn't want someone to have to split reading the chapter when you could do it in one sitting. Idk. That's just me. When I finish the story, I'll re-edit everything and combine specific chapters, but that won't be for a while. ANYWAYS, thank you so much to those who have been with me since the beginning and those who have joined along the way. It means a lot to me that you decided my work was worth being interested in. I live and breathe for your support.

Chapter Warnings: Corporal punishment.

The time between arriving at the Keep and being escorted to the Queen's apartments felt like you were in a dream. Your body's subconscious was controlling your limbs, pulling and contracting the muscles to work as you climbed stairs, crossed underneath red rock archways, and stood before the drawbridge of Maegor's Holdfast—the only entrance into the royal apartments.

You stole a glimpse at the twins escorting you, Aegon in the middle of them both. They seemed to have aged at the same rate, with no grey in either of their chocolate-colored hairs. Erryk, you had found out was the Prince's sworn protector since birth, and it had you speculating just how old they were.

You realized it would be necessary to decipher which twin was who, judging by how many people believed they were talking to one when speaking to the other as you walked past guards. It would likely gain the favor of both of them, and you needed all the allies you could gather in a den of vipers. Besides, you supposed they preferred to be called by the correct name.

Thinking back to the night's earlier events, you believed Daemon would be proud of you. How you fought, schemed, and plotted before you even met Queen Alicent. Seeing Ma for sentimental reasons was not your only purpose for being there. You remembered in letters past how she mentioned her network of spies went further than that of the notorious White Worm, Mysaria, and you intended to use that to your full advantage.

You knew that Madam would help you even if you had not offered a substantial flow of Gold Dragons for the rest of her life. Her anger and resentment for what the Hand and the Queen did to Lyra and one of her spies, Sara, was enough incentive along with her love.

"Open the bridge," Ser Erryk shouted, interrupting your thought. "We are on orders to escort His Grace Prince Aegon to the Queen."

The drawbridge lowered with a screeching of its metal hinges, creating a path over the moat of iron spikes that separated you from the Holdfast. Another member of the Kingsguard appeared, his white cape flowing behind him as he walked over the stalwart oak, his short dark hair blending into the night.

"I trust you brought him well, Princess," he spoke, tilting his head at the sulking Aegon and disregarding the brothers.

"Ser Criston Cole, I presume," you shot back, walking between the three men you were with. You could feel their eyes on you, but you held firm, clasping your hands behind you. "I have brought the princeling unharmed, a feat that has proven..." You stopped before him, lowering your voice as your boots scuffed the bridge, "toilsome for you. Or so I have heard."

He chuckled, briefly looking into the sconces on the stone walls, the fire reflecting in his dark irises. "I believe we can forgo the general pleasantries, Princess. I will escort you to Her Majesty once Prince Aegon is safe within his chambers."

"No. I will take him myself," you declared, leaning closer. You needed to present him yourself. Your plan hung on the dramatic appearance of Aegon, for you were afraid without it, Queen Alicent would not listen. "Given your history," you jabbed, covering the oddness of your demand.

As a smirk formed on your lips, Criston swore he saw a flash of Daemon in the darkness. The same arrogant smile he knocked off a horse and bested with his beloved flail, Morning Star. He did not want to repeat the same things he thought about your father about you. No matter your lineage, you were still a daughter of the Mother and a picture of the Maiden.

"I understand," he said, something simmering beneath his bronze skin you couldn't quite name as he motioned for the waiting siblings to bring Aegon forward.

Erryk took Aegon's arm rougher than you would have thought of someone's protector, the Prince wincing as he practically dragged him. You hoped you had hidden your displeasure at his actions as he walked past, trailing behind them.

The trip was short from there, following the Kingsguard to Alicent's apartments as the two brothers departed with a bow. You looked at Ser Criston expectantly, waiting for him to open the chamber doors.

"Please, afford Her Grace some patience. She had hoped this would be in the morn rather than at the hour of the wolf," he answered your unasked question.

You acknowledged him with a curt nod, leaning against the stone wall next to the door frame, at ease for just a moment knowing there was someone else to watch the runaway prince.

A flicker of movement caught your eye, a pristine eggshell-colored cloth extended near your face. You glanced at Ser Criston with a raised brow as he moved his hand to swipe across your jaw. You had forgotten of the blood splattered onto your skin. The remnants of how far you would go to protect Aegon, what sacrifices you were willing to make for your family.

Despite your picking, you knew Ser Cole was a fine warrior, his skills unmatched with Morning Star. You could not tolerate how he was rumored to speak about your brothers as you quickly snatched the handkerchief from his hand, cleaning your skin.

You could barely stay awake and were sure you appeared like it as you relaxed. Your eyelids slowly closed before you would snap them open again, swiftly looking around to make sure no one saw. You wanted to give Queen Alicent the courtesy of waiting. It would only be proper, as Ser Cole mentioned, but you couldn't help how your knees gradually weakened, sliding down onto the floor as you rested your head against the stone wall.

Aegon watched you fight with sleep as everyone waited for his Mother to ready herself, ever the one to keep appearances. He saw the delicate features of the girl he once knew as your body finally gave in to rest, your lashes fluttering.

He believed today was a day of old memories, seeing you in the flesh again and recalling how you looked with your cheek squished against his sweaty chest so long ago.

Had you thought of him while you were tucked away at Dragonstone? He thought of you every day. You were the only person in his life that had shown him what it was to be cherished. What it felt like to have someone enjoy his presence without any enticement. You were his only true friend, and after years without contact, he was frightened that brief friendship had slipped away.

Aegon knew you were still there and that this current persona was angry and resentful for what happened with Sara and Lyra. He saw it when you placed his grimy hands on your face, your eyes a window, showing him how much you still cared. He saw it in how you carried him while drunk, whispering words of encouragement to keep moving into the night air.

Since then, Aegon had been watching you, gradually comprehending throughout the eventide how much you had changed. Your hair had gotten longer, your ebony tresses nearly at your waist, even when braided. Your maids had woven the white streak throughout the intricate designs on your scalp. He had forgotten how divinely that birthmark contrasted the rest of your strands, a single patch of snow glimmering in the moonlight.

Throughout his observations of you, he concluded that even though you had a scowl when you saw him, your lips in a thin line of disapproval when you looked at him, you had not changed. Not really. The darling little girl he met in an alleyway at Flea Bottom was still there, hidden deep within you to protect yourself from the horrors of the past, present, and future.

He did not care how his Mother invariably said your plain-looking features matched those of your adopted siblings. How insulting it was for the House of Dragon to become a House of Bastards, she would reiterate over dinner, noticeably when the King was not there.

Aegon did not care much about what his Mother said about you and your siblings. He had no concern for propriety and appearances; in his opinion, it was all too priggish. He did not understand why she concerned herself with Rhaenyra's children. The oldest of the Strong boys still had a claim to the Iron Throne through his mother. You all still had Targaryen blood within you despite what she made it seem.

You were not sure how long it had been when a servant opened the door. It was enough for you to doze off and wake up as you saw Aegon above. It startled you, not expecting to see his violet eyes so close, but the feeling that rose as he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. They appeared sad and empathetic as they stared down.

You frowned, pushing yourself up as you smoothed your messy hair, annoyed with his proximity as he followed behind. It was as if he was your shadow as soon as you entered the Queen's meeting room, being uncharacteristically silent when he saw his Mother. Ser Criston announced you both, trying to make the informal situation formal. She sent him away with a grateful nod, leaving the room silently with just you and her son.

Aegon continued to hide behind you, his shoulders slumping and chin tucked into his chest as you turned. You wanted to reach out and extend a comforting hand but thought better, your fingers fidgeting at your sides.

He did not deserve sympathy.

"Princess," Queen Alicent broke the silence, "Thank you for returning my son to me. You have proven fit for tasks even the best men of the Kingsguard could not accomplish."

You extended a polite smile, curtsying as you thanked her as well. "Thank you, my Queen for confiding in me about your worries. It is an honor to aid the Crown in any way I can," you spoke.

"I see," she said, her lips pursed and her hands clasped as she peered around your body. "Aegon, my son, please let your dear Mother see you. I have been sick with worriment in your absence."

Aegon peeked from behind your body, looking like a scared child rather than a man of ten and nine, soon to be twenty.

"You missed me?" he asked, his voice small and soft like in his youth. She smiled, opening her arms to him as he reluctantly approached.

You watched the exchange with apprehension; your brows creased as she whispered to him words you could not hear. Aegon took a breath to say some, but before he could speak, the Queen's hand came down, smacking him across the cheek.

You stifled a gasp, covering your mouth with your palm as the urge to yank Aegon away caused you to take a step. Alicent was furious, as any parent would be, if their child had run away for such immature reasons, scolding him with trembling lips.

"Have you no conscience for your actions? You shame us deeply every hour of the day and night and know this, yet you continue to do so," she shouted, her cheeks tinting pink in anger. "I could not find you for a week! I am your Mother. How do you think this makes me feel? Not knowing where you went or what might have happened to you." You wanted to insert yourself into the conversation, to act as a buffer between Mother and Son but did not want to make things worse for Aegon.

"I had to request the help of this," Alicent paused, glancing at you before her voice lowered, "bastard in order to find you. Do you not know the embarrassment that brings me? To ask-"

Before you could think of being insulted by her words, Aegon's hunched form stood to his full height, looking down at his Mother.

"Do not call her that," Aegon snapped, speaking as a man. "She saved my life! Killed three men who had the intent to rob and beat me!" Alicent released a quiet breath of air, her features softening at the mention of her son's life in danger. "The Princess cared for me with a kindness no one has extended before. She is honorable and undeserving of the insults you spout when father is not around. She is royal not only in name but in blood. The same cannot be said for you, Mother." He spat her name out like sour candy on his tongue, his anger palpable.

You were overcome with guilt at his words. You were anything but kind after you found him. Berating Aegon with a variety of scurrilousness based on your outrage for acts he had no part in. You hated him simply because he was the kin of murderers, a show you had associated him with even though he had no role in it.

You could see the Queen becoming outraged at what he said, looking like she would strike her son again as you moved, making space between her and Aegon before she could try. He did not warrant abuse in his defense of you.

"Her Grace is not wrong, Prince Aegon," you interjected, easing the tension between the two. "I am a bastard by birth."

"The King has legitimized you; therefore, you are a princess, undeserving of her bad-mouthing," he sneered at the Queen, a petulant imp talking bad to their parent.

Your eyes grew wide as you stared at him, stunned into silence at his steadfast protection of your honor. You realized then how wrong you had been in your thinking. It wasn't right for you to blame the by-product of the people you hated. They had nothing to do with Aunt Lyra other than they were their kin.

Why had you been so callous? He did not warrant it, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself. Aegon did not deserve any of the harsh whispers people spoke. Unquestionably, he was a drunken whore of a man, uncaring of traditions and customs that he was expected to abide by, but there was more to him than the gossip. If only people had given him the opportunity. It should not have surprised those around him that Aegon became what everyone believed him to be.

"Yes, my Prince." You looked to the Queen, her features covered in shame at how she had lost her temper before you. "The King legitimized me, but it does not negate the origin of my birth. It no longer upsets me when people use it in degradation."

Aegon moved away from you and Alicent, slightly stumbling as he recoiled into himself, tear tracks on his cheeks. You wanted to embrace him, whisper in his ear how much his words truly moved you, how such a sweet boy he was, but you didn't.

"Thank you, Prince Aegon, for defending my honor so valiantly. Your actions are not something I will soon forget," you said instead, bowing your head gratefully.

Aegon did not like this side of you. It was so cold and impersonal, fitting into the shell courtly manner dictated you to be. You turned to the Queen, your expression hardening into one used when speaking to Lords and Envoys.

"Queen Alicent and I have much to discuss, my Prince," you said, looking at him with a doe-eyed expression, hoping to cater to his permissive side.

"And I am sure you are tired from your long journey back to the Keep. We will reconvene in the following days when you and I are both well-rested. After all, your name day is coming soon, and I should hope to see you at the events."

It was an intelligent way to revisit your original purpose as you saw the protests die on his peony-colored lips.

Aegon cast you one last glance of his purple glassy eyes as he left, reminding you of how your Mother's looked when you left Dragonstone. If you fell for every sad puppy look thrown your way, Luke would indeed be attached to your hip at this very moment.

The Queen stared at you in silence once he was gone, her neck so stiff and straight in the simple green gown she wore, wavy hair falling past her arms. You waited for her to speak, etiquette lessons coming to your mind.

"Please, sit, Princess. I am sure the day has been extended for you," she said, gesturing to the high-backed armchairs near her.

You instinctually wanted to protest your pride, wanting to show her it was no trouble for you, but you could not deny the ache in your feet, the pang of lower back pain that was emerging, and decided to accept.

"Words cannot convey how grateful I am for what you have done," she started, picking at her red cuticles. "I realize he can be such a difficult child, and I want you to know that my words were honest when I said your efforts will be rewarded. I will give you whatever you desire. A place at court, land, and titles to your name, gold, garnering a match more impressive than your status lets you," she trailed on. "Anything you want, Princess, name it, and it will be yours."

You already knew what you wanted. You didn't need to think. Money and matches and titles were not something you cared about. You would become a penniless spinster if it meant Rhaenyra and her true-blooded children ascended their thrones. What you sought was for them.

"The only thing I desire, my Queen," you paused, taking Alicent's attentive expression. Oh, how you would reveal in her misery once you finished. "Is a seat on the Small Council."

You watched her features fall, her once slightly upturned lips now in a deep frown as she processed your answer. Clearly, it was not something she anticipated.

"As a consequence of my Mother's years residing at Dragonstone, their has been a lack of her presence—one unbefitting for the heir to the Iron Throne. I will take her seat that has remained vacant for so long."

"Princess," the Queen stuttered, glancing at her red fingers, "your Mother's presence is already there with us in the form of the Hand. He only makes decisions with the King's and The Heir's opinions in mind."

"It must be exhausting, having to cater to two people's thoughts," you said with a front of sympathy, though you knew the truth of the matter. "Let me take the burden off his shoulders."

"A duty in which he follows deligently," she interrupted, defending her crooked father.

"Lord Hightower does have a commitment to the Crown." You did not have to say it outright for her to know why. "That is something which I have no doubt, but the lack of her royal presence is something people have taken note of," you replied, dancing around the valid reason for why you wanted on the Council, but she already knew.

"I must admit," she paused, taking a breath, "my confusion on the matter. I do not understand why Princess Rhaenyra needs someone in her place when she already has one."

You placed your elbows on your knees, resting your head in your palms as you leaned closer. Unladylike for you to do so, but you did not care. You needed her attention.

"You have a seat at the Small Council, do you not? Whose interests are your representing when you say your father already does for both?"

Alicent could not answer, the anxiety in her wide brown eyes reflecting the candlelight as you saw her pull a thin piece of skin from her fingers.

You raised a brow at her. "It certainly cannot be your own. The Queen does not have a say in matters of the realm." You couldn't stop the giggle as you continued, "Until my mother takes the throne."

She still sat silently, staring at your improper position an demands as you grew impatient. "Your Grace, you gave me your word that I could have anything I wanted. This is what I want," you said, sitting up straighter.

"Is it?" She couldn't help but ask, the words rolling off her tongue before she realized it.

Anger began to bubble inside your stomach, your neutral expression leaving your face for a scowl.

"Yes. It is," you sneered. "Does the promise of a Queen mean nothing now?" You questioned rhetorically, forgetting your place.

She inhaled deeply before she spoke again, stopping the fiddling of her fingers. "I," she paused for what felt like the tenth time, "will see to it. I owe a debt to you, and I intend to pay it."

Alicent was beside herself with fury, bested and taken advantage of again by Rhaenyra in the form of her adopted child. It seemed as if the Princess was intent on rocking the boat, even if it was not her own. Imagine if she did that, Alicent thought. She would not have been offered a seat at the table if Alicent had. She had to work silently and delicately for that treatment while Rhaenyra demanded and received it without hesitance.

The Queen's jealousy raged within as she dismissed you, further fueled by the triumphant smile on your face.

The thought that she might do what she had done to Rhaenyra on Driftmark all those years ago crossed your mind, but you brushed it off with a quiet laugh as you left, a slight bounce in your step as Ser Criston escorted you out of Maegor's Holdfast and into the Guest Wings on the Keep.

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Thank you so much for reading! This was a turning point chapter for the main character. I'm glad she finally realized it was wrong of her to lump Aegon in with his mom and grandfather. I hope she doesn't find out anything that will change that...

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[jenna-ortega]

Dear Joel Miller ll

Part l

Summary— You’re back in town after a few years, and your dads new neighbor seems to always be there when you’re in need of a hand. Can you handle Joel Miller? (dbf joel) (could be a series if people enjoy)

Warnings— angst, fingering, dbf!joel, stern joel(ish) age gap (Joel late 40’s, reader in 20’s), not set in apocalyptic times, c*nnilingus, bj's

Word Count— 2.7k

Joel Miller was screwed. He opened up a can of worms he couldn’t close, and even if he did…it’s going to be messy. It took everything in him not to fuck you stupid in your bedroom when he heard you moaning out for him.

His night consisted of fucking his own fist imagining your lips around him. Images of you taking him on your knees flicker in his head, fuck…how was he going to end this. He knew this was wrong, so so wrong. But a part of him wanted to pursue you, like he originally planned. He wanted to spend his summer taunting and teasing you until you were begging for him to fuck you. And you…oh you already needed more from him.

It’s been a week since your encounter with the older man. Surprised is an understatement for you, especially since you’ve been receiving his mail. You’d been waiting for the perfect time to prance by the door in your shortest shorts and tiny tank top for him, but that day never came.

You huffed your way through the long week, hanging out with some friends and trying to seem busy. Though, your mind was trained on him. On the raunchy scene he walked in on. On the fact that he actually touched you the way your body craved. No. You had to stop fixating on this. If he was going to ignore you, you were going to ignore him back…right?

Not right.

Your ego couldn’t handle the rejection being forced on you. Was it rejection? Or was it just a man twice your age too busy to entertain your twisted fantasies.

Noticing the sun starting to go down, you stomped to your front door, looking over at the various mailings addressed to the Miller residence.

“I’ll be right back.” you screamed to your father, slamming the screen door shut as your eyes trained in on the 4x4 truck sitting in Joel’s driveway. He was home, and boy was he going to hear you.

—

Knock.

Shit. Your heart pounded at your first knock, freezing you in your steps. Was this a bad idea? Maybe you should go back home. No. You needed answers. Why was he ignoring you?

Knock. Knock.

Oh no. This is wrong. This is all wrong. Your brain fogged to logic, your eyes squeeze shut hoping for the embarrassment that creeps up your bones to fade. It never does, and you decide this was just a terrible idea.

Your back turned to the door, your eyes widen as you hear the creek of the door behind you.

“There a reason for bangin’ on my door like the cops?” Joel’s voice raspy with a slight twinge of annoyance. You hear his sigh as you turn on your heels to face him, you smile big, awkwardly looking anywhere but him.

He looks so…sleepy. You must have just woken him up, giving him a one up you notice his loose pajama pants and baggy grey T-shirt.

“Sorry. Sorry.” You force out as your eyes dart to his messy curls, you bite your lip as you hold up his mail.

“Just dropping this off for you. Noticed you hadn’t come by.” as you handed it off to him, Joel’s hand passed the mail and grabbed your wrist to pull you in closer.

“Hm.” his brown eyes looks you up and down in your oversized NYU shirt with barely noticeable shorts underneath.

“Missed me so much ya just had to find a way to see me.” your heart sped looking at Joel smirking at your surprised face, taken back by how forward he was.

“I figured we would talk after …that. Yes.” your eyebrows furrow at his comment, your body moving on it’s own as he pulls you into his house, front door still wide open for the public to see.

“So…talk” Joel gestured his hands to invite you into his place.

You walk further in, noticing all of Joel’s little homey items.

“It’s cute in here” you comment, turning to face him as you notice his quizzed expression.

“So you banged on my door to…”Joel drifts off as he walks to you, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear “…to play interior designer?” Joel chuckles to himself.

“No.” you roll your eyes, slapping Joel’s hand away.

“Then what?” his eyes squint at you, watching your face fold into a more worried expression.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” your voice going before your brain decides if this was the best course of action.

“I’ve been busy.”

“No. You’ve been ignoring me.” you demand, and he chides at your comment.

“Okay. You caught me. I’ve been….ignoring you. You keen on tellin’ me why I might be ignoring you, sweetheart?” Joel crosses his arms, waiting for you to say it.

“I don’t know, Joel” you walked straight up to him. “You tell me why.”

Joel let the silence get you worked up until he see's you squirming,

“Well I think it’s cause I got to play with that pussy and you can’t stand the thought of not knowing if it’ll happen again” he walks on you closer as he says it, looking down at you as you scrunch your face in disgust.

Is he really going to be this lewd about it? You take two steps away from him as you throw your hands up,

“Oh Jesus, Joel.” Your voice louder and higher in pitch.

Joel laughs at your reaction, it’s his turn to roll his eyes.

“You wanted me to say it, darlin’. Why the outburst now?” Joel’s hands go up in defense as he continues,

“Tell me why you’re here.” Joel walks to you, pushing you slowly against the wall behind you, his hand traveling from your hip to resting calmly at your throat. His voice lower and threatening,

“Tell me, honey. Tell me why you came here.” you gasp at his quick whip. The feel of his hand on your throat is warm, your eyes go dreamy on him. Holding back a moan as you feel his other hand roam to your ass and squeeze.

“Tell me why you brought your pretty lil’ ass to my front door.”

“Joel” you moan lightly as you feel his hand squeeze every part of you. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head, hearing a faint uh-uh as Joel’s hand leaves your neck to clamp your chin and bring your face up to his.

“Use that mouth now or I’ll use it for you.” he threatens, pulling a groan from him as you open your mouth to suck on his finger.

Your bodies pull apart with the speed of light as you hear a voice call your name, footsteps slowly approaching Joel’s front door.

“I was wondering where you were. Dinner’s made, what took you so long?” your father doesn’t ask permission, just comes inside Joel’s house as if he knows the place.

Oh, he does.

“Your daughter just dropped me my mail. She’s a sweetheart, ain’t she?” Joel looks to you and smiles arrogantly.

“Glad you two are getting along!” your father says unknowingly. “Let’s go”

You follow your father out further behind him, feeling Joel’s hand squeeze your ass as he shuts the door behind the two of you. You squeaked, earning a bizarre look from your father. You coughed loudly, “Sorry.” And left it at that.

Your heart beating fast and your brain completely scattered. Joel Miller has you right where he wants you.

-

You trip as you're putting on your boots. "Almost ready!" you call downstairs.

"Would ya hurry up, i've got my people waiting" your dad calls to you,

"You don't have people!" cowboy boots clicking with each step downstairs you take,

"Ready!"

-

You don’t want to be there…it’s boring. Some dingy work night out for your fathers company he didn’t even have to drag you to.

Your eyes dart through the small restaurant. You rush to the bar before your father see’s you’ve been off on your own.

“One tequila pineapple please!” you slip the bartender your card to open a tab as you take your drink and settle at your table.

“Funky outfit you go on there,” your dad and his friends giggle to themselves as they look you up and down in your long sundress paired with black cowboy boots.

“Oh yeah,” you laugh lightly, “since your flannel shirts and khaki pants are the epitome of fashion” you squint your eyes at the boys sarcastically as they all “oohhh, and ahhh” at you.

“We’re just teasing,” the shaggy haired man you call Danny states,

“I guess New York City really did change you, huh?”

You huff as you take your drink and get up,

“Have fun boys, I’m off to find conversations that don’t bore me” you smile wide, and walk away hearing “she’s gotten feisty”

-

You find solitude thankfully, walking into the outdoor area of the restaurant. Green umbrellas adorning the wide tables of empty seats.

Your chair screeches as you pull it out, sitting quietly as the light breeze catches your hair.

“Not havin’ fun?”

You turn doe eyed, catching the tall man sneaking up on you.

“No. You?”

“Nahh. Got here a too early I guess.” Joel’s boots echo loudly on the cement, coming to the seat next to you.

“Too early?” You question, looking down at the brown liquid in his glass you’re sure he’s been nursing.

“Yeah.” Joel sips his liquid

“A certain person I wanted to see came late. Had me stuck talkin’ to the boring shmukes your father calls coworkers.” his southern mannerism pulling at the end of his sentence.

“And who is it you came to see?” you tilt your head to the side, sucking your cheek in,

“Ohh ..you see the bartender?” he points,

“Her names Jenn and she’s smokin’ hot” he jokes as you pat his shoulder laughing at his obvious meaning,

“Joel, I’ve had enough bad jokes for the night” you sigh lowly, looking up to finally take him in.

“Why are you even here?” you question,

He shakes his head at you begrudgingly

“Well why are you here?” he threw the question back at you,

“Fair.”

“I don’t want to be here for much longer, though.” admittedly, you were hoping for Joel to offer you a ride—

“You need a ride?”

-

The road home was bumpy, your eyes stayed on Joel’s impeccable jawline. He looked so put together, so handsome. It’s your first time seeing him cleaned up.

“I see you burnin’ a hole through my face, honey”

“Sorry.” you shifted awkwardly

“No need to be sorry,”

“You just look so fuckable tonight”

It was your turn to make Joel shift in his seat. Your words took him back, watching the red flush on him cheeks. Oh, you’re so getting him back for what he did to you.

“You’re being a bad girl. You know that?” he turned to you as he slowed at the red light,

“Not yet I’m not,” you smiled slyly, moving closer to him in the front seat of his truck.

Your hand resting on the obvious bulge that he’s been styling all night looking at you.

“Whoa baby, not here.” Joel tries to swat you away, but you’re faster in undoing his zipper.

“Fuck—“

You take his half hard cock into your hand, kitten licking his length and avoiding the tip to tease him,

“You like that, daddy?” you heard him groan from above you.

“Fucking…shit” his voice strained out, and your body swayed heavy as he frantically pulled his truck over to a heavily shaded area of the road.

You wince as Joel pulls the back of your hair, pulling you off him and flinging you onto your back, his body now laying between your legs.

You catch your breath, looking up at a seething Joel. Gold chain in your face as he looks you up and down,

“You ain’t runnin’ things here.”

he leans down and attaches his lips to your neck, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin as your hips squirm up to meet Joel.

“You’ve been a very—“ He sinks lower on your body as he kisses down, “Very bad girl.”

“I wanna be a good girl for you,” You plead, moaning as Joel’s large hands grip your dress and push it up past your head, flinging it to his backseat. Leaving you in nothing but panties and a bra.

“Then stop squirming,” He slapped the inside of your thigh, looking up at you as his dark eyes ravage the sight of you.

You moan out, hand reaching anywhere to grip as his lips meet the cotton of your panties, licking a strip up you center.

“mmm”

His groans loud from below you, pushing the only barrier between him and you to the side, and spitting on your cunt,

You jump slightly and moan at the sensation,

“Good girl,” hepraises as he starts licking you up and down, using his two fingers to hold you open,

Your hips swaying to find any type of friction as you moan his name out, looking at him alone was enough to make you come. His beard wet with your essence, the vibrations from his moaning making your body freeze with pleasure,

“Joel, please” you’re begging, for what, you don’t know. For something you know only Joel can provide.

“That’s it baby,” he encourages you as you begin to move your hips closer to his mouth, squirming to feel the friction of his nose against your clit,

“mmmm, —“ the sounds of Joel’s slurping getting you there,

You whine as you feel his lips leave your core, opening your eyes to see him being his hand to your face and force open your jaw,

“Wet my fingers, I know you know how” his voice like silk, demanding yet soft.

You do as your told, and once again receive his praises, “You’re being so good, darlin”

You squeal as you feel his finger enter you, and your eyes roll back as he starts his pulses while you watch him back to work.

“I wanna taste you baby. I want you to come on my fingers like a good girl. Can you do that, sweetheart?”

You nod in a frenzy, feeling his mouth suckle at your clit, and you whine is pleasure. A slew of curses mixed with his name release from your mouth as your body starts squirming in his arms. Orgasm making your legs feel like jelly.

“Fuck, fuck—joel”

“I got you baby. I got you. You did so well for me”

Your breathing is labored as you feel him pull away from you, grabbing your dress from his backseat.

-

There was only a few minutes left in your drive, but it felt like a lifetime. Joel smugly looking over to you as he watched you come back down to earth from your earth shattering orgasm.

“You good?” he looks to you as you feel the truck stop.

“Yeah—yeah. I’m fine. Just—“

“I know.” you feel his hand creep up to your thigh and squeeze,

His head moves to the right, making you follow his gaze. Shit. You were already home. How were you going to walk into the same house as your father and act like Joel Miller didn’t just wreck your life.

“Your dads not home yet.” As if Joel read your mind, you sighed with relief.

“When will I see you again?” you looked to him as you scooted closer to the door, prepared to run inside and take the well needed shower.

He let out a weighted sigh, looking over to you with tired brown eyes, letting silence fill the truck.

“Joel?” your voice more stern than before, which caught his attention.

Joel got out of his truck, walking over to your side of the car, opening your door and grabbing your hand to lead you out.

You looked up at him, noticing a look in his eyes. Almost noting it as guilt, maybe regret. Your stomach starts to sink.

Joel grabs your waist, pulls you in close, and places a soft kiss to your forehead,

“Soon.”

[cheersforrevenge]

My Dragon

season 8 daenerys targaryen x fem knight!reader

warnings : n/a

srry this is rlly short 💕 also dany’s high valyrian is in bold!!

Ash from the bodies and buildings of King’s Landing dusted your tied up hair. You were Daenerys’ sworn knight. You hated what happened back at King’s Landing but it had to be done. Cersei couldn’t be negotiated with.

As soon as you get halfway up the Red Keep’s stairs, you see her. Your Queen, the last dragon. Daenerys’ deep purple gaze finally meets you and she smiles.

Once, you finish climbing the stairs her hand reaches out for yours. “I had hoped as a little girl that someone would be here with me and here you are.” You were one of the only people who stuck with her from the beginning.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything, my Queen.” You say dropping her hand and bowing. No matter how hard you try, you can’t get Dany out of your head. You couldn’t realize it but you haunted Daenerys’ thoughts. She always loved you. Ever since, you were just two girls playing as knight and princess.

“Before I claim the iron throne, I want you with me forever. You have always been at my side but I want you to be my knight. Mine… Do you understand what I’m saying?” She steps closer to you.

“Of course, my dragon.” The Mother Of Dragons is so close to you that you see the air she exhales. Suddenly, she firmly presses her lips against yours. Every little memory you have with her flashes through your head.

When she pulls back, you smile as wide as possible. Daenerys looks deeply into your eyes and grabs your hand one more time before turning towards her army.

“Blood of my blood,” Daenerys Targaryen says and the troops quiet down. “You kept all your promises to me. You killed my enemies in their iron suits. You tore down their stone houses. You gave me the Seven Kingdoms!” The Unsullied bang all of their spears three times, after every dedication and message she says.

“Torgo Nudho,” she says, addressing Grey Worm. “You have walked beside me since the Plaza of Pride. You are the bravest of men, the most loyal of soldiers. I name you commander of all my forces, the Queen’s Master of War.”

“Y/N, My sworn knight. The one who protected me from all. My one and truest love. So much of your life you have spent traveling along side me. I name you head of the Queen’s guard, the Queen’s shield.” Daenerys says turning her head and smiling at you.

“Unsullied,” Daenerys Targaryen says as Tyrion approaches the queen from behind. “All of you were torn from your mothers’ arms and raised as slaves. Now you are liberators! You have freed the people of King’s Landing from the grip of a tyrant!”

“But the war is not over. We will not lay down our spears until we have liberated all the people of the world!”

“From Winterfell to Dorne, from Lannisport to Qarth, from the Summer Isles to the Jade Sea!” This was the beginning of Daenerys Targaryen’s conquest of the whole world. Nothing would stop her now.

“Women, men, and children have suffered too long beneath the wheel. Will you break the wheel with me?” The Unsullied pound their spears in a steady beat.

Tyrion approaches the queen who catches him out of the corner of her eye.

“You freed your brother,” Daenerys says, not looking at him. “You committed treason.”

“I freed my brother,” Tyrion says. “And you slaughtered a city.”

She turns to face him. He removes his Hand of the Queen broach and throws it down the staircase, where it lands at the foot of an Unsullied soldier.

The pounding stops. She looks at her former Hand with contempt, swallows hard, and says “take him” in Valyrian. Two nearby Unsullied soldiers escort him away.

The soldier who the pin fell by, walks up to Daenerys and hands the pin to her. She looks down at the pin and says, “Thank you, soldier.”

She walks over to you. “I guess you are getting another promotion today.” Daenerys pushes the pin onto your coat.

“I will honor these positions till the day I die, my love.” You say softly grabbing the back of her neck and kissing her.

[bruh-anator3000]

To Skrill or Not to Skrill

~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~

A/n:... drag...nn... OKAY look i KNOW i should finish all my Viktor wips, esp The Lab Inspector's Daughter one BUT... um, well, skrunkly priorities have changed. My skrunkly, babygirl, the blorbo, the boi: the most insane viking in the Archieplego. Dagur the Deranged. He hath eaten the Viktor worms and started writhing on my brain himself. The madlad.

I WILL WRITE FOR VIKTOR AGAIN!! DON'T WORRY!! But Dagur wants to be written for first. For now.

Summary: Dagur didn't just... leave you, right? You led him and the Hunters to the exact spot your calculations had said the beast would be. The further you got into the cave, however, the less the others followed. Leaving you completely alone. Well, besides the dragon.

Pairing: Dagur x GN!Reader

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: 'Trapped' in an ice cave, Hypothermia!! Near death experience? Dragons, Stupid Ryker, insert Micheal Scott's 'you've been di-frib-u-lated!,' Derangedness duh, Dagur refers to himself as 'Daddy' and the deadly dragon as 'baby,' accidental Hiccup/Dragon Riders hate (but for good reason in the story i swear), cringe stuttering, possible part 2 👀? (We all know how good I am at that)

MOST IMPORTANTLY: I haven't written for Dagur before so if he seems OOC, that's on me. Please let me know how I can make Dagur seem more like Dagur, i would love some advice on it.

Okay, that should be it! I hope you enjoy <3

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"He didn't just abandon me," Your shallow breaths turned to frost in front of your face as you continuously bashed the hilt of your sword against the thinning ice. As much as you wanted to believe your words, he did ignore his father when he went missing and simply took control instead.

"I mean, I'm valuable!" You tried to convince yourself as the ice finally gave in with a sharp crack. Your hilt judded through the hole you made, numb fingers nearly dropping your blade. You couldn't feel the lower part of your body, shivering violently as you awkwardly scuffled your sword on the other side of the ice. Making the weapon parallel to the wall, you began to smash the ice from the other side, trying to pull the sword back towards you.

"I found you, after all." You looked up through your lashes, which were slowly weighing down by snow and ice. The dark purple and grey of the Skrill looked down upon you. His breath fogging the wall of ice separating you two.

He watched you, eyes narrowed but curious. From what you could see, most of his limbs were slowly breaking free of the ice he had been banished to. Wings twitching and claws curling. You hit the icy wall once more. You could feel your fingers lock up around the rod of your sword. The joints in your arms stiffening with the cold. As you yanked your arm back once more, the ice broke. Leaving you to fall on your butt.

Laying on the cold stone of rock-hard ice, you sighed. Your breath turning to ice in front of you. Maybe you should've stayed with the Dragon Riders. With another frozen sigh, you knew that would've led to this exact same situation. Well, not exactly the same.

Hiccup left you to boil and burn in a cavern deep inside an active volcano. Dagur left you to freeze up and become an artifact for the next generation to find. You weren't sure what was worse.

However, Dagur had saved you from combusting into a pile of flame and ash. Maybe Hiccup will turn the tide, and find you, trying to free the Skrill he set into ice. For Dagur.

No, he would probably let you freeze over, too.

You tried to pull yourself up to your feet. You only managed to sit up and rest against the wall. Your bones rattled against each other, you could bite your own tongue off with how hard your teeth clattered. Huddling into yourself, you prayed to Odin someone would find you before you froze to death.

Looking over your arms as you held your knees close, you saw the Skrill ram the horn on his nose against the wall he was sealed behind. You shut your eyes, breathing out once more as you felt ice build around your lungs.

...

Dagur stood before the cave, torch high in his hold as he waited. Eyes narrowed, he held the flame to the dark entrance.

"Where's your little friend, Dagur?" Ryker saddled up beside the Berserker with a dark chuckle. "Think the Dragon Riders finally came back for them?"

Dagur scowled. "They wouldn't do that." He stated simply. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He saved you, after all. You wouldn't just turn on him like that... right?

"Then why are my men back but not them?" Ryker watched the viking from the corner of his eye. Dagur was simply too easy to rile up. And he was waiting for the moment he slipped up, so Viggo would finally see how utterly useless he was to their mission.

"Why can't your men find my Skrilly but they can?" Dagur shot back. You had told him the only information you knew about his Skrill was the fact Hiccup had sealed it away into an iceberg. With that, you had managed to pinpoint the beast's exact location. Which none of Ryker's men seemed to even comprehend.

Ryker let out a hard huff. "You have another hour, then we leave," He leaned in close, breath rotting. "With your friend, or not."

Dagur only glared back, eyes burning in the larger viking's skull. How he wanted to bash Ryker's head open. For more than one reason, but the top contender was how he spoke of you. A Dragon Rider turned hunter wasn't a very trustworthy transformation but Dagur liked you.

The vengeance written on your face when he found you, betrayed by his brother. It reminded him of the rage he felt daily for how Hiccup had thrown him into jail for three long years. You said you were a dragon rider and his first instinct was to grab your dragon and run. But you had no dragon, only a shattered sword and the outlines of welts beginning to bubble up from the heat on your skin.

When he asked if you wanted rescuing, throwing on his best smile and pose, you laid back down and accepted your fate. That's when he knew he'd like you. So stubborn, you'd rather melt than let a devilishly handsome Berserker save you. A sense of humor he enjoyed poking at until it turned into slight aggravation.

Now, he was aggravated. The torch felt so... throwable in his clenching fist. It wasn't you... it's just that you weren't here. He needed you here, wanted you standing besides him with his Skrill in tow.

Glancing back, he watched Ryker and his lousy men riffle around. Some were walking circles around the boats. Others shoved each other around, acting like there was nothing wrong. Like this was all a game to them. Ryker may be able to dispose of his men like day old fish, but Dagur wouldn't do that - not to you, at least.

He could throw Savage overboard any day. Throw him as far as he wanted, deep into the vast blue of the ocean. He would laugh, watching him scramble back on board. But he wouldn't throw you over the deck. He's considered it, he won't lie, but he could only ever bring himself to grab the back of your shirt, threateningly.

You'd just laugh. Everytime he would grumble and yank you around by the sleeve or tunic, you would laugh. It was cute. And it was infectious, too. Whatever he was angry at, Dagur would have to let it go and laugh with you.

But now, you weren't here. He wasn't able to laugh his boiling anger off. You were still somewhere in the icy caves. And Ryker wasn't going to be any help. Like always, it looked like Dagur was going to have to do this himself.

He really hoped his Skrill was in there, or else you'd be making him look like a fool. He also really hoped you were still alive. But he also really didn't want to look like a fool.

"Where do you think you're going?" Ryker's grating voice called out, making Dagur's whole body twitch with annoyance. By the Norns, he hated that man's voice, and endless proding!

"Getting my Skrill back!" He shouted over his shoulder. If it weren't for the iron grip he had on his torch, Dagur would've sent it straight through the Dragon Hunter's head, hearing Ryker laugh at him. If only the Skrill could come barreling out of the cavern just then. Like Hiccup and his stupid Night Fury always seemed to do.

The ice cave was just as expected - long, dark, and very cold. Barely five minutes into his search, Dagur started shaking like a fish out of water. Violently trembling from the cold. He debated on turning back. Let go of this Skrill dream entirely, that perhaps it was an unhealthy obsession he developed and would benefit him in letting it go.

The thought made him laugh. Loudly and sporadically, his hysteria bounced off the endless tunnel walls. He giggled to himself when he heard his laugh come back to him. Sounded just as insane as he remembered.

Another sound followed the dying echoes of his laugh. One that sent a full body shiver through the Deranged. That same howl, like a screech of home. A dragon's. His dragon.

Bursting into a full on sprint, Dagur ran down the cave, guffawing with excitement. He's dreamt of this day for years, the situation of reuniting with his dearest Skrill playing over in his head like a bard who only knew how to play one song. He would soon use his beloved beast to destroy little Hiccup in a blast of pure lightning. Another drool-worthy ideal that he never stopped wishing for.

Dagur turned the last twist of the tunnel before the beast of royal purple and toned grey became visible. Wide mouth filled with rows of sharp teeth bared before him. The metallic spiky crown the dragon wore was even more daunting in the unusual lighting of fire reflected against frozen water. A sight so enthralling, Dagur's mind went blank.

Mind flooded with excitement, Dagur broke out into a large smile and simply gawked. The cold didn't exist in this moment as he stared at his precious baby. So giddy that he raised both his hands up with a loud, concerning cry and spun in a circle.

"That's right!" He hollered to no one in particular. "Dagur and Skrilly, reunited once more! Ohohoho!" He laughed with his entire body, moving wildly in his joy.

The ripple of dark scales had Dagur turning back around. The Skrill curled into itself as a bright white hue began to glow from his mouth. Drawing his sword, he held it pointed to the beast.

"It's alright, baby." He tried shushing the Skrill, cooing in his gravelly voice. "Daddy Dagur's here for you."

The Skrill had better ideas. He shot a bolt of lightning barely a foot away from Dagur.

He was about to shout. Ready to lose his temper that his own darling would try to hurt him, but that sharp green gaze caught on something beneath those steely purple legs. A figure lumped under the dragon. It seemed like sweet Skrilly was protecting this nearly dead thing.

As another blast of lightning began to charge in the dragon's mouth, Dagur dropped his stance for a moment. His eyes fell to a sword that was laying far from the other two. The same sword he often sparred with. Grabbed along with his own, to hand to his partner in battle. The same sword he's had to help rewrap over 10 times because, for whatever reason, you couldn't keep the yak leather tight around the hilt.

Your sword.

Wait a second. That's you?

He tried to get a better look but the Skrill opened his mouth even wider, ready to blast again. Thank Odin he was a Berserker. Directing Skrills was in his blood.

Dagur waved his sword back and forth until the Skrill could only focus on it. Making sure those slitted pupils were trained on his blade, he lowered the sword and threw it across the ice. Away from you. Unfortunately, the beast stayed put, but his eyes were trained on the sword Dagur had to sacrifice. Skrill's are painfully loyal to those who treat them well. And saving them from an icy prison would be a perfect reason why the dragon refused to move.

Dagur made a mental note to yell at you for gaining his Skrilly's trust before him. After he saved you, of course.

"Come on, baby, work with me here." Dagur tried to reason as he lowered himself closer to the ground. "They're with me. And you like them, right? So you'll like me, too."

The fire-lightning sparked back up in his mouth the second Dagur tried to take another step. He gritted his teeth, trying to think of another way to get to you. They both looked at the torch he held.

Dagur wasn't about to burn the Skrill but he desperately needed to get to you. You had been in here for hours. How long have you been unconscious for? The next place he might see you is in Valhalla. He really didn't want to risk death in order to see you again.

Waving his torch around like he'd done his sword, Dagur began to walk around his Skrill. Every time the dragon tried to lunge forward, he would jump right back at him. The fire discouraging the Skrill just enough to push him away from you. Only the strong and unbelievably gorgeous wing of him hovered above you. Dagur could work with that.

"Hey, wakey wakey!" Dagur dropped to his knees beside you, his free hand reaching for your wrist. His hands always felt so rough compared to your skin. It made him feel... embarrassed that his hold could grate on yours.

As he ran his hand down your arm, panic started seeping in. You were as cold as the floor beneath the two of you. Your fingers were beginning to turn blue. He couldn't see you breathing, not when you were so curled in on yourself.

"Hey," He set his torch on the ground. He didn't care if it was burning out, he needed you alive. "Stay with me." His voice started to raise in tone as he softly grabbed your shoulders. Rolling you on your back, you moved far too loosely. He could tell you no longer had control of your limbs.

Eyes growing wide, Dagur cupped your face with one of his hands. The apple of your cheeks - where pretty freckles, often paired with a slight red the sun always burned onto your skin - was tinting blue. And so was your precious nose. That wasn't good.

Oh Thor, this wasn't good.

Dagur pressed his ear to your chest, silently begging for a breath. He could settle for a heartbeat, a faint one, even! He just needed to know you were still alive!

His search was interrupted when he was scooped into the air. He scrambled to grab you, holding you close to his chest as he started to raise and slide backwards. Letting out an uneasy laugh, his back hit a rod that winded him.

Keeping his arms tight around your freezing torso, Dagur looked down. Sitting on purple scales against dark spikes, he realized all too late what was happening.

"Easy, dragon!" He pleaded with a yelp. The Skrill roared and stood on his hind legs. He scrambled to seat you in front of him, awkwardly sliding behind your limp self and reaching around to grab the crown of the dragon. His left hand barely gripped onto a spike when the Skrill took off with a gut-deep growl.

Dagur's screams came out like his laughs, sporadic and changing in tone. And frantic. Very- extremely frantic. The light blue colors of ice blurred past him, cold wind whipping through his red hair. Cold quickly shifted into warmer air. Ice no longer surrounding him, turning into the sand of the beach outside.

He could barely make out the shouts of the hunters over his own. His next sight was crashing face first into sand. Tumbling further until he hit one of the ship posts. Taking at least one other man down with him.

"What in Thor's name-?" Ryker ran out from his ship. He was ready to shout and yell at the morons he was given to work with for being so idiotic. His loud voice died deep in his throat when his eyes landed on the beast. He was certain Dagur had gone insane, far more insane than normal when he trusted an ex Dragon Rider to lead him to the rarest dragon besides the Night Fury.

Purple and grey scales glimmered in the sun. Sharp teeth nearly chomping one of his hunters in half for getting too close. Metallic spikes running down the dragon's back. Ryker gawked with a dropped jaw.

"It's the Skrill!" One of the hunters called out. "Chain him!" Some screamed. "Cage him!" Yelled another. But Dagur beat them all.

"No one touches MY Skrill!" He bellowed, running back over to 'his skrill.'

Instead of throwing the nets over the dragon, Ryker watched with a scowl as Dagur skidded to a stop in front of the beast. His eyebrows shot up with surprise as the Berserker pulled you off the Skrill's back. Maybe having a Dragon Rider on the team wasn't such a bad idea.

Or maybe it was, since you flopped over into Dagur's hold like a ragdoll. You didn't ride that dragon! You were simply stuck on its back.

"Come on, please." Dagur set you on the sand gently, keeping your head steady. The words stumbled past his lips before he could reign in his emotions. "I need you." His voice was barely a whisper but it still cracked with pain. He didn't want to lose you. He couldn't.

His hand rested on your chest, still desperate to find a sign of life. Yet again, the Skrill had a better idea and knocked Dagur backwards. Falling on his butt, Dagur wanted to kick the beast in the snout. He was trying to make sure you were alive! What did the dragon think it was doing?!

The sun blacked out as clouds began to accumulate above the docks. The back of the Skrill began to arch, the metal rods on his back starting to vibrate. Bright and blinding, sparking lightning burned in his mouth.

Dagur watched in horror as the Skrill roared. His eyes nearly shot out of his head when the Skrill let his head drop onto your chest. Sending a Thor's worthy amount of electricity right through your body.

Static cracked the air, loud enough to leave everyone's ears ringing. As soon as they appeared, the dark storm clouds dispersed and the Skrill stepped back. Bursts of lightning still danced on the beast, weaving between the tall stakes of metal on his back. He watched you, eyes narrowed, and the tip of his nose brushing up your legs.

A scream of pure rage began to bubble in Dagur's throat. His beast, his Skrill, had just killed you!? Sending a bolt through you and probably charing your body inside and out?! Like yak on a stick!?

The sand crunched in between his fists, arms twitching with restrained anger. His two favorite things combined, resulting in one of them dead. He was going to wear that Skrill's skull as a helmet!

The silent building tension between the hunters, Dagur, and the dragon was interrupted by a violent choke.

You sat up abruptly, gasping and choking on nothing. Your arms locked around your knees, still shivering from the ice you once laid on. Whether you were deep in shock, too literally shocked, or far too cold, you failed to realize that you were out of the cave.

It took Dagur three seconds before he was bolting to your side. He was trying to be gentle, but his desperation seemed to make his movements too rigid. You saw him from the corner of your eye, and in a blind panic, smacked the ever loving Odin out of him.

A gasp went around the surronding hunters as Dagur stood back, still facing the way you hit him with his cheek beginning redden. You blinked a couple of times before letting out a relieved cry and jumped up to hug him.

"By Thor, I thou- thought you ha- ad left m- me!" Your words were skewered by your clattering teeth. He felt far warmer in your hold than you remembered. Not that you were complaining, you simply dug yourself into him even further.

Dagur stood still for a few more moments, emerald eyes glaring at you through the corners. It was then you realized what you had just done. You let your hold on him slip as you stared up at him, trembling from the cold - and new-found fear.

Two steps back was all you made it before Dagur's thick arms caught around you. Pulling you into his chest, he squeezed you tight enough to practically crush you. With this confirmation, you wrapped your own arms around him and sighed shakily.

"I wouldn't have left you." His breath tickled your ear, beard scratching against your cheek as he spoke low enough so only you could hear. He pulled back, and set you in front of him with a firm grip on your shoulders. "Let's get you into warmer clothes, especially out of that armour." He declared with a flick to your bracers.

You glanced down at your outfit. Your arms seemed to only grow colder if you held them around your chestplate. Nodding, you fell into his side. He wrapped an arm over your shoulders and helped you move towards the boats.

A sharp poke hit you in the back, followed by a low growl. Turning around, you saw the beast you had been chasing all week.

"Is th- that the Sk- skrill?" Your eyes went wide as you stared back at the dragon. Dagur nodded.

"He likes you," He pinched your ear lightly, making you pull away slightly. He always loved your little reactions. "You were supposed to just free it, not bond with it." The red head stuck his lower lip out in a pout.

"I fr- reed it-z?" Your tongue stiffened on the last syllable, making it sound like a buzz. He laughed and patted your back, urging you to keep walking.

"Yup. He flew you out here." You looked around with new eyes, the earlier shock beginning to fade.

"We're outside?"

"ENOUGH-" You flinched at Dagur's outburst. He held his other hand out, and took a breath. "Enough questions. Just- back to the boat."

You nodded and accepted his unofficial apology by continuing to lean into him. He was so muscular, it felt like you were walking alongside a tree. A very intimidating, genuine, and passionate tree log. Dagur was far more handsome than a log, too.

Your hazy gaze stared up at him from under his arm. If he could tell you were staring, he didn't show it. He wore his usual smug smirk, a gentle squeeze around you, but nothing more.

"The Skrill comes with us." Dagur held out his hand to the oncoming hunters. They slowed to a stop, green axes and chains in their lowered hands. Sharing a confused look, they turned to Ryker, who finally got off from his post on his ship.

"What makes you think that, exactly?" Ryker asked, eyes falling behind you to the beast.

Dagur hemmed and hawed as he removed his arm from you, guiding you to rest on the Skrill for support. The dragon purred, rough and deep, as you rested your hand on his neck.

"Oh I don't know," Dagur tapped his chin, his other hand counting something on his fingers. "Maybe because, well," He chuckled. "I FOUND IT?!" He shouted in Ryker's face, green eyes bugging out of his head. His nostrils flaring in his face.

Ryker stared down at him with a bored brow. Dagur glared right back, breathing heavily. With a roll of his eyes, Ryker backed up with a raised hand. His men backed off as well.

Dagur turned back to you, nodding to the large boat. He hit Ryker's shoulder as you three passed. The Skrill bared his teeth at the lead Dragon Hunter, sensing the discomfort he was causing. Growl vibrating his throat as you patted the dragon, a gentle reminder that you were fine.

You followed Dagur to the ship with small steps. Your tremors made it hard to stay upright, and the Skrill could only help you so much. Dagur threw his head back with a sigh when he noticed the distance between you two.

He trotted back and pulled you into his side once again, keeping an arm around your shoulders. The Skrill walked along your other side, offering more support, if you needed it. Together, they helped you to the ship and into Dagur's quarters.

[unaesthetic-writer]

Jegulus microfic - @starmanbutitsregulusblack

James had always longed for another person. There was always this gap inside of him that needed to be filled by someone's presence, even as he had as many friends as the eye could see. He realized what he was missing when he first laid eyes on him. Regulus Black. James' best friend's little brother.

He looked so similar to Sirius, but at the same time so— different. They both had the same black hair and grey eyes, but Regulus held so much poise compared to Sirius. Siri was carefree and wild, and while James loved that about his platonic soulmate, it couldn't hold a candle to Regulus. The air that surround Regulus created a barrier between him and the rest of the world. Every step he took was a sirens call to James, asking for him to fall at his feet.

But as much as James wanted Regulus, Regulus hated James. Regulus was never quiet about his dislike of James Potter. He thought he was arrogant and just a downright posh prick. But deep down, hidden behind his prickly surface, Regulus loved the attention. It started out as just wanting James to pay attention to him, but slowly but surely James had wormed his way into Reg's heart. Now he wanted to see his smile, hear his laugh, smell his cologne. Everything about James Potter now drew Regulus in— but he still continued to act the part of nonchalance.

This cat and mouse game lasted all of two months before James began to lose hope. His self esteem had been hitting the rocks lately; Due to him messing up in quidditch, his test scores dropping, and people were starting to talk about him being too desperate for Regulus. Regulus could see the light dimming in James' eyes, and he felt a pang in his soul every time. The day that Regulus saw James Potter, of all people, about to skip quidditch practice, he knew something needed to be done.

He pulled James into the nearest empty classroom, leaving the curly haired boy stunned.

"Reg?" James questioned tentatively, "What's up?"

Regulus shook his head at James, not speaking, but grabbing James' red tie and pulling him down to kiss him. James made a muffled surprised noise as their lips connected, but he melted in all the same. They had both wanted this for so long, wanted each other— and now they finally had it.

James broke apart from the kiss first, his dark skin still clearly flushed. "I-Im confused Regulus," His eyes still wide in suprise, "I thought you didn't like me?" It was supposed to be a statement, but how James said it, he knew it was a question. Do you actually want this? Me? And the answer was yes. Regulus sighed in his usual fashion before looking up at James with resolute eyes.

"You're right, I did say that," He started and he watched as James deflated, ever so slightly, so he hurried to continue, "But I lied. I do. I've liked you for a while now. I was just keeping up pretenses."

James stared at Regulus in awe, halfway torn between wanting to cry and wanting to kiss him again. But regulus made the choice for him and kissed him once more.

[honeyynymphh]

La Principessa di Papa

Papa IV x Fem!Reader

rating: E

word count: 2k

tags: daddy papa kink, daddy papa dom, praise kink, fingering, dirty talk, cuddles, google translated italiano

summary: after days of being sick in bed, you’re feeling restless. But Papa is always there to look after his little principessa.

read on ao3

You’d been sick in bed for days now. This evening you were feeling much better—perhaps there was still a little bit of a sniffle. So, technically you could have returned to your duties.

However.

Papa’s bed was very comfortable and Sister Imperator had excused you for the rest of the week. Why would you wish to hurry back to your room and listen to Sister Natalie complain about whichever ghoul she was fucking this week? No, you did not want to listen to that—it would probably just bring on another headache. And your bed, while comfortable, was nowhere near as glorious as the one in Copia’s papal suite.

You snuggle further into the bed, a soft hum of contentment leaving your lips as you do so. The bed was warm and smelt of him—all warm spice and hints of leather. It was better than any medicine one of the nurses had tried to shove down your throat. You sighed as you buried your face into a plump pillow, inhaling as you did and revelling in the fact that you could finally breathe again.

Papa had been so busy lately but had still been so sweet the past few days; bringing you tea and soup when he could. Giving you little kisses on your forehead despite your (very half-hearted) protests that he would get sick. He had only chuckled in response and made an offhand comment about only humans getting sick. You had given him a quizzical look but he had merely winked that wicked eye of his at you and sat down at the small desk he had in his room.

Whenever he worked in his suite, he would don his reading glasses. He looked so handsome in them—so distinguished with them perching on the edge of his long nose. Lucifer, it certainly would be nice to have his nose—and his glorious mouth—between your legs right now. You knew he was self-conscious about the glasses (not that he would dare admit it) and so you always made a point to tell him how much you liked them. That and his grey temples. And you were sure he’d been working more in his suite instead of his office in order to keep an eye on you. You smile to yourself at the thought.

For most of the week, you have been so ill you could barely speak but now you were feeling a little restless. And the thought of his face between your legs was making you hot—and it was no fever.

You tossed in the bed and tried to get comfortable, pulling the blanket over your head as you do and pushing your legs against the mattress as you wriggle around again. Copia was again at his desk, he’d been there all evening—the small lamp on the desk was the only source of light. No wonder the old man needed glasses! But you weren’t to disturb him while he was working. You tossed again, thoughts still on his nose and mouth as you pressed your thighs together.

“Dolce, stop writhing around like a worm.”

You lift the blanket up and peek over at him. His face is set in that of concentration, the warm light casting a glow over his demonic visage. He’s wearing one of his old suits—the black one—though he’s ditched the gloves. He’s writing and doesn’t even glance at you. When he pauses to lift a page, you think he’s going to stop for the night but he merely sucks on his teeth in thought and then continues scribbling across the page—muttering something that sounds awfully like, “Terzo, quella spesa eccessiva idiota.”

You roll over again and grab one of the pillows to hug it against you. Maybe you should just tell him you felt better—but you’d been here for days and perhaps he was sick of you taking his bed. What if he kicked you out? He was a very private man and maybe he was tired of sharing his bed with a sick Sister. Though you were sure Papa would have said something, he wasn’t shy when it came to his demands.

But you were so utterly bored now that you felt fine. Bored and restless. And starting to get a little too hot just seeing him sitting over there with those damn glasses.

“Dolce,” comes a warning voice.

Flipping over again to face him, you pout but he still isn’t paying any attention to you. He’s too busy with whatever it is he is working on and so you just sigh and flip on your back to stare at the gilded ceiling. You sneak a glance at him again but he still is immersed in his work and ignores you.

You sigh again, a pathetic sorry sort of whine and you can’t help but smile when you hear the clink of his own being set down and his chair moving across the rug. Soon the sound of his muffled footsteps greets your ears as he comes towards you.

Closing your eyes quickly you pretend to be asleep. Maybe if he thinks you’re having a bad dream he will pay you some attention. You slow your breathing when you hear him approach the bed and try to keep your face as neutral as possible.

“Sleeping?” you hear him ask, a teasing edge to his voice. A hand touches your cheek and you try not to melt into it. “What a pity you’re asleep, principessa.”

A thrill runs down your spine at those words. He only calls you ‘principessa’ when he’s in a certain mood and you are more than willing to play along. You let your head loll to the side, as if in sleep, and feel the bed dip as he sits down next to you. You feel his lips on your forehead as he presses a kiss, lingering a moment as you try to keep your breath slow and even. His breath ghosts gently over your skin as you are enveloped in the scent of him—he must have been drinking whisky at his desk as you can smell it on him. Your sex throbs at the heat and smell of him surrounding you but you focus on pretending to be asleep.

When he leans back you feel the bed shift a little as one of his hands creeps under the blanket reaching for your thigh. You’ve been sleeping in one of his buttoned poet shirts—the silky fabric feeling so glorious against your bare skin, but it feels even better when he pushes it up so his fingers can slowly rub you over your panties. You can’t help but let out a little soft moan but you keep your eyes closed as his fingers keep softly stroking you through the fabric.

You hear Copia breathe out a pleased hum as he pushes your panties to the side so a finger can slide through your wet folds. It’s enough to make you stop pretending and flutter your eyes open.

“Papa?”

His face is above yours, glasses still perched on the end of his nose as a knowing little smile plays on that devilish face. “Feeling better, principessa?”

“A little…” you say, breath hitching as his thumb slowly circles your clit.

“Only a little?” He withdraws his hand. “Maybe Papa should check you all over first, hmm?”

He pulls the blanket down until it’s bunching around your knees. It’s warm in the room but you have been so cosy in bed that it feels cold, you shiver. A hand is against your forehead and you stare up at him.

“You are not hot anymore, that’s good.” His hand touches your neck, fingers gliding down your throat. “Is your throat still sore?”

You shake your head. “No, Papa.”

“Buono.”

You lie there, entirely on edge as he keeps smoothing his large hands over you, occasionally asking how you feel. Is your tummy okay? Is your head feeling better? You relax a little until his fingers begging toying with the waistband of your panties. Your body tenses in anticipation and glance at him.

“What about here, principessa?” he asks, those eyes of his watching you carefully.

“It’s a little achy, Papa,” you murmur, hands fisting the blanket as he runs his thumb along the frilly little waistband.

He gives you a smile and tugs at the elastic. “Up,” he commands softly and you lift your hips so he can pull your panties down and off. “Brava ragazza.”

You try not to squirm when his hands push at your thighs, making you open your legs wide for him, but you can’t help the little noise that escapes you. He moves more firmly onto the bed so your foot closest to the edge is in his lap while the other is behind him as he bends your legs to get closer. You’re completely open to him and he’s staring down at your bared sex with an air of tenderness.

“Your pussy is very pink, principessa, have you been having naughty thoughts?” When his hands move up your inner thigh to spread your slick folds open for him you moan. He merely chuckles. “You have, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Is it very achy, principessa?” There is pressure on your clit again and you hum in response. It’s both a blessing and a curse as it only makes the tension of arousal tighten in your stomach. “Does that feel good?”

A finger slides into your wet pussy while his thumb continues to rub your swollen clit in agonisingly slow circles. You whimper, hands scrabbling to grip the blankets as your body tenses further. A second finger joins the first and you moan out his name while he slowly pumps them into you. His movements are steady and when he curls his fingers deep to tickle that delicious spot within you it has you panting and staring wide-eyed up at him.

“Hmm, la mia piccola principessa?”

You just nod unable to form anything coherent as your walls clamp down in his fingers. It feels so damn good after so many days of feeling utterly awful—your mind too full of delightful pleasure that you can’t think at all.

“Do you like how Papa makes you feel?” he asks again, voice far too calm as you pant and mewl, hips thrusting against his fingers—desperately trying to get more friction as you feel your release nearing closer. “You have to tell Papa or he won’t know how to help his little girl.”

“Yes, Papa,” you say quickly, words tumbling out in one short breath.

He smiles at you affectionately and you can’t help the way you flutter around his fingers. “Good girl,” he coos, thumb now rubbing insistent circles on your clit as his fingers continue to bring you close to the edge. He pressed harder and you cry out a string of unintelligible pleading. “Are you going to come for Papa, principessa?”

You merely nod, brow furrowing as you feel you abdomen tense as your release nears its peak. Copia continues to pleasure you, fingers dancing within you until you finally break—sobbing out your orgasm as you come all over his hand. He doesn’t stop, he merely slows his ministrations—his thumb gently swiping over your swollen clit and making your hips buck.

“Such a good girl for your Papa, principessa.” He leans forward and plants a soft kiss against your temple. “That feels better, doesn’t it?”

Nodding as he removes his hand from between your legs, you sigh in relieved bliss. You feel so tired now, perhaps you were still a little unwell if a single orgasm had you feeling this exhausted. The bed shifts and you close your eyes, murmuring a sleepy, “thank you, Papa,” as you feel him stand. You feel his hands on you again, gripping the shirt you wear and tugging it up. Lazily you lift your arms and sit up a little so he can pull it over your head before you flop back down into the soft mattress. There’s some more rustling of fabric and then the other side of the bed dips and you feel Copia slide in next you. His hands pull you to him so that your head is against his bare chest and you press your face against him.

A contented sigh escapes your lips and you breathe him in. The hairs of his chest tickle your nose but you don’t mind, it’s nice hearing the steady beat of his heart underneath your cheek. One hand is tracing patterns against your skin while the other is in your hair, fingers gently massaging your scalp. He places a kiss on the top of your head.

“Principessa?” you feel the rumble of his voice as he speaks.

“Yes, Papa?”

“Try not to wriggle too much.” He kisses your head again. “Or I’ll give you a reason for your throat to be sore again.”

*quella spesa eccessiva idiota - that overspend idiot

*la mia piccola principessa - my little princess

[iceandironbars]

WinterBones Snippets #3

Sad WinterBones for sad trasheads, short lil ficlets diving deep into the can of worms that is Bucky Barnes' brain ✨

'I dunno. I'm just... Not happy. Don't think I will be anytime soon.' He says to the light grey boring ass carpet, sitting opposite of his therapist's desk with his arms crossed.

'Well, what is it you think would make you happy?' She asks with a lifted eyebrow.

His brows knit together tightly, thinking, trying to come up with something that might resemble the truth without giving reason for concern. Sam told him being honest in therapy was essential for making progress. But he just can't-

'Maybe... Purpose or somethin.' He tries, looking up at her carefully.

'Purpose is a big word, with even more meaning. What could that purpose be now that you're free?' She questions him with a curious look, writing something on her notepad.

He swallows and wishes he hadn't said anything. He definitely can't be honest about that.

Almost a minute passes-

'47 seconds' the Soldier adds in his head. 'The asset is to answer immediately-'

No. He shakes his head lightly when his therapist clears her throat and pulls him out of his head.

'You go on missions with Sam occasionally, isn't that something you could label under purpose? Saving people?'

She is trying to help him and he has tried to see it like that before but...

'All that ever feels like is making up for the crimes I've committed in the past. It's not... I mean-' he stutters, kneading his hands in frustration and anxiety.

'Maybe something you do for yourself? A hobby? Maybe you could find some volunteer work around the city or join a club of sorts?'

He groans and has to physically stifle the urge to roll his eyes. Something for himself... She wouldn't understand that such a thing will never again feel like purpose to him.

Running a hand through his now short hair he sighs heavily and leans back, slouching in defeat.

'I wouldn't even know what to do.'

'Is there something you like doing?'

'The asset is to maintain his equipment and weapons to perfection. Clean, sharpen, polish-'

NO.

He grinds his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut.

'Командир would not hesitate to give me a task, a purposeful task, a mission. I could serve-'

James stands up and starts pacing around, trying to shut the dark corner of his brain up. He can't have those thoughts anymore, it's not allowed. It's not good.

'James. I can see something bothers you. May I ask what's on your mind?' His therapist asks with a calm voice, putting her notepad onto her desk.

'I... No. It's not good.'

'Who says your thoughts are not good?'

'You. You wouldn't approve of them.'

'Would you let me be the judge of that myself?'

'I KNOW you wouldn't. You're not the first shrink I've had to talk to.' His pacing becomes more agitated, he's walking in circles, thinking in circles.

'Okay... Is there anything you need right now?'

Need...

Командир.

I need my Commander.

I need- Maintenance required.

Malfunction.

'I- I wanna leave.' He almost whispers through gritted teeth. His therapist just nods, the disappointment clear on her face.

Every step to his apartment feels like a

Malfunction

Every though he has, every feeling-

MalfunctionMalfunctionMalfunctio-

When his apartment door closes behind him he collapses onto his knees and violent sobs bubble up his throat. He punches the ground, the wooden floor boards creaking and bending.

'Командир... Fuck- please...'

His sobs turn into loud cries, then into screams he muffles with his hoodie.

The hoodie no one may ever know where he got it, who it belonged to.

What... Who would make him happy, he thinks bitterly, is long dead.

Gone forever.

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