#knuckles: what do you mean? my familys right here

[rival-ado]

little knuckles with chao

[entitled-fangirl]

Tradition.

Cregan Stark x Pregnant!reader

Summary: the reader and Cregan go to King's Landing to support her nephew, Luke's, Velaryon claim. She goes into early labor away from the North.

Warnings: Aegon is his own warning, body shaming, talks of brothels and stuff, labor, blood, death, fighting, all that stuff.

A/n: Based on an ask! I'll proofread later 😭

Masterlist

.......................................................

Cregan held out his hand to help his very pregnant wife out of the carriage. 

He absolutely hated riding by carriage. It seemed pointless when you could ride a horse instead. But when summoned to King's Landing by King Viserys with his Targaryen wife to join the rest of her family, he had to guarantee her safety on the travel by any means necessary.

Alicent's face lit up at the sight of her daughter, practically running over Cregan to get to her. She embraced the pregnant woman tightly, "Oh, my love! How you've changed!" 

Y/n hugged her mother back just as firmly with a smile, "I've missed you, mother."

Alicent pulled away and admired her grown girl, "King's Landing is better with you here." Only then did Alicent notice Cregan, "Oh. Lord Stark."

Cregan bowed his head politely, "My queen."

"Cregan has been eager to see King's Landing again," Y/n chirped in, "He has only been a few times."

Alicent's brows lifted, "Really? I wouldn't have thought that."

He nodded, "I could've been patient enough to wait until after the birth, but alas, when the King calls, you answer."

Alicent gave a forced smile, "Right. Of course. The birth." She looked to her daughter, "How far along are you, my dear?"

"Nearing eight moons now," she said nervously with a hand on her swollen stomach.

Alicent didn't miss the equally nervous and protective look in Cregan's eyes.

…

Dinner that night was beyond tense. 

What was joy for Viserys was misery for everyone else.

Watching the king decay at the table and the rest of them squabble over trivial matters that seemed of great importance.

"A toast to the young princes and their betrothed."

Aegon leaned over to his nephew Jace, "Well done, Jace. You'll finally get to lie with a woman."

A glare was sent his way by Jace and Baela.

Y/n caught on and quickly looked to Aemond, who sipped his wine with no reaction.

"You do know how the act is done, I assume?" Aegon continued. "At least, in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?"

Jace's jaw clenched, "You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed."

"Aegon." Y/n hissed through her teeth across the table.

His head immediately snapped to his sister in annoyance, "What?"

"Let it alone."

He scoffed lightly, "What do you mean? I'm only asking." He gained a grin, "It's not like I have to ask Lord Stark that. Look at the state of you!" He gestured to her swollen belly.

Cregan's grip on his fork tightened, turning his knuckles white. 

She placed a hand over her stomach and grimaced, "At least I was able to find a husband that wanted me. Mother had to force you to marry the only girl around, and that was Helaena."

Aegon gave an incredible glare, one that his sibling shot back.

Aemond became amused.

"Let us not fight at the table," Alicent reprimanded lightly.

Y/n looked to Jace, who gave a small nod of gratitude.

Silence filled the room until the King's long monologue of the need for peace in the house. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent gave small and seemingly back-handed toasts but Y/n was too set on the continuous mischievous look in her brother's eye.

And she called it right when he stood and moved to whisper in Baela's ear.

It was clear that it was muttered with the intention of riling up Jace, which it did quite well.

He stood up in anger, slamming his fist on the table.

Cregan, who had remained entirely silent thus far, instinctually moved a hand across his wife as if shielding her and the child.

The tense toasts only got worse from there.

Luckily, the music seemed to drown out the intensity, as well as Jace's good gesture of faith in dancing with Helaena. 

Y/n leaned over to Aemond, "Brother."

His brow raised as his eye traveled to look at her.

"It has been… long since I've seen you. I see you've faired quite well."

He hummed lightly, "I see you've… managed."

She could feel Cregan's intense gaze from behind her, "Wh…what do you mean?"

Aemond smirked and leaned in to where only the two Starks could hear him, "Inpregnanted by a brute-"

Cregan's jaw clenched so hard he feared for his teeth. His voice was a hushed whisper, but still held furiously to it, "Watch your words."

Y/n held Cregan's shoulder, "Let us not do this here."

Aemond smirked with Cregan sighed and leaned back in his chair.

When Viserys was escorted from the room due to his pain, Y/n decided to leave as well, and Cregan behind her.

They claimed a pregnancy illness and Rhaenyra smirked, knowing she'd used the same card many times.

…

Cregan helped her into bed, "I don't understand their need to crawl under everyone's skin like beetles."

She sighed, "They've never known life outside of a castle, Cregan. They've never been told no, and they never will. It's best to let it go."

"They mock us both. My name has been through dirt, blood, and tears, and I do not care, but yours?" He scoffed, "I will not stand by the next time you are mocked."

"It is only for a little while longer," she rebutted.

"Know that I do this for you, and only you, my love."

She smiled, "That's all I ask."

…

"The north has done a number on you, really," Aegon said as he appeared at her side.

She tilted her head, "I don't know what you mean."

He shrugged, "You're…" he then gestured his arms widely. "I dunno… well indulged?"

She pushed down the tears that welled up in her eyes, "Why do you care?"

He scoffed and leaned in towards her, "You know how many friends of mine asked for whores that looked like you? Many."

"And?"

"And?" He asked mockingly. "And? Who wants to fuck a whore that looks like you now?"

Her jaw went slack for a moment, completely shocked by his words. 

Finally, with now watery eyes, she spoke. "You're the worst kind of man, Aegon."

"Oh? And what kind is that?"

A sudden punch came from nowhere, landing on Aegon's jaw and sending him to the ground. 

Cregan stood over the man's body, a predatory look in his eyes and a murderous tone in his voice, "One that can't defend his fucking words."

Y/n pulled Cregan back, "Stop!"

He wanted to fight against her, but he knew better. His shoulders rolled back and he stood tall. 

She cursed under her breath as she took in exactly what had unfolded, "They could have your head for this, Cregan."

"Only if your brother wishes to defend his words against me again," Cregan scoffs as he looks down at the man.

Aegon sits up and huffs, wiping his nose that begins to leak blood. "Northern brute-"

"-Aegon!" She reprimands. 

Cregan glared at Aegon for a while, then scoffed and walked off a few steps to calm himself.

Aegon stands on shaky legs as he glares at his sister, "I liked you better when you lacked a guard dog."

Cregan immediately turned back to the man with a look that said he was ready to murder him. As he stepped forward, Aegon stepped back as he began to regret his words.

"Take me to our chambers, Cregan," she lightly pleaded. 

The wolf of the north only stared for a while before nodding, "Lead the way."

She sighed as she gave a final look to her brother. "Clean yourself up. You look like shit."

…

Standing behind Rhaenyra, Y/n and Cregan whispered idly to Daemon when someone would comment something out of hand. 

Luke's legitimacy was coming into question, and though the Starks knew the truth, they would not dare pry the inheritance from the boy's hands. That was not their place. So next to Daemon they stood as petitions were made to and against him.

Daemon leaned in to speak to Y/n, "how far along did you say you were?"

"Eight moons now," she whispered back.

Daemon let out a surprised grunt. "You're to have the child here then? That seems unlike you."

"Uncle, my father insisted I come, and I have. Whether the child is born in the North or the South, it is a Targaryen and Stark all the same."

He smiled lightly, "I suppose you're right. If you wish for someone to accompany Lord Stark to the dragon pit to choose a proper egg for the child, only say the word."

Cregan, who had been listening quietly, now leaned in, "I am to choose an egg?"

"It is tradition," she explained. "It can be before, during, or after the birth, but the father chooses the egg. If… If you would wish to continue that tradition."

He grinned, "I'd be delighted to try."

When Vaemond Valaryon stepped up forward to speak his mind, the Starks quieted. 

He spoke in anger, trying to take Luke's right. 

Y/n looked past him to her mother and siblings. 

Aegon looked like he'd rather be doing anything else. He didn't care the outcome of this ordeal. Aemond watched intensely with his one eye, taking in every detail. And Helaena… sweet Helaena. 

She needed to visit her and the children soon.

"And her children are…" Vaemond paused.

The room stilled.

"Say it," Daemon whispered under his breath.

"Her children are BASTARDS!" He screamed.

Y/n jumped back in surprise as Cregan's steady hands caught her waist.

"And she. Is. a. Whore." Vaemond finished.

The air in the room stilled and became stuffy as the tension reached an all time high.

Viserys stood on unstable legs as he unsheathed his dagger, "I will have… your tongue for this."

A sudden slice moved through the air, and half of Vaemond's head was gone.

Blood splattered across the ones' nearest, meaning the Starks. Cregan let out an annoyed grunt.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon said proudly as he lowered his sword.

Y/n rested a hand over her swollen stomach with a shaky hand, trying to ignore the blood that began to seep into her clothes. 

Cregan leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Are you alright?"

"I… I want to go," she shuddered back.

He nodded, looking around as the crowd began to whisper amongst themselves. He held a hand firmly against her back as she became to let out an uncomfortable whine.

"Cregan, please," she whispered.

"Alright. Alright, let's go, my love," he said as he tried to move her through the crowd.

But her legs faltered as she let out a pained noise.

He caught her in panic, "Are you in pain?"

"The babe…"

No longer caring for proper manners, Cregan stood tall and looked over the crowd. "MOVE!" He yelled out.

The people quieted and moved as Cregan helped his wife through the room and out of the doors.

Alicent only saw a brief glimpse of her daughter's silver hair go through the doors, and she was on edge. She ran through the crowd to follow behind them.

He held onto his wife's arm with one hand and held her waist with the other, trying to support her as they moved to their chambers.

Y/n let out a gasp, and her water broke.

Alicent caught up to them and grabbed her daughter's other arm. "It's alright. You're alright." She turned to a servant and ordered him to get the maester. 

Sweat began to break out of the poor woman's forehead as the weight of what is happening began to settle. 

Once on her bed, Cregan refused to move from her side, Alicent as well. Alicent rubbed soothingly across her daughter's forehead as Cregan paced at the foot of the bed.

The maester and midwives came quickly, immediately moving to the woman in labor.

"My lord, it is best if you remain outside," one of them said.

Cregan's brows furrowed in confusion. "Out… Outside?"

Alicent chipped in, "It is tradition. The husband waits outside of the doors."

He stared at Y/n in thought. Tradition. How that word weighed on them like boulders. 

"Alright."

…

He tried to ignore the sounds of her cries as he stood in the corridor. 

Nothing could ease his worries. 

In the North, it was not uncommon to be by their wife's side. 

This was unusual to him.

"My lord," a midwife questioned as she poked her head from the room.

His eyes widened, "Is she alright?"

"The child is… having trouble, my lord."

That was Cregan's greatest fear. The maester in Winterfell had spent endless hours with Cregan to determine a plan for if such a thing were to occur. Now he was without a plan entirely.

"Alright?" He finally breathed.

"What do you wish for us to do?"

"What options do I have?" He spoke barely above a whisper.

The midwife gave him an empathetic look. "We can cut the child out-"

"-No." He was quick with his answer, the very thought of taking a blade to her seeming the greatest sin he could commit.

"Um… it will be painful, but we can help her force the child out."

"Is that safe for her?"

The midwife shrugged lightly, "More than any other option I can give you."

He nodded.

She gave a weak smile and moved back into the room, but Cregan caught the door before it closed and forced his way in.

At the sight of his wife, he felt as if a blade went into his own stomach.

She was crying in pain, the midwives forcing her hips down as she tried to move away from the pain, as if that was possible.

At the sight of him, her entire face relaxed, "Cregan…"

He moved to her side, "I'm here. How can I help?"

Alicent glared slightly at him. 

"They won't… I can't…" Y/n whimpered out.

"They won't what?" He looked up to Alicent, "What are they doing?"

"She wishes to get up. We cannot have her standing," she explained.

Cregan was thrown off by that. "She cannot? W… Why ever not?" When in labor with him, Cregan's mother was said to have walked the length of Winterfell 3x over. 

"It hurts… please, Cregan…" 

He nodded as his expression hardened. "Let her stand."

The maester shook his head, "She is nearing the labor. She should not-"

"-She wishes to stand. She will stand."

Alicent spoke up. "Lord Stark-"

"-This is my wife and child. If she wishes to walk, then she will," he barked. 

A fire lit behind the queen's eyes. "She will not."

The midwives watched the tension grow.

Finally, Cregan calmly reached down and began to help his wife sit up.

Alicent cursed under her breath and grabbed Cregan's wrist in an effort to stop him.

Cregan's eyes slowly moved up to Alicent's face as anger began to overcome him. 

But she was first to speak. "You are no longer in the North. You abide by our traditions when you are here."

He'd heard enough of that word for a lifetime. 

His words came out sharper than he intended, but he cared little to soften them. "Your family is made of vipers and cutthroats. When I take my wife and child back to Winterfell, it will truly be a miracle if you ever see them again, for I will not let her sit and be neglected and tormented. I am a brute, but I am not without heart. Now, Let. Go."

Alicent reluctantly let go.

Cregan helped Y/n sit, and she immediately felt relief. "I want to walk," she panted.

He nodded, practically holding her up as she stood. "We will walk the corridor and return." His voice had no room for argument.

Once they paced the corridor a few times, she was returned to the bed, only to find that Alicent had left. Cregan only cared about it when he noticed the tinge of sadness that moved over his laboring wife.

But he was quick to fill the gap. As she moved back to the bed, Cregan sat behind her and held her against his chest, messaging anywhere that began to ache.

The labor came soon after that. Cregan held her close as she screamed in pain and gripped his wrists. She surely left bruises.

"The babe is crowning, princess," the midwife exclaimed. "Keep pushing."

The pain came in waves that made her see white. 

Cregan began to panic when the midwives gave one another a look. "What?"

"She is not pushing hard enough."

Y/n began to cry in frustration.

"She is pushing," Cregan sighed. "What else is there to do?"

One of them reached up and began to push on her stomach, prompting the princess to cry harder as the pain multiplied. 

"Allow me," Cregan shifted her in his hold and carefully placed his hands where the midwife had, slowly applying pressure to the same place.

As Y/n screamed and cried, Cregan placed assuring kisses against her neck and cheek and whispered calming words to her. "You're doing well."

If the pain had not been so bad, she may have blushed.

…

Cregan held the baby close to his chest as his wife slept.

"My lord," a servant finally entered and interrupted the silence. "The queen has requested to see the child."

An annoyed feeling washed over the man. Of course, she wished to. 

The servant took note of his changed demeanor, "I can take-"

"-No," he countered. "I will go myself. Should my wife awaken in my absence, give her anything she desires."

His heavy feet stormed from the room and he walked to the queen's chambers.

Alicent turned and shock overcame her. "Lord Stark. I did not expect you to-"

"-Neither did I."

The two stared at one another for a moment before Alicent's eyes wandered to the bundle in the large lord's arms. "Healthy?"

"The very picture."

She nodded, unsure of what to say next.

"A boy," Cregan stated.

"A boy?" Alicent whispered. Any thoughts of annoyance were past to her, and she walked to the lord and eagerly looked at the child.

The baby was indeed the picture of health. Bright purple eyes looked up at the two. Dark hair sat atop his head.

"He's quite northern," she stated.

"Indeed." Cregan was sure she meant it as an insult, but he could care less. The thought of such a gift as a northern boy filled him with pride. 

"Congratulations, Lord Stark."

He nodded. "Your daughter is fine as well."

Alicent moved away from Cregan and sat down. "That is a blessing. To all of us. She will be a perfect mother."

"Aye, she will."

The tension between the two was evident, but they wouldn't let it dull the excitement of the newest addition to the line.

"I should return to my wife."

"Please, do."

Cregan moved to the door.

"Lord Stark?" She asked.

"Yes?"

Alicent stared at him and then the babe. "Thank you. For caring for her. And now him. You are a better man than most."

Cregan sighed. It wasn't a compliment, but it was something. "Thank you, my queen. She will want for nothing until my dying breath."

"This is all I wished for her."

......................................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver

[lqvesoph]

She’s WHOSE daughter??? || LN4

lando norris x webber!reader

summary: Quali day in Melbourne also means some secrets are being spilled…

part 1 | part 2 | part 4 | part 5

masterlist | taglist

Part 3

The flight to Melbourne was only about three hours. Three hours that Daniel spent sleeping while Lando and you talked about god and the world.

He told you a lot about his family, his parents and siblings and his two little nieces. Your heart swelled a little at the pictures of him holding the two girls on vacation last summer.

You glanced over at Daniel and then turned your gaze to the British boy next to you.

"So, I was thinking-"

"So, about today morning-"

The two of you started at the same time, chuckling and looking down. "You go first", you quickly said, wanting to hear what Lando had to say first.

"About this morning, I… I really like you. I feel like I know you, which is pretty strange considering the fact we haven’t known each other that long. But I wanna get to know you more because… I really like you", he spoke, shyly glancing at you, only to find you smiling at him.

"I would love that, Lando", you smiled, reaching to grab his hand and interwind your fingers. "Can we please keep it low when people are around though? Because I really need to tell Oscar first before he finds out from stupid gossip pages and I don’t think his home race is the place to tell him that I’m dating his teammate", you chuckled at the last sentence.

Lando nodded in understanding and pulled your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles lightly. "That’s totally fine by me", he smiled, dropping your interlaced hands back into your lap.

*~*~*~*~*~*

"What on earth are you doing here??", your best friend called when he spotted you lingering in the back of the Mclaren garage. He quickly signaled his engineer that he’d be back shortly before walking over to you.

"You’re not even wearing any sort of Red Bull colour", Oscar stated after he looked you over once, mustering the white summer dress and lack of Red Bull hat.

"C’mon, I can’t go ‘round parading Red Bull as an Australian at the Australian Grand Prix, especially not when my best friend who’s also Australian drives for a different team", you chuckled, your eyes finding Lando’s for a second who still stood in front of the computer, looking at data along with his engineer. He sent you one of his adorable little smiles before shifting his attention back to work.

"I think this is honestly the first time you’ve ever stood inside here for more than 5 seconds and without me forcing you", Oscar chuckled.

Before Oscar could drag you to his side of the garage, Lando showed up behind him, a wide grin on his face.

"And who do we have here, Red Bull’s princess in papaya", he smirked. Your smile immediately brightening at the sound of his voice. "Well we’re not as far as me actually being IN papaya, I’m colour neutral today", you replied, making Lando raise his eyebrows before pulling his Mclaren hat off and pushing it down on your hair in a quick motion.

"Heyy!", you protested with a giggle and tried to slap his arm away. "That looks way better, wouldn’t you say Oscar?", the brit laughed and turned to his teammate, whose invisible question mark was getting bigger and bigger.

Thankfully his race engineer called him back before he could pose any of his million questions. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t still keep his eyes on the two of you, catching the gentle squeeze Lando gave your hand, that held on longer than necessary.

📍Melbourne, Australia

tagged: landonorris, oscarpiastri, danielricciardo, ybsf

yn.adams: Feels great to be back in Australia and especially at Albert Park!! Quali up next🏎️

comments:

landonorris: Loads of papaya right here🧡

> landonorris: Even a papaya sunset🤭

> fan: How did he convert her over to McLaren???

> fan: That d must me hella good if she’s willing to change teams…

oscarpiastri: How am I only posted once???

> fan: Oscar asking the important questions!!

> fan: Fr tho how did she post Lando 3x??

danielricciardo: I’m sorry, is that papaya I see there??

kellypiquet: You look absolutely gorgeous!!

> yn.adams: Luv uuuu

ybsf: THE BEACH PICTURE!!

liked by landonorris

fan: That’s a lot of papaya for you, miss🤨

fan: Posting Lando 3x in one post…

fan: Daniel with the truck LMAOOO

fan: Not a single photo from the Red Bull/RB garange🫣

> fan: Lando be turning her into a Mclaren fan

load more comments…

*~**~*

Your heart swelled with pride when you saw Lando jump up to P4 on the leader board, your smile just slightly getting bigger. You clapped your hands a few times, celebrating Max’s pole with the other crew members but secretly also Lando’s good starting position for the race tomorrow.

You quietly hushed out of the garage to walk down the paddock to Mclaren, waiting for Lando to arrive.

"Heyy!", he called with a laugh. You giggled and opened your arms for him. His curls were slightly damp from the sweat but you pushed your fingers through them anyway as his arms wrapped around your waist.

"I’m proud of you!", you muttered for only him to hear and felt him smile and squeezed your hip. "Thank you", he smiled and pulled back.

"You wanna come inside?", Lando then asked, nodding towards the papaya hospitality. You hesitated for a second but nodded and resisted the urge to grab the driver’s hand.

He smiled for a few pictures and waved at fans before opening the door for you.

"Lando, debrief is at 6", Jon reminded Lando before said boy grabbed your hand and dragged you towards his driver room.

He pushed the door shut behind you and unzipped his orange race suit, the black fireproof coming to show.

"These are so hot", you muttered, letting your intrusive thoughts take over as you trailed your fingers along his chest. Lando chuckled and pulled you closer by the waist. "You wanna take ‘em off?", he joked teasingly but the glint in his eyes told you he really wouldn’t mind if you did.

You chuckled and pulled his lips on yours, his tongue finding its way into your mouth shortly after. Lando pushed you back until the back of your knees hit the couch and he let you down on his carefully, all while letting his hands roam up and down your body.

You whined when he sucked the gentle skin on your neck, his hand coming to rest on the back of your thigh. You put your hands on either side of his face and pulled him back up so your lips could touch again.

"Lando, have you seen- oh wow, that’s why you didn’t come to congratulate me!"

The door opened, making you push Lando away from you and scrambling up to sit straight on the couch.

Oscar stood in the doorway, putting his hands on his hips. "Respect, mate. I didn’t think you’d be brave enough", he said, turning his gaze to Lando.

You squeezed your eyes shut, praying that your best friend would keep his mouth shut.

"Huh?", Lando asked, a confused expression gracing his face. "Just because Mark has always been against his daughter dating drivers, I mean I tried when I first met her but respect mate", Oscar kept talking, now crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Mark?", Lando questioned, his confusion growing as the seconds passed. You silently begged Oscar to finally quit talking but he didn’t catch on.

"Mark, her dad? Mark Webber", Oscar explained, now confused as well.

"Your dad is Mark Webber?", Lando called, turning his head to you.

Just then your phone chimed with a new message.

dad: What’s going on with you and Lando?

taglist

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[taehyungsgrowl]

i missed u - myg x reader

ex boyfriend yoongi...

lately @desertsunflower00 and i have not been able to shut up about an ex boyfriend!yoongi au so here i am trying to bring it to life :')

please be nice! i haven't written (for fun!) in about a year, but it's been encouraged by my therapist so here we are!

not proofread!

pairings: yoongi x y/n

warnings: feelings + avoiding feelings, exes, angst, smut (sex, making out, dry humping, hickies, unprotected sex, light exhibitionism (sorta?)

word count: 3,000

(also noteworthy: when I started this I didn't think it would be angsty, but it got away from me lol. definitely have an alternate ending in my drafts w a not as happy ending lol but I did my best to give these idiots hope in this one)

Yoongi noticed the goosebumps on your arm caused by the cool air blowing from his car. Without a second thought he adjusted the temperature to make it more comfortable for you.

He also noticed the way your eyes glanced from his face, to the hands gripping the steering wheel, and the back up to his face. With that he couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face.

That was the thing about Yoongi. He noticed everything about you. Even after breaking up with him he wasn't able to erase the way he responded to you - or the way he knew you.

You sighed, forcing your eyes off of him and back on the road ahead of you. The pink sky was slowly deepening into dark shades of indigo and violet. Your heart squeezed in your chest thinking of the way things had happened with Yoongi.

"I thought I was supposed to be the quiet one," he looked over at you, soft smile on his face. Your leg continued to bounce in nervousness.

"I'm just thinking," you hope that would satisfy him enough, but just as well of Yoongi knew you - you knew him.

You knew Yoongi probably better than you knew anyone else. Yourself included some may argue.

"Hm," he hummed unimpressed with your response. "Do you want me to take you back home? If you don't want to -"

"No!" you cut him off, looking back over at him. "I want this. I missed you," you admitted. You felt your face warm and you hoped Yoongi didn't notice the nervousness coming from you.

But of course he did.

His eyes met yours for what felt like an entire minute. A million things unsaid in his gaze.

A million things you weren't sure if you were ready to hear.

But he knew that.

Instead of saying all the things he wished he could, he let out a breath he had been holding and steered the car in a different direction.

You knew the way to his house - which is where you thought you were headed - but this wasn't it.

"Where are we going?" you question, watching the tall trees as you pass by.

"We need to talk - really talk," he looked at you when he emphasized the words, "and I can't do that if I'm driving so," he points his chin forward, showing you were approaching the lake nearby. "We're making a pit stop," he smiled your favorite smile. The smile that made his eyes crinkle and his gums show proudly.

He stopped the car after parking it to perfectly face the waterfront. The remaining sun shimmered off the water. Families at the playground were packing up their things and loading their kids in minivans.

"Really talk?" you shift in your seat to face him. "What does that mean?"

"Well," he slowly reached forward and used the knuckle of his index to lift your chin to meet his deep gaze. "When you texted me earlier and said you missed me and wanted to see me..." he let the question hang in the air for a moment, taking in every detail of your face.

"What did that mean?" he finished his sentence.

Was he regretting this? You shouldn't have reached out. Maybe you should have listened to the little voice in your head - he didn't want the same thing you did.

"I do miss you and I wanted to see you." you scanned his face for any sign that he didn't actually want this as much as you.

"Right," he nodded, "But since you got in my car you've acted like I'm some stranger," he chuckled, "It's just me, Y/N."

"Did you miss me?" the question leaves your lips before you can even think to stop it.

"I don't think I'll ever stop." he spoke the words with such reverent force it makes your heart still for a second.

It's your turn to nod - agreeing with all the unspoken words between you.

With as small as the interior of his car is, you still feel him too far away. He's less than a foot away and yet the small distance feels miles long.

"I don't think much has changed," you admit - your mind racing at all the possibilities if you were to try again with Yoongi. Would it even work? Why was your mind already there? You were here with him now. Just... catching up.

"Well, my hairs gotten longer," he joked trying to ease you. He tugs at his new length. His dark looked so inviting at this length. You fought the urge to reach across and card your fingers through it.

Thick dark hair, slightly curing inward at the nape of his neck. It was probably long enough to pull up into a little bun if he wanted.

"I like it," and the urge won - your hand reaches over and caress his locks.

Yoongi halts - letting you touch him. It was the first time you've touched him since you walked away from him over a month ago.

Had it only been a month? Being without him for that long had felt so much longer.

Yoongi grabbed your wrist before you can pull your hand away from him and brings it up to his lips, softly kissing your knuckles.

"You know we don't have to have any answers right now..." he slowly lowered your hand, but continued to hold it - intertwining his fingers with yours. That brought back so many memories.

Locking hands under blankets during movie nights. Secret hand holding under dinner tables. His hand firmly guiding you through crowded streets.

His hands intertwined with yours while his face was buried between your legs.

"I just mean..." his thumb rubbed over the back of your hand in the most soothing pattern, "Let's take it one step at a time okay. This doesn't have to mean anything you don't want it to mean."

"Okay," you sigh trying to relax against his leather seat. It was what you wanted to hear, right? It didn't have to mean anything. It could just be.

It could just be you and him.

No expectations. No promises. Just now.

You let out a deep breath again, looking down at his hand holding yours.

"Does that mean we can go to your place now. To do something other than talk..."

That makes him fill the car with the sweet sound of his laughter. Low, raspy, laughter that sends a message right to your core.

You can't help but adoringly roll your eyes at his response. That eye roll made him know you felt more comfortable than when he picked you up. He could almost feel the bleak tension dissolve and be replaced with a different type of tension.

The type of tension that made him stir in his seat.

Yoongi reaches over to cup your face, pulling you in closer. Gently closing the space between you both. Seconds before he presses his lips to yours, his eyes look into yours again wanting to give you all the answers you wanted.

And with that, his pink lips pressed against yours. Gently at first. Testing the waters, kissing you so softly it almost pained you.

And then he does it again, but this time with so much more force. His kiss makes you gasp against his mouth - his lips taking claim over yours. His silky tongue traced your lips until your tongue met his.

All too soon he pulled away. His cheeks were stained pink and his lips were puffy from the force of your kiss. Yoongi's eyes held a devilish glint in them as he pulled back - knowing he left you wanting more.

"I don't think I can make it all the way back home now," he glanced down at the hardening bulge in his black jeans. You could barely make it out now that the sun had set.

The street lamp beside Yoongi's car set a soft glow to everything. The deep waters now a deep shade of black, reflected back the moons radiance.

You glanced around the lake and take in the stillness of it all. The quiet chirp of crickets somewhere in the grassy sedges. The low hum of Yoongi's engine. His soft breath fanning your face. His fingertips tenderly brushing over your lips.

You placed your hand on his crotch feeling him hardening under his jeans.

"Yoongi," your voice came out whiner than you expected. It was also the first time he heard you call his name since things ended. That did something to him he didn't quite know how to describe. But he swore he felt his heart (and his cock) grow three times in size.

"I want you so bad." The soft lighting pouring into the car made his smooth skin appear even clearer and glassier. You wanted to press your lips all over his face. Cover him in berry stained lipstick marks.

He nodded his head slightly pulling away from you to be able to shift the car into reverse. Before he could place his hand on the gear, you wrapped yours around his wrist, shaking your head 'no.'

"Here," you bit your lower lip, glancing out at the empty lake. "No one's here. No one's gonna see us," you urge, bringing his hand to your thigh.

Before he can say another word, you press your lips to his, mumbling an almost incoherent, "I can't wait," against his mouth.

"Fuck," Yoongi groaned into the kiss. "Want you too, baby."

Yoongi doesn't mean for the word to slip out, but it does.

It is messy and a little clumsy - much like how your relationship had been. But it's also what makes you and Yoongi so special to each other. There was no need for pretenses of perfection.

He scooted his seat back giving you enough room to climb over the console and into the safety of his lap. His large hands found their home along your lower back; they slipped themselves into your shirt, feeling your smooth skin all the way up to your bra strap and then back down, gripping your hips. "Y/N," he sighed, into your mouth as you grind your hips down on him.

"Let's get these off." he reached into your skirt to find your soaked panties. His long fingers traced along the wet patch you've left on them from grinding on his lap. "So wet," he mumbled almost to himself.

Lifting your hips to help him, he expertly slid them down your legs, helping you get them off. He tossed them aside before placing you back down on his lap, the steering wheel pressing into your back while he slid his hand up your thigh. Dragging each finger over the smooth surface until he was met with your wet folds. "I need to fuck you," he choked out and smashed your lips with an urgent kiss.

You let him fumble with his pants until he is able to free his leaking cock. You wished there were more light in the dim car to be able to indulge in seeing it again. The thick veins along the flushed pink shaft, the prominent head, now leaking with precum. You wanted to take it all in.

Yoongi grabbed his length in his hand guiding you as you align yourself with him. He stroke his cock along your pussy, teasingly tapping it against your clit a couple of times.

"Yoongi, please," you whined at the sudden contact, "I need you,"

"I know, baby," he shushed you, pulling you in for another kiss. He caught your lower lip between his teeth, tugging on it gently before slipping his tongue in your mouth. He grabbed your hips and pulled you in closer and you slowly sank down on his aching cock.

You winced at the stretch of his head pushing inside of you. Your arms grabbed on to the headrest behind his head and gripped it tightly as his cock stretched you open.

"Fuck," the word slipped out of your lips against his hot mouth as you felt the fullness of having his cock inside you again.

"You okay?" Yoongi pulled back and scanned your face.

"Mhm," you nodded your head. "It's just so... big," you let out a weak chuckle.

He rubbed circles along your back until his hands found their way to grip your ass.

You began to lift your hips and rocked your body on him. His large hands caught your movements as you ground yourself down on his length. Slowly at first, but quickly picking up momentum you started to ride him.

Completely feeling lost in the bliss of having so close - a part of you wished the skin of your chest could touch his. Everywhere he touched you felt like a familiar flame licking away at the time spent apart.

Like he wanted his hands to erase every minute he spent away from you.

He found his way further into your shirt, cupping your breasts in his hold. His thumbs finding your erect nipples as you bounced up and down his shaft.

The sounds of the chirping crickets and low hum of his engine - sounds that felt so loud in the stillness of the evening were now drowned out by something much more titillating.

Your breathy moans and his low groans were creating a symphony of pleasure - in that moment he swore he'd write a song someday about just how good it felt to have you in his embrace.

"Yoongi," you choked out, your legs trembled beneath you.

"Let me hear you, baby," he said into your ear, peppering sweet, wet kisses along your neck. "Who's making you feel this good?"

"You..." you tilted your head back providing more access to your neck. He sank his teeth into your skin, making you hiss in pleasure.

"You... you're making me feel so good. No one else..." you babbled as he sucked on the most delicate part of your neck.

The spot on your neck that made your thighs squeeze together - but he knew that. He knew every spot that made your heart race.

"No one else, hm?" that smug smile spread across his face again. You wanted nothing more than to kiss it off of him.

He noticed your hands gripping the back of his headrest and frowned. He grabbed your wrist and placed your hands in his hair. His eyes silently begged and you complied.

You tangled your fingers in his dark locks and tugged at the root of his long hair as you chased your orgasm.

Yoongi's moan mixed with yours as you pulled on his hair the closer you got to cumming on his cock.

"Keep going, you're doing so well..." his eyes rolled back and his hands gripped on to your hips tightly. You sensed the bruise of his fingertips engraving into your skin.

Just another way Yoongi left his mark on you.

But bruises and hickies fade over time - you weren't sure if the mark he made in your heart would ever really go away.

Not when he looked at you like you hung the stars for him. And you would. You'd give him the stars and moon and everything he asked for if he wanted.

"Gonna cum," he groaned, hiding his face in your neck peppering the skin with little kisses, moaning against your collarbone.

He felt your nails dig into his shoulders as you came undone along with him. Your fluids mixed as he filled your cunt with his cum. You collapsed forward onto him, resting your head on his shoulder as he held you. Your legs twitched as your orgasm hit.

Yoongi held you until your breathing returned to normal. He idly rubbed up and down your back, softly kissing your temples every now and then whispering sweet praises to you.

"I don't wanna move," you mumbled, your eyes closed just listening to Yoongi's soft, even breaths.

"Then don't move," he brushed his hands over your cheek. "Just stay like this with me."

You let out a tired laugh - could it really be that easy? To stay with him?

You knew there was so much that was still left unsaid.

"I should go home," you sat up straighter on his lap to take a good look at him. You hated how it felt like another goodbye.

"Y/N."

You shook your head and started to lift yourself off of him. you both winced at the feeling of his cock leaving your pussy. Yoongi did his best to help get you clean, wiping up your thighs, silently cleaning you up before you crawled back to your seat.

"Are you regretting it?" his lips were set in a straight line and his tone shot an arrow to your chest. The last thing you wanted was to hurt him.

"What?" you met his fixed look, trying to read behind the hardness in his eyes.

He lifted an eyebrow waiting for your answer. He didn't bother repeating the question he knew you heard.

"No," you reached for his hand, using both of yours to cup one of his. "Just... not knowing what happens next makes it feel like goodbye again and... I don't think I'm ready for that," you admit.

His eyes soften hearing you admit you don't want to say goodbye to him again.

You didn't know if a relationship with Yoongi would work out or not at this time. Really, what growth could have happened in the month apart to make him ready?

"One step at a time, okay?" he reminded you gently.

You nodded your head, allowing him to pull you back into another kiss.

"I wanna be someone you deserve," he whispered against your mouth.

Every part of you wanted to ignore the ways he had fucked up in the past and tell him it was all okay - but you couldn't lie to yourself or him. You both needed time.

"One step at a time," you repeated those words to him before kissing him back again.

--

THANK YOU FOR READING! was vry nervous to post bc I haven't done it in so long, but this was really fun to write! I didn't realize how much I missed it and ofc I feel so rusty so I hope you enjoyed <3

tagging some of my fav creators on here: @gimmethatagustd @raplinesmoon @wonhosmistress

(also pls lmk if you don't wanna be tagged! last time I posted I was in a writing network and it was shut down so now idk what the etiquette for sharing/tagging is im sorry fdkgjd ily I haven't been on here in a while but can't wait to catch up/re-read some of my fav fics too)

[beansprean]

Just a little convo that's been in my notes FOREVER because I meant to use it for something else, but it no longer fit after a while. Gave me a chance to practice painting lol

Support me on Patreon or send a tip on Kofi!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Close up on a side table in Nandor's crypt, laden with a glazed patterned vase, a wooden jewelry box, a line of books, and a single candle on an intricate vintage holder, lit and casting a warm orange glow on its surroundings. From offscreen, Guillermo says, "I've done a lot of thinking, and I've figured it out. I do want to be a vampire...but not for the same reasons I used to." 1b. Wide shot, knees up of Nandor and Guillermo standing facing each other next to Nandor's coffin, lit from the far side by candles. Nandor, wearing a typical tunic under a fur lined cape, stares quietly at Guillermo and idly knocks the knuckles of his left hand against the coffin lid. Guillermo, wearing a violet shirt and tie with red trousers and waistcoat, has his left hand in his pocket and his right placed palm-down on the coffin lid, a few inches from Nandor's. He looks at his right hand as he speaks: "The powers, the sexiness, the cool capes - I mean that's all great but I... I realize I could have all that as a human, too. And I have." 1c. Close up of their hands on the coffin lid as Guillermo's hand slides closer to Nandor's. He continues: "But what I want...what I really want...is to be a vampire..." 1d. Chest up of Guillermo as he looks up at Nandor with a confident smile, back straight, lit warmly by candles. He declares, "So I can stay here with you, forever. As part of this family."

2a. Reaction shot of Nandor, eyes shining as he raises his brows and fights down the happy, wobbly smile that threatens to take over his face. He echoes breathlessly, "With...me?" 2b. Wide shot, waist up of them both. Guillermo looks away with a flustered grin and clarifies, "Uh! Well, you know. With everybody. Nadja, and..." Nandor turns his head away as well, flustered and frowning, and mutters "Right, yes, of course." Guillermo continues, trailing off: "Laszlo..." Nandor grunts "Uh-huh." Their hands are still an inch apart on the coffin lid. Guillermo ventures, "But also..." 2c. Close up of their hands as Guillermo's slides closer again, the tips of his fingers bumping against Nandor's knuckles. Guillermo continues, "Specifically..." 2d. Close up on Guillermo from a slightly higher angle as he looks up at Nandor through his lashes with a shy smile and shining eyes, finally saying, "You." 2e. Reverse shot of Nandor from a slightly lower angle, looking down at Guillermo with open wonder.

3a. Waist up of them both in profile. Guillermo starts to say, "And I know that y-" but is interrupted when Nandor launches forward with his hands on Guillermo's cheeks and pulls him into a kiss. Guillermo's eyes fly wide, perhaps less surprised than he should be, and Nandor's close in something like relief. 3b. Repeat. Nandor's right hand remains on Guillermo's cheek as his left arm snakes around his upper back to hold him close. Guillermo presses into the kiss, opening his mouth to let in Nandor's tongue as his hands creep beneath Nandor's cape. 3c. Repeat. They continue to kiss, heads shifting to the side to allow Guillermo to slip his own tongue into Nandor's mouth. Guillermo has unfastened Nandor's cape and is letting it drop to the floor. Nandor's right hand has plucked off Guillermo's glasses and is holding them aloft as his left tugs at the knot of Guillermo's tie. 3d. Repeat. Nandor shifts his head to deepen the kiss further, right hand tossing Guillermo's glasses carelessly behind him and left curling around the back of Guillermo's neck. Guillermo, tie now loose and top shirt buttons unfastened, presses his left hand to Nandor's chest where his brooch has been removed to allow access to his undershirt. His right hand hovers behind Nandor's head. 3e. Repeat. The kiss finally breaks, but they do not go far, Nandor's left hand still hooked around the back of Guillermo's neck as he turns his head to kiss down his cheek. His right hand pushes Guillermo's vest off his shoulder. Guillermo turns his head into Nandor's, eyes still closed, and gasps out "Mm, you'll...ah..." His right hand is tangled in Nandor's hair and his left deftly snaps open Nandor's belt.

4a. Repeat. Nandor kisses his way down to Guillermo's throat, hands now pulling Guillermo's shirt from his trousers and sneaking his hands underneath. Guillermo arches his neck to allow him room to explore, right hand fisted in Nandor's hair to hold him there as his left slides under Nandor's open tunic front. Smiling with eyes closed in bliss, Guillermo continues, "turn me...after...right?" 4b. Repeat. Nandor pulls back from Guillermo's throat, eyes closed and smiling happily, to let Guillermo press kisses from his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. Guillermo is pulling Nandor's tunics off his shoulders, the buttons on his undershirt undone and exposing his chest. Nandor's hands are busy at the front of Guillermo's shirt, pulling apart the remaining buttons. Nandor sighs, "Oh, Guillermo..." 4c. Repeat. Nandor fists his hands at the collar of Guillermo's now open shirt to pull him aggressively upwards, looming down on him nose-to-nose with a feral grin. He promises, "During." Guillermo melts and grins helplessly, hearts drifting around his head. /end ID

[blackleatherjacketz]

Not Fair

Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: You're there to see Elijah, but Klaus wants to play a game with you first.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, Explicit Smut, Dubious Consent, Teasing, Infidelity (Sort of), Competition, Sibling Rivalry, Typical Klaus Shenanigans, Mentions of Elijah, Neck Kissing/Biting, Ear Biting, Hair Pulling, Female Orgasm, Female Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, Blood Sucking

Word Count: 2.4k

Nerves shook through your body after Elijah had texted you to meet him at his home, which was highly unlike him. He usually came over to your place some time after dinner, after the food you’d eaten and the wine you drank had some time to course its way through your veins and pulse into the rest of your bloodstream. The door to the address he’d given you was unlocked, another odd detail you clocked with suspicion before you entered the mansion with mild trepidation. Every detail of the estate was decorated to the nines, a true southern gem full of rich history and opulence. You knew that he had money, but this kind of money? Damn, you're in way over your head.

“Elijah?” You call out his name as you shut the door behind you, passing through the foyer into the parlor on the right to see the figure of a man looking out the window. The air around him is thick and electric, prickling at your skin the very second he turns around to face you, nearly forcing you to gasp at his strikingly beautiful features. This clearly isn’t isn’t the man you’ve come to see.

“Well, well, well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” He coos, stepping toward you with a smug grin.

“Who are you? And where’s Elijah? I was supposed to meet him here.” Did he give you the wrong address? Was he even going to show up? Did you read the message wrong? He had told you to come in and make yourself at home, but he didn’t mention anything about a… roommate.

“I’m Klaus, Elijah’s much more charming younger brother.” The man smirks as if he knows the most amusing secret about his sibling, but decides to keep it to himself. “And I’m sure he’ll be around shortly.”

“Brother? He never told me that he had a brother.” Your eyes narrow as you take him in, trying your hardest to see the family resemblance, but still somehow falling short. His golden curls are a stark contrast to Elijah’s dark brown hair, his pouty lips and narrow face shape even further away from the rigid jawline of your… whatever Elijah is to you.

“Really?” He asks, his tone laced with intrigue and disappointment as he takes another step toward you. “And just what is the nature of your relationship with my brother, then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It’s ummm…” You can’t help but trail off, his magnetic gaze forcing you to trip over your words as you attempt to explain your arrangement with Elijah. How do you tell this man that you’ve been letting his brother feed off you in exchange for protection? That you’ve slowly been falling for him over the past few weeks in the process? It’s just too embarrassing. “He and I have a sort of… symbiotic relationship.”

“Symbiotic?” He smirks, getting closer still, his movements quick and fluid. “Is this symbiosis sexual?” He grazes his knuckles against your cheek, letting them curve beneath your chin as he watches your lips part with his touch. “Come on, you can tell me,” he smiles, relishing in how fast he can hear your heart beating inside your chest. He’s clearly enjoying how nervous he’s making you.

“It’s not…” you stammer, swallowing hard as he brings his face a little closer to yours, the scent of his cologne now swimming through your senses. Goddamnit, is it hot in here? Are you attracted to him? No, that can’t be it, you’re attracted to Elijah. Right? Right. How is he making you so flustered? “We haven’t gotten that far.”

“You mean to tell me he hasn’t even tasted you yet?” He tilts his head in disbelief.

“Tasted me?” Your lip starts to quiver, unsure of exactly what he means. “He’s been drinking from me every two weeks.”

“That’s not the flavor I’m referring to, love.” His eyes dart down between your legs before locking back onto yours, his hazel gaze now full of desire. “I know Elijah can be a bit of a wet blanket sometimes, but if I had the privilege of drinking from you, I’d be sure to savor every elixir your beautiful body has to offer.”

A flash of heat rushes through you as those words reach your newly reddened ears, flushing your cheeks and neck before triggering that moisture to collect between your thighs as you give yourself away without having to utter a single word.

“Or you could settle for another dull night where my brother barely touches you. Only taking what he needs to survive without a second thought about what you want.” He starts to walk around you, encircling you like a vulture would a dying animal about to fall within its grasp. “He’s too noble for his own good, that one. Trust me.” He pauses, looking down at his feet before looking back over to you. “So how does it work between you two, exactly? He gets you to drink a few glasses of his favorite red wine or whiskey, loosen you up a bit so you don’t tense up when he inevitably takes what he wants?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Your cheeks blush an even brighter shade of red as you keep your head on a swivel, training your eyes on him as he waltzes around you with that deliciously smug grin permanently painted on his face. “Is that so terrible?”

You understand there’s no way that someone like Klaus could understand what you saw in Elijah. As boring as it may seem to someone on the outside, you happen to be quite fond of Elijah’s predictability, of his dependability, of his control over his emotions. It always made you feel safe with him, somehow.

“Terrible? No!” He shakes his head dramatically, cornering your left shoulder just a little closer this time before brushing his palms over your bare arms. “I imagine he… takes you from behind in order to avoid any chance for intimacy?” Klaus’ hands graze their way down your forearms and glide across your hips, sending a shiver down your spine as the heat from his body positively radiates into yours. “At least that’s what I would do.”

Your breath hitches as he holds his body against yours, his hands burning you up from beneath the thin fabric of your dress as he presses his lips into your shoulder. You instinctively close your eyes as he kisses it again, each one longer, deeper as his mouth opens just a little bit more until he reaches the nape of your neck. The slight brush of his tongue against it is almost too much for you to bear, the forbidden nature of his delicate touch somehow warmer than Elijah’s as it stirs something deep inside you, exciting you down to the very marrow of your bone.

“Is that why you wore this dress?” He licks the skin just behind your jawline before kissing it again, his blonde stubble scratching against the rest of your neck as he nuzzles into it. “So he’d finally appreciate your body?”

“Maybe.” You barely manage to whisper, that moisture now pooling between your folds.

“He’d be a fool not to.” His fingertips reach the hem of your dress, slowly inching it up your thigh as he wraps his other arms across your chest, pulling you in even closer. He walks with you backward until his knees hit the couch, haphazardly sitting down on the middle cushion with you snug on his lap, landing right where he wants you.

“We shouldn’t...” You feign protest against the predicament he’s put you in, just in case Elijah is somewhere close enough to hear you.

“Shouldn’t what? Sit down and have a little chat? That’s all this is.” He spins his lies so effortlessly, you’re convinced that even he believes them before they leave his lips.

“Is it?” You feel his hand slide beneath your dress before snaking up your thigh, relishing in the trail of goosebumps it leaves in its wake before reaching the hem of your underwear.

“Lace knickers?” He laughs, rubbing his fingers over the intricate pattern as he feels how swollen and needy you are beneath it. He tries to downplay the physical effect you're having on him in return, but his growing arousal begins to stretch the fabric of his jeans between your cheeks, his own breath halting for just a flash of a second. “Naughty girl.”

“I just thought…” your lip trembles into a hitched staccato of breaths as you attempt to explain yourself.

“Oh, don’t be so embarrassed, love, you aren’t the first woman to get caught in between us brothers.” He smirks against your skin and slips his fingers beneath the sheer fabric between your legs, slowly spreading your puffy lips apart to reveal the evidence of his seduction. “And you certainly won’t be the last.”

What did he just say? Has he done this before? Stolen someone from Elijah right under his nose? Or was this simply payback for something else, something worse that he’d done to him in his past? Were you just some stupid little pawn in their eternal game of familial chess?

“Do you get this wet for my brother when he’s feeding off you?” He takes you out of your thoughts and back into the moment, dipping his index and forefinger between your folds to spread your juices up and down your length. “I’ll bet he doesn’t even notice.” His voice drops down an octave, his words dripping with disdain for his older sibling as he glides his fingers up against your most sensitive spot, sending sparks of pleasure into your nervous system. “Do you think about him when you touch yourself at night?”

“Klaus, I…” you whisper, unable to answer him as his breath blows the hair away from your neck, making your gasp echo against the ancient walls of the room.

“Shhh, it’s okay, love. All that’s going to change after tonight.” He purrs into your skin, moving the hair away from your neck. “Let’s play a little game, then, shall we? If I’m able to make you come, I get to drink from you tonight instead of Elijah.”

Oh my God.

“And if you can’t?” You ask, wondering if he’d had this all planned out from the very second he saw you.

“If I can’t…” He starts to rub little circles into your bud, increasing his pressure with each word as your face changes. “I won’t tell my dear brother of your little transgression against him.” He bites playfully onto the shell of your ear, tugging it back toward him as he pushes his fingers deep inside your walls.

“Oh! Okay...” Your toes curl as he delves his digits further inside you, slowly curving them up to hit that special spot before quickly pulling them out. You turn your head as he removes his touch, brows furrowed in confusion as you watch him wrap those cherry red lips around his glistening fingers. His eyes roll back into his head as he savors the flavor of your sex, humming a tune while making quite the show of sucking his fingers all the way down to his knuckles before slowly pulling them out.

“Exquisite,” he praises your essence with a grin, that devious stare of his positively sinful.

You feel as if all the air has been expelled from your lungs; your body paralyzed with shock, too vulnerable in this state to take another breath until he reaches down and continues his good work, forcing you to inhale the hot, humid air between you. For the first time since you met him, he stops talking. His fingers are quick to map out every single neuron that lies beneath the exposed layer of your skin that lubricates itself with need as he slides his fingers back in, pressing his thumb against your clit with expert precision.

His centuries on this earth had given him all the practice he needed to drive you wild beneath his grasp, each of his ministrations more hypnotic than the last, drawing out louder, more feral moans from your lips. You find your hips rocking into the rhythm of his wrist, the sound of his fingers pulsing in and out of you serving as a perfect accompaniment to your vocals, gliding over that bundle of nerves tucked deep inside as your voice finally reaches a high soprano.

“I’m beginning to think you never wanted my brother to begin with.” He teases as he brings you closer to paradise by sending wave after wave of euphoric bliss up into your core, his salacious pace unrelenting.

“That’s not fair!” You cry out, breathlessly emotional as the magnitude of your ecstasy begins to overwhelm you, tears of joy now pooling in your eyes. You’d never felt pleasure like this before, never been so attracted to someone so quickly on sight alone, but here you are, on the verge of insanity as you fall apart in his lap.

“That’s the thing about me, love. I never fight fair.” He finally sends you over the edge, your skin igniting in an inextinguishable heat that consumes every fiber of your being. Your body feels more alive than it ever has before, that rush of euphoria coursing through your spine, turning your veins into rivers of molten lava as you quake around his fingers, those tears now streaming down your face.

Your orgasm leaves you helpless against his fangs as they pierce your skin and sink into your flesh, against his fist that buries itself in your hair as he drinks that deliciously hot cocktail of bliss that rips itself through you. It warms the both of you as he feeds on what was originally meant for his brother, the remnants spilling out of the corners of his mouth and down your chest as he greedily gulps you down, moaning his satisfaction into your neck. You can barely feel the throbbing around the bite as he eventually pulls back before it’s too late, licking up every stream of crimson that escapes his lips until there’s nothing left but the sheen of his spit on your skin.

“You’re welcome,” he goads cockily, your blood painting the lower half of his face as he pulls his fingers out for good. “Elijah should be home any minute.”

----------

Read more KLAUS!

[sebsxphia]

admiral jake when you’re wearing a sundress..

￫ warnings: breeding kink and sex.

￫ authors notes: tee hee! thank you so much for this incredible thot, my dear anon! 💌

i can picture this on a sunday morning. you’re getting ready to visit admiral cyclone and his family. since jake became an admiral himself, a far greater respect had been built up between the two of them.

jake was tying your little girls shoes as he asked with a smile, “where’s your mama, hm?”

she squealed in response as she saw you coming through the doorway, with your barely one year old little boy attached to your hip.

“here i am!” you cheerfully replied.

jake looked up and immediately his throat went dry. he licked at his bottom lip to try and gather some salvia as he took in the breathtaking sight of you.

suddenly, he was back in the hard deck when he met you for the first time and you were wearing a pretty little sundress.

it was the first time that you had worn one this year and jake could feel himself twitch. it covered and hugged every inch and every curve of your body. it wasn’t revealing by any means, but jake thought that you might as well have worn his favourite set of lingerie.

once all four of you were ready to leave, jake gave you a soft kiss on your lips and caught your ear.

“do you remember what happened when you wore that last?”

“mhm, he’s right here.” you chided with an all knowing smirk and squeezing at your little boy on your hip.

jake let out a low grunt and squeezed at your ass through your sundress. you had to bite down hard on your bottom lip to stop the squeal escaping you.

the day had gone by in a flurry and went off without a hitch.

jake now had your hair fisted in his palm and another gripping onto your hip. he was scrunching up your sundress material into his knuckles as he fucked you deeply from behind on your shared bed, with your kids fast asleep.

“so fuckin’ pretty for your admiral, aren’t you sweets? you goin’ to give your admiral permission to breed you again?”

the illusion of family dad jake was shattered.

this was admiral jake fucking you within an inch of your life.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #4

CH4. 0800-Awkward | The Menu [4.3K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

Eddie’s van was cleaner than you expected and it smelled like mint gum and coffee. There were sheets of paper on the passenger seat he cleared for you with quick hands, boyish scrawls of ink noting down recipes and ingredients, a page of music in between. 

Music blared from the radio when Eddie turned on the engine and he scowled at the noise, bashing the button to turn it off so you were both squished between awkward silence instead. You put your hands on your lap, sitting up too straight, throat tight. 

The quiet enveloped you both. 

“Where am I takin’ you?” Eddie asked gruffly once he turned out of the parking lot. The rain was still bouncing off the roads, the sky dark and angry, navy coloured clouds blocking out all the light. “You live near Robin, right?”

You nodded, pulling at your knuckles until you gave in and picked at a nail, nervousness clawing at you like a persistent puppy. The boy beside you made your stomach tumble, and you weren’t quite sure why yet. “Yeah, just off fourth and Maple,” you told him. “But you can drop me off at the pharmacy, it’s only, like, a ten minute walk from there.”

Eddie scoffed at your suggestion, like he’d do no such thing, but he didn’t say anything else. So you spoke instead, your heart in your dry mouth, watching the boy’s profile, wondering how someone so pretty could be so damn mad all the time. Was it just you?

“So, uh, is Wayne your dad?”

Eddie didn’t take his eyes off the road, he just stepped on the accelerator a little too hard when the lights changed from amber to green. When the engine stopped yelling, he answered. “He’s my uncle.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say. Something told you that asking anything about Eddie’s father would result in a very quiet, very tense ride back to your apartment. “He’s real sweet— your uncle. He’s been super nice to me.”

“Wayne’s nice to everyone,” Eddie replied shortly and it hurt like a kick to the stomach. 

The breath left you and you deflated, just a little. The skin around your thumb was becoming raw from your picking. You couldn’t help it, even if you muttered it as you looked out the window. “Clearly it’s not a family trait.”

“What?” Eddie’s voice was all surprise, even the van juddered as he pressed on the brakes a little too hard. You glanced over at him, chin ducked down, fingers torturing the ones on your other hand. Eddie was all raised brows and parted lips, an almost curl of amusement on them. “What did you say?”

It was a dare, a challenge. A ‘go on, say that again. Are you brave enough?’  

You glared at him, just like he loved to do to you so often. “I said, clearly, it’s not a family trait.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie laughed, a rough bark that told you he didn’t actually find you funny at all. 

You were a built up dam, spilling over the top with a new job, new friends, a new apartment in a new town. It was scary. It had been hard. 

You burst. 

“You’re so mean to me,” you told him hotly, “all the time! And then you apologise, only for it to last until the end of your shift. I know I’m not like, the best waitress— I mean, I’m hardly Nancy, but I’m trying! I— I haven’t done anything to you.” You sniffed, you wobbled. Tears threatened you both and your voice came out a little higher now. “Have I? If I have, I didn’t mean to.”

You dragged a hand over your face and when you looked back to the boy, Eddie looked horrified. He was pink in the face, eyes darting from you to the road and back again, his finger curling around the steering wheel with a white knuckle grip. He didn’t say anything. 

“This is so fucking stupid,” you muttered to your lap and when Eddie slowed to the next stop sign, you flung a hand onto the door handle. “Just drop me here.”

The sound of the rain slapping the pavement only grew louder when you managed to open the door a crack and it seemed to spur Eddie into action. He leaned over you and grabbed at your hand, using it to pull the door shut again. It snapped back into place and Eddie was scowling when you swore at him in return. “Fucking Christ, woman,” he huffed. “I’m takin’ you home, alright? You’ll drown out there.”

“It’s a bit of rain, Eddie,” you snapped. “I lived in Chicago, I’ll survive some water.” Your ferocity was short lived, because you gave in with a huff, eyes watering once more as you pressed yourself against the seat and crossed your arms in defeat. 

There was a voice in your head, someone from an old job, an old classmate in middle school, your mom. It didn’t matter who, they were all cruel. Cry baby, cry baby, cry baby. 

“Can you just - fuck - can you just let me talk?” 

You watched as Eddie licked his lips, maybe out of nerves and he gripped the steering wheel harder still. You thought he’d maybe yell at you, maybe he’d tell you exactly why he was so hot and cold with you, maybe he’d explain in detail why you’d managed to piss him off. 

Instead, he asked, “why’d you leave Chicago?”

You stared at him. Was he joking? Was he playing some kind of weird joke? But Eddie waited, his face a pretty picture of sincerity and he glanced at you from the road as often as safety would let him. 

“Uh, I didn’t like it,” you scrunched your face at the memory, nose wrinkling in distaste. “Too big, too loud. I don’t really—” you searched for the right word, one that wouldn’t make you sound weak and small. “I don’t enjoy big cities. They’re too much.”

Eddie nodded and suddenly, suddenly, you were having a conversation with him. “I get that. My mom moved to Philadelphia, I don’t see her much, but I used to visit when I was a kid. Hated that no matter what time of night it was, it was never quiet - or dark - fuckin’ lights everywhere.”

There was a silence before you pressed your lips together and hummed. “Yeah,” you agreed. “You could never see the stars in Chicago. I missed that.” 

The rain was letting up now, nothing more than a horrible drizzle that you knew would still soak you to the bone, but it was quieter. Softer. The sky turned lilac, a hazy kind of purple blue as the sun tried to break through. 

“Where did you grow up?” Eddie peered through his curls at you, his fingers unfurling from the death grip he had on the wheel. He turned down Main Street, one hand in his lap, his head leaning back against the chair. “I know it wasn’t here - would’ve remembered you.”

“Fortville,” you told him, wondering if you just kept talking, your heart would stop racing at what he’d just said to you. “With my parents. It was a tiny place, not much there, probably even smaller than Hawkins and we had chickens and a dog my mom rescued just before I was born. I liked it though, it was a nice place to grow up.”

“Why’d you leave?”

You shrugged, turned to look out the window at the spots of rain on the glass, the kaleidoscope of colours they made now the sun shone through them. “Dad left, found another family. Mom turned mean.” You didn’t elaborate more than that and Eddie noticed how your voice turned softer, even quieter. 

“Fair enough,” Eddie answered and you couldn’t help but notice that when he wasn’t frowning, when the lines between his brows were gone, his eyes were the colour of dark chocolate, big and earnest looking. “I can, uh, relate. Kinda.”

A comfortable silence passed after that, one that came with the break of the clouds, dark shadows giving way to a late evening sunset, turning the wet sidewalks golden. You could feel Eddie stealing glances at you, quick flickers of his eyes that went from your face to where your fingers were picking at your nails on your lap. 

“You haven’t— you haven’t done anything to me,” Eddie murmured. You looked up at the sound of his voice, nails forgotten about and you saw that flush on his cheeks rise over his nose, turning it pink. He licked his lips and you tracked the movement, feeling the nerves roll off of him and fill the space between you. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t, I didn’t mean to be… mean.”

Eddie parked the van and you blinked, not even realising that he’d stopped on your street. Your apartment building was just a little down the road, waiting. 

“You lied to me when I came in that day,” you squinted at the boy, both of you cringing at the memory of Eddie pretending that he wasn’t who he was. That he wasn’t who you were looking for. “Why? Why did you do that?”

Eddie turned a deeper shade of pink, cheeks burning and he fumbled over his words before he swallowed harshly and turned towards you in his seat. He tugged at his curls, unsure what to do with his hands now he didn’t have the wheel to grip. “I’m, shit, I’m sorry ‘bout that. That was— that was just. Stupid.”

You nodded, looking at him with sad eyes that seemed to make his brow knit together in despair. 

“I don’t, uh, I don’t do well with like, making friends?” Eddie offered an explanation that he didn’t seem to be able to admit easily. He cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to smile at you, tried to ease the feeling of guilt that was swarming him. “I get stuck in my ways, y’know? I just go to work, go home, go back to work— new things—” Eddie glanced over at you with those big eyes. “—new people, make me kinda, nervous. I guess.”

You let your gaze settle on his, watching as he took in a breath and blinked. He looked a little dizzy, his confession making the air a little lighter. But something else lingered. It felt like glitter, a sparkling, pretty thing that swirled in the front space of the van. It was hopeful. 

“I get nervous too. Shy,” you admitted. You felt nervous now, tummy tumbling, a whole aviary loose inside. “About a lot of things.” About you, is what you didn’t say. “But I’m not a dick about it.”

 Eddie snorted and the sound made your lip quirk up, an almost smile. Eddie nodded, like he was agreeing with your passive insult, his lips twisting as he looked you over once more. His gaze was warmer than you’d seen it before, no furrow between his brow to make you wonder if he was pissed at you. Now he just looked… interested.

“You’re right,” he announced. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I’ve been a dick. I’m sorry.”

“You said sorry earlier,” you reminded him. “With breakfast. But then you were a dick all over again. This hot and cold is making my head hurt.” You fiddled with the hem of your uniform dress, lifting powder blue away from your knee to pick at a loose thread. 

“I did, didn’t I?” The boy let his head fall back onto the window, a dull thud, curls sticking to the glass that was all fogged up from you both sitting talking. The setting sun made him golden, peach coloured cheeks and honey eyes, all bronze shadows and inky lines over his arms, peeking out from his T-shirt. “Was it good? Your breakfast?”

You rolled your eyes and Eddie grinned, truly, he beamed at you. It was a flirtatious thing, a pretty thing - it made your heart pick up and your breath catch in your throat because it was so fucking unexpected. 

“Yes, it was good,” you murmured, back to shy, back to dipping your chin and not really being able to look him in the eye. “But that’s not the point.”

“You’re right,” he said again. The boy seemed so much more agreeable out of his chef whites, without the heat and the noise and the constant sizzle of the kitchen. “I really am sorry - I hate, fuck, I hate that I didn’t make you feel welcome. That was shitty of me.”

You sniffed, pulled the thread loose and watched baby blue spring and curl around your finger. “It was.”

Eddie looked hopeful when you finally found the courage to meet his gaze again. He gave you a slow shrug, a half smile that still didn’t look fully sure. But he tried anyway.. “Can we start again?” He moved, shifting closer to you, close enough that the stick shift was pressing against the slight pudge of his tummy and you could smell his cologne, could see the freckles on the bridge of his nose. He held out his hand for you, silver rings and all. “Hi, I’m Eddie.”

He waited with wide eyes for you to reach out too, to slip your hand into his and curl your fingers around his palm. He did the same, engulfing you. His hands were much warmer, wider, bigger. Calloused and with silver scars, no doubt from too sharp knives. 

“It’s nice to meet you.”

—————

You burst through the kitchen doors just as you broke. A burn in the corner of your eyes, a hollow thud in your chest as the adrenaline of being yelled at surged through you. A family with too many kids to keep track of, a plate of fries on the floor before you could bring out every meal, a stressed out mother who took out her frustration on you and the fact you’d forgotten the soda one of the small boys was yelling about. She was sharp about it, loud enough for the other customers to hear and you watched as Robin frowned from the booth she was serving. 

She grabbed your elbow as you passed, feet threatening to stumble with how quick you moved, cheeks hot, throat tight. “I’ll get it,” she whispered. “Take a minute.”

But you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak before you could suck in a breath. “S’fine. It’s fine. I’ll fix it.” 

So you let the kitchen door hit the wall as you almost ran in, eyes blinking back tears of embarrassment and the noise was enough for Eddie to look up from the grill where he was flipping burgers. He frowned at the sight of you, but this time, he looked concerned. You rushed past him to grab the glass of soda that was sitting forgotten on a tray - next to the extra basket of fries the woman had requested, fuck - and turned on your heel to go back out the way you came. 

“Hey,” Eddie called after you, “what’s wrong?”

You brushed him away with a raised hand, the other holding the tray of missed items and you didn’t trust yourself to look back at the boy as you rushed back out the door. You sniffed and blinked before you put on a smile, approaching the woman who’d loudly berated you in front of the entire diner. 

“I’m so sorry again,” you whispered as you placed the drink and fries on the messy table. One of the kids screamed and you flinched, trying your best to keep the smile on your face as the woman turned to you. “If there’s anything else I can get you, ju—”

“If there’s anything else I need, I’ll get it myself,” she scoffed meanly. Her voice was too sharp, still too loud, a biting thing that dug into your arm and wouldn’t let go. “You got a pretty face, honey, but that’s not gonna get you far. Can hear that empty space in that head from all the way over here.”

You blinked again, uncaring that a tear slipped out, a hot drip of water down one cheek. You kept smiling. In fact, you smiled all the way back into the kitchen before your breath stuttered and your face crumpled. 

“Hey, hey, c’mon.” Eddie. At your side, a hand catching your elbow, fingertips grazing your skin like he was still too unsure to hold you fully. “C’mere. It’s fine.”

He led you through the kitchen, hand guiding you so your blurry eyes didn’t lead you into the corner of a station. There was something spicy cooking in a pan, garlic and chilli and soy that Argyle took over stirring as Eddie left it alone in favour of you. Jim must’ve heard the commotion in the dining room, ‘cause he made a rare appearance outside of his office, hand holding onto the door frame as he leaned out, frowning at what he saw. 

“Chicago,” he called through the kitchen, voice booming over the radio, the sizzle of the grill, the drone of the vents. “You good? You wanna talk?”

You turned, bumping into Eddie’s side and shaking your head, all whilst trying to smile and appear like you were absolutely fine. Totally normal. Definitely not crying like a baby. You cringed, turning back around and ducking your chin to hide your glossy eyes, your wet cheeks. 

“S’fine, Jim,” Eddie called back. “I’ve got her. Jus’ give us five minutes.”

“Munson, you got burgers on!” Your boss called back, you heard him sigh and Argyle told him that he’d manage. 

“Five minutes!” Eddie said again, his voice sharper and louder than before and you were moving faster to the back door, bypassing the walk in altogether. 

“If they burn, that’s too much money to get thrown in the trash, Eddie,” Hopper complained. “That’s prime fuckin’ beef from the Sinclairs, Eddie and I don’t got time to get Lucas back out for another delivery— hey! Are you listen—”  

Eddie ushered you out of the fire exit, blue skies and too bright light making you squint, a rush of hot air that was heavier than the kitchen, muggy and smelling like cut grass and the smoke that came from the vent on the wall. The door snapped shut before Jim could finish talking. 

The silence was a warm thing, cloying like the summer afternoon, the edge of a heatwave, the steam from the kitchen that lingered in the small alleyway out back. You brought the heels of your palms to your eyes, pushing there meanly as you sniffed a little wetly and tried to stop your bottom lip from trembling. If you faced the crumbling wall, maybe you could pretend Eddie wasn’t there, watching you. 

“Hey, c’mon.”

You groaned. 

“C’mon,” Eddie coaxed again, his hand pulling at your wrist, urging you to stop hiding. “You gotta stop letting customers get you all upset like this. ‘Specially the ones that are utter assholes.”

“You heard her?” You asked weakly, embarrassment crawling up your neck. You knew he would’ve, shit, Wayne probably heard it all the way down the street. Of course Eddie heard it from the kitchen. “God, that’s so—” you let out a small groan of anger, a soft wail that was tinged with a little shame.

“No, no, stop that,” Eddie frowned as you buried your face in your hands once more. He got you by your shoulders, palms and fingers curling over the bone there, impossibly wide, engulfing. You turned soft for him, letting him manhandle you until you were facing him, brows crinkled, your cheeks warm. “She was a bitch. You’re okay, it’s alright.”

You sucked in another breath, one of those awful ones that hitched and made your throat close up a little. It was hard to look into Eddie’s eyes. They were big and warm and earnest, crazily so, the colour of burnt honey and he was painfully close. The alleyway pushed you both together, space limited between the walls, the empty pallets, the stacked up crates. 

“She was out of order, yeah?” Eddie continued softly, his thumb pushing softly into the meat of your shoulder, drawing circles through your uniform. “You didn’t do anything wrong. We’re all just human here, Chicago. It’s fine.”

You nodded, numb. Tears still stained your hot cheeks, salt gathering in the corners of your mouth and you felt embarrassed at the reaction, the white hot rush of anxiety that gripped the back of your neck as soon as someone raised their voice at you. You blinked again, feeling heavy, another fresh wave of tears making your vision turn into kaleidoscopes. You scrunched your face, annoyed with yourself, head tilting back to the strip of blue sky you could see between the buildings roofs. 

“God, I’m so fucking lame,” you groaned. “So stupid.”

You brought your chin back down to just catch the boy smiling, a dopey, soft thing that made you think he was gonna laugh at you. He did, but it wasn’t mean. In fact, Eddie’s laugh was a damn pretty thing. Scratchy and raspy and warm, enough to make you stop screwing your face up and blink at him. 

“You’re not lame,” he told you firmly. He dropped his hands from your shoulders now that you weren’t intent on hiding. You found you missed the weight of them on you, a grounding feeling that helped the tears subside. “Or stupid. Shit, kid, you gotta stop being so hard on yourself.”

“I’m always forgetting stuff though,” you argued. The sun was a blazing thing above you both, hot on your head, your shoulders, the back of your neck. Your uniform itched under the heat and you were backing away into the shadows along the line of the diner wall. Eddie followed, shoulder to shoulder as he leaned against the brick, lounging enough to bring him to the same height as you. “I’m messing up orders and I keep walking into the same stupid table - even though it’s always there! I got a bruise on my hip the size of a fucking peach,” you grumbled unhappily. 

Eddie snorted at hearing you swear, a cannonball of a word coming out of your sweet mouth, usually talking softly and shyly at him and customers. He knocked your shoulder with his and tutted. “You’re still new,” he shrugged when you scoffed. You’d been at the diner for almost two months. “Get out of here with that, you are. You’re in a new town and a new job. Give yourself a break.”

“I’m just— god.” You bit down on your bottom lip until it hurt. “I’m such a crybaby, I hate it. I must look like such a mess.” Your eyes felt sore, your cheeks puffy and warm, all too familiar and just as embarrassing as it was when you were ten, fifteen, twenty years old. 

Eddie just shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of his chef whites. He looked at your face, just for a second, before ducking his chin and studying the concrete below his feet. “Nah,” he said quietly, “you look pretty like always.”

It was quiet for a second or two, the surprise on your face morphing into a crooked smile, a quirk of one corner of your lips at the boy’s words. You sniffed and laughed a little watery, a shy sounding thing that made Eddie blink at you. “You’re being nice to me,” you told him.  

He grinned like he couldn’t help himself, a sharp, sudden thing that made his face look even prettier. Curls spilled from his poorly tied bun and his cheeks went rose coloured, more blush than flushed from the heat. He knitted his brows together in faux confusion, tried to act too cool, too blasé. “I am, aren’t I?” He huffed. “Weird.”

You shoved at him in jest, your hand on his shoulder and he barely even budged. But you felt a thrill in touching him, your hand just by the muscles in his arm, where you knew a tattoo lay, curling around a bicep that you couldn’t see under his uniform. It was easy to joke like this, to smile and wipe your eyes one last time when Eddie was playing nice. 

You felt like a teen with a crush, that lovesick, giddy type of softness settling in your chest and it purred when you looked at the boy. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But Eddie got prettier when he smiled at you and when he reached out to straighten the pen that was about to call out of your chest pocket, you were done. A goner. 

You wanted to ask if this made you friends. 

Instead, you swallowed your embarrassment and hoped you hadn’t been staring. “Thank you,” you murmured shyly. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Eddie pulled open the fire exit and waited for you to enter first, holding open the door as the noise of the diner flooded back out to you. Kids yelling, the grill popping, the coffee machine whirring. 

“Would you rather Jim gave you one of his famous three minute counselling sessions?” Eddie winced theatrically. “I haven’t had one myself, but rumour has it there’s a stress ball and some talk about toughening up and how the world just ain’t fair.”

You laughed, walking back into the kitchen with Eddie by your side. Your shoulder brushed against his arm and you shook your head, looking up at him with a heat in your cheeks you were sure he’d be able to notice. “No, m’glad it was you.”

You must’ve surprised the boy, because he blinked as he stopped at the grill. Argyle had flipped all the patties and left the spatula by the countertop but Eddie didn’t take his eyes off of you as he grasped it. You watched his brows lift a little, mouth parting before he closed it again and nodded, looking a little numb. 

And then: “cool. Yeah, no, good. Come get me next time too.”

[maplegracefour]

Two Idiots and a Wedding | Part One

Summary: When the invitation for your cousin’s wedding arrives, and you see that bold ‘+1’ you sigh, remembering the white lie you had told her about seeing someone. You realise that you’re not getting out of it and that you’re going to have to figure something out…

Warnings: None

Word Count: ~845 Words

Author's Note: Here it is! There's more to come and I know it's short, I've just been super busy with work and some family things. But rest assured more is on the way!!

“No, absolutely fucking not.” He says, staring you down as though you had grown a second head.

You sigh. “Please. I’m begging you, Ted already said no!” You look over at him, his brow is furrowed and he’s leaning forward, hands clasped together as he stares right back at him.

He raises an eyebrow at that though. “You asked Ted first?”

Head cocked to the side, you give him a confused expression in response.

A moment of silence weighs heavily between you. You aren’t quite sure if he’s offended that you asked Ted before him. Your eyes plead with him silently, fingers crossed on top of your lap.

“I’ll pay for everything?” You offer. A desperate last offer. “Flights, accommodation, drinks, food. Literally everything.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning back into the couch, a loud sigh escaping his lips. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Why did you tell them you had a boyfriend when you didn’t?” He asks you at the airport and you have to try and not let your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“I just didn’t know what to say when they asked me about a plus one. I panicked.” You explain.

“Right.” He says, not fully convinced. “So, because you were put on the spot, you lied?”

When he glances over at you, you’re looking extremely unimpressed. “I never claimed it was a good idea.”

He chuckles, slipping his headphones back on and shaking his head.

On the flight, you give him a full rundown on the family, and the friends. Essentially anyone who he should already know. You work on a game plan. The closer you get to your destination, the more nervous you become.

“Anything off limits?” You ask. “Any boundaries?”

“Boundaries?” He raises an eyebrow. “Whaddya mean?”

“I mean, like no kissing, no hand-holding. Any names or anything like that?” You explain yourself.

“Oh, no. I don’t think so.“ He shrugs. “Maybe kissing would make things a little weird.” He says. 

You nod, understanding fully. “Kissing is off the table.”

The flight is smooth, thank goodness. And you land safely in the airport. As you make your way to the car hire centre, you notice Schlatt making an extra effort to walk closer to you than usual, your arms brushing often, occasionally even feeling his knuckles gently tap yours as you walk side by side. You choose not to think anything of it.

Once in the car, you make your way to the hotel. Schlatt drives, letting you sit in your nerves in the passenger seat, unsure if it’s making it easier or worse.

Your knee bounces involuntarily, eyes trailing across the constantly moving landscape in an attempt to distract yourself. For a while, you don’t notice Schlatt’s hand resting on your knee, the bouncing immediately coming to a halt.

You turn to look at him, eyebrows furrowing. His other hand is draped lazily on the wheel as he glances back at you for a moment. “I don’t know why you’re so nervous, they’re your family.” He says after a few moments of heavy silence.

“My family that I’m about to lie to constantly for 3 days straight. And I’m a terrible liar.” You note.

“Eh,” he shrugs, like it’s nothing. “People have lied about worse. And it’s okay, I’m a pretty good liar, so we balance each other out.” He gives your knee a squeeze and you pretend not to notice.

Pulling up to the hotel, you notice how grand it is. You’re glad, because it had cost a lot of fucking money.

You both walk into the hotel lobby, Schlatt takes all the bags because ‘that’s the boyfriend’s job’. You roll your eyes in response.

“I’m so sorry, there has been a mix-up with our bookings.” The receptionist says when you reach the desk to book in. Frowning, Schlatt looks at you.

“So, what does that mean?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing.

“The system double booked all of our twin rooms, we have executive rooms available which we can offer to you for no extra price.” She offers, sheepishly smiling up at you. She looks like she’s had a long day, you can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her.

You sigh softly, brushing your hair from your face. “An executive room will be fine.” You nod, giving her a sympathetic smile.

You check into your new room, taking the keys and silently, Schlatt and yourself make your way up. You hadn’t heard of an executive room but it sounds fancy.

But as you step into the room, you realise why Schlatt has been so quiet. The room, despite being absolutely gorgeous, only has one bed.

He turns to you, putting the bags down as the door clicks closed. “So, how do you want to do this?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

PART TWO HERE

[akariamai]

Claws, Blades, and Botanical Love

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!OC

Word Count: 1642

“Where are we going?” Logan asked in a steely tone as Wade forcefully shoved him into the discolored and slightly wrecked stolen car. It had been a day since the small celebration of the multiverse was saved and now, Wade was forcing him into another adventure.

“Listen up, my little honey badger of doom and gloom, we’re about to inject some much-needed joy into those dead fish eyes of yours. Seriously, would it kill you to crack a smile for all the lovely readers out there? They’re lying in bed, wide awake, thinking about your mopey ass at 2 in the morning. Give ‘em a little something to dream about, will ya?” Wade finished with a boop on Logan’s nose.

“What the fuck are you yapping about?” Logan snapped, slamming his fist onto the headliner of the car.

“Chill your claws, Logan. So there I was, doing my little multiverse hopscotch, trying to find the you that’s not you but is still you—don’t think too hard about it. And guess what? Every single one of you grumpy furballs has the same weak spot. I mean, color me shocked when I find out Wolverine’s out here simping hardcore for a mutant angel, Mother Nature herself with all her leafy green goddess vibes.” Wade paused, turning the engine on, before continuing, “And oh, wouldn’t you know it? She’s your soulmate, bub. Yep, the big bad Wolverine falling head over claws for Mother Earth. Who knew you had it in ya? And for my grand finale after saving the multiverse, I asked the TVA to track down your leafy soulmate right here in this universe. I know, I’m a hero. Now, where’s my applause, Logan? Or, you know, a little thank you pegging wouldn’t hurt either. Your call!”

Logan absorbed the information in silence. He gripped the side of his seat, knuckles turning white and claws threatening to come out, as the weight of the words spoken sank in. His breath hitched — a soulmate. The concept circled around his mind, relentless and overwhelming. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but the car seemed to close in on him. A soulmate. His soulmate. The thought pounded in his skull, echoing louder with each beat of his heart.

His eyes darted from one side of the car to the other, unfocused, as his breathing quickened. Every face he’d ever known flashed through his mind— mutants, friends, enemies— all blurring together in a desperate search. He released his grip on his seat to only grip it tighter, digging deep into his memory, trying to pinpoint who it could be. Who from his world could possibly be the one.

“Oh, I can practically hear the gears grinding in your noggin, Wolfie. Relax, it’s not like you’ve missed out on a soulmate meet-and-greet. You never met them in your universe—they kicked the bucket before your paths ever crossed. Just like the Logan of this universe bit the dust before he got his chance to meet them. So, no need to lose any more sleep over it, bub.” Wade reached into the hidden compartment of the car and handed Logan to file. “Alright, feast your eyes on this bad boy—it’s got all the juicy deets about your little sweet pea right here. Buckle up, Logan, it’s time to dive into the love story of the century!”

Logan’s fingers hover over the file, trembling slightly. He shallowed hard, his throat dry as he stared holes at it. His breath came in uneven gasps. The file lay heavy in his hands, a stark contrast to his tight grip as if it might burst into flames of open with a truth he wasn’t ready to face. He became a monster after the death of his friends — his family — a vicious and heartless animal with no regard for human life. He had a fiery temper and alcoholic tendencies. He hesitated, his eyes darting to and from the file, each movement slow and deliberate, as if he were bracing himself for impact.

The file contained a possible future, a future he was not worthy for, but he was a selfish man who wanted nothing more than peace. Once the file was opened, his eyes were drawn to a picture of a gardener, Flora Winters.

Flora was the right mix of grit and grace. She had this magnetic way of commanding the camera’s attention, her presence effortlessly filling the frame with a blend of strength and elegance. There was a subtle, almost intangible quality that made her stand out.

“Hey, Earth to Perve, are you done giving her the ol’ eyeball striptease yet? You haven’t even met her and you’re already panting like a dog left out in the summer sun all day. I can only guess what’ll happen when you’re actually in the same room. Actually, I can totally imagine it— and if you don’t mind, I’d love to join in on the bedroom fun!”

~~~

Flora Winters spends the day slicing into the strawberries she’s grown in her greenhouse, experimenting with different recipes to find the one that’ll make her taste buds dance. She plans to sell them alongside the rest of her crops. Her life is mostly mundane, except for the occasional boost she gives her plants with her powers.

She senses a subtle tremor in the grass—a quiet warning from the trees that someone is near, getting closer. She feels the presence of two individuals stepping onto her porch, brushing against the ivy draped from the roof, ready to knock on her door.

Cracking the door open just enough to peek out, she narrows her eyes at the two men standing there. “What do you want?” she asks, taking in their ridiculous outfits. One is decked out in a red-and-black bodysuit that looks like a walking dildo, complete with a mask that only leaves his bug-eyed lenses visible. The other guy’s in a yellow-and-blue getup that looks straight out of a comic book, his muscles practically bulging out of the suit. They look like they’re about to audition for the weirdest superhero team ever.

Logan’s heightened senses pick up a scent that calms the raging animal inside him. It’s subtle—like the earth after rain, mixed with blooming flowers and a hint of something uniquely her. For the first time in what feels like forever, a deep sense of peace settles over him, like he’s found something he didn’t even know he was searching for. Every instinct tells him he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

Wade practically bounces on his heels. “This is it, bub! Your happily-ever-after, complete with a side of rosebuds and thorns.”

Logan shoots Wade a withering glare. “Shut up!”

But Wade, being Wade, ignores him and keeps running his mouth. “So, Flora, you should know—Logan here is a real softy under all that muscle. Sure, he’s got the claws and hair of a kitty and the whole brooding loner vibe down pat, but deep down, he’s a big ol’ teddy bear. Just don’t tell him I said that. Anyway, I’ll just leave him here and pick him up after this little playdate.”

Flora’s eyes flicker between the two, her brow furrowing as she narrows her gaze. The walking dildo keeps yapping nonsense. The vines hanging from the roof pulse with energy, eager for her command to snap into action. The thought of wrapping those vines around these idiots and flinging them far from her home is very tempting. It would be so easy.

Her eyes dart to the door—a simple barrier she could slam shut if they don’t retaliate. She hears the dildo’s yapping and the other guy’s low growling. They’re not really a threat, more like oversized children.

“Enough with your childish bickering. I want names. Who the fuck are you, how do you know my name, and what do you want?”

Wade starts to speak, but Logan cuts him off, his voice low and growling. “The moron here thinks we’re soulmates.”

Wade jumps back in, grinning. “The TVA stamped it, laminated it, and probably put it in a scrapbook labeled ‘Destined Couples of the Multiverse.’ Ain’t love just precious—like a rabid wolverine with a bowtie! So, congrats, lovebirds. Now kiss, fight, or do both. I’m just hyped to see good ol’ Logan drop the whole grumpy routine and maybe—just maybe—stop looking like he’s got a permanent wedgie. Fingers crossed he cracks a smile without breaking a mirror.”

Flora crosses her arms and tunes out the rest of the nonsense. The vines behind the two men sway towards them like serpents, coiling around their bodies and lifting them off the porch. With a flick of her wrist, the vines hurl the intruders as far as possible from her farm. She hears their screams fade as she calmly shuts the door, ignoring whatever mess is happening outside.

Wade and Logan watch the farm grow smaller and smaller until it vanishes behind the trees. Logan lands flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him, silently cursing Wade for dragging him into this. Wade, not as lucky, ends up impaled on a lonely tree stump. “Motherfucker.”

Logan gasps, “That went well.”

Wade pulls himself off the stump, glaring at his ruined suit. “I knew I should’ve handled the chit-chat! This is what happens when you let amateurs do the smooth talkin’—awkward silences and cringe-level dialogue. Next time, leave the witty banter to the pros—me.” He points at himself with both thumbs before inspecting the lacerations in his suit. “Well, there goes my uniform! Ruined! You know how hard it is to play arts and crafts with my own skin-tight, butt-hugging suit? This is what my life has come to—reconstructing fashion disasters caused by homicidal landscaping and that damn Vine Vixen.”

Masterlist

[briefalpacashark]

~Ghost of the past~

When returning to your hometown you faced with some unpleasant memories.

================================================

You stared. Your eyes locked on the projection in front of you. You sat with the boys all in a little meeting room as Price walked you through your next mission.

“Australia?” Soap asked.

“That's right. We got a lead that there a weapons cache. One of makarovs. We head in. Clear it out and take a few prisoners for questioning,” Price explained.

“Excited to go home lass?” You looked over the photos of the familiar landscape. Your expression was blank as you comprehend what Price was telling you.

“Lass?” Everyone's attention turned to you. 

“Huh?” You asked, snapping out of your little trance.

“You alright?” Gaz asked, giving your side a little nudge. Your usual bright smile graced your lips as you leaned back in the chair.

“Of course. Sorry Jonny. Was in my own little world. Whadya say?” you asked. You could feel it. The anxiety creeping up your spine. Ticking the back of your ribs.

“Asked if ya excited to go home?” Soap repeated with a grin. You smiled bashfully nodding your head.

“Of course. Where about we going?” you asked Price. He smiled warmly happy with what he was about to tell you.

“We're actually going to your old base, you got family down there, don't you?” he asked. The fear gripped your lungs, stopping any hope of breathing. You nodded.

“You got any hot sisters?” Soap asked. You chuckled, shaking your head. 

You were going home?

“Sorry Jonny. Only got a brother,” you said.

“Damn,” he faked disappointment as Gaz chuckled. Price smiled at the interaction.

“Who we working with?” you asked. 

“Australian special forces. Not sure what team yet,” he stated. 

That's fine. You thought. There were plenty of special forces units. The chances of meeting your old team were slim. But it was still there. You nodded, readjusting in your seat. You could feel the room getting small. The air getting thicker. You didn't take anything else in after that. Your forced smile stayed upon your lips the entire time. And inside your mind was a mess. A storm of past events that had haunted you for many a day and in the dark of night when you searched for sleep. 

“Doc want to come up here and give us a brief. We’ll be out in the bush and Laswell said you might know an insider's thing or two,” he gestured you up. All the fear and anxiety you felt was pushed way down low, locked away and covered in a black curtain. After all there was no use in worrying about something you couldn't change.

“Alright,” You cracked your knuckles slaughtering over to the white board.

“Rule number one!” You took a marker writing the word death in big letters.

“Anything and everything can and will try to kill you. And when I mean everything, I mean everything. No matter what, check your boots every time before you put them on. One bite from a funnel web and you're dead,” You took on a half joking half serious tone as you slapped the board.

“I can almost guarantee that you will come across a snake. Half of them are venomous, the other half aint. But they both will leave you alone if you leave them alone. You see a snake, you stay still, let him pass and then walk away. DO! NOT! PESTER! THE WILDLIFE! They can and will fuck you up,” the boys grinned as you emphasised the next words.

“Rule number two,” You wrote the word etiquette.

“When meeting someone or walking past someone you will be asked this question. Howya goin? Translated, it means how are you going. This is not a question. It is not an innovation to have a conversation. This is a greeting. The only appropriate response to this greeting are as follows,

Not to bad.

Could be better.

Good mate.

You can then have the option to say, yourself? It gives them the option to answer the same question. Do not feel offended if they dont answer,” You stated. 

“You will be called every name under the god damn sun. You will be called a cunt. It can be used as the greatest sign of affection and the greatest insult. It's all based on how they say it. Pay attention to the tone,” you said.

“You haven't called us cunts before. That mean you don't love us?” Soap asked.

“Speak for yourself,” Price spoke up. You grinned, turning back to the board. 

“Do not call anyone champ. That is the worst insult you can give, it will get you punched,” you wrote the word champ and put a larger x across it.

“If you are driving and someone gives way to you, always and I mean always give them a nod and a two-finger wave,” you explained demonstrating the movement.

“And for the love of god beware the drop bears,” you took a deathly serious tone as you wrote the word.

“The fuck is a drop bear?” Gaz asked. You turned staring deeply into their souls,

“They're about as big as a dog. Corse grey fur, one the most vicious animals you will meet down under. They hide in trees and drop down on unsuspecting prey, on unsuspecting people. They'll rip you to shreds faster than any of the bears here. Tear your face right of the bone” Inside you were howling with laughter as the flashes of fear you saw in the boys' faces. “Alright, that about covers it. Follow those rules and you should be fine,” You smiled cheerily.

On the flight over you found yourself staring deeply at the other side of the cargo area. It was actually happening. You thought about opting out of the mission. Using some bull shit excuse that excused you from attending. Price would have allowed it. 

And leave your team all alone? You smiled, shaking your head. No matter how scared you were, you would never abandon them. After all you had faced worse. Much worse.

But you didn't know if you could face them again.

Them?

Your old team. Every face is still fresh in your mind, as if you had only seen them yesterday. Leaning back, you closed your eyes as the plane started to descend. The fear was fighting to break free.

“You've been awfully quiet,” Your eyes snapped open, and you looked to your left where Ghost sat. His gaze was forward facing his arms crossed over his chest.

“Nervous I guess,” you chuckled. He slowly looked to you his eyes burning into your own seeming to look for whatever secret you were keeping. 

“How long has it been?” he asked.

“Not long enough,” with his eyes boring into yours you felt as if the truth was trusted out from your chest. He hummed, seeming to get everything he wanted from the interaction before returning to his quiet self.

The plane landed and the back ramp opened up. Heaving your bag onto your shoulders you let the boys take the lead, hoping to use their tall asses to keep you hidden. The hot Australian sun of the great QLD hit you all like a wave. You had gotten used to the rain and shady weather of the Uk. You all walked out and onto the tarmac.

“Hot as balls in ear,” Soap commented.

“Captain Price!” Your group made your way over to the soldier that had been sent to greet you. He was a colonel. A well decorated one by the look of his badges. You were glad when you didn't recognize him.

“Colonel James, I presume?” Price asked as they shook hands.

“You presume right. Welcome to Australia, come on,” he nodded you to follow. As you walked you began to feel eyes set upon you. You saw familiar faces mixed in with the crowd. Some recognized you. some didn't.

“I know Ghost is scary, but anyone feel like they're getting more looks than usual?” Gaz asked as he looked around.

“Yeah,” Soap agreed. You kept your eyes on Ghost back hoping to just get inside as soon as possible.

“Fucken hell,” Your blood ran cold at the familiar voice. 

“Ah. Captain. This is Major Adam. He leads the squad you'll be working besides,” the colonel just confirmed your worst-case scenario. “Also known as the Bloody Hells,” your hand instinctively tightens around the gun you carried casually in front of you. You wouldn't believe your luck, actually you could believe your luck. Trust lady luck to throw such a twisted day at you. 

“They wernt fucking about with you lot,” Major Adam stated as he looked Ghost up and down.

“Major,” The colonel warned.

“Come on mate. We're gonna risk our necks with these boys. I think we can dispense with the formalities. Call me Adam. none of that major shit,” Adam went through the lads introducing himself. And they in return.

“Isn't there supposed to be one more of you?” Adam asked. You prayed with all your might that Ghost would stay where he was. That you could hide behind him for the whole mission if possible. Only he looked back towards you stepping back to put you on full view. Adam eyes dropped from Ghost to you. Everything froze as he gave you a kind sad smile. He did look different in the slightest. Still the same drop-dead gorgeous face. Perfect bone structure and curly black hair. His face brought back a flood of memories.

“Y/N,” the way he so tenderly used your name made you want to puke. You clench your jaw as you debate on what exactly you should do. 

“Major,” You gave a curt nod.

“You two know each other?” Price asked calculating your reaction.

“She's a part of our team,” Adam stated simply.

“Used to be. This is my team now,” You nodded to the boys. Adam smiled with an understanding nod.

“Of course. But can I just say a goodbye would have been nice. Hell, even a reason as to why you left,” You couldn't believe the audacity of the man in front of you. He knew exactly why you had left. And he knew you knew. That sweet little smile he wore twisted ever so sinisterly at its edges. 

“Oh, Sargent Y/L/N?” The colonel asked.

“That's her name. She prefers to go by Maddog though,” Adam chuckled light heartedly.

“Mad dog?” Soap asked, turning to you. The boys were all watching you, unsecure of what to make of your behavior. 

“Old nick name,” you stated simply. From the moment he had arrived you had yet to take your eyes of Adam. Yet to release the tight hold you had on your weapon.

“Well, it's an honor. Heard a lot about your work from my brother. He's a medic as well,” The colonel gave you a kind smile.

“Maybe you could give the kid a few pointers,” Adam suggested. 

“Maybe,” you bit. You just wanted it all to be over. You wanted to get out of there. You wanted to get away from the interaction. Away from him. An awkward silence passed over the group as Adam stared at you.

“Well let's get you situated,” The colonel gestured your group forward. Adam gave you all a nod as you passed. Only his hand snapped out gripping painfully tight onto your upper arm.

“Welcome home sweetheart,” Adam smirked as he whispered the words. Your eyes narrowed into a glare. 

“Let go,” you ordered. His smirk widened but he refused to move. 

“What? Didn't you miss me?” he asked.

“Doc!” you both turned to the group who had walked a few steps away. Ghost had already turned to you having been the first to notice your missing presence. The rest turned to the call. The boys could all see it. How rigid your body was. How posed it was to jump into combat at a moment's notice. How white your knuckles had gotten because of your tight grip.

“Behave. Wouldn't want your new friends getting hurt,” the warning Adam gave you had you ripping your arm from his grasp.

“I could say the same to you,” you whispered back before jogging up to your team giving them a reassuring smile.

As you were unpacking your things you could feel the gazes of the boys on your back.

“Sooooooo,” Soap trailed off.

“He was the lead of my old team. Things didn't end on good terms,” you answered quickly.

“Things?” Soap was trying to lighten the mood with his teasing tone. You were surprised when you practically slammed your locker closed.

“I'll be back soon,” you rushed the words out as you left, keeping your back to the boys. As soon as you closed the doors they shared looks.

“She's been a mess since you told us we were comen here,” Ghost announced.

“So you noticed too?” Price asked, readjusting on his cot.

“Should we be worried?” Gaz asked. They had never dealt with this side of you before. 

“That Adam guy seems nice,” Soap shrugged.

“Too nice,” Ghost muttered.

So there you were. ACDC music blasting in the shed you currently resided in. At the moment you were gutting an old truck. Tearing it apart screw by screw, bolt by bolt. It was a part of the engineer's program you guys had. New recruits had to build it completely from scratch. That meant it had to be taken apart first. It was the job everyone hated. Yet since the start of your military career you had one day been volunteered for such a task. You found a strange solace in the task. Solace you so desperately needed as your emotions decided to play trip wire with your body. It was night by the time your team came to find you. You peeked at them around the truck. You expected questions, Soaps prying nature to take over. Instead, they found scattered items to act as seats as they cracked open a few beers. Definitely not army regulation. They didn't pry, they knew you didn't want to talk about it. It brought a warm fuzzy feeling to your belly. They were there to support you. To show you, you weren't alone.

“Need a hand?” Ghost asked as he offered you a beer. 

“Sure, grab a spanner,” you took the beer, cracking it open and sculling it. Praying to find a calm in the effects of alcohol.

“What are we fixing?” he asked, looking over the half dismantled truck.

“Not fixing, pulling apart. All of it,” you stated licking the foam from your lips. You had failed to notice Ghost gaze as it trailed over your face, your lips, and your neck and upper chest that glistened with sweat. 

“Seems simple enough,” he nodded.

“That's not wise. Ghost and vehicles don't mix,” Soap spoke up. A small smile worked its way onto your face as the other laughed. 

“Don't worry Ghost. I trust ya,” you whispered jokingly to him offering him a wink. He gave a grunt as he got to work. He was wearing a short sleeve, giving you a perfect view of his muscles that rippled under his skin with each movement. As you worked you stole glances at his tattooed sleeve. 

“See something you like love?” your eyes snapped up to his face thinking you had been caught out. Only his gaze was focused on the machine in front of him.

“Nah, just something shockingly ugly,” you joked. Again, you could swear his mask tilted into a smile.

“You just smiled,” you stated proudly.

“I don't smile,” he shut you down quickly. 

“Sure,” you nodded not believing him in the slightest.

“Is she here!?” you frowned at the demand. The yell echoing through the shed.

“Woah kid. Slow down,” Price stood to meet the soldier that had just run to them.

“Is she here?” he pressed. You stepped out from behind Ghost spotting a member from your old team. Jamie. Sweet kid. Red hair and a baby face. Good heart. When he saw you, his face crumpled, his body filled with guilt. And relief?

“So you're really alive?” he asked. The boys gave you confused glances at his statement. You became very invested in getting the grease stains off your hands. “It would seem so,” you muttered. It was silent as Jamie simply stared at you.

“What do you want Jamie?” you asked softly. Too softly. Tears started to gather in his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. Your eyes snapped up at the words. 

“I'm so sorry,” he kept repeating the words as you stalked forward.

“Shut up,” you demanded.

“I- I didn't want to. I should have never done it. Im so so sorry,” the words tumbled out of his mouth in a jumbled mess.

“Get lost Jamie,” You ordered.

“Mad dog please,” he begged.

“I said get lost!” you snapped.

“Please, I know it was wrong. I just. I was scared ok. And we were given orders. I- I didn't know what to do,” he was begging at this point.

“Oh you were scared were you?” You asked sarcastically. His mouth clamped shut. You had been sacred. Terrified. That fear lived in your heart, forever embedded into your memory. And what had he done for it. Nothing. “Come on,” you tried to drag him away. Tried to hide whatever would come to light from the boys. Only Jamie stopped pulling back from your grip. 

“He said you were dead,” he whispered. Your hand snapped out gripping tightly onto his collar.

Your mind plunged you back to that fateful day. The day you were standing on hell's doorstep. Bloodied and bruised from your efforts to save your team. The day your team fled in the safety of a helicopter. The day they saw you. Each and every one of them saw you. Alive and fighting for your goddamn life all alone. The day they left you to die. Jamie knew the words he had just said were a lie. His face wouldn't have scrunched up in such an ashamed way if he didn't.

“Doc?” Price called you softly. They weren't sure what you were about to do. But they all stood at the ready.

“Let's talk about this elsewhere,” you demanded once again, going to pull him away.

“No,” he pulled back again. “I'm not leaving until you listen to me,” He stayed. Fine if he wanted to have the conversation you'd have the conversation. 

“What did you come here for Jamie? Forgiveness?” You asked softly. He was still the kid you took under your wing. He was still the boy you had fought beside. Shed blood beside.

“Forgive what? Huh?” you asked. You wanted him to answer. To admit what he had done.

“Please,” he begged. Your resolve wasn't easy to break. But Jamie always had a special place in your heart. He reminded you of your little brother. That made it all the more painful.

“Were human Jamie. We all have moments of weakness. Of cowardice,” you whispered. “I won't blame you for that. I'll forgive you for that,” you stated. You saw the slightest hope in his eyes.

“But I'll never forget,” you finished diminishing that hope.

“A moment of weakness is understandable,” you added. You released his collar fixing it. 

“How long has it been since we last met?” you asked.

“About two years,” he answered in slight confusion.

“Damn long time for a moment of weakness huh?” you asked bitterly. Shame consumed him as he cast his eyes to the ground.

“Fuck of Jamie,” you ordered softly. He walked off without a word of protest, his tail tucked between his legs.

“And Jamie,” you called after him. He turned awaiting your next words.

“He's gonna get you killed,” you said. He didn't acknowledge your words, but you could see they had wormed their way into his brain. And a little part of him knew you were right. 

You could feel the boy's eyes bore into you. Trying to make sense of what had just happened. 

Silently you walked back over to the truck, picking up your discarded wrench and getting back to work. 

“You alright love?” Price asked. The boys were shocked when you showed them your usual bright smile. They were surprised at how normal you could act, but they all knew the smile on your face wasn't accurate to what you were feeling inside. 

“I'm fine, boys,” you said.

“I'd like to be alone for a bit, if it's alright you you lot?” you suggested casually. 

“Yeah, yeah. Course,” Price nodded, gesturing for the boys to leave.

“Well be back at base if you need anything,” he added before walking off. You waited till you couldn't hear the foot falls before you dropped your head into your hand, the tears flowing from your eyes like a tap. 

God, what had you gotten yourself into. 

Your soft sobs echoed in the shed, being just loud enough for the boys to hear.

It was late when you walked into the tent. You knew the boys would have woken up with your arrival, but they stayed in their sleeping positions. You looked over them. How many times had they risked their life for you. How many times had they saved you. 

They had saved you.

Joining the 141 saved you. 

And you were damned if you were to let anything happen to them.

“Price,” you walked over to him. He opened his eyes quickly sitting up.

“Need anything love?” he asked. 

“We can't go on this mission,” you said. He frowned, glancing at the others who had all sat up.

“Whadya mean?” he asked you to elaborate.

“Adam’s a snake sir. He will fuck us over without a second thought if it means getting what he wants. We can't trust him. And we can't go on this mission. It's too dangerous,” you spoke firmly. The only betrayal to the hard font you put on being the red puffy eyes from crying.

“That's not really an option Doc,” he said.

“Then make it one,” you pressed. He pressed his lips together, sighing. You had never asked anything of him. You had trusted his every order, his every choice. “Doc, we all have history. But we are soldiers. Shit goes wrong all the time,” he was trying to reason with you. Trying to make you see that whatever lovers quarrel you had with Adam meant nothing. That's what he thought it was. He would never be able to guess the severity of what had happened.

“Please Sir. I'm begging you, Please don't make us go on this mission,” they hated how frail you sounded. How broken. Price wanted at that very moment to give into you. To do as you said. But he didn't have the full story.

“If I'm gonna do this I need the full story doc,” he gave you the ultimatum. He needed proof to ditch the mission. Reasonable doubt. After all he was a soldier, a good one at that. He couldn't ditch a mission just because one of his soldiers asked him nicely.

“I,” your words got caught in your throat. You wanted to tell him everything. 

But you couldn't.

“I can't say sir,” you admitted.

“Then this conversation is done,” he spoke softly, finishing the discussion. At that moment you hated how rational he was.

“Yes sir,” you whispered, walking over to your bunk and sitting down with your back to the boys. After slipping off your boots you got into bed.

The next day everyone was ready. When the boys had woken up you were nowhere to be seen in the barracks. 

“You think she'll come?” Soap asked as he checked his weapons. To their left the bloody hells were doing final checks as well.

“Don't know,” Price muttered. A soft silence washed over the group as you walked up to them. You wore a simple desert mask that covered the bottom half on you face your eyes blank of emotions. The boys took notice of the guilty bewildered looks the other team gave you. “Well good morning beautiful,” Adam smiled brightly. You paused looking over his face. You had made many memories with the man in front of you. Many sweet and beautiful. But they were all bitter now. Reaching into your pocket you pulled out an old patch. The bloody hells written in red upon it. The edge was stained with blood, the other side burnt slightly. 

“Thought it was time I gave this back,” you muttered holding it out to him. He refused to take it.

“Once a member of the bloody hells always a member,” he said. You huffed.

“Nah mate,” you shock your head, throwing it to his feet.

“Lets get it done,” you said, knocking knuckles with Jonny before getting into the back of the truck.

The mission was a simple one. Get in, clear the base. Collect data and dispose of the weapons. It was going well. You were with your boys. That was until you weren't.

“Tims been hit. Our medics down. We need you MadDog,” you ears rung at the comms. You were currently in a hallway. Price turned back to you.

“This is Doc, what is your position, over?” you asked into the comm.

“West side, next to the green building,” he responded.

“That's the cleared area,” you muttered.

“Take Ghost with you,” Price ordered.

“No, you've still got enemies to face. It's a cleared area, I'll be fine,” you said. You were right and he knew it. He also knew you could handle yourself.

“Look after each other ok,” you ordered before taking off in the direction you had come from.

================================================

--COD Master List Here--

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[queenimmadolla]

drabbles! how about reader and eddie telling penny and wayne theyre expecting maple?

𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫!𝐃𝐚𝐝!𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐌𝐨𝐦!𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 (don't have to read but you'll want to)

“I’ll tell them. It’s fine.” Your voice sounds so defeated over the phone and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hates it, hates that he’s the reason for it. 

  Here he is, telling you everything’s gonna get better, that the two of you will be okay—that your family will be okay, and already he’s had to let you down. 

  After a particular nasty fight that led to a comforting tryst, you were pregnant again. Giving Eddie his third baby. And all he’s given you lately is disappointment.

  “This leg is just three weeks, baby.” He promises, voice urgent because you have to believe him. Things have gotten shitty between the two of you but Eddie’s determined to change them, needs you to know that, “I’ll make it home on our off days.”

  But he won’t be home when you’re telling his kids they’re getting another sibling. It’s fucked. And he wants to argue, tell you to just wait until he gets back in town this week—but the thing is, even though he’s promising and desperately hoping he’ll be able to make it, it would be just his luck for something to happen at the last minute.

  He wants to punch a wall until his bones tear through the skin of his knuckles.

  “Okay, Eds.” Still defeated, but you don’t sound like you hate him, a change from recent phone conversations and you’re short with him so he knows you don’t want to talk to him for much longer.

  He does take a few moments, eyes still shut as he hones in on your breathing. Trying to imagine you right next to him instead of thousands of miles away.

   “I know things aren’t as pleasant as we want them to be. I swear to god, they’re gonna change. I’m not losing you. I’m not. I love you, baby.” He whispers, voice low and raspy. He’s fully expecting the love you, too followed by dial tone, so Eddie practically starts silently weeping when he gets more than that.

   “I love you, too, Eddie.” It doesn’t sound distant, as though you were already mentally out of the conversation. You’re still present for it, and it doesn’t sound like a weight on you. 

  The dial tone doesn’t come, you’re waiting for Eddie to end the phone call. A change.

  With a faint sniffle, and after a few more moments of comforting silence, he does.

  You hang the phone back on the receiver then pad over to the living room. The tv is on, some animated film displayed on the screen that manages to hold your children’s attention. Not much could do that as of late.

  “You guys got a minute?” You ask, making yourself comfortable on one end of the couch. Your five year-old son, Wayne, moves over to you and practically wraps your arms around him as he cuddles into your side. 

  Penny mutes the TV with the remote and you know you have their full attention.

   “I know things have felt a little weird lately, but I don’t want you to think it’s a bad thing, okay? Things are just changing.”

   “Like what?” Penny asks, giving you the perfect opportunity. This has to be a good, has to be a positive thing happening for them even though you had no idea how to feel yourself. 

  “Like the amount of troublemakers under my roof.”

  Penny’s gasp is loud and dramatic, eyes wide in excitement as she immediately catches onto your meaning. 

  “ARE YOU GONNA HAVE A BABY?!”

  Wayne’s face is the opposite of Penny’s, mouth wide open and looking downright offended with the level of side-eye he’s giving you. His top lip is curled in disgust, gums and teeth on display. You would have thought you’d just stolen his childhood instead of just telling him you’re pregnant.

  Oh, boy.

  At least, you’d have something funny to break the ice with when Eddie called in a few hours.

divider ℗ cafekitsune ♡

[libraryofgage]

Addams Family B-Side (2)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two (you're here!) Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One 10th Doctor and Rose (on the way! might take a little, I have plans for this one)

Hello, and welcome back to Addams Family B-Side, where I take my Addams Family Steddie idea and flip the cassette tape

This is part of a larger series in which I give Steve Harrington good parents from different shows/movies/etc. If there are any other people you think would make good parents for Steve, let me know! I'll take them into consideration and see if inspiration sparks :D

Also, there's a meme at the end, so enjoy that hfjks

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't :^)

---------

Just because Steve finds Eddie Munson fascinating, that doesn't mean he's going to immediately move to wooing the guy. Well. He would, but his mother has some reasonable yet strict rules about these things, the first of all being that Steve can't like someone just for a pretty face. Or sizable personal wealth. He's got to talk to the person to figure out if they can stand each other before commencing the romancing.

Steve doesn't see himself getting a chance to talk to Eddie anytime soon, so he morosely (and it's not even fun this time) puts his fascination on the back burner for the rest of the day.

Then school ends, and Pubert has some after-school commitment, so Steve waits for him in the grossest bathroom he can find on campus. It's near the fine arts hall, has a flickering light above the mirror, and sports mold in one corner that Steve is tempted to harvest for Grandmama. He bets it'd make a great ingredient for something.

He's just about to scrape some of the mold away when the door slams open. Steve looks up in time to see Eddie (his eyes wide and somewhat terrified, and Steve is briefly angry and consumed by the thought that he's the only one who should be making Eddie scared like that) slip across the tile and crash into the wall on the far side of the bathroom.

Steve is momentarily stunned by Eddie's appearance, his heart lurching in his chest and the sudden urge to hide behind something rearing its head. In the back of his mind, he remembers his father describing the first time he saw Debbie; how he clammed up and was so in awe of her that he couldn't say a thing. Steve finally gets it. If he tried to speak right now, he'd probably only mumble or mutter something unintelligible.

Steve is about to try anyway when the door slams open again and three other boys walk in. They're wearing letterman jackets, and Steve recognizes one of them from lunch. He wasn't the boy who called Eddie a prick, but he was sitting at that table and looking particularly annoyed. Now, he just looks taken aback by Steve's presence, and the feeling is mutual.

"You're that new kid, right?" he asks, his lips pulled back in a sneer as he looks Steve up and down. "Get out."

"I was here first," Steve says, frowning slightly as he glances from the boys to Eddie. "What are you doing?"

"We're teaching this dipshit a lesson for disrespecting us," the guy says, cracking his knuckles and narrowing his eyes at Steve. "So, unless you want your ass kicked, too, get out."

Oh. This is bullying. Steve blinks, a sudden glee building in his chest. He glances at Eddie. "Were you planning to fight back?" he asks, figuring he won't take that fun away.

Eddie stares at him like he's clinically insane, and Steve is a little flattered. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Eddie asks, throwing a hand out and gesturing at the guys. "They're brick shithouses."

Steve hums softly and nods, swinging his backpack off his shoulders and opening the main pocket. As he's rummaging around, he hears the ringleader of the jocks (that's what they'd be called in a movie, he thinks) scoff at him. "Are you fucking dumb? Or are you that eager for a ride in an ambulance?" he asks.

Finally, Steve finds what he's looking for and smiles. "Oh. No. I just had to get a weapon," he says, pulling his travel mace out of his bag. He presses a button and spikes release from the ball on the end. Steve looks up at the jocks with an eager smile. "Who first?"

"What the fuck is that?!"

Steve blinks, a little worried about the public education system. "It's a weapon. A mace, to be exact. There's three of you. This evens the odds," he explains.

The three take a step back, looking at Steve like he's clinically insane, and this time he's disgusted by the gesture. "You're fucking crazy," the first one says before turning heel and leaving the bathroom. The other two follow closely behind, and Steve has to stifle the sheer disappointment.

He sighs and retracts the spikes, placing the mace back into his bag. "Are you disappointed you didn't get to fight?" Eddie asks, pulling Steve's attention back.

Eddie is noticeably more relaxed now, and he's looking at Steve like he's an enigma. That's not quite as good as clinically insane, but it's still flattering nonetheless. Steve swallows down the nerves that suddenly appear again, trying to channel his mother's calm confidence instead. "A little," he admits, zipping up his bag before slinging it back onto his shoulders. "I'm Steve, by the way. Steve Harrington."

"Oh, uh, Eddie Munson."

"I know. I saw you at lunch."

Eddie perks up a little, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah? And what did you think, Harrington?" he asks.

Steve stares at him for a moment before taking a step forward, the faint scent of weed and cheap body spray making its way to him. He makes a quick mental note to look into colognes for one that would fit Eddie best (perhaps something crisp and harsh like a wild blizzard with inescapable winds). "I think," Steve says, holding Eddie's gaze, "that you've got incredible conviction."

"Uh, thanks?"

"You're welcome," Steve says, studying Eddie a moment longer. "Let me know if they bother you again. I can pull out a bomb next time."

Before Eddie can respond, the door swings open for a third time. Steve looks over his shoulder and pulls back when he sees Pubert. "Ready to go?" Pubert asks, glancing between the two. "Or am I interrupting something?"

"Not interrupting. And yeah, ready to go."

"Wait, how do you know Pubert Addams?" Eddie asks, looking between the two with a frown. The emotion in his eyes is recognizable if only because Steve has seen it in his mother's eyes when someone beats her to a sale or happens to be wearing a nicer necklace. Jealousy, plain and simple.

Steve grins at Eddie, ready to soothe his jealousy when Pubert cuts in. "Save it," he says, grabbing Steve's hand, "we're gonna be late." With that, he pulls Steve out of the bathroom and down the hall.

"What was that for?" Steve asks.

"I've got to get my entertainment somehow," Pubert replies, smirking as he drops Steve's hand. "Watching someone be jealous will do for a while."

-----

When Steve gets home, leaving Pubert on the sidewalk without another glance because he's too excited to get inside and tell his mother about the crush that he's talked to, he finds only his father in the kitchen. Without needing to be asked, Fester says, "Debbie and Morticia went to get their nails done. It was an emergency. Apparently, Debbie couldn't tear open letters as easily anymore."

Steve nods once and drops his bag onto the island. "I'm in love," he announces.

His father freezes, a tray of roasted vegetables in his hands. A few moments pass before Fester fully processes Steve's words, and he asks, "Have you talked to them? You know your mother's rule."

"I have," Steve says, unable to help a grin, "and he's perfect."

Fester drops the tray onto the stovetop, and Steve suddenly finds himself lifted into the air and spun around. "In love! Oh, I hope it's miserable for you," Fester says.

Steve laughs, nearly tripping over his feet when Fester sets him down. "I haven't decided how to approach him yet," he admits, grabbing onto the counter for support.

"Tell me about him," Fester says, grabbing Steve's shoulders and staring intensely at him. It's like he thinks he'll be able to read Steve's mind if he refrains from blinking long enough.

Steve pushes his father into one of the chairs at the kitchen's island. "His name is Eddie Munson. He's got this wild look to him. Like, his hair is all wavy and kinda poofy like he got half-electrocuted. And his eyes are the most beautiful swamp-mud brown I've ever seen. He speaks with conviction and has a shirt with a demon head on it and has all these rings and spikes on his vest. And he looks incredible when he's terrified. I mean, if I hadn't been so angry, I would've proposed right there," Steve gushes, the words falling from him in a breathless rush.

"What made you angry?" Fester asks, quickly latching to the last point.

"These...jocks. That's what they're called. Jocks. They were chasing him for stuff he said at lunch. He made this whole speech at lunch, by the way. It was incredible. Way too short and just barely addressing the actual issues and he'd never win a single political campaign. Anyway, these jocks, they chased him into the bathroom where I was, and they had him outnumbered and were muscular, so he was scared of getting beat up, I think. They threatened to beat me up, too, which I was excited about, but they ran away when I pulled out my travel mace. I mean, how rude is that? It's just bad form to run when someone's pulled out a weapon."

"And he wasn't angry about you taking his chance to fight?" Fester asks.

"Not at all! He seemed relieved. I think he might be better with, you know, poisons or something," Steve explains, shrugging slightly. He knows everyone has their specialties; he's a master of physical brawls and fights, Pubert does best with explosives, his mother just has a way with words and manipulation, and his father can give people the creeps just by looking at them.

Fester nods, an eager grin taking over his face. "You've got to start wooing him!" he says, slapping his hand on the island counter and pushing himself out of his seat. "Start small, something to test the waters."

"Oh! I could get him a rat," Steve says, thinking of the ones that like to burrow around in their yard. They're big and fearless, and Steve used them to practice his prowling and hunting when he was young. He's got many fond memories of crouching and pouncing right before they scattered across the yard.

"Wait," Fester says, holding up a hand and thinking for a moment, "we should think like your mother. She's the most romantic person we know."

"She blew you up," Steve agrees, nodding seriously. "She'd probably say that I shouldn't give him a live rat. Because he's, uh, not like us?" Steve looks at Fester, waiting for his father to nod once in approval before continuing, "I think Mom talked about stuffed animals once. So, maybe I can get him a stuffed rat, instead."

"Yes! Good! And then you should...learn about his interests! What does he like?" Fester asks.

"I'll have to watch him to find out. I can probably make him something once I know. I mean, he's probably got normal interests, like bugs and poisons and torture practices, right? That's what most people like."

"Don't forget dancing or music."

"Right," Steve says, "dancing or music. But he'll probably have special interests, too. Like Satanism. I should watch for those."

With something akin to a plan in place, Steve leaves Fester to sneakily poison the roasted vegetables while he plans the first step of wooing Eddie.

-----

Ever since meeting Steve Harrington in the bathroom, Eddie has been feeling eyes on him. Not even the normal kind that are annoyed or just curious about the school's resident freak. No, these eyes are...intense. They're laser-focused on his every move and clearly filled with some kind of intentions that he can't discern.

He just doesn't know where they're coming from. When he looks around to see who's staring, he can't find anyone. It's been driving him crazy for almost a week now, and Eddie is just about ready to scream when he opens his locker and...

And finds a rat.

Like, a real rat.

Well, it's dead, but it was alive once. Eddie blinks, staring at the taxidermied rat innocently sitting on top of the pile of books and papers and folders stacked in his locker. It's big and has a surprisingly shiny brown coat, kind of like someone had given the thing a thorough wash with extra shampoo and conditioner. There's a blood-red ribbon wrapped around the rat's neck, a perfect bow tied behind its head, with a tag hanging from it. When Eddie hesitantly turns the tag over, he finds "Name: Kas" at the top and "Hope you like him" written on the bottom in careful, meticulous handwriting.

It should be creepy. It should be disturbing. Eddie should be paranoid beyond reason because how did the mystery gifter even know his locker combination? Did they stuff this rat themselves? Did they kill the rat themselves? Why the fuck would they give him a rat?

But...it's oddly...sweet? Somehow, Eddie can feel that it's not, like, a malicious gift. And he likes the rat. Kas. He likes Kas. Its fur is surprisingly soft when he picks it up, and Eddie spends a good minute just rubbing his thumb over its back.

Then he feels those eyes on him again. They're even more intense this time, like they're watching him closely to see his reaction and...oh. Is this...a weird secret admirer? Does Eddie "The Freak" Munson have a secret admirer? A weird one, sure, because who the fuck gifts taxidermied rats, but still.

He looks around, taking in the other students in the semi-crowded hallway, trying to find those eyes. He doesn't find anyone staring at him, but he does end up staring himself at Steve Harrington. The guy is leaning on a locker across the hall, inexplicably fiddling with a lightbulb as he talks to Pubert Addams, who's digging around in his own locker. If Eddie squints, he could almost convince himself that Steve's cheeks are a little pinker than normal.

After a few seconds, Steve glances up and meets his gaze. They stare at each other for a few tense moments, something building in Eddie's chest as the weight of Steve's eyes surrounds him. It doesn't feel bad, but he's not used to being the center of someone's attention like this. Normally, people are frowning when they pay attention to him. Or, if they're his friends, goading him on and joining in the joke. But this is different, like Steve finds him fascinating.

And then Pubert Addams slams his locker door shut and looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowing when he sees Eddie staring at Steve. He frowns, throws an arm over Steve's shoulders, and pulls him away. Pubert's shoulders are a little tense, his expression sour as he says something to Steve that results in one last, furtive glance at Eddie before he's out of sight.

Suddenly, nothing is more important to Eddie than figuring out what the fuck is going on between Steve Harrington and Pubert Addams.

------

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@estrellami-1, @itsall-taken, @mugloversonly, @fandomcartographer, @hippielittlemetalhead, @agree2disagre-kicks, @ledleaf, @just-a-tiny-void, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @ink1177, @maya-custodios-dionach, @littlebluejane,

And now, a meme for your viewing pleasure:

[woso-dreamzzz]

Bully

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

*Homophobic slurs*

Summary: Violence isn't always the answer

To be honest, you could barely remember the incident.

All you could hear were the taunts in your ears, the pulling on your school blazer and then suddenly they were on the ground and your knuckles were split.

They glared at you from across the hallway, both of you sitting on the floor outside of the headmistress' office.

An icepack was pressed to your jaw and a matching one was on his eyebrow.

He had gotten up quickly after you hit him, slamming his own fist against you until you were both snarling and grappling with each other in the corridor.

You glared back at him, lips curled back in a sneer quickly wiped off your face when you saw exactly who you were trying to avoid stalking down the hallway.

Selfishly, you thought that neither of your mothers would get the call, that being at practice meant they wouldn't be as attached to their phones. But, no such luck and you pulled your hood up over your head to hide away.

You couldn't meet their eyes as they came to a stop just in front of you. The boy's parents were there too.

"Of course," He said scornfully," A dyk-"

You surged up from the ground, intent on swinging at him again but Morsa caught your raised arm in her hand and gave you a stern look. You melted under the weight of it and tore your arm away.

"Ah," The headmistress said, opening her office door," You're all here. Why don't we step inside and get this sorted out?"

You slumped in your seat, squished between your Momma and Morsa. They were still in their training kits, probably having skipped out during lunch when they got the call.

"I don't see what there is to sort out," The boy said arrogantly and you instantly felt bad for his parents, who looked extremely embarrassed at being here in the first place," She hit me. I protected myself."

"Don't act like it wasn't provoked!" You snapped.

Momma grabbed at your wrist and sent you a look of warning.

"It was just a joke!" The boy defended," It's not my fault that there's no banter in whatever Russian city you're from!"

"I'm not Russian!"

He scoffed. "Like it matters."

You glared again and Momma tightened her grip on you.

The headmistress sighed deeply, rubbing at her temples. "Jason," She said," This is the third time this week that you've been in my office over a 'joke'. What was it this time?"

He remained silent.

She turned to you.

"I'm not excusing your violence but it would be best if you came clean about what happened, if he provoked you like you said."

"You calling me a liar?"

"y/n," Morsa said sternly and you recognised the tone as 'come-clean-or-you'll-be-in-even-more-trouble'.

"He's been calling me a dyke ever since I transferred," You said in a huff, staring at the stupid motivational poster behind the headmistress' head," And he makes fun of my mums all the time. He..."

Momma's fingers stroked over your bruised knuckles. "Go on."

"He asked me if it was safe to have a dyke like me in the changing rooms with the other girls." Tears stung in your eyes but you refused to let them fall. "So I hit him."

"Liar!" He slammed his fist onto the headteacher's desk.

"Jason!" His mother shrieked. It looked, at least, that she didn't agree with his words. "What have I told you about using that foul language?!"

While they argued, your Morsa turned to look at you. You couldn't read her expression. She just stared down at you, slumped in your seat and unwilling to make proper eye contact.

"You hit him?"

"You know I hit him."

"Hard?"

"Yeah..."

She nodded. "Good."

"Magda!" Momma snapped," Don't encourage her!"

"Right, yeah." Morsa was silent for a moment. "Er...Don't do it again. Violence isn't the answer..." She glared at him from the corner of her eye. "Even if it's against homophobic little brats."

"Magda," Momma hissed again," I mean it."

With both families squabbling, your headteacher sighed deeply before getting everyone's attention again.

"Listen," She said," Honestly, something like this rarely happens here. Miss Harder, Miss Eriksson, truly, I'm sorry that these kinds of words have been thrown at your daughter so frequently but you must know that I can't have violence like this in my halls."

"Of course," Momma said," We understand."

"But, y/n clearly has been harassed so I think an exclusion for the rest of the week will suffice. Jason, as for you, I'm not too sure that there's a future for you in my school."

"What?! Come on!"

"Miss Harder, Miss Eriksson, I believe that our business is done for the day. y/n can return on Monday morning."

"Thank you," Momma said, standing up and pulling you along with her," This won't happen again."

The car ride home was a bit tense and every time you looked up, you made an uncomfortable amount of eye contact with Momma in the rearview mirror.

"Go to your room," She said as soon as you pulled up to the house.

"Momma-"

"Your room. Now."

You hurried off, ignoring the sympathetic look Morsa gave you as you shoved past her. There wasn't much to do in your room, especially when Momma had confiscated your phone as soon as you got into the car.

You could do nothing but stare up at the ceiling and flex your aching hand.

"I'm not sorry," You said as the door opened," He deserved it."

Momma stood in your doorway, arms crossed over her chest. "What you did..." She took a deep breath. "Was irresponsible and stupid. Why didn't you just tell a teacher?"

"I did!" You snapped," The first time it happened! They didn't do anything!"

"y/n-"

"No! I know that I shouldn't have hit him but I don't regret it! He had it coming!"

She crossed the room and perched on the edge of your bed. "I don't doubt that. But it was still a silly thing to do. You said that this has been going on for a while. Why didn't you tell one of us?"

You rolled your eyes. "Does it really matter? It...We'd just moved. It didn't seem as worrying as you're trying to make it out to be. It's done. It's over. Can we just skip to the part where you yell at me?"

There was silence for matter before Momma spoke again," I'm not going to yell at you. I...I just wish you'd handled it in a different way."

"But?"

"But I'm glad that you showed everyone not to mess with you." She said the words almost like she was embarrassed to admit them. "I don't think anyone will be bothering you for a long time."

You sat up and grinned.

"Don't get cocky," Momma warned you," You're not grounded or anything but every day you're off school, you'll have chores to do."

"I can do my chores," You said brightly.

She rolled her eyes and took your hand, pulling you up and off your bed. "Come on. Morsa's got some ice for your jaw and fist. Next time, aim for the nose."

[charnelhouse]

darlin'

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Wordcount: 4k Warnings: rough smut. violence. almost sexual assault (but nothing in detail). me probably knowing nothing about this. Srs hurt/comfort. references to suicide. Summary: You are another means to an end. He needs a second pair of hands and you have the face to distract scavengers and the guts to kill people who need to be put down. A/N: not sure about the timeline between joel and tommy splitting post-outbreak. I’m really playing fast and loose with canon here since joel is on the move with the reader and not stuck in one place. Hopefully his characterization is somewhat on point.

It’s not like you fall into Joel’s lap. It’s a gradual process where you’re in separate packs of hunters that inevitably dwindle to a few lonely pairs. You’re maneuvering around each other in the same snuffed-out city. The only source of lights is in sewer tunnels. There are familiar faces in the dark. 

One night, both of your groups are cornered in an empty factory by a crowd of infected. It’s silly. A foolish way to lose, but you do. Everyone but you and Joel get bitten, and you feed your friends a bullet. Joel does the same.

Then it’s an awkward stare-off. You think of killing the silence with a dry remark, but nothing about the beefy, stern-looking man in front of you seems dry. 

You recognize him just as he recognizes you. You’ve seen each other during a few trade-offs. Now - you really fucking wish you’d said hi. 

"You need a partner,” you tell him bluntly. Your voice only wavers a little, but as soon as the words leave your mouth, his brows raise in what you think is incredulity. You change course. 

“I need a partner,” you clarify. “I need someone to watch my back. You can’t survive out here in a party of one.”

He frowns, scraping a calloused hand over his beard. You think he’s ready to say no, so you reach back into your coffers to grasp something else to offer him. We have guns.

Bingo.

He finally straightens. His eyes are clear and brown as espresso grounds. Long, girlish lashes. “Show me.”

It’s been five years since the outbreak. 

***

Joel has these dreams where all of his hair falls out. Sometimes it’s his teeth.

In the very corner of his brain, he recalls that there’s symbolism there.

You’ve forgotten something. You’re forgetting. 

He goes and goes and never stops. He does not stop because if he does, all he will have is quiet air and memories. Sarah. The greasy splatter of blood on his chin and beard and how he didn’t notice until days later. He scrubbed his skin until it hurt and turned pink as raw chicken.

What did you do? What did it cost?

Joel cannot find it in him to regret the things he’s done. He lives somewhere in his chest. Not his head - never his head. He doesn’t know what to do with all that emptiness. He wants to fill his nights with something other than the stars or a campfire or a popcorn ceiling in an abandoned house. 

I survived. I did what I had to do in a dead, dead world. 

You were right. He couldn’t do it on his own.

You are another means to an end. He needs a second pair of hands and you have the face to distract scavengers and the guts to kill people who need to be put down. 

He was gonna say yes even before you brought up the guns. 

***

You’ve become incredibly intimate with his back. He always walks ahead of you, so you trace the broad line of his shoulders and the molasses-dark curls that cover his scalp. You long to draw patterns in the suede of his sand-colored jacket. 

You familiarize yourself with his tells and what it means when he stiffens, hunches or relaxes. His knuckles turn white with how hard they wrap around his gun when he’s somewhere he can’t see all four corners.

He barely speaks. It’s like trying to squeeze water from a stone. Joel is a fucking boulder or maybe a bullet.

A month on the road, you spot a family wailing for help. They’re dragging something that looks suspiciously like a body, and Joel curses. “They’ll have a whole fuckin’ pack on our ass.” He checks his guns, and you think he’s going to shoot them because now their problem is his. 

“They have children,” you whisper.

“They’ll kill us,” he replies matter-of-factly. “Kill us or try and take what’s ours. It’s how it goes.”

“That’s it then?”

He remains silent, dragging his thumb along his chin before readjusting his pack. “You’re free to go play Mother Teresa, but I ain’t helping you. I’m headed North, and that’s the end of it.”

He does leave. He storms off, slipping between the trees that line the charred highway. You wait for a second out of spite before chasing after him. He hasn’t gone far. In fact, you think he deliberately slowed his steps so that you could catch up.

***

Joel asks you to play damsel. Supplies are running low. There aren’t many towns nearby, so when a small group of scavengers draws near, you go. 

You were never a good actress, but your grief is real. You’ve honed and carved it until it became a weapon. You run toward them with your eyes wide and wet with fear. You choke down sobs that churn from some lost place inside you. Your dead family. Your dead friends. Your dead future. RIP to all that. 

Of course, the hunters accept you, their beady little stares cataloging your body under layers of cotton and denim. They lead you into their temporary camp and start a fire. They wrap a blanket around your shoulders that smells like mildew and loam. Just as you suspected, their comforting words begin to have double meanings. 

We can’t just give you these things—shelter costs somethin’. 

Don’t worry, your pretty head, we’ll keep you safe. 

C’mere. 

Your palms are damp with sweat. You nod, swallowing a weight. You’ve done this before, but Joel usually turns up before they start getting familiar. Maybe he's unsure. Maybe, there are too many. 

Where’s Joel? 

It rings through your head. Your ears buzz. 

He’s there. You know it. He’s watching and waiting and - 

One of the men grips your knee before sliding it up further. He chuckles softly, and you dig your nails into your palm and chew the inside of your mouth. 

You remind yourself that this is all part of the plan. You have it down. Act helpless. Get them in a vulnerable spot. Joel enters stage left and makes quick work of them. He’s probably biding his time.

“Now - maybe we can come to -”

Where’s Joel?

Your heart is thudding in the cage of your ribs. It’s in your throat. 

“Did you hear what I said, girl? How about -”

The man grunts. There’s a handle sticking out of the top of his skull. He sputters before his eyes roll back and then Joel is there, ripping that blade free and giving you a quick jerk of his chin.

“Stay behind the trees,” he orders before descending on the rest of them. 

“Where the fuck is my gun?” the bald one roars as he digs through his pack. 

“Mine’s fuckin’ gone, too,” a lanky blonde yells. 

Smart Joel. He must have snatched what he could while they were distracted. 

As you slip behind a tree, you turn to watch the rest of the carnage. You think it’s in the bag up until the big bald fuck manages to knock Joel to the side so that his shot misses. 

Joel up again, which is something he had constantly branded into your head. Never stay down. You’re right fucked if you stay down. 

Joel keeps fighting. He’s broad and full of a rage that ripples out of him and shakes the air. The punches he deliver are devastating. The skill he has at killing is a privilege to watch. He is an exploding star hurtling to the earth. A bull barreling through concrete. He’s older than you, but it doesn’t slow him down. Not at all. 

You remain low in the trees just as he instructed. Your chest tightens when the lanky blonde socks Joel’s face so hard that his jaw audibly clicks. It doesn’t seem to break his stride because he disposes of him quickly, whipping out a switchblade that he plunges between the blonde’s ribs. Then he’s onto the next one. He’s barely using his guns.

Bullets attract infected. 

They’re also precious. Finite supplies.

Right. Good thinkin’, girl. 

The sounds coming from the fight are a sharp blend of sawed-off grunts and insults. Joel is the only silent one as he cleaves his way through the chaos. It’s intimidating. It’s unreal.

Something moves on the ground. 

The blonde he’d stabbed is still alive, wiggling like a snake. He’s crawling onto his knees, red-soaked fingers shakily grasping his discarded shiv from the dirt.

“Joel,” you yell, but not loud enough. He’s too busy with the bald shithead whose red face is straining as he tries to sloppily defend himself against your partner. The man on the floor rises, arm cocked to deliver a stab to Joel’s lower back and you move without thinking. You sprint forward and tackle him to the floor, arms snagging firmly around his throat. There’s a startling pain in your side before it dissipates. You rely on adrenaline to drive you to the second act.

Quickly, you yank your pocket knife from your jeans and pierce the man’s throat. He squeals before it turns wet. You draw the blade out and bring it down again. It’s not easy and requires all of your strength to break flesh.

It’s unnerving. You’ve killed before, but this disturbs you. He squeals again, but it’s muffled. He choked and snorts.

This little piggy…

Somewhere Joel’s voice sings in your head:

Don’t think. Just kill. 

The blonde shivers under your weight, palms slapping out at mud before he curls his fingers into trampled weeds. He takes one final rattling breath and goes still. 

You scramble back on your ass, heels kicking up dirt as Joel whirls around to stare at you. His expression is incredulous and it doesn’t fit his face. It’s alien and wrong. He’s usually far too confident and cautious. He knows all outcomes, but this? You saving him? No - he did not expect that. 

Joel blinks before carefully stepping over the dead man. He moves toward you, lowering himself so he can meet your eyes. He touches your cheek. “You ok?”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Fine - he-he was gonna -”

“I know,” he finishes and it almost sounds like a thank you. 

He grabs your wrist forcing you up. “Let’s do this quickly,” he instructs, gesturing to the backpack, tents, and assorted supplies. It’ll be a good haul. 

You nod, already forgetting about the pulsing cut beneath your ribs.

***

You must be getting sick. Your palms feel like weighted lead. Your steps are slow and clumsy. Your skin is screaming hot, and it takes Joel two full days to notice. You’ve stopped in a deserted garage on a lone suburban street. A stale, sweet smell comes from the door that leads into the house, and you don’t want to open it. 

Joel searches through boxes and plastic cases while you lean heavily against the cool garage door. He glances at you before doing a double-take. Perhaps, it’s obvious - even in the dark. Perhaps - this is the first time he has truly looked at you since they’ve stopped walking. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” you mutter even though your head may topple off your neck. Fuck. 

Abruptly, he straightens and strides toward you. You catch him rolling his eyes before he stops short. He grasps your face with surprisingly gentle hands. He inhales sharply. “Jesus,” he hisses. “Goddamnit, girl, you're burning up.”

You blink at him, and even that is a chore. Your lids are so heavy, each individual lash stings. You lick your lips. “Mm’ok.”

Without another word, he wraps his arms under your thighs and picks you up bridal-style. “Joel,” you wheeze, your arm flying around his thick neck. The short hairs at the nape tickle your skin. “It’s fine.”

“Quiet.” He grunts before kicking the door open and hauling you into the raw darkness of this deserted house. 

“Fuck,” he mutters and places you on the counter. “I’m gonna secure the perimeter…should have done it before hauling ass in here.”

He seems on edge.  He doesn’t usually forget shit like that because that shit will get you killed.

You nod before leaning back into the wall. Your head bumps against a cabinet and Joel has the nerve to tell you to be careful. 

After a few minutes, he returns. 

The kitchen is surprisingly clean. His gaze darts around the space before he picks you up and takes you to the second level. You can hear his boots making soft thumps in carpet. You can see framed photos on the walls. Finally, he settles you on a dusty queen-sized bed. 

“Think it’s a cold? The flu?”

In the current world, it could be any number of things. Regardless, you’re beginning to realize what this is. You’d avoided checking it out. You’d buried its burning ache. The knife - the metal. It had to have been dirty. 

Had you cleaned it? Were you too busy wanting to help Joel sift through everything that you’d ignored it? How fucking stupid could you have been?

You shake your head. 

“You gotta work with me here,” he urges, a brush softer. “What hurts?”

Sighing, you roll onto your side and pull up your shirt. Joel sucks in a breath. Even now it’s throbbing insistently. Feels hot. It had been so small. 

You’d forgotten that small, open wounds can lead to fatal infections. 

Joel’s hand rests on your hip, a fingertip drags lightly under the puffy flesh and you flinch. It smells like something sick. 

“Guessing by your silence, it’s bad.” You try to laugh and it cracks like peanut shells. 

“It’s not good,” he replies carefully. “You need antibiotics.” 

You’re too scared to inspect the wound. You can imagine it: oozing pus, streaking, swelling, beating like it has its own heart.

“Did you get this during the fight?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, pressing your cheek into the cold blankets. 

“And you didn’t clean it?” Joel’s tone rises. You guess that he’s keeping a tight lid on his anger. 

“Forgot.”

When he says nothing, you glance at him over your shoulder. His nostrils flare. He’s flexing his jaw. His hands are fists at his sides, but his dark eyes remain on you. He’s thinking, perhaps trying to decide if it’s worth scolding you or ripping you a new one.

What would it matter if you’re already dying?

He takes a deep breath, shakes his head, and abruptly swings his backpack off his shoulder before crouching to the floor. He unzips it and rummages. “Alright, I can clean and bandage it, but you’ll need antibiotics - somethin’ like doxycycline or amoxicillin. May be able to barter with a few people up near Asheville, but that means I’ve gotta leave you for a day, possibly two.”

You freeze.

What?!

Frantically, you twist around to face him. “I’ll-I’ll be alone?”

He sits down on the bed, touches the back of his hand to your forehead. His mouth tenses at the level of heat, but he keeps it there. It’s the most intimate thing he’s ever done.

“This is your life on the line, darlin’.” He runs his other hand through his unruly hair. He keeps his eyes on the floor. “I’ll lock the house down.”

You snort. There is no such thing as locks anymore. Zero law. Break a window. It’s enough. 

“There’s no one around here,” he adds pointedly as if reading your mind. “Everything’s been picked clean. I’m sure you’re safe.”

He doesn’t promise it. You’re not sure he’s good at promises.   

Everything smells weird. Like old fruit. 

“Bye,” you mumble as he reaches for his gauze and tends to the cut.

“Haven’t left yet, hon.”

“But you will.”

He clears his throat.

***

Joel moves fast. He doesn’t stop. 

That wound had been festering for days. How did you even fucking walk that far with it? How could you not treat it or ask him to?

He wants to shake you for being so stupid. He wants to watch you wither and die from the injury so that you learn your lesson.

But I’d bring you back. I’d pull you out. 

Joel feels something hard lodge in his throat. The trees are green and full of shadows. The highway is marked by broken cars and a few scattered bones. 

You’d saved him. You’d gotten hurt saving him.

He really doesn’t enjoy the fact that you’ve slipped your way inside him. You’ve wrapped those nimble little fingers around his ribs and ripped them an inch. He’s creaking. He’s old and getting older and the world is fucking dead. It’s just a rotting corpse and Joel really likes when you sing. Sometimes, they’re just on the road and you’ll start murmuring a tune from the forties or the seventies. You have this soft, breathy tongue for old love songs. Ella Fitzgerald. Billie Holiday. Judy Garland. Dolly Parton. 

He can’t stop thinking about your expression when he left. Your eyes were wide with fear, your lower lip trembled as you called after him. You were too weak to sit up. You reached a hand out before dropping it as if it was too heavy. Inexplicably, he rushed back to your side. “I will come back,” he declared.

“Are you sure?” 

He stroked your hair just once. He lowered his face to yours. “I will.”

***

Joel kills for the antibiotics. He won’t tell you that even though he’s sure you already know his game. He’s ruthless. He has to be. He didn’t have time to barter. 

He returns to you as quickly as he can. He’s shocked at his timing. It’s only been twenty-five hours when he bursts back into the house and runs up the stairs. In the daylight, he realizes that there are bodies in the living room. Pill bottles on the antique coffee table. Stained carpet. The corpses are mummified. He’d left you in a tomb and that makes his stomach turn over. 

He’ll clean them up before you come downstairs. You will. You’ll be fine.

He’s almost relieved when he finds you still in bed, but when he gets closer, he blanches. You’re seemingly worse, drenched in sweat and shivering. He folds himself over you, hands on your face as he tilts it up. Your eyes can’t focus on him. 

“Hey,” he says, slapping you gently. “Sweetheart - I’m back. I’ve got the medicine.” He reaches around and presses his hand to the wound. It’s hot as an oven, sticky as a melted sweet on pavement. He can smell the infection and he grimaces. “Let’s turn you around.”

He manages to cradle you against his chest before dripping water into your mouth drop by drop. You lick at it, whimpering as the dry skin of your lips cracks. He wets an old towel and lays it on your forehead. He feeds you tylenol and antibiotics. He cleans the wound and worries when you don’t wrench yourself away from his touch. It should sting fiercely, but the pain is diluted beneath the fog of fever.   

He cares for you and then waits. It’s a little too similar to when he’d stay up with Sarah when she couldn’t breathe right due to bronchitis or unable to keep medicine down because of a stomach bug.

Let me save you. He thinks. Let me save you this once. He has to seal the memory of Sarah away because it’s too much. It’s agony. He shudders as if he’s placed his fingers on a screaming tea kettle. It wrecks him. He can’t fall apart when you’re already half-gone.

***

In the middle of the night, you touch his jaw, scrape your nails across his beard. “You called me darlin’,”  you slur. “Sweetheart.” 

“I did,” he confirms as he circles your wrist with his hand. He could squeeze it and it’d break. “Now - sleep.” 

You pull his arm down to your face, nuzzle your cheek against the cool metal of his watch. It startles him, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“Joel,” you repeat. 

“G’night, honey.”

He doesn’t know why he called you that the last few days. Darlin’. Honey. Sweetheart. He’s never done it before. 

***

That event changed things. It shifted the air between you. You’d saved Joel’s life and he’d saved yours in return. In all respects, it should have kept their relationship on equal ground. One action had canceled out the other. A debt repaid. 

But, it’s different. He is different. He’s always watching you. A bit more protective. A bit more anxious. Sure - he trusts you to handle yourself, but he wants you not to need to handle yourself. 

They’re on the road and it’s getting colder. He has people they could rely on for a few weeks of shelter, but it’s a trek. 

“I say we make it to California,” you grumble as your boots catch on half-melting frost. “Hawaii.”

“Let me build a boat real fast, then.”

It’s all so much of the same. Walking. Supplies. Ammo. Food. Laundy. River baths. Medicine. Holing up in deserted, dusty homes that still reek of family ghosts. 

Then there’s the tension between you. The knot of things unsaid tugging you closer. 

You think about him all the time. The shape of his face and the hook of his nose. The jawline. The big brown eyes and thick, umber hair. He’s so big and bulky and protective and, if you could, you’d huddle inside him. 

Let me bury myself there all winter. Let me seek your heat. 

It comes to a head because it’s inevitable. In a strange house on a strange street near North Carolina, Joel shares a bed with you. Nothing is different. Nothing at all. You roll toward him and place your hand on his chest. He jerks, but doesn’t remove it. His heart is pounding furiously beneath the cotton.

He utters your name gently. You watch his lips fold around the letters. 

“You almost died today.”

He snorts. “No - I didn’t.”

Alright - he didn’t. It was only a small scuffle. One gunshot for a backseat of supplies.

But you wanted a reason. Needed a reason to touch him like he had touched you when you nearly died. 

“You could’ve,” you reply stubbornly.

He huffs a laugh. “I ain’t dyin on you anytime soon.”

“I know.”

You dig your fingers into his chest, rub them deep until you feel his hand slide over your thigh. He squeezes the meat of it and you wriggle under the covers.

“You sure?” he asks, voice hoarse. He sounds nervous. Good.

Lazily, he turns on his side, his hand wanders up your leg. He hauls you closer so that you’re intertwined, tangled up in limbs. He presses his cheek to yours and curls his fingers behind the crotch of your panties before sinking two of them inside your cunt. 

“Oh,” you gasp, clawing at his hair. “Fuck.”

He moves deliberately, stroking your walls until it begins to smart like a bruise. His thumb finds your clit and he teases it, circles with a calloused trigger-happy fingertip.

“Is this what you want?” he murmurs despite it just being the two of you and there’s not a soul for miles except maybe the dead spirits in this house. A happy family. A dog. Gone. 

You grip some of his t-shirt and tug it, thighs opening around his hand. You rock down on him as he plays you like his six-string.

You push at his boxers, reach for his cock. It’s hot in your palm. Full and throbbing just like that wound on your side that sewed you both together. He grabs your chin and holds it still. “Tell me,” he demands. “Is this what you want?”

Do you want me?

You nod, chewing your lip as he adds a third finger. He stretches you open. He readies your sex. 

“You, Joel,” you reply to seal the truth of it. “You.”

He lowers his head and captures your mouth. Joel kisses you senseless, his tongue sweeping behind your teeth and making itself at home. He drinks, his beard scraping your chin raw. He tastes like leather and ammunition. Sweat. Wood. Generic shampoo. He lifts his head to catch his breath.

“Alright, darlin’.”

***

It is a smoother coupling than you expected. You didn’t think he’d kiss you. Before, you assumed that if this would happen, it would be a cold fuck in the form of stress relief. Not this. 

He groans against your teeth. You clasp the back of his head and his soft curls. His rests his forearm beside your face as he bears his weight above you. You watch the muscles in his jaw work with every thrust. The vein in his throat tenses. His chest hitches and you can’t help but lick a clean line up his sternum.

He likes it. His lungs rumble.

His hand slides between them, parting the lips of your cunt to press and tease your clit. Your pussy is wrapped around his length. He drives to the end of you before easing back until only the tip remains. He pushes in again so that you feel every ridge of him. Again. Again. You can hear your body take him. It echoes in the room.

You’re tearing me apart. You’re splitting me. You’re branding me. I can’t breathe. 

Do it again. 

“Wider,” he urges as his whole body trembles. “Lift your ass for me.”

You do and the angle allows him to plunge deeper.

You know he’s trying hard to fuck you like it doesn’t mean something. He’s rolling his hips and pinning your wrist to the mattress and it feels like the fat head of his cock is punching the bottom of your lungs. It hurts a little and meaningful sex shouldn’t hurt like this. Or maybe it should. Maybe, that's the damn point. You're close to tears because it feels so good and so much at the same time. You can’t help clenching around him, coming like a fountain as he punishes you with another harsh stroke. 

“Darlin,” he says in a voice that stings like gravel. It’s one sweet thing given between grunts and groans and the wet slap of skin. It’s all he can offer. He traces the cut along your ribs that hasn’t yet scarred over. He pets it with his thumb as he stares at you intently.

“Say it again,” You bring your knees to his waist, skate your nails down the muscles of his back. 

The corner of his lips twitch. “Darlin,” he offers before lowering his mouth a breath from your own. “Darlin.”

[oneforthemunny]

christmas (baby, please come home) |cowboy!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: it's not the most wonderful time of the year for everyone, including you and eddie.

apart of my munny's merriest that you can read here!

contains: angst. eddie is mean. past parental trauma. grief. holiday grief and sadness. angst really.

Heavy boots, covered with slush and snow from the frozen ground below, pounded up the creaking wooden porch. Eddie huffed, his breath clouding around him, a gloved hand reaching for the screen door. The toe of his work boots knocked against the doorway, kicking off the remainder of the snow from the icy, winter wonderland that arrived overnight, just in time for Christmas Eve. With it, came an icy chill that had Eddie working overtime to make sure the horses were warm. 

It was an odd feeling, walking into the mud room, plopping on the bench to pull off his boots. Eddie waited, inhaling in the cold, crisp air, waiting for the warmth to flood back to his system. That cozy heat to thaw out the chill that shocked his system, left his cheeks red and frost bitten from the cold. The euphoric feeling of relief that coated him every time he walked in from the snow. It never came. 

In fact, it felt colder in the house. 

In the house that was decorated, halls decked and every square inch covered with Christmas. The usual homey contentment that came from looking at the decorations was gone, replaced with a miserable, heavy feeling settled deep in the pit of his stomach, feeling him with a sickening guilt. 

Visions of your fight, hateful words piled on with yells and slamming doors, right there in the kitchen. A kitchen that should be filled with Burl Ives’ Christmas album on a loop was missing its merry music; it was missing you. 

“We always spend Christmas with my family.” 

“Yeah, exactly. It’s always about you, what you wanna fuckin’ do!” 

Eddie could see your face as if it was in front of him again. The way your expression fell, crumbling before him, the betrayal in your eyes rimmed with flecks of hurt. It made his stomach turn all over again. 

“You don’t- I thought you liked spending time with my family.” Your voice was small, far too small for your usual tone. “They always love spending time with you, Ed.” 

“Oh, yeah, to you they do.” He scoffed, eyes rolling so hard he gave himself a headache. He could feel it now. “You always leave me with your asshole uncle, who always wants to tell me the same goddamn story about how he used to ride horses growin’ up, like I give a shit-” 

“-Eddie! He’s trying to be nice and talk to you, so you’re not-” 

“-So I’m not miserable? Well, guess what, honey. I’m fuckin’ miserable!” His voice was so loud it shook the wooden cabinets of the kitchen, your tin snowmen rattling on top of the shelves. “I am fuckin’ miserable every Christmas! I would rather be here alone, shovelin’ shit all goddamn night and day than be there!” 

The hitch in your breath rang loud and clear in Eddie’s ear, his own face crumpling this time, a shaky hand rubbing across his eyes to try and keep his composure. But how could he? How could he stop the ache in his chest when he remembered the way you looked at him? The way your eyes filled with tears, lip quivering in fear. You hadn’t cried, not in there, atleast. Instead, you waited until you got to the bedroom, pulling out your own little overnight bag and filling it silently. 

He’d been so furious, so unfathomably filled with weeks of pent up rage, Eddie had to step out. Fury filled steps, a swinging fist to a post that left his knuckles bloody, splintering into the pale skin that was already blooming with bruises. Eddie really regretted it now, sure he’d broken a knuckle at the way it had swelled, doubled in size and kissed with dark purple, welt-like bruises. Oh, what he would do, what he would give, to have you fuss over it, patch it up and huff at him for doing something so immature. 

You didn’t. 

Instead, you stayed silent, save for the heart wrenching, hiccupy sniffle you gave when loading your bag into the trunk. Eddie’s body was still buzzing, electric with every ounce of bitter grief he’d tried to ignore. 

“Where you goin’?” Eddie gritted, tone sharp, it left you shuddering at the unfamiliar sharpness directed at you. 

“You want to shovel shit, since it’s so much better than being with my family.” Your breath stuttered in your chest when you took that breath. One that had Eddie’s heart lurching, nervous system flooding with a damning shock that left his head reeling in fear. 

“Better than being with me.” The crack in your voice matched the crack in Eddie’s own heart, splitting it right down the middle. 

“I don’t want to make you any more miserable than you already are.” You spat, and suddenly, Eddie longed for the sadness in your tone because the bitterness that replaced it was worse. 

Your own boots crunched on the ground, bare with snow and ice, but frozen from the cold. “Have a Merry Christmas by yourself, Eddie.” A hard yank of your car handle, and you were gone. 

Eddie watched you go in a horrified stare, your car disappearing down out of his sight in a red flash, feeling like he was watching a movie- a fucked up movie through his own eyes, but not in his own body. 

Then he was alone. 

Eddie was alone, standing on his family’s land, holding his throbbing hand alone. He was alone then. He was alone later that night, when he crawled into bed, teary eyes and shaking hands grabbing at your pillow, smothering himself with it because it smelled like you- terrified it might be the last time he could smell you. And he was alone now. Sitting in a too still kitchen, in a too quiet house, on Christmas Eve, alone. 

The burning threat of tears choked him, bubbling out of his chest and crept up his throat. Through blurred vision, Eddie could see the time. A little past four. He wondered what you were doing, what your family was doing. If your dad had started a card game yet. The same Rummy game he always made sure to deal Eddie in to- always made sure to include him. 

If your uncle was on his fourth or fifth glass of eggnog, spiking it with an extra pour of Woodford. He’d always offer Eddie some, slurring and spilling a little onto the festive tablecloth. Drunkenly tell him about his childhood, how he grew up riding horses, the same droning story that Eddie would always nod politely at. He was sloshed through the holidays, but never mean- always a jolly drunk, bellowing laughs through shining eyes. No smashing of plates or bruising grips like Eddie’s childhood Christmases always had. 

Or if your mom had got a chance to breathe, pull herself out of the kitchen with your aunts. She’d always hug him so warmly when she’d greet the two of you at the door, fussing over taking your bags and jackets, so happy the two of you were there. She’d even embroidered a stocking for Eddie last year, surprised him with it proudly. He’d nearly cried. 

It was a weird feeling. This feeling that he was becoming a part of your family. That they wanted him to be a part of it. 

He only had Wayne left, the rest of his family was long gone. It filled him with a grimy, gross feeling how much he enjoyed his time with your family. The sickening thought that he was betraying his own, replacing them and filling in their spots with shiny, new replicas. 

Wayne would laugh at him, tell him he should enjoy it, he better enjoy it. “You know Darlene and me go to Florida ev’ry Christmas, boy. You better stick it with ‘er. She’s a good’en.” 

Wayne would be furious at him if he knew. Probably take him ‘round back for the way he spoke to you, about your family. Eddie wouldn’t blame him, he was furious at himself for it. 

Eddie’s eyes found their way to the mantle, your stocking and his lined side by side. His was full, stuffed with small gifts and goodies you’d cheerily slip in, tongue clicking at him when he’d try to peek. Yours was deflated, sans for a small pair of cabin socks Eddie had got in early November. 

The bile in his throat brought him back to his very cruel reality in front of him. He’d been mean to you- he acted like his dad. 

Eddie’s stomach lurched, moving to the sink, a shaking hand pulling his hair back, retching into the sink at the revelation. Parallels of his mom and dad, his childhood, how his mom would decorate the house from top to bottom, make it nice and festive for Eddie. His dad would come in, tear it down, mock her for it in a drunken slur. She’d always buy him a gift, make sure Eddie’s stocking was filled with what she could: penny candies, knitted gloves, dented wacky packs from the discount store. Eddie would make her an ornament, his Mamaw Munson would get her a little gift, but never his dad. Her stocking was always empty. 

A choked sob caught in Eddie’s throat, vomit spewing into the shiny surface under him. Clammy forehead pressed to the cool countertop, he took a deep, shaky sob to try and keep the cry in. The mangled sob that shook his core, rattled his lungs, burned all the way from his stomach to his nose. 

Calloused hands wiped at his wet cheeks, chapped from the cold, giving a fierce sniffle. Eddie felt eight again, noticing for the first time the way his mother’s eyes dimmed, how she tried to hide it when she opened the empty stocking. She had been hopeful that there had been something in there, that this year his dad would remember her, be better. He never was. 

Eddie couldn’t be him, he wouldn’t be. He’d already reflected him in every way, too much for his own comfort lately- screaming at you, that rage that tore through him, bloody knuckles and aching throat that was leaving you in tears. 

As his shaking fingers turned the dial, cradling the phone to his ear, he hoped you would answer- that he could just get to you, talk to you. Your mother’s cheery voice rang over the phone instead, a happy roar of chatter mixed with music playing behind her voice. 

“Oh, Ed?” Your mother’s voice sounded concerned, he could practically see her frown, one you inherited. “Are you feeling better, hon? We miss you. I’m sending your stocking and gifts home- well, not the stocking, I’ll keep that but what’s inside.” 

You’d told them he was sick, covered for him- just like his mom used to do for his dad. The kindness in her tone nearly sent Eddie over the edge, pulling the receiver away to take a breath, to keep the sob from coming out. 

“Ed?” Your mom tried again. “Are you there?” 

“Y-Yeah, I’m sorry. I just… Is s-she around?” Eddie’s voice was tight with emotion, and he knew if he said your name, it would break whatever facade he’s mustered at the moment.

“Uh-huh, one second.” A staticy rustle filled the receiver, your name muffled and falling from your mom’s lips. 

Eddie didn’t realize he was holding his breath, until he released it, a desperate sigh of relief when you took the phone. “Hello?” 

“H-Hi, baby.” Eddie tried, hoping his voice was soft enough, gentler now- than the last time he talked to you. 

“Hi.” You bit, through gritted teeth, dragging the chord of the phone into the hall with you. “What do you want? I’m with my family.” 

His water line brimmed again, overflowing with angry tears. “Yeah, I know, honey. I’m sorry, I just,” Eddie took a deep breath, stuttering in his throat. “I’m sorry.” 

Your own lip wobbled, fresh with tears. You’d pulled into your parents drive the night before, eyes red rimmed from your cry, telling them something about the hay and your allergies. They’d believed you, pulled you in with a warm hug. It was nice, comforting at your home, surrounded by your family until you were asleep. A bed had never felt so cold.

 ��I don’t-” You grit, trying to keep your own emotions in. “This is why you called me?” 

Eddie flinched at the venom in your own tone. “I am sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby, you don’t even kno-ow.” Eddie’s chest stuttered. “I didn’t mean any of that, I swear. I was- I’m just… I’m not doing great this year, baby.” 

Your heart jumped at the shake in his tone, the rawness of his words. “You really hurt my feelings, Ed.” You admitted, your voice smaller. “I don’t- I don’t know why you don’t like my family. They love you-” 

“-I don’t.” Eddie shook his head, fist balled around the phone. “I didn’t mean any of that. I love your family, I-I love you.” 

“So, you said all of that, why?” You scoffed lowly. 

Eddie’s knee bounced. He hadn’t expected you just to forgive him, but it was still hard- hard when you weren’t here, when you were away and hurt, and he was alone and miserable. 

Miserable, the single word in the world he wished to never say or hear again. 

“I…” Eddie’s hand threaded through his matted locks. “I don’t know. It’s weird. Not- no, no, no, not you or- fuck, that’s not what I meant.” Eddie rambled stupidly. 

“I feel weird about being with your family on Christmas because…I like it.” Eddie’s vision was blurred, watery with tears. “It’s just different from what I grew up with, and… and I don’t know, sometimes it’s just, it’s overwhelming, baby.” 

You stayed silent on the other end, the only sound signaling you were still on the line was the faint yells and mummers of your family, only making Eddie’s heart ache even more. “They’re all so nice, it-it makes me… I didn’t have that. My family didn’t have that, and-and every time I’m there it just makes me wish they did.” 

The both of you fell into a silence, one that was becoming far too common. Eddie’s heart hammered behind his ribcage. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. This- nothing is your fault, you know that? This is on me. I shouldn’t have ever talked to you like that, said that shit. I’d beat the dog walking shit out of anyone who said that shit about you, and then I say it? That’s just-” Eddie let out a humorless, watery laugh, fist pressed to his forehead in an attempt to extinguish that fury burning through his chest again. 

A cleansing breath later, Eddie’s head was in his hands. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, wobbly when he told you. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

“It’s… We can talk later, Eddie.” Your voice finally rang through, shaky and unsteady, clutching the phone like it was your life long. “Thank you for calling me. For telling me that.” 

The silence settled again, both of you unsure, scared to make the next move. 

“I, uh, I wish you were here.” You broke the silence this time. “My family keeps asking about you. They miss you, a lot.” 

“I miss you.” Eddie sniveled, wiping his running nose with the back of his hand. “I mean, I miss them too, but I just… I miss you a lot.” 

A pause, the slight clear of your throat. “I have to go.” You whispered, voice tight and Eddie knew you were close to tears. “I have to help my mom set the table, but… I’ll call you tonight.” 

“I love you.” Eddie blurted, sacred he might forget to say it with how his head was swimming. “I love you so fuckin’ much.” 

“I know.” Your voice was soft. It made Eddie’s stomach lurch all over again. 

The line droned in a steady beep after your receiver clicked. Eddie held the phone there, eyes shining dully with unshed tears in the lights of the strung decorations. A defeated slump in his shoulders. He didn’t feel any better, worse if anything. 

Eddie was surrounded by a deafening silence, the house too quiet. Too quiet to be Christmas. Too quiet without you. 

The soft glow from the barn pulled Eddie’s attention, the doors pulled to keep the heat in for the horses. He twisted the phone in his palms, turning it over in his hands gently before jabbing his fingers back into the dial. 

The line rang once, twice, nearly a third before it was answered. 

“Gare, hey, I’ve got a big ask…” 

“Honey,” Your mom’s eyes squinted, yellow rubber gloves dunked into the soapy warm water in front of her. “I thought you said Ed wasn’t coming.” 

You nearly dropped the plate you were drying, breath caught in your throat. “What?” You hissed, leaning to look out the small window over the sink. Sure enough, there in the dark, snow covered driveway was Eddie’s truck. 

“I-I didn’t think he was.” You shook your head, setting the plate down gently. “He said he wasn’t feeling well. I’m just- I’ll be right back.” Slipping on your boots, not bothering to lace them, you stepped outside into the frigid cold of the night. 

Eddie didn’t see you, back turned, grabbing armfulls of bags out of the back seat. “What are you doing here?” 

He jumped, nearly dropping your aunt’s present, eyes wide when he turned. “Shit, I-I…” Eddie’s tongue tied, jumbled and thick in his mouth. He didn’t expect to see you, standing there, in your little Christmas sweater that had his heart swelling. He wanted to kiss you, coo at you for being so cute, get you all blushy and giggle at his compliments. 

Your lifted brow, arms crossed over your chest protectively stopped him. “I wanted to give your family their gifts. I-I was just going to leave them on the porch and tell you when I called tonight.” 

Your foot twisted into the snow, eyes cast downward. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I did.” Eddie nodded firmly. “They’re not- It’s not great. The mall was closing early so I had to kinda rush, but, uh, I wanted to get them something.” He looked at you, eyes shining with emotion. “Wanted to get you something too.” 

Your stocking was hooked onto his left pointer finger, a crooked bend of the knitted fabric, hanging heavy and filled with tiny trinkets and things that ruffled. You looked at it carefully, face quipping just barely, but Eddie caught it. “I didn’t want you to think I forgot about you.” Eddie muttered lowly, breath showing under the glow of the lights. 

“Thank you.” You nodded, swallowing thickly around your words. “I can help you take them in.” 

“No,” Eddie shook his head. “I don’t want to… I know you don’t want to be with me right now, baby, and I get it. I’ll just drop them off-” 

“-Come inside.” You sighed, arms still tight around his chest. “My mom already saw you. It’s just easier for you to come in.” 

Eddie tried to hide the hurt he felt with a simple nod. “I don’t want to ruin your Christmas.” He muttered softly. “More than I already have.” 

“Eddie,” You sounded tired, words heavy with emotion, exhaustion maybe. “Come inside.” Your eyes lifted to his, so sweet, nearly pleading he was sure he might sob. “There’s still leftovers. I’ll heat them up for you.” 

So Eddie followed you inside, gifts under his arms, letting your family greet him warmly, chocking his red eyes and matching nose up to the hay fever he’d been having. Your mom fixed him a plate, poured you both a glass of mulled wine. 

In the tiny bed of your childhood room, the two of you talked in hushed voices, silent apologies traded over soft touches. 

“I didn’t mean it.” Eddie whispered, nose pushing into your neck. “I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” You nodded, and you did. Even if it still hurt, still wounded from the words, you knew that was true. 

Eddie’s cheek pressed against your shoulder, hands grabbing at you, pulling you closer and closer like at any moment you might disappear from his clutches. “My mom,” His voice cracked, eyes pinching shut. “She used to love Christmas.” 

“Really?” You hum, tone as even as it could be with the shock. Eddie never spoke about his mother. 

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “She, uh, she used to decorate every Thanksgiving. Pull out the tree after dinner, put it up. My dad,” Eddie swallowed around the bitter title. “He was always passed out by then, so she could do it pretty quickly. Get it up and ready before he’d wake up and bitch. It wasn’t a lot, a tree and some other stuff, but I’d always help her. She-She always let me put the angel on top.” 

You weren’t sure what to say, what you were supposed to say. Eddie’s mom was a sensitive spot. One he didn’t talk about much, at all, really. 

“She would really like your family.” Eddie’s voice was small, a rarity. Always the loud, rough and tough cowboy, commanding wild bucks all day. Small wasn’t in his vocabulary. 

“They would have really liked her.” You said slowly, vibrations from your voice tickling Eddie’s ear. 

Eddie knew it was true. He felt stupid, really, waves of horrible guilt crashing over him again as he clung tighter to you. Your family wasn’t the enemy, wasn’t one to try and replace his own family, just an extension. 

He meant what he said, that his Mama would like your family. He already knew she’d love you, simply because he did. He hoped it was true, that your family would’ve loved her. He knew deep down they would have, that they would welcome her with the same warmth that they gave him. 

That they’d always make sure her stocking was full on Christmas morning, because they always made sure his was.