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tragedybunny · 1 year

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Just the Way I Am - Astarion x F!Reader - Mildly NSFW, TW: Mentions of past sexual trauma, drugging oneself

I'm not really sure I like this at all, but since I put so much time into, I'm posting it.

Astarion feels he's lacking because he can't have sex with you. He resorts to a potion in an attempt to give you what he thinks you want.

You had stopped at the potion shop in Wyrm's Crossing, looking for some herbs or something Gale had wanted. Astarion hadn't been paying a terrible amount of attention, he was just happy to run an errand with you only, and none of the rest of the hangers-on. They were alright, he'd concede if asked, but you were getting closer to Cazador and the Brain, and whatever else was going on in Baldur's Gate, and his time with you felt so limited. The two of you could meander around a bit after this and just be together.

So of course this was taking forever. Currently he was entertaining himself by pacing irritatedly around the shop while the clerk painstakingly found, measured, and packed, all of Gale's list. He sighs and you shoot him a look of irritation causing him to wince internally. The last thing he wants is for you to be angry with him. So he goes back to quietly pacing.

That's when his eyes spot it, on the upper shelf of a potion display rack, a heart shaped bottle full of a pink liquid. Amor Maius, the love enhancer, the hand written description below it reads, continuing, increase your arousal, spend longer with your beloved. His mind wanders back to the Drow twins the other day at Sharess Caress, and how you insisted you hadn’t been interested in their “services” but he’d seen the way your eyes got wide just looking at them, hells, he’d heard your pulse increase. You weren't just slightly interested, you were very much aroused at the thought. It was probably his fault, he’d failed to provide you with release. Even if you protested that sex wasn’t necessary, he remembered how much you enjoyed it, the way your heart would thunder as soon as you two were alone, how wet you got for him, so eager to be filled, having to put his fingers in your mouth to suck on to quiet your noises lest you wake the whole camp. You shouldn’t be expected to live in chastity and it was only a matter of time before you realized you didn’t want a broken thing like him, a thing that couldn’t even give you one of life’s simplest pleasures. But if he could find a way to give that to you…

A quick glance tells him you and the clerk are still thoroughly occupied and he moves along to get a better angle, waiting. The clerk ducks down behind the counter to retrieve something and lightning quick, Astarion is back at the shelf, tucking the bottle in his pack. He takes another loop of the shop and sighs again, just to keep normal appearances. “Astarion,” you scold and he comes to the counter to wrap and arm around your waist and kiss your cheek.

“We’ve been in here forever,” he wheedles and he sees your irritation give way.

“I know, almost done, then I promise no more errands.” Your hand reaches down to cover his, where it rests against your waist. Every one of your touches fills him with the softest warmth, he couldn’t bear to lose you, and tonight he’ll make sure he won’t.

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around Baldur’s Gate with no real destination, simply chatting and being with each other. It’s lovely to just be in your presence, every so often stopping to kiss you softly and delight in how you wrap your arms around his neck and put your soul into it every time. With night falling you make your way back to the Elfsong and Astarion sends you upstairs to deliver Gale’s damned herbs while he stops to make an inquiry.

You’ve already got your pack off and seem to be settling in when he finds you. Leaning in, he whispers sultrily into your ear. “The private room is empty tonight, we could go make use of it, if you want.”

He smiles at the way your breath hitches. “Are you sure,” your eyes meet his, bright with love and concern despite your rising arousal.

“Absolutely Darling,” you know him so well, he can only hope he's convincing enough.

"That sounds nice," pretty pink tinges your skin as you take his hand.

The two of you make your way down the hall, leaving the noisy common room and your companions behind. There's a single bed in the cozy space and a bath in a little adjacent room. Wyll and Karlach have made use of it before, but it's the first time he's dared bring you here. Brushing your hair behind your ear, he trails his fingers down your cheek. "Warm bath, relax a little and see where the night takes us," he suggests, feeling the panic start to rise, knowing what you'll be expecting now. The potion will help, he just needs to get that far.

“Whatever you feel up to my Love,” you tilt your face to catch his palm in a kiss and your tender care has him fighting back a sob. There’s not a day that you don’t give him everything he could ask for, more than he ever dreamt he could have.

He has to give you this one thing, he wants to so badly, but already he can feel his mind trying to pull away, to distance itself from his body in anticipation. “Go on ahead, let me get settled. I’ll join you shortly.”

As soon as you're out of sight, bath water running, he throws open his pack. His chest throbs, like a weight is pushing down on it and the edges of his vision are going blurry, he needs that damn potion now. Somehow it slipped under the rest of the contents in his pack. "Damn," he mutters, violently tossing things around until a pink glint is revealed. Salvation.

Quickly he snatches it up, scrambling to get the stopper out. Pausing for a second, it occurs to him that he doesn't know how much to take. He'll just down some and sneak off if he needs more he decides. The taste is sickly sweet and it burns all the way down his throat. For a moment he pauses, waiting for it to kick in, worried it isn’t what it promised. Then it’s like every color in the room is a thousand times more vibrant and he can smell the intoxicating scent of you from here. Already he’s growing hard, hand idly reaching down to stroke himself, and then the world goes black.

When next he wakes he’s staring at the ceiling, head throbbing. Did he just pass out? “Are you finally back?” You’re right next to him, and gods, you don’t sound happy. The missing moments start to come in flashes, the bath, his hands all over you, the bed, and then you telling him to stop. A light, a spell, you’d done something to stop him.

“I…” What is there to even say?

“What in the hells were you thinking Astarion?! I found the bottle. I'm not stupid, I know what that was. Why?” Not only are you furious with him, but there’s so much sadness in your voice too.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, rolling on his side to face away from you, he can’t bear to look at you right now.

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” The edge has come off your voice, you probably think he’s too pathetic to waste your anger on.

"Lying,” he asks instead of answering.

Sighing, you put a hand delicately on his shoulder. “I trusted you to be truthful with me. How can I do the right thing when you do something like this?”

“I wanted to make you happy, to give you everything. I just needed a little help to get there,” he pulls his knees up to his chest, making himself as small as possible, an old habit of self-preservation. Tears are starting to threaten, as if he hadn't embarrassed himself enough.

“Astarion,” your voice is unexpectedly gentle, “are you able to keep talking?”

Desperately, he wants to, to keep explaining himself but he feels like he's drowning. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. He can feel you shifting around on the bed, like you want to lean over to comfort him but hold back. Another blow he’ll endure. Everything seems like it’s slipping away from him. But you’re full of surprising mercy. “Can I hold you? Just nod.” He does as you say, not daring to look up, and your arms loops around him as the soothing weight of your presence presses against his back.

The two of you lay there in silence for a long time, you don’t press him anymore but you don’t abandon him either. Soft kisses on his shoulders keep him from unraveling completely. Finally he finds his voice. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

“Did you think how I’d feel if I found out I hurt you?”

“I-I,” his mind races, what answer is right, what will appease you. “No, I was just scared to lose you.” Finally he settles on the truth, plainly spoken, because he can’t make things any worse than they are. "Because I can't give you something so simple."

“Part of me is angry that you think so little of me,” he starts to protest and you shush him, “but I know it’s hard for you.” Warm fingers entangle with his and he lets himself hope. “I’ll say it one more time, and I need you to believe me. Starry Sky, if we never have sex again, you’re worth it. But you can’t do anything like this to me anymore.”

He wants to believe, with all his heart, it’s just so hard. He nods, “I promise.”

Your lips caress his cheek and he closes his eyes, drinking the feeling in. "Do you want to go back to the other room?"

Thoughts of having to go back, to lose you to the noise and the attention of others are too much. "Could we stay here, just for a little while?"

“We can stay here as long as you want.” He turns over, burying his head in your chest, suddenly desperate for the feel of you.

Soothing fingers brush through his hair, and your hand gently strokes his back. He knows he should believe you, knows you love him more than he ever thought possible, but the shadows and darkness inside still whisper that he's not enough, not the way he is.

#astarion #astarion x reader #x reader #astarion x f!reader #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #my fanfic #my writing

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thecapricunt1616 · 2 months

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capri. i have a request for carmy

(jokingly) sulking and moping when someone else gets the slightest bit of attention

he jealous boi when u give anybody else attention how dare u >:(

xoxo thank u mwah -🐁

Mousey? Mousey mouse 🐁? Are you out there?? Oh Mooouseee 🧀🧀🧀!!! I’m so sorry this has rotted away in my inbox forever! I love this concept, excuse the formatting as I’m on my iPad (ya girl still doesn’t have a laptop but I’m working on that) I hope you enjoy either way! Xoxoxo As always if you enjoy pls like/comment/reblog, requests are open but no laptop rn so they will be shorter like this 🥹❣️

Warnings for BTC: smoking, swearing, pouty Carmy, no use of y/n, kinda short (sorry it’s hard to do this on an iPad im trying to get a new laptop this week 😭😢)

I can totally see this happening when you’re invited for family dinner. Like, okay so in my mind you’ve been really busy with school/work/the usual boring adult things - but you finally have an evening off, and Carmy decides to invite you to come hang out with the crew and him since he loves showing you off, (let’s be real once Carmy has his one, he’s never gonna stop yapping abt you to everyone in his vicinity)

As soon as you get there everyone is gushing about your promotion at work or the fact that you made it onto the deans list because Carmy is constantly boasting about you. Marcus would pull you aside to have you taste a new dessert he’d been working on, Syd would ask you about the outfit you were wearing and talk about the next time you two would go thrifting together.

Carmy would hang around you the whole time, like a little lost puppy. You didn’t really notice, as you were too busy being treated like a guest of honor. Ebra would proudly show you his new system for making the window work faster, and Tina would proudly show you her new set of knives. You would finally notice that Carmy had been looming about when Richie pulled you to the dining room and after a few minutes of yapping about the new seating design he goes

“Yo- cus, aren’t you on family today?”

This causes you to turn around, “oh! Hey baby!” You’d say happily, leaning in and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He’d scoff, the tiniest hint of a pout on his lips and a scowl to his brow “about fuckin’ time. Hey- nice to see you, am I chopped fuckin liver?” he asked, in that winey way he took on when he was broody and pouty.

“Oh Bear- stop the sour attitude, let’s go have a cigarette mm?” You tug him by the hand, back through the kitchen where he of course obediently followed your lead (he always did) You wave off the crew like gnats as you made your way through while they ask you questions.

“Going for a cigarette don’t bother us.” You ordered as you nudged the door open with your hip, tugging him outside with you. You gently pushed him against the door and brought your lips to his, planting an open mouth loving kiss on him as you rub gentle soothing circles into the white fabric of his T-shirt over his pecs.

When you pulled away his cheeks were pink and flush, he was a bit breathless, and his lips were kiss bitten. Of course he was speechless so you started,

“When you talk me up like the fucking queen is coming here for dinner and not just your girl, it causes for people to wonder if I’m really as spectacular as you talk me up to be, Bear. If you want us to be left alone while I’m here you gotta make me sound boring” you smirk a bit and he huffs a laugh, shaking his head and digging his pack of cigarettes from his jeans and patting them in the palm of his hand a few times before taking one out and popping it between his lips.

You flicked his lighter to life with your manicured thumb, lighting it for him and he took a deep drag before popping it between his fingers and pulling you to his chest with a gentle kiss to the top of your head. You nuzzled your face in his chest, closing your eyes for a moment and breathing in the scent of bergamot, honeyed tobacco, and oud of his cologne that stuck to his skin, along with the thick smell of original American spirits.

One of the things you loved most about Carmy was his affinity for being groomed and smelling nice. And even more so since he met you, he had started going with you and getting the male pedicure and manicure at the salon when you went so his hands and feet were always well taken care of. He also loved cologne collecting, and of course vintage thrifting.

You’d had many dates to thrift stores, as well as middle eastern cologne & perfume stores, which Carmy had introduced you to. He told you while living in Copenhagen he worked with a Palestinian man who always smelt absolutely amazing, and he asked him what cologne he used and he explained in the Middle East they use cologne oils since it lasts longer.

He had since gotten you on middle eastern perfumes and no matter where you went, you got the questions of what you were wearing - whether it be because of your amazing outfit Carmy helped you put together, or how incredible you smelt.

“Gimme some” you said gently, lifting your face and puckering your lips. He took a long drag before bringing his lips to yours, exhaling the smoke into your mouth as he gave you a slow sensual kiss. You inhale graciously, eyes fluttering shut and tilting your head back to exhale once he pulled away.

“So what’s f’dinner tonight, chef?” You asked and he smiled a bit, clearing his throat before saying

“Venison loin, with charred juniper cream gravy, plum compote, and twice baked smashed potatoes”

Dc: @mouseymilkovich ily I’m sorry it was so short it’s hard to type on my iPad and format it 🥲

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preseriesdean · 4 months

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if you don’t mind me asking, could you share some of your favorite fanfics or authors? thanks ❤️

oh hi hello!! yes of course!! i actually haven't read any spn fic in a while but i have spent a lot of time organizing my bookmarks. i'm going to assume that you meant samdean fic but i'll add a few non-samdean ones at the end.

authors!

@zmediaoutlet (deadlybride on ao3)

candle_beck (ao3)

@goshen-applecrumbledore (ao3)

whereupon (livejournal)

Linden (ao3)

sevenfists (ao3)

there are so many more great authors but these came to mind :)

fics!

i am going to list my forever-favorites first - the ones i would recommend to anyone and everyone, screaming-from-the-rooftops kind of love - and then many many more under the cut.

beloved by urchinesque (2016, 1.9k, NR, warning: death) It might be the gentlest thing that's ever happened to them.

in my opinion everyone should read this once. it's quick. they die. it's-- happy, somehow. beautiful. i think about it all the time.

Last Day on Earth by candle_beck (2009, 10.8k, E) A list of things to do if you only have one day to live, presented in inconvenient non-list form.

last year my best friend and i were pondering which fic felt quintessential to samdean for us and somehow settled on this one. i still agree with the choice.

Odysseus, American by coyotesuspect (2010, 10k, M) Dean finds Peter O'Toole's recording of the Odyssey in a bin marked “Audio" in Casa Grande's only used bookstore. The place smells like cigarette smoke and old books, and it reminds him of Sam. Stanford era.

my favorite stanford era fic. i think it captures dean's loneliness and desperation beautifully.

A man with his insides out and his outsides off by britomart_is (2016, 5.3k, E, time travel, underage) They say there are only two stories in the world: man goes on a journey, and stranger comes to town.

another fic i want everyone to read. it's so short and feels like a novel. sam is messed up and dean is in love and everything is miserable.

Breathing Hard by whereupon (2009, 9k, E) The day Dean figures it out.

this is so simple and yet-- everything to me. i can't think about dinosaurs without thinking about this fic, which doesn't tell you much, but you'll see. sometimes this is really all you need.

The Last Outpost of All That Is by gekizetsu (2008, 59k, E) The world ends while they’re asleep.

this fic has stayed with me my whole life. i thought about it even during my years away from spn and fandom entirely. they're alone and you don't know why and they build their life together and you end up wondering, is this hell or heaven? whenever i come across a screenshot of the last couple of paragraphs i want to cry.

see things so much clearer by deadlybride (2020, 11.7k, E) Sam's been acting oddly. Dean learns how to use the history on an internet browser and finds out why.

this is a fic that hits the spot for me personally so well. another favorite preseries fic. i love the idea of sam using livejournal, and of dean finding out this way.

Stay The Distance by lazy_daze (2011, 24k, E) Sam is dependent on Dean's touch and closeness after the wall falls - Dean's presence reminds him of why he chose to wake up, and keeps the memories at bay, allowing Sam to function.

i love enmeshment, and i love that here it's literal. i love that they're just sort of fine with it.

more fics below!

in absolutely no particular order whatsover. please check the warnings and tags on these before reading!

Recall by De_Nugis (2012, 6.3k, E) Sam's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't, especially when it comes to some voicemails from Dean.

Living in god's blind spot by applecrumbledore (2022, 25k, E) Of all the situations Dean didn’t need his dad to see him in, ‘getting off to being pushed around by a guy’ was in the top three. And ‘a guy’ was a massive glossing-over of reality. Any guy—any other guy—would be bad enough, but Sam was fucking cataclysmic.

Almost At Home by balefully (2008, 24.3k, E) Sam graduates from high school in early June in rural Tennessee. He and Dean start the summer with an all-nighter of celebration; the day after, while both fight hangovers, John calls to assign them their first hunt by themselves.

they said it was the fall of man by jukeboxhound (2016, 7.4k, M) Sam gets his soul back on a Monday.

When I Fall Asleep It Is Your Eyes That Close by britomart_is (2009, 1.9k, E) Post-Season Two. Sam is alive. Dean is happy.

Life As We Know It by sevenfists (2007, 13.7k, M, curtain fic) On the morning that Sam woke up, Dean ran five red lights on the way to the hospital, his half-empty coffee cup sloshing in the holder.

tied up like two ships by orphan_account (2014, 3.1k, E) Dean liked to hold hands.

Gospel Truth by Cerberuss (2020, 15.2k, E, case fic) ‘DOES YOUR BROTHER KNOW THAT YOU WANT HIM?’ Individually placed letters, bold and tinged brown with the weather. Sam can’t look away and he prays, dream dream dream.

Buy You A Mockingbird by candle_beck (2011, 10.3k, M, underage, outsider pov) A genuine horror story.

because you want to die for love by hathfrozen (2021, 27.3k, E) Sam and Dean settle into their Heaven—and into each other, too.

the constant vow by deadlybride (2022, 119k, E, fem dean-ish) They've just finished up a pretty standard job and are killing time in snowy Wisconsin when Dean wakes up no longer looking like Dean. That's just the start of their problems.

This Fortress Made of Us by mickeym (2009, 10.8k, E) Sam really didn't do very well without his brother. Coda for Mystery Spot.

State of Love and Trust/As I Busted Down the Pretext by cormallen (2010, 2.9k, M) When you know exactly what your brother's thinking, there are some chances you just don't take.

Quiet with the Rain by Linden (2014, 5.3k, T) Dean can spot an undercover cop at thirty paces, a hooker at twenty, and rims that will match his baby's at ten. But the fact that his little brother is in love with him—that, he can't see worth a damn.

have a cigar by deadlybride (2020, 5.6k, E) What happened with Andy and Ansem unsettles Sam. Dean doesn't seem worried.

Heart Shaped Balloon by winsive (2022, 18.5k, E, underage) Sam and Dad are fighting. No surprise, but it's the weekend before Valentine's Day and Dean isn't missing out on the chance to bang a cheerleader just to console his bratty little brother. He does bring back a heart shaped balloon for him, though. It's not supposed to be cursed.

Bare by gracerene (2022, 2.2k, T) Of all the things Dean hasn't done before, Sam never expected something as innocuous as skinny dipping to be on the list.

Speechless by candle_beck (2008, 11.2k, T, case fic) Dean loses his voice and their rapport is only moderately impaired.

Like It Was Yesterday by nomelon (2014, 4.9k, T, fem dean, amnesia) Sam can't remember a time when Dean wasn't there. Dean is always with him. Sam's whole life, there's never been anyone else.

Like a Ghost with Two Voices by Dyed_Red (2022, 46k, E) To cure Dean from the Mark of Cain, Sam has to let Dean, in all his demonic glory, possess him for 28 days. It goes about as well as expected.

Breathe You In (Choke You Down) by orphan_account (2021, 5.9k, E, pwp) Dean really likes the way Sam smells.

lost in yesterday by margaryes (2023, 1k, NR, john pov) John hasn’t seen his youngest son in 18 months.

Unraveling by Linden (2017, 855 words, E) No, he’d said, the first time Sammy had tried to kiss him, sixteen and half-drunk and stupidly beautiful, even though he’d wanted so badly to say yes.

pack up the moon by deathdreamt (2021, 5.9k, T, pre-slash) Sam storms back out from their room, his backpack on and his duffel hanging off his shoulder and isn’t it kind of tragic that his whole life fits in two bags. He looks suddenly much younger than he is, eyes shining. John is back at his guns, whiskey at his elbow, and Dean can hardly believe how rapidly his life is cracking down the centre.

Yesterday, minnesota by applecrumbledore (2022, 30k, E, case fic) Any initial awkwardness filtered away over a hundred miles of highway as Sam thumbed through the missing witch’s diary again. Some people had secret coke habits or secret second wives, and some people had passionate, pitch black, no-kissing sex with a family member every four to six months and never talked about it. You had to find ways to cope.

All Heartless Spectres, Happiness by orphan_account (2021, 5.6k, E) Lisa Braeden receives an email with the subject line, "You Deserve to Know." It contains a single video file and nothing else. (soulless sam)

The Palm Oasis by fictionallemons (2022, 12.3k, E, underage) John strands Dean and Sam at a middle-of-nowhere motel while he investigates possible demon omens in Arizona. The place is nothing to write home about, but at least it has a pool. Dean resolves to think of this as a vacation for him and his studious little brother, but when their money runs out sooner than expected, he considers turning tricks at a nearby truck stop so he can feed Sam.

Other Brothers by homo_pink (2020, 7k, M, underage, outsider pov) A callow boy can go from infancy to someone’s lover in the space of two wildflower summers.

Leader of the Pack by astolat (2007, 14.9k, E) Teaching old dogs new tricks.

Underground Wires by eggnogged (2012, 15.8k, E, fem sam, underage) It’s hard enough being a teenage girl even without all the extra crap: they move around all the time, her family is as far removed from normal as it’s possible to get, and she’s in love with her older brother. Sam has no control on any of it, she’s just trying to stay afloat.

Multitude of Sins by Linden (2015, 4.4k, T, outsider pov) Every now and again, Jim Murphy would look up from his altar and find the Winchester boys at the back of his church.

Like Arrows in the Hands of a Warrior by ADeedWithoutaName (2018, 10.3k, E, underage, dub con-ish, john pov) John Winchester loves his boys, and would take a bullet for either of them. He knows that he's doing it right, the way he's raising them, the things he's teaching them. Not every problem, however, has an easy answer. Like what to do after an incubus case in which their target got his pollen all over both of John's sons.

You Can't Lose What You Never Had by nigeltde (2016, 5.6k, E) You can't spend what you ain't got, and you can't lose what you ain't never had.

Flagstaff by Linden (2014, 7.3k, T, pre-slash, john pov) John tracked Sam down in Flagstaff, four days after he got home to find him gone.

I'll take my chance on a beautiful stranger by fleshflutter (2007, 3.8k, M, outsider pov) If Chase were a better friend, he might try to end the game now, before Brendan loses even more money. But if Brendan is a dick at Stanford, it’s nothing compared to how he is on break.

Cupid's Got A Gun by geckoholic (2012, 13.5k, E, non-con) Fuck-or-die, set in early S4. But they've been fucking for years, so that shouldn't be a problem, right? Wrong. Ever since hell, Dean's in no hurry to get that show on the road again.

Someone Else's Blood by sevenfists (2006, 6.7k, E) The first time, of course, was an accident. (pretend dating)

How Many Floors to Realize by lazy_daze (2009, 26k, E, swesson) AU from the end of It's A Terrible Life, in which Zachariah decides to keep stringing them along a little while longer, because damn if they aren't somewhat entertaining, right?

Worthless cartography by applecrumbledore (2022, 15.6k, E) Dean didn’t know what finally made him go for it. The djinn’s dream was a catalyst, but the call was coming from inside the house, and he’d been letting it ring for a very, very long time. (They get one night together right before Sam is taken to Cold Oak. Dean has to deal with that.)

The Space Between Sense and Memory by orphan_account (2021, 4.8k, T) There are a hundred unwritten rules on all the acceptable ways brothers should touch each other. There are hardly any ways at all to break them. Or; five times they follow the rules and one time they don’t.

Ions in the Ether by nigeltde (2019, 10.9k, E, case fic) When was the last time you trusted happy.

Crossed Wires by rivkat (2015, 10.9k, E) Dean thinks Sam is dead.

Crown and Anchor Me (or let me sail away) by Sena (2010, 23.7k, E, underage) Sam Winchester is fifteen years old, at yet another new high school in yet another state, he doesn't get along with his distant, distracted father, he's figuring out that he likes guys just as much as he likes girls, his clothes never fit and his limbs ache at the joint ever since his growth spurt started, he has to study for the PSAT and, oh yeah, he's a little bit in love with his brother, Dean, who's taken a break from hunting monsters to work at a local garage for minimum wage.

Wear Him Lika a Habit by sevenfists (2008, 2.2k, M) Their first kiss isn't an accident. It's anticipated well in advance, discussed for weeks, argued over, second-guessed.

Amor Prohibido by phoenixflight (2020, 3k, M, underage) They spent the spring of Sam's sophomore year living in a shitty apartment south of San Antonio. Every Friday night the clearest channel played three hour marathons of a Spanish soap called La Casa del Corazón. There was a mutually understood truce about watching it, because the alternatives were infomercials or creepy kids’ cartoons that futzed into static every fifteen seconds.

Open Road by Mollyamory (2010, 2k, T) Sam's old enough to know what's good for him.

It's the Blueprint of Your Life by queenklu (2011, 38.4k, time travel) Sam jerks awake in the middle of the night and everything goes to hell. Well, not literally, though Dean is staring down the barrel of less than a year before his deal comes due. In the midst of dealing (or not dealing) with his impending death, a killer ghost ship, and Bela showing up out of the blue, Dean also has to figure out what’s going on in Sam’s head to make him so twitchy, why he’s suddenly breezing through this case while writing endless notes in a notebook he won’t let Dean see.

North of Wednesday by Mollyamory (2008, 3.5k, G) Sam's behind the wheel before he realizes he doesn't have the keys. Coda to Mystery Spot.

non-wincest fic.

dean/omc. We Drank a Thousand Times by glorious_spoon (2010, 43k, M, warning: death) They meet in a bar fight in North Carolina when Dean is nineteen, broke, and desperate, then again when a hunt brings the Winchesters into town a few years later. Neither one of them ever puts a name to it but every once in a while, through the years, Dean finds his way back.

dean/cas: terror & desire intertwined by rupertgayes (2022, 39k, M) Faced with Castiel suffering a fate worse than death, Dean makes the decision to let Cas use his body as a temporary vessel. All things considered, Dean thinks, it could have gone worse.

gen, sam&dean: what lasts by deadlybride (2021, 17.2k, M) Not long after they move into the bunker, Dean loses a leg. Most of a leg. After the hospital, Sam brings him home, and they figure out how to live with what remains.

gen, dean-centric: To Repair Broken Men by procrastin8or951 (2015, 3.1k, T) Dad and Sam keep fighting. Dean can't fix his family, so he fixes things around the crappy apartment they are staying in.

dean/michael: our hour came round at last by orphan_account (2015, 1.8k, NR, pwp) "I want to be inside you," says Michael, low and velvet and hungry and that really shouldn't turn Dean on but it does.

dean/lucifer, dean/cas: exploratory by sp8ce (2022, 4.9k, E, non-con) One night, Castiel proposes he and Dean have sex. Except it's a little more complicated than that.

dean/cas: for a healthy heart by Askance (2013, 2.4k, T) A strange black box appears in Castiel's bedroom one afternoon.

gen, sam&dean: charmer & gentle by Askance (2015, 3.7k, G, outsider pov) The afternoon girl calls them Big and Tall, the strangers who come in late every now and then, buying this or that. The night girl doesn't think those names fit quite right.

dean/cas, past sam/dean: whose wings, though tattered, shall carry me home by fleshflutter (2009, 2.2k, T) There is a breeze moving across the field. It stirs the long grass in lapping waves like the sea. Castiel runs his fingertips through it and remembers flying.

#asks #fanfic #wincest #whatever it is #anon i have you to thank for getting me back into spn fic <3 i've been rereading some of these over the past few days #i was going to post this for ww yesterday but i fell asleep :( so here you go now sdfksdfh

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querenciasturniolo · 9 months

Text

ghost ⮕ s.t.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: depictions of death (no active murder), mentions of death, mentions of vomit, blood, suspense, anxiety, fear, swearing

summary: murders in los angeles have been happening left and right, and right as you think it couldn’t get any worse, one of your best friends is gone.

a/n: this took much longer than it should have, and for that i’m sorry, but i have a few things to say beforehand. this was inspired by multiple edits, two separate convos i had with @floofparker and @champangekisses , scream being one of my FAVORITE scary movies, and, of course, the iconic “WHO’S MOST LIKELY TO BE THE GHOSTFACE KILLERRRR” from chris. this took FOREVER, but i’m so proud of it and so excited to put it out. this is pretty reminiscent to the movie, but i added my own little spin on it. PLEASE read the bolded disclaimer and take it to heart, i don’t think anything that goes down in this fic would actually happen, hence the name fanfiction. it’s supposed to be unrealistic, that’s the point. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

Twenty year old social media star Christopher (Chris) Sturniolo was found dead outside of his Los Angeles home on September 22, 2023. His brothers, who he made comedy videos with on multiple platforms, Nicolas and Matthew Sturniolo, claim their brother had been out with long-time friend and fellow content creator, Y/f/n Y/l/n, hours before.

Nick and Matt told police moments before they rushed out to find their brother with multiple stab wounds, they heard yelling and a struggle. When they reached Chris, the assailant was gone. Y/n hasn’t spoken about their day together prior to his death, and has refused to answer any questions asked. Her and Matt Sturniolo seem to have ended their year-long relationship shortly after this tragedy, but we all want to know why. Was there an affair? Was the guilt too much to keep the secret after Chris’ death?

On October 13, 2022, Y/n’s brother was murdered brutally, and their mother suffered a very public breakdown. The assailant in her brother’s case has yet to be found.

Chris Sturniolo’s murder was the fifth in a little less than two months. Police have yet to tell the public any of their leads in this string of serial murders, but have disclosed that they are far from closing these cases.

The article had only been out for an hour, and your Instagram and Tiktok were already being swarmed with notifications. So many, that you had to delete both apps off of your phone to keep it from crashing.

You hadn’t left your bed since that day, only to get something to eat and some water when you ran out—you couldn’t even go to the funeral. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer your phone, you couldn’t even answer the countless messages you scrolled through in the days following your best friend’s death.

Today was the day, you decided, that you were going to do something. Three weeks couldn’t have been too late to get your shit back together. You had woken up in the late afternoon and gotten into the shower, standing under the hot spray for what felt like forever and just allowing yourself to relax and release any tension in your body.

You had made a full meal for the first time since…that morning. You were nauseous the entire time you ate, but you had to do this. When your brother died, everyone told you that the best way to get through your grief was to continue your regular routine as much as possible. Filming a video was on your to do list. You weren’t going to post it, it was just for you to get back into the routine of talking to a camera.

Setting up your camera was the hardest part. You knew how to do it blindfolded by now, but the thought of doing anything like this, even if you weren’t going to post it, felt wrong, almost. It felt wrong to look into a camera and talk about that day, talk about your last day with Chris.

You sat down on your couch after pressing record and ran a hand over your face, finally looking into the lens and sighing.

“It’s been awhile.” You started, rolling your eyes at the corniness of your statement. “I don’t even know why I said that, I’m not even posting this.” You grumbled, dropping your head into your hands and carding your fingers through your hair. The burning in your throat started, and you continuously fought through the knot and forming tears.

You looked up again, hoping your eyes didn’t look as red as they felt. “I picked Chris up at ten fifteen, and we spent the entire day together. We went thrifting, as much as he complained the whole time.” You said, a ghost of a smile forming on your face as your eyes focused elsewhere.

“He, oh my God.” You said, chuckling to yourself and shaking your head. “He would throw whatever I had in my hands in the basket and ask if we were done yet, every time I picked something up. I don’t know what his problem was, considering he had gotten a few things too.” You said, sighing softly and glancing over at the camera.

“We went to lunch—that honestly sounds more fancy than it is, we stopped at In-n-Out—and we just came back to my house afterwards. We talked about…a lot of things.” You started, tears pooling in your eyes as you closed them and let yourself remember.

“We talked…we talked about life, and getting older.” You said, dropping your head back and looking up at the ceiling. “Fears, hopes and whatnot. We talked about everything.” You said, sighing softly as the remnants of Chris’ voice in your memory sang through.

“I don’t know what I want right now. I’m grateful that I’m doing so well, but in five years, where will I be?”

“It started getting late, so I took him home. He told me to come in if I wanted, but I…I was tired, I wanted to go home. He…he got out of the car, and I didn’t. I never...” You dropped your head in your hands again, your breathing labored as you fought off the guilt that had been deteriorating you for the last three weeks.

You lifted your head, about to stand and turn off your camera when your phone buzzed next to you. You sighed and flipped it over, frowning at the screen.

No Caller ID flashed before you. Usually you’d ignore the call, but something in you couldn’t resist as you slid the icon over and pressed it to your ear.

“Hello?” You asked, your voice quiet and shaky.

“It was your fault, you know.”

You’d never ended a call so fast, your phone hitting the couch as you stared down at it with wide eyes. The voice was distorted, completely unrecognizable, but familiar at the same time. This was some sick joke, it had to be. You took a deep breath and shook your head.

You stood and walked over to your camera on weak knees, stopping the recording and taking your camera off of the tripod. As you shut off the camera, your phone buzzed on the couch. A sigh left your lips as you placed the camera on the coffee table and ran your hands through your hair.

What was the worst that could happen, right? You picked up your phone, No Caller ID still flashing across the screen. You slid the icon over again and pressed your phone to your ear.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

Your entire body went on high alert. “Who is this?” You asked, your voice trembling.

“That’s not important, what’s important is I know what really happened that day.”

All of the air left your lungs as you shakily sat down on the couch. “What are you talking about?” You asked. A dark chuckle rang through the receiver, your heart pounding in your ears as you waited for an answer.

“You didn’t wait for him to get inside, did you, Sweetheart?”

A broken sob left your lips as you hung up the phone and dropped it, your whole body shaking with each shattered cry that escaped you. The guilt was too much, it was the only thing about your last day with him that you couldn’t bring yourself to even say.

You blame yourself for Chris’ death, if you had just waited a few moments for him to get in the door, none of this would have happened. It was killing you every single day, not knowing if your being there would have changed anything.

You ignored the next call, and went through your contacts. Your finger hovered over Matt’s name, your chest aching as you swiped out of his contact, clicked the one under it, and held your phone to your ear. Before Nick could even finish his greeting, you were straining to get your words out of your mouth through the knot in your throat.

“Nick, something is wrong. Please, please come over.” You whispered into the phone, trying your best to keep your voice steady as his silence on the other end made your skin crawl.

“I’ll be there soon.”

You put your phone on the couch and took your time pacing around your living room.

Nick would be here soon, there was no reason to panic. The person on the phone was nothing, no one. Your phone’s incessant buzzing pulled you out of your pacing. You were frustrated now, the guilt and pain that you’d been holding in for so long was finally out in the open and slapping you right in the face.

How did they know? You hadn’t told anyone, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say it out loud.

It didn’t matter, the person on the phone had no idea what they were talking about, which sounded about as stupid as you thought it did, but it was the only thing keeping you from pulling your hair out of your head.

You pulled your phone from the couch and answered, the buzzing driving you up the wall.

“Listen, I’ve already called the police, and they’re tracing this call right no—”

The laughter on the other end cut you off, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as that sickening, metallic voice rang through the receiver.

“Oh, Sweetheart. We both know that isn’t true. I do know, however, that your little friend and boyfriend are on their way right now. Care to explain how they’re going to help you?”

Every hair on your body stood on end, your chest aching with the intensity of each beat against your rib cage. You fish-mouthed, unable to get any words out as the voice continued.

“How are they going to stop me, hm? How are they going to keep me from gutting you the same way I did your dear old friend, Chris? Or your brother?”

You froze, your gaze stuck to the floor as each word processed in your mind. “My brother?” You whimpered, a sinister chuckle vibrated against your ear.

“You heard me, Sweetheart. He put up quite the fight, too. More of a fight than your little friend.”

“Shut up!” You screamed into the receiver, hanging up the phone and throwing it across the room. You could distinctly hear the shatter of your screen as you crumpled in on yourself.

Michael’s murder had completely destroyed you. Your entire world was uprooted, and your mom, your mom hasn’t been the same since. She spends her days sitting in a rocking chair in front of the window, rocking slowly back and forth in a daze.

You’d never shaken more in your life, your entire body twitching and fighting each movement you tried to make as you stood from the floor. You needed to get up, you couldn’t let yourself stay on the ground or you’d never move.

Before you reached your kitchen, the sound of a knock at the door had you jumping out of your skin. It took everything in you to walk to the door and peek out the peephole, ripping it open the moment you registered Nick and Matt standing on your porch.

You hadn’t said a word before they rushed in and wrapped you in the tightest hugs you’d ever experienced in your life. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you pushed the door shut and held them tightly.

“I’m so sorry.” You sobbed, both of their arms holding you as you completely crumbled. “I didn’t wait for him to get inside, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault, he’d be here right now if it wasn’t for me. I’m so fucking sorry.” You rambled. Neither of them spoke, but their shoulders shaking softly against you answered the silent question of if they were listening.

When you finally pulled away, you were still shaking like a leaf. The guilt of holding it in for so long had been washed away, but the fear of that voice on the phone was still running rampant.

“No one blames you.” Nick said, his eyes rimmed red. “We’ve never blamed you. So you don’t need to worry about that.” You glanced at Matt, who’s eyes were still on the floor before you met Nick’s eyes again. “What happened?”

You sniffed and shook your head as you wiped at your face. “Nothing, it’s fine. It isn’t important.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around your abdomen as your eyes rested on Matt’s hunched frame. Nick sighed from where he stood and ran a hand over his face.

“I’ll leave you two to talk, but then I want to know what happened.” He said before he turned and walked towards the living room.

For what felt like hours, you and Matt stood across from each other in the mudroom of your childhood home, you staring at him, and him staring at the floor. When his eyes finally met yours, it felt as though your heart shattered and mended itself all at once. You hadn’t seen him since before Chris’ death, and the only message you’d sent him since then was telling him that the two of you needed to break up.

He looked as beautiful as he always had, but he looked different. Under his eyes were dusted in a dark purple, the whites of them tinged pink, his cheeks sunken in.

“Matty,” you whispered and took a step forward. He shook his head and looked back down at the floor.

“Why?”

It took everything in you not to wrap him in your arms and never let go. You knew exactly what he was asking you, and you knew the answer. It had taken these three weeks of you doing nothing more than surviving to realize you had no other reason to break up with Matt, other than the fact that looking at him would remind you of Chris, and you couldn’t handle it. It was selfish, and you could only imagine how he felt.

“I…I don’t have a good reason.”

Matt nodded and sniffed before looking up and meeting your eyes. The blue of his iris’ was striking against the red rimming his eyes. Your own eyes were burning as his gaze scanned over your face.

“Is it true?”

You frowned, confusion clouding your mind as he sighed and shook his head.

“What the article said, about you and Chris. Is it true? Was there…did you…”

You gasped as the realization hit you of what he was asking.

“Matt, what? I would never, I could never do that to you. I didn’t look at Chris like that, you know that.” You rambled on.

Matt nodded. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, just…a moment of weakness, I didn’t mean it.” He mumbled, taking a step closer to you. “Why did you end…us? I needed you, and you just…you shut me out.”

You took a deep breath in through your nose and shook your head. “I couldn’t bear looking at you and seeing him. I know, that’s selfish, and I’m sorry.” You whispered.

“I shattered the mirror in my bathroom the other night.”

You looked up, your eyebrows furrowed as Matt held up his hands. A gasp left your lips and you reached forward, delicately taking his cut up and bruised hands in yours. Before you could ask him why, he answered the silent question brokenly.

“Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw him.” You met his eyes again, and didn’t stop yourself as you pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace.

“I’m sorry, Matty. I should have been there.” You mumbled into his shoulder, his arms tightening around your waist as he breathed you in. Neither of you said anything, just held each other for as long as the other needed.

“Um, Y/n? Did you do this on purpose?”

You pulled away from Matt and turned around, seeing Nick holding your shattered phone in his hand. You sighed and nodded, the fear you’d completely forgotten about creeping up.

“I was getting prank phone calls, it’s not that big of a deal.” You mumbled, pulling away completely and walking towards the living room.

“What kind of prank phone calls would make you shatter your phone?” Matt asked quietly, you turned to face him and shrugged your shoulders, trying desperately to hide the shaking of your hands. You didn’t want to talk about it, you couldn't talk about it. If you talked about it, that would make it real.

Before you could even sit on the couch, Nick’s phone was went off in his pocket. Your heart pounded as he pulled it out and looked down at it with a frown.

“No Caller ID?” He mumbled, your jaw dropping as he pulled it to his ear. It was a few moments of silence before he met your eyes and handed it to you. “They asked for you.”

You whimpered as you took the phone and pressed it to your ear, not saying a word as the mechanical voice spoke again.

“You really thought smashing your phone would get rid of me, Sweetheart?”

“What do you want?!” You cried, the other line buzzing in silence for only a moment before Matt stepped forward and almost snatched the phone from your hand.

“I’m upstairs, come find me.”

The line beeped right as Matt grabbed the phone and pressed it to his ear. You froze in your spot, Matt turning to face you and dropping Nick’s phone on the couch. He grabbed your shoulders and shook you once lightly.

“What did they say? Baby, breathe. What did they say?!” Matt asked, his grip on your shoulders tight as you fought off the panic.

“He’s in the house. He’s in the house.” You whispered, your eyes meeting Matt’s. Nick moved from his spot and stopped right next to Matt, his eyes wide as he scanned your face.

“Y/n, who is in the house?” He asked, his voice quiet in shock. You shook your head, nausea overtaking you as you pushed past Matt and sprinted to the kitchen. You couldn’t make it to the trash, turning and vomiting into the sink, your breaths heaving as you felt a warm hand rest on your back.

It took everything in you not to crumple to the floor as you looked up and shook your head.

“H-He told me he’s the one that killed Michael…and C-Chris.” You whispered the last word, your throat burning and your stomach lurching. Matt’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“How long have you been getting these phone calls?” He asked, his voice shaky as Nick handed you a bottle of water.

“It’s only been the last couple of hours, I thought it was some sort of sick prank until—”

A shatter from upstairs had your entire body tensing, your breath catching in your throat. Nick’s head whipped to the stairs as Matt reached for a knife and turned away.

“What are you doing?” You asked, grabbing his arm tightly and making him face you. Nick had his phone dialed and already pressed to his ear, speaking quickly to the 9-1-1 operator.

“I’m fucking going up there.” He said, pulling his arm from your grip and continuing his way towards the stairs.

“Matt, are you stupid?” Nick asked, stepping in front of the staircase as he hung up the phone. “The police are being dispatched, don’t do anything rash.” Matt shoved past Nick and ascended the stairs, his knuckles white on the handle of the knife. Nick groaned and faced you fully. “What are we gonna do?” He asked.

“We can’t just let him go up there by himself.” You whispered, walking past Nick and slowly stepping up the stairs.

“Jesus, you guys are gonna get us killed.” Nick grumbled from behind you. You heard a shuffle in the kitchen and turned, seeing him follow you up with a knife in his hand. “What? One of us had to grab something.” He whispered. You faced forward again, listening for any bump or creak that could indicate where Matt or the man that was in your house were.

It was silent as you walked through the upstairs. Each door you passed was closed, the only sound upstairs being the sound of Nick’s and your footsteps, and the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

“Matt?” You called out, the back of Nick’s hand hitting your shoulder. You looked at him, bewilderment etched into your face.

“Have you never seen a scary movie? Calling out in a dark house is the number one way to fucking die.” He said through his teeth. You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to fire back.

“Get off of me!”

You jumped, your head whipping down the hallway to see a door slam. “Matt!” You shouted, running without thinking towards the door and shoving it open. The moment you stepped into the center of the room, you knew something was wrong. The door clicked behind you, and you froze in place.

“Look what we have here.”

You turned, your eyes meeting Matt’s. His entire demeanor changed, the heartbroken boy you’d seen before was gone. In his place, stood what you could only describe as a monster. His eyes were dark, his smirk sinister, and his shoulders were square.

“Matty?” You asked, Nick coming from behind him with an almost identical smirk.

The both of them chuckled and looked between each other. Nick stepped forward, causing you to take a quick step back.

“Oh, Honey. Matty’s been gone for a while.” His hooded eyes stared you down as you fully processed what was truly happening. The both of them had tricked you.

You took in a shaky breath past the knot in your throat as you took another step back.

“You?” You exhaled, your eyes switching between them as their smirks grew impossibly wider. Matt rolled his eyes and looked over to Nick.

“Us?” He mocked, meeting your eyes and taking a step closer to you. “Yes, Baby. Us. Is that so surprising?” He teased, your eyes brimming with hot, salty tears. The cool air in the room had them burning, and your throat felt like it was on fire.

“You two were behind the murders all along?” You asked, your voice barely reaching a whisper as they moved closer to you almost strategically, boxing you in with each step they took.

Nick chuckled and nodded his head, his eyes never leaving yours as he cocked his head to the side. “She’s catching up, Matt. Yes, every single one.” He said, his voice thick with venom.

“But why?” You whimpered, your back hitting the wall. You were cornered, you couldn’t get past them no matter how hard you tried. Nick and Matt’s eyes were wicked as they watched you, Matt’s smirk growing as he glanced over at Nick.

“Hear that, Nick? She wants a motive.” He said, his eyes meeting yours again. “It isn’t enough that we just felt like it?”

“You killed Michael in cold blood, just because you felt like it?” You spat. Nick quirked an eyebrow and lightly ran the tip of his finger over the blade of the knife he was holding.

“See, now you’re getting it. Not everyone needs a motive, some people are just sick and twisted.” He pouted at the end of his sentence, anger flushing through you and coating your skin in heat.

“And Chris?” You asked. Matt chuckled and shook his head.

“You really can’t be that dense, Baby.” He said.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” You said through gritted teeth.

“It was only a distraction. We were getting sloppy, and what’s better to get the cops off of our case than getting rid of one of us?” Nick interrupted. You shook your head.

“Murder isn’t a distraction, you sick fucks.” You spat, looking around the room for any escape.

Matt chuckled, and flipped the blade in his hand. “Oh, Baby. You really aren’t understanding, are you?”

Before you could spit in his face, the door behind them was pushed open, your eyes shifting to the shadowed figure walking into the room. Your heart pounded in your chest as realization slowly set in, a broken cry leaving your lips as you shook your head.

“No.” You whispered.

The white mask on his face would have been comical if every hair on your body wasn’t standing on end. You watched each movement closely, your knees buckling as you slid to the floor. The wood was ice cold as the man crouched down in front of you. He pulled the mask from his face, your choked sob being caught in your throat as you shook your head and looked down at the floor.

His warm finger rested on your chin and he lifted it up until your eyes met his, a broken whimper leaving your lips as you met the familiar blue eyes you’d looked into a million times before.

“What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” Chris said, his voice gravelly and rough as it left his smirking lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

tags: @lvrsparadise , @ssturniolo , @floofparker , @cat-loves-music , @geniejunn , @its-jennarose , @dwntwn-strnlo , @20nugs , @hiraethlimerence , @lavieenvalentina , @strniolo , @toyourloves , @jellybeanbby , @thetriplets3 , @mxriverse , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @tylerscreat0r , @angelcake-222 , @obsessivencrazy , @lollibumblebee , @stargirlv0id , @idontexistman , @emssturniolo , @soursturniolo , @bernardenjoyer , @mxqdii , @leah-loves-lilies , @mattsnutsack , @lovelysturniolo

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #scream #scream inspired #sturniolo #querenciasturniolo #nick sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo imagine #ghostface

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cobrakaisb · 4 months

Text

call me, beep me, if you want to reach me

summary: percy, annabeth, and grover have some great news about their quest, but something is off about their hypothesis

word count: 2.8k

featuring: reader and annabeth’s relationship, slightly steamy reader and luke scene, more percabeth crumbs, fluff and angst

author's note: IM BACKKKKK...this one took me forever, and i am so sorry about that! between finals, coming home from college, and just dealing with life in general it has been a real struggle BUT we are finally back on the luke train 🤩 and trust, these next few parts are about to get real...anyways, enjoy 💗

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you run to the top of the hill, calling out to the three kids before they can cross the protective barrier surrounding camp half-blood.

“i just wanted to wish you guys good luck before you leave, although i’m sure you won’t need it,” you explain, walking up to the trio.

annabeth smiles at you. there’s an excited gleam in her eyes, and you remember how she’s been waiting for this for years -- her chance at glory.

“thanks,” percy mumbles, not really knowing what to say.

“i just…be safe okay?” you whisper, hands gripping tightly at annabeth’s shoulders while you look directly at her.

she nods, “i will. i promise.”

you nod in agreement, lips pursed in a tight line as you struggle to keep your emotions at bay. over the course of your years at camp, the bond between you and annabeth has grown exponentially. you love her like a little sister, one you’d do anything to protect. it scares you to think about her, a twelve year old kid, in the real world with no one looking out for her this time.

she senses your anguish, and pulls you into a tight hug. you freeze at first, not used to the affection from her, but ultimately wrap your arms around her small frame. the two of you stand there for a minute, embracing each other, but break apart when luke calls out to you from the bottom of the hill.

“it’s time to go,” he yells, and you imagine his pointed look and crossed arms. luke was just as worried as you, but he found it necessary to hide those feelings, claiming it was best for annabeth’s sake. you disagreed.

you nod, stepping away from the kids, back towards the chaos of camp, “i’ll see you at the solstice.”

you watch, with your stomach in knots from nerves and a mouth full of anxiety, as the kids step past thalia’s tree and into the world of monsters.

that was almost four days ago, and still no word from the trio. percy, annabeth, and grover were on their quest to find and return zeus’s master bolt, but the radio silence worries you. while you didn’t expect them to call every day to say good night — they needed to save their dracmas — you at least expected some type of update by now. the lack thereof leaves a nervous feeling in your stomach; something isn’t right, you know it, but you can’t quite determine what.

“those are called feelings sweetie,” katrina replies when you explain your current predicament to her.

you suck your teeth at her words, shoving her shoulder as you mumble, “shut up.”

“i’m being serious! since when do you care about three twelve year olds? no scratch that, since when do you care about anybody?” she shouts, throwing her hands up.

you look down at your converse, arms crossing over your bent knees as you sit and look at the rippling water. i care about luke, you think, and all those kids who will never experience a true family thanks to our parents. i care about you, and our friendship. i care about grover, who’s too kind for his own good. the list goes on and on, but you don’t say any of those names out loud.

instead you respond with, “i care about annabeth.”

katrina openly scoffs at your words, leaning back on her palms. “oh please, i’m talking about that little blonde.”

you sigh, looking at her over your shoulder. her short hair rustles in the breeze, and the unruly curls from spending the day in the water makes her possess a childlike innocence. if you didn’t know katrina, you’d think she was a sweet girl who’d chew you out for swearing, but you do know her; she’s anything but, and the constant taunting and teasing proves that.

“there’s something different about percy,” you explain with a shrug.

“yeah, it’s called your need to play mommy,” she mumbles.

“oh shut up,” you gripe, getting up from your spot on the dock. you make sure to kick her calf, not too hard, on your way back to hera’s cabin.

“harder,” luke commands, despite the sweat dripping down both of their faces.

percy groans, throwing his head back in frustration. they’ve been going at it for hours, practicing various techniques and maneuvers with wooden swords. while percy’s claiming was still new, and his slaying of the minotaur with no experience was still the talk of the camp, it was obvious to everyone that he needed to train. there’s an impending war coming, and the blonde boy has found himself right in the middle of it.

but he doesn’t even know what it is, you think, stepping into the dirt of the practice arena.

“give him a break, luke. he needs some hydration,” you exclaim, holding up two refillable water bottles.

they’re dripping in condensation, the ice from the pavilion already melting in the sweltering heat courtesy of long island summers. luke grumbles something under his breath, probably about how he doesn’t need a break, but takes the bottle from you with a squeeze of your hip. he stays close to your side as he drinks the water, and instead of giving him your attention, you’re busy looking over percy.

“there’s a cut on your forehead,” you say, pushing back some of his curls to get a better look.

“yeah, your boyfriend nicked me,” he replies, gesturing to luke with his chin.

“it was an accident! how many times do i have to tell you?” luke defends.

“a lot more. i’m great at holding grudges,” percy announces, and you roll your eyes.

“and that’s why you’re becoming friendly with annabeth?” you tease.

luke raises his eyebrows at your statement, looking over at the smaller boy, whose cheeks are suddenly a very dark shade of red.

“that’s different,” he grumbles, pouring the remaining water on his head.

“uh huh, right. whatever floats your boat i guess,” you reply, patting his cheek in a motherly fashion. percy swerves with an eye roll fit for a teenager.

“anyways, i’ll let you guys get back to it,” you announce, turning to face luke.

you kiss his cheek, and his palm splays across your waist. he gives it a gentle squeeze, a small sign of affection in a hasty moment. you smile at him, leaning into his chest to whisper, “go easy on him.”

“he’s training with the best swordsman in camp, he knows what to expect,” luke replies, cocky as ever, as you pat his sweaty chest three times before walking away.

the training arena is packed when you arrive, brimming with younger kids and blaring noisy chatter. they’re all clad in some sort of battle armor: shields, bronze chest plates, and celestial bronze swords. it takes a minute for them to notice your presence, but when they do they part like the red sea. most of them have the sense to keep quiet, watching you with nervous eyes and wary glances, fueled by the words of their older siblings no doubt. others, the more gutsy of the bunch, have the courage to whisper the exact words they heard from their siblings, warning their friends about you and your anger. you, however, are focused on finding the tallest head amongst the group; the one housing messy, onyx curls.

“he’s up front, helping jimmy with his armor,” a young girl whispers shyly, drawing designs in the dirt with the tip of her sword.

you stop walking, turning to face her. she’s young, no older than eight, and you feel the edges of your hard exterior soften from the sight of her pigtails and pink twinkle toes. you smile softly at her, hoping that it doesn’t scare her off.

“thank you,” you say, “i love your shoes.” she smiles at your words, giggling quietly to herself as a small blush coats her cheeks.

just as she goes to answer, luke appears at your side with, who you can only assume, is jimmy. you smile softly at him, ready to explain why you’re here in the first place, but luke beats you to it:

“let me just give them some instructions, then we can talk, okay?” he whispers, his free hand taking its place on the small of your back.

you hum in agreement, watching fondly as he takes charge of the large group of young demigods. he instructs them to practice the methods he just demonstrated in pairs, explaining that he’ll be walking around to give feedback once he’s done talking to you. as the kids partner up, he leads you to the side of the arena, where he finally meets your gaze with a raised brow.

“what?” you ask, crossing your arms at his confused stare.

“you never come here while i’m teaching lessons,” he answers.

“well, maybe i’m starting to,” you reply.

luke scoffs at your words, “no shot. what’s really going on?”

“i could be!”

“but you’re not. you hate their judgy, beady, little eyes. so, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours to make you seek me out while i’m in the middle of lessons?” he continues, his fingers playing with the waistband of your shorts.

you take a deep breath, meeting his chocolate brown eyes on the exhale, and state your concerns: “i’m worried. why haven’t we heard from them yet? it’s been days, and it’s not like annabeth to keep us completely in the dark.”

luke sighs at your words, “i’m sure they’re fine.”

you raise your eyebrows at his unexpected answer. this is luke, the same guy who refused to let you and annabeth out of his sight during capture the flag, talking? not a chance.

“so you’re not worried, at all?” you ask, searching for the true reason behind his lack of worry.

luke clenches his jaw at your words, looking away from you as he stares off into the distance. his eyebrows furrow, and you can see something flicker across his face. you don’t know what it is, but you know he’s battling something within himself.

“luke?” you ask softly, resting your hand on his bicep.

he shakes his head, a carefree smile taking over his face as he says, “it’s annabeth. she’s the smartest, most careful person i know. nothing’s wrong.”

you eye him warily, and nod your head slowly, “right. i guess i’m just overthinking.”

luke smiles, a teasing look in his eyes as he nudges your foot with his own. you look up at him, a breathy laugh escaping your lips as you meet his playful gaze.

“you always are,” he mumbles, followed by a loud laugh as you shove his shoulder.

he plants a quick kiss on your temple, hands rubbing up and down your sides before whispering, “i’ll stop by your cabin tonight. once they’re all tucked in.”

you hum in agreement, watching as he departs from your side and heads to the closest duo to provide feedback.

****

the door creaks open, and luke slips inside before the harpies register the noise. you’re already awake, patiently waiting for him on the singular cot in the cabin. the eternal flames of the fire pit burn brightly, leaving dangerous shadows on your face, illuminating the storm brewing inside.

“you’re late,” you quip, not even bothering to look up from your book.

you’re laying on your stomach, propped up on your forearms with a paperback book in your hands. you’re in your usual sleep attire, shorts and a tank top, and luke has to physically hold back a groan. he’s never wanted you so badly in his life, but instead of expressing that desire, he apologizes for his actions.

“some of the younger campers were arguing, you know i had to settle that,” he whispers, burying his face between your neck and left shoulder.

luke kisses your bare skin, slightly warmed from all the sun you’ve been getting recently. your head tilts, giving him access to more skin, and he doesn’t deny that. his lips move to your neck, leaving more than a few marks.

“careful. hera’s watching,” you tease, closing the cover of your book.

“let her,” he mumbles, practically moaning when you thread your fingers through his hair.

“oh you’d love that,” you taunt, tugging on his curls.

luke’s right arm wraps around your waist, flipping you onto your back, while his left pushes your book to the floor. your mouth falls open in shock, and you gasp quietly. he smirks at your expression, feeling satisfied to have you speechless. before you can ruin the moment, he captures your mouth with his.

the kiss is rough, all tongue and teeth. his left hand settles next to your head, while his right tugs your hips closer to his. your fingers are still lodged into his curls, and you use them to keep his face pressed against yours. he pulls back, gasping for air, but keeps his forehead planted against your skin. before he can reconnect your lips, you’re kissing all over his face.

“missed you,” you murmur in between kisses.

luke sighs, relaxing into your arms as the tension from camp counselor duties and other activities leaves his body. he knows eventually he’s going to have to tell you. he thinks it will be something like ripping off a band aid. but, for now, when he has you so eagerly in his arms, and he’s content with baring the brunt of the burden. besides, the kids aren’t even close to figuring out the truth, he’s sure of it.

****

“we know who stole the bolt,” percy announces, nothing but confidence in his voice.

luke falters, but only for a second, before asking, “how do you know?”

immediately, annabeth starts rambling. she mentions an encounter with ares, how he knows who the thief is, but was clearly covering for them. as she talks, luke realize that their suspicions are anything but correct, in fact, they’re so far into leftfield it’d be considered a homerun. yet, he runs with it, not willing to give himself up.

“so who would ares cover for?” annabeth finishes, waiting for luke to answer.

“his favorite daughter. clarisse is the lightning thief,” he answers, making sure to sound shocked by their groundbreaking discovery.

“chrion’s got to arrest her, find out what she knows. there’s more to this than just the bolt, something bigger,” percy explains.

luke and annabeth share a look of uncertainty, one that percy picks up on because he quickly adds, “don't ask me how i know, you’ve just got to trust me.”

as luke is about to assure the kids that he’ll get to it straight away, you walk into the office.

“talking to yourself again, castellan? i knew you were crazy but not this off the rocker,” you tease, stepping closer to his side.

as you approach, you see the faces of annabeth and percy in the mist. you smile at the sight of them. while they look tired, they seem pretty intact and much better off than you expected.

“how’s your quest going?” you ask, hoping to hear some positive news.

“not too bad. between ares, the chimera and medusa, i’d say we’re doing pretty good,” percy exclaims.

your eyes widen at his words, and you look to luke to see what his reaction is, but he’s not even looking at you. instead he’s watching the two demigods arguing about which monster occurred each day. he smirks at the sight of them, gently bumping his hip with yours before saying, “what is this?”

“what?” annabeth answers, confusion written all over her face.

“since when did you guys turn into an old married couple?” luke continues to tease, and you smile at the kids’ shocked faces. percy blushes at luke’s comment, and annabeth makes a point to avoid your gaze.

“not to change the subject, but we need your advice luke. we’re going to vegas and…” before percy can say another word, the iris message cuts out, the connective screen dissipating along with the rainbow that brought it here.

“well that was entertaining,” you joke, turning to face your boyfriend.

you expect him to laugh at your words, but his face is set into a hard line. his arms are crossed and jaw clenched as he stares at the spot where annabeth and percy’s faces were previously occupying. his thoughts are clearly running a mile a minute, and you step into his line of sight, calling out to him.

“they think they know who the lightning thief is,” he grumbles, gaze still distant and cold.

“what? who?” you ask, stepping closer to him. while it’s only the two of you in the room, you don’t want to risk anyone else hearing; this isn’t the sort of thing that should be spread around camp, even if you hate the majority of the people here.

“clarisse,” he starts, “but they’re wrong.”

“how do you know?” you ask, nothing but confusion plastered all over your face.

“because it’s actually me,” luke replies, finally meeting your gaze.

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cacoetheswriting · 4 months

Text

celebrity skin. (part nine)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 4.6k summary: an album release forces some feelings and conversations — one thing's for sure though, Eddie will always be thinking about you.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, use of pet names, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of blackmail — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

“We are here this morning with a true music icon in the making, who’s hits like Compromising Positions and most recently Honesty took the world by storm. Now, Eddie Munson is just a few short days away from releasing his sophomore album with his Corroded Coffin bandmates, Assistance is Futile. Welcome to Eddie Munson everybody, yes!”

“Happy to be here, Charles.”

Good Morning America was definitely not the type of talk show the rockstar pictured himself ever getting invited on. He didn’t think his personal style, or the music he was putting out there with the band, would be something the producers would welcome. Considering especially the whole thing was televised live. No cuts, no edits, no take backs. Whatever is said remains out there forever. Quoted and interpreted until the next schmuck makes a fool of himself.

Hosts, Charles Gibson and Joan Lunden, were also known to be quite blunt with their guests. Blunt, but not in the rude sense of the word. Given their history on the network, their experience, they're simply good at what they do, which sometimes means effortlessly picking at a topic until they get a satisfactory reaction or better yet, television worthy answer. Of course there’s always a list of pre-agreed questions, carefully discussed with management and PR teams, but things have known to… slip out.

But Marianne trained him. Extensively. She flew out to New York the second this interview was arranged and spent hours in Eddie’s penthouse hotel room going over details that to most people, people not from this world, may seem minor: how to sit, how to smile, what to laugh at, the amount of seconds it should take him to answer a question. The list goes on. And now she was here, at the studio, to make sure Eddie saw a friendly face in the crowd. Someone to look at in case he got flustered at any point during the fifteen minute round.

“Before we get into the nitty gritty,” Joan begins, crossing one knee over the other, “Eddie, why don’t you tell us a little about how you and the band first got started?”

So Eddie talks. He’s charming as he tells the story, sparing a few details ‘cause he knows he doesn’t have a lot of time. He does however, crack a few jokes, including one about the list of names Gareth and Jeff brought to him one night before they all agreed on Corroded Coffin. Charles laughs before asking the next question about the band's success so far, and what he makes of it.

“Oh man, it’s so insane,” Eddie answers truthfully, “I still have days where I don’t think any of this is real. All of us in the band feel incredibly lucky, for sure.” He nods along as he speaks.

Joan and Charles take turns asking a few more general questions about the band plus the other members who couldn’t make it out today, before settling on the whole reason Eddie agreed to do this interview in the first place: promotion for the new album.

Assistance is Futile was a collection of songs about you — but that was not going to be an answer he gives today, accidentally or otherwise. Instead, the rockstar focuses attention on how the record was built. Technical language that he dumbs down slightly to make sure he’s continuously captivating his audience (Marianne’s advice). He tells them what instruments the group played around with that may not have featured on their last album, which was more classic rock than this new project. And he’s excited as he talks. Passionate.

He continues to lay out the facts. List the number of tracks it features, eleven plus two bonus songs on the extended version. He talks about the writing process, still carefully avoiding mentioning the influence. He won’t say he wrote them all during the aftermath of your breakup. He hasn’t even admitted that to you, despite the fact that you spent every waking moment together since the afternoon at Cove City Sound Studios. He knows he won’t be able to hide that for much longer, but until the album comes out and you hear the songs for yourself, he’ll keep it to himself because things have been so… great.

Sure, things weren’t back to normal. It can’t be the way it was until Eddie finds the time to speak with your management and nip this whole evil grandmother blackmail thing in the bud. At least he’s got you in some capacity. He gets to talk to you again, laugh with you. He gets to hug you, kiss you, touch you. Friends with benefits, or whatever the term is. Eddie’s just glad to be around you.

“Now, here at the studio, we got an exclusive, sneak peak listen to Assistance is Futile, and there’s a little bit of speculation between the crew about the meaning behind some of the songs.”

Boom. There it is. The dreaded topic. And it was going so well.

“Care to share where the inspiration for these lyrics struck you? Who, in particular, they might be about?”

Eddie smiles. “Give into the charade”, Marianne’s words ring in his ears, “But by any means, don’t confirm their suspicions”. Not an easy task. A slippery slope by all accounts. He ever so slightly glances in the direction of his manager who nods her head to show encouragement.

“Who do you think they’re about, Joan?” Eddie bounces the question back.

The presenter smiles. She knows she shouldn’t say. Yes, it would be good for ratings, but bringing up your name is not something that can be done lightly. She knows that. Hence why Joan hoped Eddie Munson wouldn’t be smart enough to avoid the initial question. But the rockstar’s been trained and he’s not about to mess up with two minutes to spare.

“Well, I’d say my friend Charles here. He’s got, what was that one lyric, legs for days and a wicked smile.” Joan deflects. Ever the professional.

The whole studio starts laughing. Eddie joins in, satisfied with the way this worked out.

“You’d be right on the money there, Joan.” The rockstar nods with a wide smile before continuing, “Charles Gibson has been a constant inspiration for Corroded Coffin songs. There’s not a lot to do in Hawkins, where we grew up. Gotta write what you know and my uncle has an affinity for this show.”

He turns to the camera to say hi to Wayne, “I know you’re watching.”

Then shifts to look at the hosts once more, winking at the gentleman sitting across from him.

“Charles, you sexy devil, you.”

The laughter continues. People start to clap, whistle along to Eddie’s perfectly curated response. Marianne is beaming with pride because for a brief moment, she didn’t think he could do it. There've been so many mishaps in the past, wild things the band — the curly-haired frontman in particular — have done that she’s had to either smooth over with the media or keep hidden from the public altogether. This morning she finally exhaled. He did well.

You’re laughing too. Feeling proud too as you watch him through your television screen, just like you promised Eddie you would.

Blanket covering your body, all the way up to your chin, as you sit comfortably on the couch. The smile on your face is as genuine as they come. He’s so good at this. Considering how nervous he was, how much time he spent with Marianne going over every possible scenario until his head hurt. You took a mental note to tell him later that he really had nothing to worry about. He’s a natural.

The question about his inspiration for the album didn’t surprise you. It’s pretty standard for these types of press junkets. Even more given the fact your relationship has been the talk of the town for months, especially when the two of you weren’t even together. People love to speculate.

When Eddie told you about the upcoming album, one night after you came down from another intense orgasm, you assumed he wrote about your relationship — especially the failures. Honesty came to the rockstar after only one night. Makes sense that a complete record would be next. He didn’t confirm it though, because you didn’t ask. You would know once it came out, when you purchased your own copy to listen through. Artists supporting artists, and whatnot.

“Corroded Coffin’s Assistance is Futile. Coming to a record store near you, this Thursday, October 14.” Charles Gibson announces, holding up a shiny compact disc to one of the cameras, showing off the album’s cover art: a thundering night sky, with something sinister looming inside the blood red clouds. An ode to the band's Dungeons & Dragons days.

“Eddie Munson, thank you for your time today.” Joan Lunden flashes a pearly white smile.

The rockstar returns the expression. “Thank you for having me.”

Backstage, Eddie gives Marianne a big hug. Thanking her for being here. While returning the embrace, she reassures him that’s never going to change. “Or at least until the contract ends,” his manager teases and ruffles his already wild hair before sitting down on the velvet sofa.

“So, tell me, am I flying back to LA alone?”

Eddie picks up a bag of previously opened Funyuns before leaning against the vanity. He shuffles the remainder of the onion-flavoured corn chips inside the plastic, then starts eating them, one by one.

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging as if it was an obvious answer. “We’ve got the release party for the album. The guys would kill me if I missed it.”

“I’d kill you first.”

He smirks. “Then why ask me the question?”

Marianne gives him a pointed look. One that says, no, screams, he of all people should know why. Eddie got on a private plane to New York so he could “sort something out”, then ended up staying for weeks longer than intended with no explanation. Marianne called him at the hotel multiple times, asking for a return day, but he always gave a vague answer. Then Gareth called, as did Jeff (who sort of already suspected the reason for the delayed homecoming, kudos to Holly), but Eddie continued on the road of avoidance, all while Page Six posted about sightings of him with a certain pop sensation.

“Eddie, you haven’t been this happy since—”

“I know,” he interrupts, “I know and yes, to whatever you’re thinking, but I don’t wanna talk about it now because there’s something I need to do first.”

“What do you need to do?” She asks, puzzled because in the time they’ve worked together, the rockstar has never once left her out of action. She did everything for him. That was her job. One she did gladly because she’s grown to care for these boys.

Eddie sighs, wiping his crumb covered hands on the material of his trousers. The bag of chips lays empty on the table next to him. Of course he contemplated telling Marianne everything on multiple occasions, but each time he chickened out at the last minute. He knew she could fix everything in the blink of an eye. Simply, the rockstar just didn’t feel worthy of that.

His entire life, Eddie ran away. From situations, from people, from feelings. Anything that was messy, or just became messy. He ran until the distance felt comfortable enough to continue with his life. Growing up in Hawkins, he didn’t have a Marianne. He didn’t have anyone that would stand up for him, so running became second nature. Running fixed his problems.

By the time the band hit stardom, running turned to escapism in the form of drugs and alcohol. The bubble. Under the influence, the rockstar didn’t care who cleaned up after him and Marianne was so good at her job that most of the time, Eddie didn’t even know there was a problem to run from until it was resolved.

The situation with your grandmother however, was different. It involved you.

He gave into his instincts and ran. Only this time, Eddie ran to protect you. Threats were made to potentially ruin your career — fucked up, considering the person that made them was also the person who helped kick-start your fame. And as selfish as he may seem to people that don’t know the real him, the rockstar wasn’t willing to gamble everything you built for yourself. He ran.

But Eddie was done running. He was going to fix this and he planned on doing it alone.

“What’s going on?” Marianne stands and takes a step closer, crossing her arms. Concern is starting to fill her veins, though she’s trying her best not to show it. Trying and failing.

Maybe solving this alone wasn’t the way to go.

“Someone’s been blackmailing me,” he admits eventually, reluctantly.

“What?!” Marianne just about shouts. “Who? For how long?”

“It’s uh…. It’s a complicated story.”

“Well, fuck.” She’s slightly annoyed ‘cause how could he have hidden something like this from her? This is why the band has her. Managing them, planning shit to maintain their career is only a small part of her job. Protecting these boys is a priority and blackmail is a big fucking deal.

Exhaling, Marianne lets her arms drop and proceeds to take a much less confrontational stance.

“Eddie, you know I’ve always got nothing but time for you, so spill.”

And he does. Starting right at the beginning with Chrissy Cunningham.

When Eddie stops by your place later that afternoon, he kisses you, the second you open up your apartment. He kisses you fully, deeply. He’s kicking the door closed with his boot, lips continually locked together, his hands holding you firmly by the waist. A man on a mission and the mission being to make you feel like you're floating all the damn time.

You smile against his soft lips. Mission accomplished.

“That’s one way to say hello.”

“Hello,” he whispers back, also smiling. “How was your morning?”

“Not nearly as interesting as yours,” you answer his question and turn in your spot, wanting to lead him to the couch. Eddie’s hands remain on your waist as you do so, no inclination of letting go.

MTV is on. The wild-haired rockstar instantly feels at home — a stark contrast to that first night he showed up at your door. Adrenaline pumping. Unsure of the outcome. But it was better than he could’ve imagined, dreamed. Back in your arms with little to no arguments. Back where he for sure belonged.

Honesty comes on. The video makes him smile as he effortlessly pulls your legs over his thighs, hand settling on your soft flesh and giving it a gentle squeeze. The memory of that day with you on set. Eddie wouldn’t call it acting. Hugging you, kissing you on camera. Not a tough act. Natural, actually. That was a good day. You’re thinking it too.

“Magnetic.”

“Huh?”

Eddie can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. “You’re magnetic. Utterly. I almost forgot, but I didn’t really, you know? I-I think about that day often and how much fun it was,” he rambles. It’s sweet.

“But what I replay in my mind the most is how fucking talented you are, sweetheart. A goddess in front of a camera, I swear.”

You smirk, your own mind flying to something much, much dirtier than what Eddie meant, and he flicks your leg at the institution, all while glancing at you from the corner of his brown eyes. Because there was a video camera left under the rockstars California King bed with a tape inside, a tape that could get you both — although the sexist industry you’re lucky to be a part of would blame only you, mainly — in a lot of trouble, if it ever saw the light of day. A tape for private eyes only. And Eddie wasn’t wrong, you were near damn a goddess.

“Wish we could work together again,” he says, then quickly adds, “Professionally, sweetheart, before you get any kinky ideas.”

That makes you laugh.

“Think you should focus on the album the band is about to release, hotshot. Once that’s a sure hit, then we can talk about doing something together.”

“Well, there is a box in my room, back in LA, with notebooks full of songs…”

He’s trying to be encouraging. Motivational. Really what Eddie’s doing is building up the courage to ask you to go back to Los Angeles with him. In a complete roundabout way, to be honest. The guys would call him a pussy. He was being a pussy. There was however, a lot he still needed to tell you. This whole thing with your grandma, for one. But Marianne was handling that now, and once she gave him the agreed upon sign, there was nothing stopping Eddie from screaming he loves you from all available rooftops — which he hoped to do for the first time at the place you two officially met.

And with his manager on the case, he knew it would be sooner rather than later.

“Eddie, you’re a dumbass.” Marianne states. There’s a frown on her face, but it’s not serious. Accompanied by a smile that’s giving him a little bit of hope.

“I know—”

“No,” she interrupts, “You don’t.”

He exhales. “I do, though.”

“Eddie. If you came to me when this first happened, you would’ve never lost all this time with Little Miss Perfect. The fact that you didn’t, the fact that you didn’t trust me with this information, makes you a dumbass.”

“So, you can fix this?”

“There’s a little thing called a Cease and Desist,” Marianne says as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. And in a way, it is. “No one is going to threaten the career of my favourite client and get away with it.”

Eddie smiles. Genuinely. Something reminiscent of relief is flowing through his body, down to the tips of his toes, until he no longer feels heavy. The burden of this situation is slowly lifting.

“With your permission, I’d like to approach her team with this information. They’ll most likely also issue a cease and desist, so that her career is also protected.” Marianne says. “But I guess since all you’ve tried to do is keep her out of harm’s way, the only way you knew how, I’m assuming I have your permission without even asking for it?”

“Yes, yes, thank you.” He’s repeating over and over and over, wrapping his arms around Marianne. A hug they’d both cherish forever.

“Like I said, let’s get you to survive this record release first, okay?”

You’re looking at each other now.

“Take it day by day, Eds.”

“What if I want to skip ahead?”

There’s a lot hiding behind that question. The future is uncertain in many ways. He knows that he wants you, you know that you want him. That’s enough, but at the same time it isn’t. Day by day is easier than thinking about tomorrow, or the next day. He just loves you, which he’ll tell you soon. That’s what he wants to skip too.

On the other hand, you’re terrified. Giving into him again brought no shortage of anxiety about his past behaviour. Eddie Munson hurt you, twice. Second time worse than the first. You forgave him, yet the fear was still there. The question remained: what if he did it again? He wouldn’t, but what if he did? So taking it day by day, as it came, was easier. A shield, of sorts. Protection against hurt.

Also, it was a lot more fun to act without consequence. To just be.

Existing with him felt almost normal, even though there was nothing normal about the various interviews and photoshoots the rockstar has been doing promoting Assistance is Futile while in New York, or the long phone calls with his manager and bandmates in preparation for the release party. Nothing normal about your own career, which you’ve slowly been defrosting following the short heartbreak hiatus. Pivoting slightly towards acting as a new form of expression. So you’re reading scripts, rehearsing lines. All without expectations. Day by day.

“Skipping ahead means you, going back to LA for the release party,” you point out.

“You could come with me. The invitation is there, you know that.”

“There’s nothing I’d want more than to be there for you and the guys, Eddie, you know that.” You lean in closer, pressing your body weight into his. “But if I make an appearance, it will overshadow the album you worked really hard on and that’s not fair.”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, pressing his lips to the side of your head, leaving a soft kiss while inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. He slowly nods against you, understanding your point of view.

“So we won’t see each other for a while then, huh?”

“Well, I got that recurring part in Law & Order which is filming here, so that’s a couple of months, at least, that I’ll be stuck here in New York.”

“I can visit,” he jumps in almost instantly, “And you, maybe… You can come out to see me whenever you have breaks in filming?”

“Sounds good, Eds.”

There’s a moment of silence. It shifts towards the heavy side. Eddie’s biting his tongue. He wants so badly to tell you everything he’s been keeping secret, but he knows it’s not a good idea until Marianne confirms she’s consulted your team and the cease and desist letters have been sent out. He’s just not ready to say goodbye yet. Not even for a little while. He just got you back. You’re also lost in thought. Reuniting with the Corroded Coffin frontman has been nothing short of a rollercoaster, in the best way possible. Having him here, next to you once more, kissing and touching you. And you know it was limited. That time would come knocking and he’d have to go back, while you’d need to stay. Bittersweet would be the word to describe how you feel.

“How about we focus on right now, hm?” You offer, lifting your head so that your sweet gaze catches his chocolate one. Then a short inhale later, you kiss him. Gentle, at first, although not quite a peck. His eyes close on impact as his hand reaches for your face, attaching itself like a magnet. Cradling, squeezing your cheeks.

And you smile. Fucking smile. Eddie loves it when you smile while kissing him. It drives him crazy knowing his touch makes you that happy. So he can’t help but smile too. Teeth knocking against each other in the process.

“I’ll never get tired of kissing you,” the rockstar admits.

“I’ll never get tired of kissing you, Eddie Munson.”

The hand that held his toned abdomen just a mere second ago is now not so innocently sliding in a downward trajectory. You fiddle with his leather belt, unbuckling it rather effortlessly with one hand after you press your lips against his once more. Deeper this time. Wanting.

“But distracting me from a conversation about what’s mph… next,” he mumbles as you tug at his zipper. You’re not giving him a chance to breathe. “Isn’t going to - Jesus - work.”

“Okay,” you’re teasing. It’s a whisper and Eddie’s brain short circuits ‘cause your perfectly manicured fingers are sliding into his boxers, reaching for his semi.

“So, you guys are like back together now, huh?”

Steve’s question lingers in the air for a moment. He’s glancing at his small-town friend turned worldwide phenomenon from across the table, swirling black coffee in his takeaway cup.

Eddie looks out the window at the clouds passing by.

After getting over his initial fear of flying, since he hadn’t been on a plane until his early twenties, the rockstar decided he enjoyed it a lot more than he thought he would. Things were peaceful up here — especially since he could now afford private jets. Just him and his guitar. Even when he travelled together with the guys, they all got lost in their own thing too, as did Marianne.

The upcoming release party however, prompted an invite to his little sister as well as Steve. So he knew that unfortunately this trip wasn’t going to be a quiet one.

“Something like that,” Eddie answers, turning his attention back to his friend.

Harrington nods. “That’s good, man. She’s great.”

“That she is.” Eddie fails to contain a smile.

“I’m happy for you.” Steve’s words are genuine.

“Thanks, dude.”

The short exchange is interrupted by Max’s snort. The two boys look at the redhead currently splayed out on one of the recliner seats. A book in her lap, one that she’s not really reading, but she’s keeping up appearances anyway.

“To think we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my genius,” she retorts, a smirk now present on her face.

Eddie laughs lightly, but doesn’t say anything. He’s looking out the window again. His mind turns to you. He misses you, even though he saw you not even a half hour ago when you said goodbye before he got on the plane. He misses you. Anxiety building since neither of you are really sure when you’d be able to see each other next. “And that’s okay,” is what you said to him in between soft kisses. He’s repeating it now.

“She’s not coming to the party, right?” Red asks her older brother, briefly breaking Eddie away from his thoughts.

The rockstar shakes his head. “No.”

“You’ll see her soon,” his sister reassures, reaching for his forearm across the aisle, squeezing.

“I know, I know.”

“Then why the sad face?” Steve points out.

Eddie wishes he was alone. Then no one would be questioning him, even though he knows it’s coming from a good place. They just care, he tries to level his emotions, they’re asking because they care.

“Our last goodbye wasn’t so good,” he answers plainly.

Luckily both Max and Steve understand. They exchange a glance between themselves before returning to whatever activity they were engaging in prior to the start of this conversation: Red buries her head in the book she wasn’t really reading and Harrington resumes listening to music on his Walkman.

Eddie is once again glancing out the small jet window. He’s once again thinking about you.

And he continues to think about you when the plane lands. In the car, on the way to his Hidden Hills home. He continues to think about you when the house fills with people that are there to style him for the release party. He’s making small talk, his mind still centred on you.

You remain the centre of his attention, even when Eddie and the band arrive at the venue, and he’s being ripped ten thousand different directions. Picture here, sign this, talk to this person. He enjoys a drink and he’s still thinking about you. He’s wishing you were here.

The guys are introduced to come up on stage and even though Eddie is on cloud nine for this release, super proud of the record they put together, he’s wishing you were here to celebrate this with him.

He thinks about you as he sings one of the songs. Breaking News — a song about you, of course.

There comes a point during the night, a split second during which Eddie stops thinking about you. Not for any particular reason. Nothing spectacular happens for him to do so, he just… does. But it’s only a fleeting moment. He regrets it as soon as he realises. He especially regrets it when Marianne approaches him, a concerned look spread across her usually composed features — although the rockstar doesn’t pick up on her expression immediately.

“What did you think of the performance?” Eddie asks, smiling wide.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she reaches for the half-empty glass in his hand and sets it aside before exhaling a sigh.

He furrows his brows, the smile fading as quickly as it appeared.

“Eddie, there’s been an accident.”

thank you for reading! really appreciate the endless & continuous support!

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& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie, @spideyanakin-interacts , @rogers-sweatbands , @mimsie95 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @ohmeg , @hereforshmut , @eg-dr3amer3 (if your user is crossed out, it means the tag isn’t working. pls check you’ve enabled tagging in your settings)

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut #rockstar!eddie x you #eddie munson story #eddie munson series #celebrity skin.

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 4 days

Text

Words: 7,252 (oof, this one got long!) Pairing: Negan Smith x Reader Reader pronouns: largely unspecified (but Negan does refer to reader as doll and darling which could be considered more feminine terms of endearment) Warnings: language haha, frightening scenarios, references to past violence Summary: Months have now passed since Y/N began taking on Negan as a "project" and the reader suggests an even longer run outside the walls. A/N: This is part of a series! Find all the parts on the Negan Master List. Previous Part here! “It’s been months,” you said. “There hasn’t been a single time that I’ve felt unsafe, and both of you know I never let my guard down.”

Daryl was leaning up against the wall beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was serious but largely unreadable. Michonne leaned forward on the table, considering your words.

“We need to think long-term here. Are we just going to keep him locked up forever? Or is there some version of this where he gets out and either integrates as much as possible or—or goes on his way?”

Michonne sighed and shook her head. “I’m not sure any of us have the answer to that yet,” she said.

“I know. I still don’t,” you said. “I’m not sure what the future looks like for him, but I know we have to do more than just letting him out to pick tomatoes every once in a while. So, that’s what I’m doing. And with you two stuck here dealing with the wall and the kids—and the pantry and medical supplies starting to run low, well… let’s kill two birds with one stone.”

Daryl sighed and straightened up. “I ain’t gonna say I like it, but I trust ya and I’ve seen your judgment play out too many times to doubt it. If ya think it’ll be alrigh’, then—well, ‘m good with it. But ya gotta show us exactly where you’ll be and when to expect ya back in case we need to come lookin’.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll mark it all on the map. We should be able to make it out and back in a single long day. Leave early. Get back late.”

“And no weapons for him unless it’s an absolute emergency,” Michonne emphasized.

“Of course,” you agreed.

“Alright,” Michonne nodded. “When will you go?”

“Tomorrow,” you said. “I’ll get everything ready today.”

“I’ll walk ya out,” Daryl drawled, watching as you grabbed your bag and shouldered it. “Listen—” he started.

You looked over at him and smiled, already knowing you were about to get a worried Daryl Dixon lecture. “Mhm?” you prompted him.

“The hell are ya smirkin’ about?” he growled, his brow furrowing.

“Nothing,” you laughed. “Go ahead.”

“Well—if somethin’ happens out there… if it comes down to you or him…” he trailed off.

Your brow furrowed deeply now to match his. “It won’t,” you said seriously.

He shifted anxiously. “But if it does…”

“Daryl. It’s not going to,” you insisted.

He relented and nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Okay. C’mere.” He pulled you into a hug and you smiled as he folded you up against him. “I just want ya to be safe, is all.” “I know. I will,” you agreed.

He nodded, pulling back. “Wish I could go with ya… I’d feel better about it.”

“I know. But it’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“You’re shitting me, right?” Negan said, his breakfast still in his hand, not a single bite taken.

You stared at him and then let out a dry laugh. “That’s not exactly the reaction I was expecting,” you said.

“Well, shit. I mean… a real scavenging trip? That’s what you’re saying?” Negan said. He ran a hand back through his hair and stood, pacing a tight circle in his cell. “Who else is going?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why? Someone specific you want me to invite? Want me to ask your old pal Gabriel? Or wait—Eugene?”

He laughed but looked vaguely shocked. “Well, I’m sorry but I’m just—a little fuckin’ surprised, doll.” You’d eased some on scolding Negan for the pet names over the last few weeks and generally just ignored them now unless it was something really egregious. (You’d nearly hit him for calling you ‘princess’ one day, so he had at least not tried that again.) He seemed to enjoy taking full advantage of you turning a deaf ear to them now. “Just you and me? Out there?” he clarified.

“You and I have already been out there alone how many times, hmm? I don’t see why this should be any different,” you said, digging around in your pack.

“Well, it’s farther. I mean, farther for you to get help if—”

You straightened up and fixed a skeptical gaze on him. “If what? If you suddenly decide to attempt to murder me? Attack me? Steal the car and leave me out there? I’ll still be armed and you won’t. Besides, I’ve been through more shit out there than—”

He laughed again. “I was just gonna say in case any number of bad fuckin’ things happens out there. And we both know that they do.”

“Yeah. You used to be one of those bad things, remember?” you shot back quickly. He sighed at your deflection and you couldn’t help but laughing. “I am having to sell this harder to you than I did to Michonne and Daryl. What is going on? What are you worried about?”

“I’m not worried! Although, it would be fuckin’ nice to have something to defend myself with in case of the dead or unexpected assholes…”

“ ‘Unexpected Assholes’?” you repeated. “What is that, your one man play?” you quipped. “Let me guess—you’ll be playing yourself.”

Negan couldn’t resist a hearty laugh at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s good. You’re fuckin’ hilarious as usual, doll.” But he looked serious again the next moment. “Anyway, about me having some way to defend myself…”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” you said lazily. “I’ll let you have, like, a stick if you want,” you smirked. He only stared back at you. “I told you that I’ll protect you! You think I’m just gonna let a walker wander up and bite you?” There was a thick silence for a moment where he just stared back at you.

“I’m not worried about one walker. I’m worried about all the random, rogue shit that can happen out there.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to trust me! Do you not want to go or what?” you pressed him, perplexed at his reaction.

He paused, drew in a deep breath, and let it out. Then that damn smirk showed back up on his face, sending his hazel eyes sparkling. “Are you asking if I want to go spend some quality time alone with you? Just the two of us? No one to interrupt… Completely at your mercy for whatever you may decide to do with me… or to me…”

You rolled your eyes, catching onto his tone immediately. “That could include killing you,” you cautioned him, eliciting a low laugh from him. You hated that the deep gravel of it gave you goosebumps. You did your best to ignore it.

“I don’t know… I’m starting to think this is just a ploy to get away with me where nobody can easily interrupt us,” Negan said. “I mean, shit. No need hide your true intentions from me,” he grinned. “I am absolutely 110% on board with that. Use me all you want, doll,” he grinned, now gripping the bars of his cell door. “God, I’d love to be fuckin’ used by you.”

You crossed your arms and fixed a stern look on him, hoping that your face wasn’t flushing bright red. You cleared your throat. “Sounds more like wishful thinking on your part. It’s a scavenging run, Negan, not a fucking romantic getaway,” you said.

“Are you sure you said that right? I think you meant romantic fucking getaway. Emphasis on the—”

“Negan! Stop! I will cancel this whole thing! Jesus Christ!”

That shit-eating grin was still on his face and he laughed again, thoroughly pleased with himself. “Alright, alright. I’m done. I think…”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “Scavenging. Run.” you repeated.

“Yeah, we’ll see, doll. We’ll see. So, where are we going exactly?”

You forged ahead, ignoring his last comments in favor of moving on. “There are some old houses and other structures we’ve only ever done a cursory search of. Probably not going to make a huge score but there’s always something left behind, something hidden. But who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky,” you said.

“Fuck me, I’d love to get lucky…” he laughed again.

“Negan!” you exclaimed again.

“Alright! I’m sorry,” he chuckled.

“So, are you in?” you asked, slightly exasperated.

The two of you were separated by only the iron bars and a small buffer of space, hardly a foot. He was still smiling at you and you hated that the thought that he was handsome flickered through your mind. It wasn’t the first time you’d thought it—but the thought always surprised you, like it came from somewhere outside of yourself, not by your conjuration alone. “Fuck yes, I’m in,” he answered, interrupting your thoughts.

“You promise to listen to everything I say? If I tell you to run, if I tell you to hide—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I promise,” he said, smiling. “If I don’t, you’ll shoot me in the fuckin’ knee or some shit. Can we skip the pep talk?”

You gave him a stern look but unlocked his cell and tossed him the spare pack you’d brought. You dug into your own bag and handed him some supplies, including some outerwear. He tucked them into his bag and looked up at you expectantly. “Where to, warden?”

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t help the tiniest smirk. “Car is right outside. Let’s get going. The sun is starting to come up and it could be a long day.”

“Great. Can I drive?” he quipped, shouldering his bag. You only shot him a look that made him laugh again, but he saw the slight curve at the corners of your mouth.

The drive to the crumbling ruins of the neighborhood was slow, but uneventful. The sun was up and filtering through the trees overhead as you and Negan climbed out and started toward the buildings. You were quiet, focused, and Negan couldn’t help admiring your efficiency and care as you went about your mission.

The two of you stopped at the edge of the crumbling street, concealed in some taller brush. The street was overgrown with weeds and lined with dilapidated houses. It was almost eerily quiet.

“Alright,” you breathed quietly. “We’ll go building by building, down one side and back up the other. Pay attention to signs of walkers or people,” you said softly, gripping the straps of your pack. “Follow my lead and stay close.”

“You got it,” Negan replied, slipping his hands into his pockets as he followed alongside you toward the first house. “I gotta say, it is really uncomfortable being out here without a damn weapon. More so here than in the woods,” he commented, his eyes shifting around to study the other buildings, scrutinizing for a sign of movement. “I feel like I’m naked,” he said.

“I guarantee—” You paused to tap on the wall of the house the two of you were standing beside, listening for anything inside. “You’re not. If you were naked, I would not be this fuckin’ calm, Negan,” you said, half-distracted.

He chuckled and licked his bottom lip, smirking.

“What?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow at you.

“I don’t think that sounded how you meant it to sound,” he laughed.

Your cheeks flushed. “Oh, shut up. You know what I meant!”

“Your brain is saying one thing but your lips are sayin’ another, darlin’,” he teased you.

You rolled your eyes and pulled the front door open, stepping cautiously inside. The smell was of mildew and stagnant air as you stepped inside. A heavy layer of dust and dirt coated everything; overturned furniture, books standing or tipped over on shelves, a stately chair still positioned in front of the fireplace. Somewhere deeper in the house, water was dripping. You had your gun out and started clearing the lower floors. Negan ghosted behind you.

You made for the staircase to check the upstairs when there was a soft thump overhead. Your eyes and Negan’s went to the ceiling.

“Alright… maybe someone is home after all,” he commented, giving you a concerned look.

“It’s gotta be a walker,” you said. “Maybe an animal.” You proceeded cautiously toward the staircase.

“Hey,” Negan said softly. “Be careful.”

You turned and looked at him for a long moment before you started up the stairs. He seemed genuinely on edge, worried. He stayed right on your heels as you climbed the steps, the muscle in his jaw tensed as his teeth clenched together.

You cleared two bedrooms and finally came to a closed door at the end of the hall. As the floor creaked under your boots, there was the sound of more movement behind the door. You reached for the door knob, gun ready in your other hand. You took a deep breath and quickly turned it shoving the door open and aiming the muzzle of your pistol inside.

An opossum let out an angry hiss and then scrambled up and out of a broken window. It had been rooting around in some debris on the floor. A huge sigh of relief escaped you and Negan watched your shoulders sag. You laughed a little as you turned to look back at Negan. He gave you a relieved look.

“I gotta be honest,” he said. “I fuckin’ hate this shit. I feel completely helpless without something to use if something bad happens. What am I supposed to do if you need help?”

You gave him a somewhat sympathetic look, thinking about how it would feel to be in his place—the unknown behind every locked door with no knife, no gun… completely vulnerable and reliant on someone who was essentially his jailor. “Well,” you said. “I have a feeling if something really did go wrong, you’d figure something out.”

He considered your words for a moment. “Yeah. I hope so.” He thought about what he would do. What if they ran into some bad men? Bad people? What would he really do if you were in danger? He didn’t have to think hard to know the answer. Anything. He’d do anything he needed to. The thought seemed to dig deep into the center of his chest and sit there, heavy. “So, now what? House is clear.”

You holstered your gun again. “Now, we search. See if there’s anything left. A lot of people hid things, right after. There’s always something left behind. You take the upstairs. I’ll go through the downstairs.”

Negan nodded his agreement and turned back to the trashed bathroom, the sound of your steps fading away down the staircase. He searched every room, every cabinet, every closet, under beds, under loose floorboards, but came away with nothing of interest except for half a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. He headed downstairs where he could hear you rummaging around in the living room. “Hey,” he greeted you, stepping over the threshold. You were standing completely frozen now at the shelves, looking down at something. “Y/N?” he said again. You still didn’t seem to have heard him. He wandered closer. “Find something?”

You startled a little and turned to look at him, a picture frame in your hand. “Oh. No, not really. You?”

“Half a bottle of rubbing alcohol. I stuck it in my pack.” He nodded toward the frame. “What’s that?”

You looked down at it again. “It’s nothing. It’s just this—this family portrait. I wonder if they lived here—” you said thoughtfully. Your voice seemed to drift away a little. “Or what happened to them, you know? Did they make it? Were they ever safe again after the outbreak?”

Negan looked on with a thoughtful expression, his dark brows furrowed over his eyes. He nodded and moved closer to get a better view of the photo behind the cracked glass. He smiled at it, chuckling a little. “Hmm. Mom, Dad, and three kids. A perfect nuclear family,” he said.

“Looks like the 90s,” you laughed. “Check out the clothes.”

“Yeah, they probably went down to JCPenney to take advantage of the fancy photography studio,” Negan remarked. “Dad looks like an accountant, doesn’t he?”

“Mmm, I’m getting more of a bank manager vibe. Mom probably stayed at home when the kids were little and then goes back to work as a teacher once the youngest is in kindergarten,” you replied, now smiling a little too.

Negan ran a hand back through his hair thoughtfully and cocked his head. “You know—I was a teacher,” he said suddenly. “I’ve never really told anyone that since things went to shit. Kind of lessens the mystique,” he laughed dryly.

Your eyes snapped over to his face, one of your eyebrows arching gracefully with the question on your face. He laughed again. “Yeah, I know… hard to believe, right? How could such an asshole be a teacher?” he said.

A slight wince flickered across your face for a brief second at his words, as if you didn’t like the way he’d talked about himself. But that couldn’t be right… “What did you teach?”

“I was a high school P.E. teacher,” he said. “Coached some of the school teams too. Basketball. Football.”

“P.E.?” you repeated. “And you’re not even going to make a ‘physical education’ joke?” you teased him. “Wow. Are you feeling okay?”

He laughed lightly. “You beat me to it,” he said. He glanced back at the picture and sighed. “Should we get going? Lots of buildings to search,” he said.

You nodded and stared down at the picture for another moment.

“What’re you doing?” Negan asked, watching you take the back off the picture frame. You fumbled with the backing and then removed the family photo from the damaged frame.

“I just—feel like someone should remember them, you know?”

Negan’s gaze was fixed on you, flickering over your face. There was something so soft in it at that moment that you felt slightly unbalanced. You distracted yourself by bending to slip the photo into your pack. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he said gently.

You deflected, laughing as you shouldered your pack again. “Oh, you’ve got no idea,” you said sarcastically, again ignoring the heat in your face. “Come on.”

The two of you went on, searching each home and several stores, working your way down the block and partway up the next. You’d managed some good finds, including a hidden cellar that clearly had belonged to a survivalist type (who had apparently “opted out” and his corpse still watched over the hidden entrance). You’d have to make a few trips to the car in order to get all the supplies and gear back, or otherwise figure out a way to get the car in through the overgrown side road. The two of you piled the finds in a safe place in one of the rooms on the main floor, stacking Rubbermaid tubs full of helpful items in neat piles.

“Fuck me,” Negan sighed, setting the last one on top. “Well, when you’re right, you’re fuckin’ right, doll. There’s always somethin’ left behind.”

You wiped at the sweat near your hairline. “Yeah,” you sighed. “Not bad.” You had a satisfied smile on your face. It felt good to do something concrete that would help people back home. You glanced out the window, assessing the light outside. It’d taken quite some time to get things moved up from the cellar and you wondered if you should keep searching the rest of the houses or call it a day. “I think it’s starting to get late,” you said, remarking mainly on the way the light already seemed like it was fading.

“Mmm,” Negan hummed, going to the front bay window and looking out. His eyes had been searching the street all day, vigilant, as if waiting for some psychos to suddenly burst out of one of the houses. But the only signs of inhabitation or squatting you’d found were clearly from long before, now covered in dust and debris or otherwise moldering in damp corners or on top of filthy mattresses. Now, as you were busy drinking from your canteen, Negan’s shifting suddenly stopped. “Hey, doll—I’m no meteorologist, but those clouds look like bad fuckin’ news.” It had been overcast all day, but you could tell by the tone of his voice that this was something else.

You capped your canteen and went to the front door, your brow now furrowed heavily to match his. You pulled the door open and peered at the sky. Ominous didn’t even begin to cover it. There was not a sniff of wind at the moment and the air seemed to hum with electricity. Negan appeared next to you in the doorway, squinting at the low and heavy sky.

“I’m pretty sure when the sky turns fuckin’ green, there’s some bad shit coming,” he said. He glanced over at you.

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. “Yeah. Yeah, green sky is… tornado weather. Fuck,” you muttered, glancing back at the pile of supplies.

“What do you want to do?” Negan asked.

You sighed, pushing a hand back through your hair. “Even if we head back to the car now, we probably can’t outrun that… the old highway is FUBAR in some places. It’s not like we can drive 60 mph all the way back to Alexandria. And that would mean leaving all these supplies here.” As if on cue, the complete stillness in the air broke as a rushing wind approached like a tidal wave, creaking and cracking in the trees and swirling dust and dried leaves across the open ground until it reached the two of you standing on the porch. Your hair lifted and blew back from your face.

“I’ll ask you again,” Negan said, speaking louder now over the roar of the wind, “what do you want to do?”

You hesitated, glancing from him back to the quickly approaching menacing clouds. The little light left was fading fast. “Fuck,” you muttered again. “I—I think we’re better off weathering it here than in a car out there,” you said.

“I definitely agree with that,” Negan said.

“Once the storm clears, maybe then we can try to get the car in here and load up the supplies and get home. We’ll be delayed a bit longer than expected but—I think it’s the best move. Hopefully, we’re just stuck a couple more hours.”

Negan nodded. “Alright. Where are we holing up? Because this shit is about to kick the fuck off,” he said, surveying the street again.

“Here is as good a place as any,” you said. “There’s a basement and almost all the windows are intact or boarded up. Come on. Let’s get inside.”

Negan followed you in and shut the door on the wind. Your eyes were already on him when he turned around again. He was trying to decode your expression but it was largely unreadable. He unshouldered his pack and set it on the floor, taking a seat on the stairs across from where you were now leaning up against the wall. The ambient light from outside was quickly waning and before long you could hear raindrops start to pound the roof. They increased in size and then seemed to be blowing across the roof in waves of water.

You could hear the huge cottonwood trees creaking and cracking in the wind. You tried to peer out through the boarded slats over the window to see if they were dropping branches but it was too dark. Behind you, Negan pulled out a flashlight from his pack and clicked it on. It had grown extremely dark with the heavy storm clouds gathering and unleashing the torrents of rain. You were still standing right by the window, looking out, when he spoke again.

“Hey, maybe we should move away from the windows, doll,” Negan said, worried. He didn’t like how close you were standing to all that glass, even if it was mostly boarded over. His voice was deep and resonant in the space between you with just the raging background noise outside.

“Yeah. Maybe,” you said. You bent to grab your pack when you suddenly heard a loud thud against the side of the house. You straightened up, your eyes widening. Negan had heard it too, his eyes were narrowed, ears strained, listening. It was difficult to hear anything over the storm.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice breathy. “Some debris blowing against the house?” you asked.

Negan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, standing from his place on the steps and going to the doorway of the room the sound had seemed to come from. The roaring storm seemed to reach new extremes. The wind sounded like a train bearing down on the little dilapidated structure the two of you were sheltering in. Rain and hail lashed the siding and the roof. There was another thud from outside, this time on the window.

“There. Again,” you said, anxiously pacing toward Negan to stare into the room. His flashlight was still on. Another thud, and then another. You squinted, trying to distinguish anything through the boarded windows but it was too dark. Then, a flash of lightning shot the sky outside with blinding white and you couldn’t help the soft gasp that left you at what it illuminated.

“What?” Negan asked urgently.

You couldn’t speak. You just reached for the flashlight. Negan looked down as your hand landed on top of his. He could feel you trembling slightly and for a moment he was so shocked by your touch that he didn’t understand what you were doing. With your gentle grip, you directed the yellow beam of the light slowly to the window. As it came to rest between two of the boards and shone through the glass, Negan registered that there were walkers clawing to get in, rotting faces pressed to the glass, bloody fingertips, snapping teeth. Dozens. “Ho-ly fuck!” he exclaimed, jerking the flashlight off the window and quickly shutting it off. You and Negan stood in the dark for a moment, neither of you moving, now keenly aware of the pounding noise and dull thuds on the exterior of the house, cutting through the wind and rain. Were you imagining it or was the pounding increasing, getting louder? More frequent? Negan could hear your breath beside him in the dark. “Well, that shit was straight out of a fuckin’ horror movie,” he remarked in a low voice.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. “Where the fuck did they come from? It sounds like we’re surrounded.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Seems like they rolled in with the storm.”

“Maybe they can feel the barometric pressure changes or something. It’s almost like a migration,” you commented, feeling your heart rate and breathing finally start to slow down after the shock of discovering the herd.

Negan chuckled beside you and you heard him shift. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Eugene?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Okay… so, now we just have the storm of the century and a fucking herd to deal with. Great. Okay… let’s think…”

Negan finally clicked his flashlight on again but kept it pointed at the floor. “This place seems sturdy but maybe we should barricade ourselves better.”

You glanced toward the basement where you’d discovered the hidden cellar. Your eyes next drifted toward the stack of supplies. “Basement is pretty much ready to barricade thanks to that dead survivalist guy, but if they do break in we could be trapped down there for fuck-knows how long.”

“Not sure we have any better options. We don’t want to be upstairs either. We’re sure as shit not going out on the roof in this if they get in and if there is a fucking tornado and we're on the top floor—” Negan broke off.

“Yeah,” you agreed, nodding. You dug into your own pack and pulled out a headlamp, quickly turning it on dimly. “Grab some of these. They have food and medical supplies, some other gear and odds and ends,” you said, grabbing one of the many Rubbermaid containers and heading toward the stairs down to the basement.

“Man, I’m so glad we carried all this shit up here,” Negan joked, picking up a stack of two big containers.

“Sorry. Next time I’ll consult my crystal ball,” you quipped, but right then there was the sound of shattering glass and the storm and the growling got slightly louder. One of the windows in the next room had broken. Negan could see hands and fingers reaching in around the boards.

“Let’s go. Downstairs,” he urged you, his voice intense and thick with concern.

You started down, but shot back at him over your shoulder. “Aren’t I the one in charge here?”

“I don’t see you disagreeing with that idea,” Negan said, setting his containers down beside yours. “Stay here. I’ll go grab a couple more boxes,” he said.

“Whoa. Me stay here? What is this? You don’t even have a weapon!” you argued.

He gave you an exasperated look. “Fine. Then by all means, come with me, darlin’!” He turned and rushed back up the stairs and you had to hurry after him, one hand on your knife in its sheath.

“Negan,” you snapped at him in a low voice as you rounded the doorway back onto the main floor. But he wasn’t by the supplies. You glanced around and could see the dim glow of his light in the next room, the one where the walkers had broken a window. Rain and the occasional hailstone were puddling under the window among the shards of glass. “What the fuck?” You nearly collided with each other when he turned around and started back toward the door. “What are you doing?! Put that down!” you growled.

He had an iron fireplace poker in his hand. That’s what he’d been doing in this room, grabbing it from the set of fireplace tools. “Don’t you think this qualifies as kind of a capital “E” emergency?” he argued.

You stared at him, intense, your chest heaving, and to your annoyance, he smiled at you.

“Goddamn. You look fuckin’ hot as shit when you’re pissed off! I mean, you’re always hot but ho-ly shit! I'm scared and suddenly all tingly downtown!”

Your hand went purposefully to your knife again and you stared him down. “I said. Put it. The fuck. Down.”

“Doll, just hear me out—”

“Negan.”

Another crack and the sound of shattering glass behind him and you saw more arms reaching through between the boards of another window. “Okay, we don’t have time for this right now. You can stab me or whatever downstairs,” he said. He breezed past you and grabbed a couple more boxes of supplies. You had no choice but to begrudgingly follow after him.

He turned, straightening up as he heard your boots hitting the bottom steps, and he opened his mouth to say something, but you were already on him before he could get even a syllable out.

You kicked him hard on the inside of one of his thighs and he dropped sideways onto his knee. The poker dropped from his hand and rang out on the cement floor. You kicked it away and it slid into the far wall with a harsh scraping sound. Your knife was unsheathed and pointed at the base of his throat before he knew what was happening. To your amazement, once he recovered from his pained grimaces, he fucking smiled again.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?” he asked in a low, gruff voice.

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me. When I brought you out here, you said you would listen to every fucking thing I told you to do. This is your one single second chance. Next time you fuck up, it’ll be my knife going into your thigh instead of my boot. Got it?”

He gulped, still on one knee at the point of your knife and still, to your annoyance, vaguely smiling. “Oh, I got it,” he responded, his eyebrows lifting.

“Good,” you said, backing off and letting him stand up. “Now, go pick up the fucking poker. I’m gonna lock up the door…”

“Wait‚ what?” Negan laughed, still rubbing at his leg where you’d kicked him. “After all that, you’re letting me have it?”

“Yes,” you said. “This does roughly qualify as an emergency. Or at least, the border of one. But those kinds of decisions? They’re not yours to make, Negan. You’re not the one in charge here.”

He looked both stunned and amused. “That is becoming more and more clear every fuckin’ day,” he said softly, looking at you with some expression you couldn’t completely discern.

You gave him a perplexed look and then headed up the stairs to seal up the door. There were heavy brackets on the back of the reinforced door (thank you, dead survivalist man) and you spotted a thick board leaning up against the railing. Once you’d closed and locked it, you heaved up the heavy wooden slat and dropped it into place in the brackets, adding extra security in case the walkers did get inside and try to push through. As you removed your hand hastily to head back downstairs, a jagged corner on one of the metal brackets sliced into your palm. You jerked it back and stared as a long crimson gash began to leak fat drops of blood onto the steps below you. You pulled in a hiss of breath through your teeth. “Great,” you sighed, cradling it in the other hand and trotting back down. Overhead, you could hear the storm still raging, but as a low hum now.

Negan stood up from his seat on one of the containers of supplies as soon as he saw you. A concerning amount of shockingly red blood was dripping off your hand and onto the floor. “What happened?” he asked, moving closer as you attempted to dig into your pack with your other hand, blood now running down your forearm. “Jesus, let me help you!” He grabbed your pack away and dug around inside until he found a small kit with spare bits of cloth for bandaging, some gauze pads, and a few other assorted odds and ends for first aid. “Wait, I’ve got that alcohol in my pack. We should clean it up first.”

“It’ll be fine,” you argued, pulling off your headlamp and watching as Negan clicked on a lantern he’d found in one of the boxes.

“Would you let me help you with this at least? Can I? Please? I’m asking permission now,” he joked, shooting you a goading expression.

You cocked your head at him and tried to look annoyed, but you conceded, taking a seat on a plastic container across from him.

Negan dug out the alcohol and poured a generous amount out onto your palm. You gritted your teeth together at the burn and winced. “Sorry,” he said, pressing a gauze pad down over it, holding it gently on his own hand now. “But better than an infection, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, feeling strangely on edge with your hand in his.

Negan used some of the long, clean strips of cloth to bandage it up and hold the gauze in place, tying it securely but gently before relinquishing his hold on you. “Should have the doc take a look at that when we get back,” he said. “Pretty deep. Might need some stitches on that one.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” you said, finally sighing as you suddenly realized how tired you were. Now that you felt more secure and safe, a strange thing with Negan sitting a mere foot away from you with no dividing bars between, the adrenaline had run out. Exhaustion was starting to set in. You took stock of the space. Your eyes wandered from the door into the hidden cellar where you’d found most of the supplies, back to the corpse of the survivalist in the far corner, over to the boxes next to Negan.

He was putting the first aid stuff back into your pack when his fingers nudged something and he paused; a thick stack of glossy photos. He pulled them out, curious. On top was the first one, the one in the very first house that the two of you had talked about, but there were more along with it now—many more. He flipped through a couple until you noticed and shifted where you were sitting. His hazel eyes lifted up to your face. “These are all from today?” he asked.

You nodded and tried to clear the sudden lump in your throat.

“You kept them? All of them?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He sighed, shaking his head vaguely, and thumbed through more; families on vacations, some guy holding a big fish, a young couple smiling in front of the Statue of Liberty, babies and kids and dogs and cats, an elderly couple posing in front of a studio background.

Your voice suddenly cut into him. “Did you ever stop to think that every person you put under your bat, they probably had photos like this? Were in photos like this?” you said suddenly. A particularly loud rumble of thunder boomed and rolled, as if on cue. Your eyes, clear and steady and striking even in the low glow of the lantern, felt like they were seeing straight into his core.

He frowned. The lines on his face seemed to become more pronounced, and he almost cringed. “No,” he answered honestly, the gravel in his voice heavy and gritty. “I didn’t think about it at all, most of the time. I think that was a lot of what I was doing. Not thinking. I know that's a shit fuckin' excuse. It's not an excuse... but I didn’t—want to think about the hard stuff.”

You were curious, interested, and felt that same vulnerability he seemed to be giving you more and more rolling off him in waves. “Like what?”

He gave you a sad smile. You could hear the wind whistling above you and the pounding of the rain. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

But now you were the one to back away, ducking your head, avoiding his eyes. Negan saw that there was hurt there, deep hurt. “I don’t think we’re quite there yet,” you murmured, fiddling with the bandage on your palm. “I mean, I’m not…”

“Hey, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” Negan replied, “you don’t owe me a damn thing. But can I tell you somethin’, doll?” He hesitated for a moment. “I—I like you. You kicked the shit out of me and held a knife to my throat about ten minutes ago and I still really like you. Genuinely. As a person, as a badass, as a—”

“Negan—” you interrupted him.

“If I had to be trapped in a basement with a corpse, a tornado and herd outside, I can’t think of another person I’d rather be stuck with,” he said.

“Negan—” you tried again.

“No, listen to me. I’m trying to tell you—”

“You don’t like me, okay? You just feel that way because I’m the only person who really talks to you, who spends time with you, who brings you your meals, and looks after some fraction of your well-being. It’s like—it’s like trauma bonding, okay? That’s all it is.”

“No. It’s not just that. See Gabe was doin’ all that same shit and I still didn’t fuckin’ like him… I mean, not as much as I like you.”

As usual, when what you were feeling was becoming overwhelming, too many thoughts, too many emotions, you deflected with humor. “I’m cuter than Gabriel.”

Negan laughed and this time the sound was warm and almost comforting. “Yeah. No argument there…”

You allowed yourself a half-smile and then sighed, rubbing your hands over your face. “Fuck, I’m tired. What a long fucking day…”

“There are those sleeping bags in one of these boxes I think,” Negan said, starting to pull at the lids.

You laughed. “I can’t sleep,” you said.

“Why not?”

“Besides the insane storm outside and the horde? Uhh… I don’t know, you?” you offered, your tone a little sardonic.

But Negan’s face was perfectly serious. “The storm and the horde—can’t do shit about those companions and I agree that they are crappy house guests, but they’re not fuckin’ goin’ anywhere soon from what I can hear. That’s not changing whether you’re asleep or awake. As for me—” he tilted his head and gave you an appraising look, “I do not want to hurt you. And I won’t. And I’m not running away with the dickhole party outside so, you may as well catch some shut-eye. I’ll keep watch.”

You considered him for a long moment but finally shook your head. “No. No, I can’t sleep now…”

Negan sighed and rested the fireplace poker across his knees. “Well, then I’d say it’s going to be a long night… Got any ideas about how to pass the time?”

The mischievous sparkle came back into his eyes and you shot him a stern look that was apparently not enough of a deterrent. “Don’t—”

“We still do have those sleeping bags. I can think of some activities for a makeshift bed that don’t involve actual sleep.”

“Negan, there’s literally a corpse in the corner and a horde outside and that’s where your mind goes?”

He laughed. “Can you blame me? I’ve been in jail for, how long now? Five, six years? And trust me, Gabey Baby wasn’t giving me any action.” He paused at the look on your face, laughing again. “Come on, doll. I’m just kidding. Though it would help pass the time, you deserve far better than a sleeping bag on a dirty basement floor.”

“With a dead guy watching,” you added.

“With a dead guy watching,” he repeated, scratching absently at the stubble on his face. “That is pretty fuckin’ metal though,” he smirked.

“Negan, saying that I deserve better than that is really saying nothing. Anyone deserves better than that,” you sighed, standing up and pacing. “So yeah. I’d say it’s going to be a long night.”

#bad medicine #negan smith series #negan smith #negan imagines #negan drabbles #wicked wednesday #negan smith x reader #negan smith x you #negan x y/n #negan fics #the walking dead #negan twd

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solurae · 1 year

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four eyes (more to love underneath the frames) : prologue

nerd!miguel o’hara is the talk of the town and i wanna put my own spin on it :D sooo expect a little bit of everything hehe :DDD - HAHA AS I WAS WRITING THIS I REALISED I GOT TOO INVESTED SETTING THE SCENE SO I MIGHT MAKE THIS A SERIES! i’ll just say this is a prologue hooray

IF YOU WOULD LIKE A SERIES PLS INTERACT!!! FEEL FREE TO ASK TOO TO SHARE YOUR MIGGY THOUGHTS AND I WILL HAPPILY INDULGE US BOTH :3

a distinct pair of black, rectangular glasses were adjusted by miguel’s middle finger before it glided across the pages of notes he wrote from the lecture for his genetics class. a class that you both happen to share, but neither of you knew that yet.

miguel o’hara - a man so deep in his books that he might as well be the dean of the dean’s list - payed no heed to anyone or anything that could hinder his focus. the furrowing of brows indicated further analysis rather than the annoyance towards second year business majors. no, he wasn’t the annoying, stuck-up person who would ask more questions than give answers. he thinks they’re wasting their time anyway. he was always the last person to leave the lecture theatre. miguel would be huddled by the professor, covering the whiteboard with punnett squares or outlining control variables for the next lab.

he was only person in your genetics class that had a real chance of passing the course, the scowls of your peers and your friends could attest to that.

you wouldn’t say you were on the same boat as everyone though, your friends were always nagging you to help them but you couldn’t even figure out how you understood some of the content. this specific course was an integral part of your degree and the best chance of impressing the school, you had to give it your all.

you would be lying if genetic sequences and chromosomes weren’t the only things you had memorised. you loved the hue of brown locks that would shine from the tall windows of the theatre, the curls which your eyes would follow forever if he happened to sit in front of you. the pout of his lips as he’d scratch his hair in response to a lab practical that didn’t make sense, only for him to make sense of it hours later.

his eyes were red. it was his most defining feature, and a key factor to why - to your advantage, if you really think about it - people steer clear of o’hara. as much as it increases your chances of befriending him, let alone being with him, your classmates and other students weren’t so quiet about their dislike for the irish-mexican spectacle.

he’s so quiet. too quiet.

he looks like a freak! look at his eyes, bro. what is he some fucking vampire or something?

no wonder he’s on the dean’s list because he isn’t on anyone else’s for sure.

god he’s just so…

weird.

miguel was extremely fit, which was what confused a lot of people when they found out he wasn’t a copy-paste jock that still thinks they’re in highschool like most men of his stature were. his build put them to shame regardless. after being bombarded by women and men of every cohort - only for miguel to ignore them or coldly decline - word spread like wildfire and soon enough people were disappointed that the former heart-throb of first and second year turned out to be a major loser. some people would go out of their way to show how much they don’t like him, and these are people miguel’s never even spoken to. they would “crash” into him walking across campus, try and trip him over and even go as far as sitting on the other side of the room if it wasn’t so clear already.

but he didn’t mind. he was always at the library, the lab or the cafeteria closest to the lab anyway. it bothered you to see him alone and quiet unless he had a question or an answer, you genuinely wanted to be friends with him.

but as the story goes, it’s always these type of men that have a part of themselves they keep under wraps. you just know that there’s more to his brooding and stoic nature, the carnelian shades of his eyes lured you closer as opposed to keeping you away.

you decided to do honours for two reasons: a better resume and the fact that miguel unsurprisingly decided to do it too. you had a thesis in your head and you had all year to test it out.

miguel o’hara was more than just some nerd and you were gonna need more than glasses to prove it.

🩷 — PART ONE!

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whateverisbeautiful · 5 days

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♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#59: The Eternal Love (1.06)

What The Ones Who Live made clear is that even before this world belongs to those who can fight, it really belongs to the ones who love. The ones who don’t let this world permanently change or destroy their ability to love. And so of course that means this world belongs to Richonne. 😌👌🏽

And Rick and Michonne’s indestructible everlasting love is at the foundation of this finale’s explosive final act 💥❤️...

The events of the bridge in season 9 and the devastating aftermath that kept Rick and Michonne apart for years have now led them to know that there are ways in which they won’t always be the ones who live. But even though they won’t literally live forever, they know their love will. Their love is eternal. 🥹

Just when all seems lost, Richonne sees Beale step out of the tent and they make a run for it. Michonne tells Rick to pull the flag down over them as she douses them in liquid to fend off the effects of the explosion.

Pearl is in shock seeing Walker Beale and before she can fully process it, the bombs and gas explode, instantly killing all those CRM higher-ups…except Pearl somehow. 🤔 Now, outside of plot armor, I'm not exactly sure of a plausible explanation for how Thorne survived this with how close and unprotected she was. But we move. 🤷🏽‍♀️

gif cred: @nerd4music

The base is smothered in that chlorine gas and the CRM soldiers have turned into walkers. Rick and Michonne are okay as they stay under the flag and are covered by the water. Pearl shows up with a mask still on the prowl and Rick tells Michonne that he’ll rush Pearl for her gas mask while Michonne grabs the other one.

Michonne asks, “Why you?” And Rick replies, “You’ve got the sword. We go?” And Michonne assents, saying, “We go.” It's a small thing, but I like how this moment always reminds me of their Say Yes scene when Rick tells Michonne he gave her eight walkers to take out because she has the sword.

Next, Rick and Pearl get into a fight and Pearl yells that he destroyed their chance and "destroyed the whole world." Which Pearl, ma'am, that's a little much. The CRM is not the world. As Rick passionately said in ep 1, this isn’t everything.

Pearl and Rick continue to fight and neither are holding back. Pearl starts to get the upper hand but then she grabs Rick’s hair and you already know how Rick feels when someone tries to touch something that belongs to Michonne - so he has to yeet her.

gif cred: @nerd4music

When he tosses Pearl, he gets surrounded by CRM walkers. There’s something symbolic about Rick being surrounded by these masked CRM walkers. They’re like the embodiment of the dead soldier Rick lived a long time as and how the CRM was constantly trying to consume him. They tried to turn him into just another lifeless member of their force and now they try to turn him into another lifeless delt.

Pearl looks like she’s trying to aim her gun at Rick but then she joins the long list of people who learn the golden rule - never come for Rick in front of Michonne. You’ll get handled everytime. 💯 So sure enough, Michonne approaches and takes a swing at Pearl with Beale's sword.

I gotta hand it to Lesley having to take on a role where you go toe to toe with both Rick and Michonne. Thorne had to go at two heavy hitters back to back. 😅

gif cred: ricksmarlene/nerd4music

Now, Pearl's fight with Michonne goes a lil different because she doesn’t ever get the upper hand in this one.

Pearl says, “You were the one he was always trying to get to. How did you get to him?” I like that she says, always trying to get to. She knows Rick was real relentless in his pursuits to get to Michonne. 👌🏽

And then one thing Michonne is never afraid to do is tell you about yourself so, knowing what she knows about Pearl from Rick, Michonne says, “I didn’t give up. I didn’t give me up like you did.”

According to Richonne, there is always time to throw a little shade. And as Pearl has tried them both, not even poisonous gas was gonna stop Michonne from letting Pearl know...

But also, I like Michonne noting how she didn’t give up and didn’t give herself up because Michonne knows if you lose yourself you lose your way. She knows it from personal experience, as we saw at the start of her TWD journey.

It makes sense that Michonne was the only character in TOWL who refused to give herself up. Her briefly having to be Dana was like a more external version of the way the CRM internally makes everyone feel like they have to trade who they are to be what the CRM expects them to be.

While Michonne tried to play along to honor Rick’s request for five seconds, she ultimately decided that this place does not get to change her because what they make you is a cog in their machine and so detached from who you are at your core. Again, when you give in to that you lose yourself and then you lose your way.

And considering Michonne's way is meant to lead her back to her babies she was never going to let them take her from her. Then once she found her husband, she was also never going to let them take Rick from her again either.

Even when Michonne left that apartment in ep 4, while I think she was always going to make a choice that led her back to her kids, I don’t think Michonne would be able to live with just knowing Rick was out there externally and mentally imprisoned. So I think at some point she’d absolutely try to save him again. She’d have to. Saving him is saving her, it’s saving their family and it’s always been made clear that Michonne will never give up on her family.

gif cred: @nerd4music

Determined to find Rick yet again during this fight with Pearl, Michonne yells “Where is he?” a couple times until Pearl finally tells her to turn around.

(Side note: I always feel like this whole exchange between Pearl and Michonne would have been the perfect organic opportunity to have Michonne declare she’s Michonne Grimes. Like if Pearl asked who she really is, after having asked her a similar question in the arena in ep 3, and Michonne said her name is Michonne Grimes...that would have had me turning up, ijs 🤩)

Rick is struggling as the pile of CRM walkers grows and nearly overtakes him. Pearl fires shots at the walker that Michonne ducks behind. And then the way Michonne rises up when Pearl's murder attempts against her don’t work...it’s giving baddest chick in the game. 💅🏽

And Pearl seems to be realizing she’s come face to face with the baddest as she gets more desperate and says, “You don’t understand. In a dead world, love is dead.” Michonne shakes her head and says, “Love doesn’t die. Watch.” And then she grabs Beale’s sword and plunges it into Pearl as Pearl gets to learn this Dana lady is real good with a sword. 😋

Again, it’s quite ironic for Pearl to die by Beale’s sword. The sword she swore on and the symbol of the CRM philosophy she so badly wanted to believe in ended up being her demise.

And Rick had it right - he and Michonne really are the sword that kills and gives life. So much so that both Rick and Michonne used this same sword to take out two opponents within a short time span of each other. A couple that slays together stays together, it’s just the truth. 😌

gif cred: @nerd4music

Michonne repeats, “Love doesn’t die” and again I'll admit I wasn't crazy about the dialogue throughout this fight scene. It was a bit heavy-handed and I felt the 'love doesn’t die' sentiment could have perhaps been expressed with more subtlety and subtext but again...we move. Plus, Danai’s such a gifted actress that she makes that line work more than it would in lesser hands. 👌🏽

'Love doesn’t die' is clearly said one; because it’s one of the main messages of the show and two; because they want you to worry for a second if those are famous last words based on what happens next.

Cuz then Rick is swarmed by walkers with seemingly no way out and he has to use a grenade which leads to Michonne just seeing a big explosion.

In a moment that parallels Say Yes, Michonne drops her sword when she thinks she’s seen Rick explode. The moment also parallels Rick's last full TWD episode, as now Michonne has to think she's seen Rick blow up for the second time after he seemingly 'exploded' on that bridge. You just know that tragic bridge memory popped into Michonne's head after hearing the grenade. 😞

gif cred: nerd4music/michonnegrimes

I was thoroughly convinced that they were not going to have either Rick or Michonne die in a show called The Ones Who Live so I was positive Rick survived this explosion. Even tho, for just a split second there I did have to acknowledge this is the final episode and it’s a finale where Rick and Michonne aren’t as untouchable as previous finales so...maybe…but fortunately, the universe loves them some Richonne so Rick survives by covering himself in walker bodies.

gif cred: @nerd4music

When Rick emerges, he immediately goes to Michonne and she runs to him and they embrace which is heartfelt. Especially because the last time something like this happened and it seemed Rick had blown up, they weren't able to run into each other's arms afterward and instead had to go years without seeing each other again. So you know it means a lot to them to be able to hold each other right now like they so longed to do that day on the bridge.

gif cred: @nerd4music

It's sweet that even amid these circumstances, Rick and Michonne still seek this moment of connection to let each other know they're glad they're okay. And there's big Say Yes vibes with this hug being similar to how they ran into each other's arms and embraced in 7.12, so you know I’m here for it. 🥰

As they make their way out, they stand over a wheezing Pearl and she expresses that she’s come to see that Okafor was right, but she adds, “You just have to hope Beale was wrong.” And then Pearl hands Rick the mask and it’s sorta like a final peace offering between them.

Rick silently takes the mask and then he and Michonne fight their way through walkers and make it to some upper ground. Again, the walkers have some practical use as Michonne uses them as a stepping stool. And it’s sweet seeing Rick urgently pull walkers away who are trying to grab at Michonne. 😊

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

Rick gets one more signature him-against-the-horde moment as he shoots a bunch of walkers. It made me think about the many iconic Rick vs Everybody moments he's had over the years in TWD.

And, being the resilient man he is, of course, Rick Grimes is the one still standing after all those fights and faceoffs.

So then Rick makes it to the top of the platform as Michonne helps. Once they're finally out of the swarm, Rick and Michonne remove their masks and have a moment as they look at each other and look around at their plan being a success.

I love the little moment of Rick putting his arm around her and then Michonne putting her arm around him. 🥰That’s another thing about Richonne - they’re gonna make any moment a coupley moment. 👌🏽

gif cred: @taiturner

So as they zoom out and we get a shot reminiscent of the end of the TWD pilot ep, I love how in contrast to the pilot - Rick isn’t alone this time. 🥹 He found his other half in this crazy apocalypse and Michonne is by his side through it all. Including taking down the most powerful people in the most powerful military.

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

After looking around, Michonne and Rick start to hop from platform to platform to get up out of there. They did it, y’all. Mission accomplished. 🥳 As always, our beloved Richonne proved that they are...

And now, at long last it was finally time for Richonne to complete their ultimate mission and go home. 😭

And home isn’t just a place. For Rick and Michonne, most of all, home is their children. 👌🏽🥲

#richonne #towl #reveling in richonne #1.06 #RIR (59)#the ones who live #twd towl #michonne grimes #rick grimes #rick x michonne #twol #michonne #rick and michonne #twd: the ones who live #twd #richonnefandom

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modelbus · 1 year

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Please please please do a part 2 for Cut Chaos…maybe where she sees the others out and about and it’s a awkward until they get around to why she wasn’t subtly push out? I honestly don’t know, I just want to see where it goes…

I got so many asks for a part 2, you are the chosen one I shall write it to. Hopefully this lives up to the first one!

Read part 1! And Part 3?

Pairing(s): cc!Ranboo, cc!Tubbo, cc!Wilbur and cc!Tommy x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Cut Chaos Part 2

Somehow, going to the store had become your nemesis. Wallowing in self-pity felt like a much better way to spend your time, but even you could acknowledge that you needed to buy things eventually.

The reason why you tried to minimize going was simple: you didn’t want to see them.

What would happen? Part of you wasn’t sure if you could face the rejection in real life. The blow had been softened—although barely—by the digital world. If you tried hard enough, you could pretend that your phone broke and that’s why they never contact you.

Tommy’s birthday came and went, and you sent a gift through the mail. Too afraid of the boy to even have the decency to leave it on his doorstep, while too caught up in what you’ve lost to not give something.

You signed the card with love and your name, leaving the comma out. You didn’t regret it until it was too late, until the card had been sealed.

If you saw him at the store, would he acknowledge that? Or would it just be another thing on a list that he ignored about you?

If you were the count the number of times you’ve thought about them, perhaps you’d be counting forever. The store, the first time, nearly made you cry.

It’s a strange feeling, having then not having. Being in the sun, only to have clouds suddenly yanked over it as a downpour begins. The m&m yogurt reminded you of them, the twin snake gummy worms. Even the teal of a sign had made you stop in your tracks.

You were pathetic, honestly. But you were mourning something you weren’t even sure that you ever had.

So, the store. Your new foe, the newest nemesis in the battle of memories. Checkouts beeped in the rhythm of heartbeats you’re terrified of forgetting, shoppers talked in low tones you used to know.

Today, it was raining out. It had only just started when you got inside the store, thank God, but it meant your walk home would be a wet one. You didn't live too far though, so it wouldn't be that bad.

The door opens next to you, where you're looking at the strangely large selection of stuffed animals. One would go well with your setup, really.

You glance over your shoulder, a curtesy glance really, and do a doubly take at the four figures darkening the doorstep. Figuratively, although three are tall as fuck and cast shadows.

A black and white mask. Blue eyes. Fluffy brown hair. Fluffy brown hair times two.

Oh, shit.

You stare at Ranboo, Tommy, Wilbur, and Tubbo for one second, then two. Tubbo sweeps his gaze over the store, pausing when he lands on you.

“Oh.”

The first words they speak to you in ages, and it’s Tubbo saying “oh.” A truly inspiring start to a conversation.

“Hey. I didn’t know you guys came here.” You say around the dryness in your mouth. Swallowing, you try to force air into your lungs.

“We don’t.” Wilbur answers. “Not usually, we’re just—“

“Filming.” Tommy finishes, holding up his camera.

Right.

It’s one thing to see it online, but it’s a whole different level of pain to witness it in front of you. The split in the ground between you and them is almost visible. Almost.

“Oh.” And now you’re the one with the lame response. “Well. Enjoy that, I guess.”

“Wait.” Wilbur says, reaching out, because of course it’s Wilbur to do this to you. “How have you been? It’s- it’s been a while.”

And who, you want to ask, is at fault for that? Who would be taking the blame? Because by the way Ranboo couldn’t meet your eyes, you’re certain you all know.

”Do you want the honest answer, or the answer that’ll make it so you all can go to bed tonight peacefully?” You ask passively, because fuck.

They fucking left you. No, they did far worse than that. They ruined you.

You turn away, heading to the checkout. They follow you.

“What do you guys want? Ditching me once wasn’t enough? You need to put salt in the wound?”

“Hey, we didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or—“ Tommy begins, but you don’t let him finish.

“Well you did! You left me behind! How did you think I’d feel?”

“…nothing?” Tubbo suggests.

“What?”

“You were using us.” Wilbur crosses his arms, staring at you. Ranboo hovers awkwardly behind him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Your eyebrows furrow, and then it hits you.

The rumors. They believed the fucking rumors. Out of everything that’s happened, this might be worse than them leaving in the first place. The very people you thought knew you best. Turns out that was a lie just like everything else when it came to them these past few months.

“I would never—“ Your gaze shifts to Ranboo, easily the most awkward looking person here. “Ranboo, you’ve been where I am. You know damn well what it’s like to be friends with people who have more fans than you, and you know the hate that comes with that. But you also know that you never once used the people around you, because they’re your fucking friends.” You pause. “Why wouldn’t you believe that of me? I thought you guys fucking knew me.”

“Hey!” Tommy exclaims. “We do know you! It’s just…” He glances at Wilbur for help with the statement.

“Just that sometimes you do what you think you need to protect yourself.” Wilbur finishes.

“You could’ve talked to me.” You say quietly, voice breaking. “It could’ve been fixed if any of you just talked to me.”

This was your catharsis. These thoughts have been swirling in your head for so long, too long. As you glance around at the four people you used to find comfort in, each in vary degrees of awkward-ashamed, your heart breaks.

You move to pay, but Wilbur beats you to it.

“I’m having fun with Genloss.” Ranboo announces suddenly and loudly.

Everyone’s heads snap to him, and he shifts slightly but doesn’t back down. He just nods, confirming what was just said.

“I’m filming a documentary.” Tubbo adds. “It’s long. But fun.”

Were they rubbing it in? Just how much they were fine without you? It didn’t seem like something they’d do. But then again, you couldn’t exactly claim to know them anymore.

“My live shows are fucking awesome. Weird as hell, but… awesome.” Tommy chimes in.

“What’ve you been up to? Other than playing packing games.” Wilbur grins, a joke. He watched when you played packing games?

“Nothing.” You admit. It feels like confessing that you’re hopeless without them.

“Are you guys going to move?” Someone asks from behind you.

You scramble to grab your bag, and the five of you exit the store before you can piss any other shoppers off.

“I think what we’re trying to say is we’re sorry.” Wilbur says once you’re all outside, huddled together under the small awning to avoid the rain.

“Yeah.” Tubbo nods emphatically.

“We just… didn’t know what to do when we heard the rumors. It’s not an excuse.”

“And it was really shitty of us.” Tommy adds.

“You guys knew me, you should’ve known I’d never use any of you.” Your words sound more like a beg than anything else. What are you begging for? Your friends back?

“Know.” Wilbur corrects. “We know you.”

You meet his eyes for a second before swallowing and looking away.

“Oh. Hey, don’t cry.” Ranboo rushes to say, patting your shoulder.

Christ. The action forces a laugh out of you, even as your eyes burn.

“Wilbur! You made her cry!” Tommy exclaims, turning to him.

“I didn’t mean to!”

“I know what will make her feel better.” He declares, before shoving Wilbur out into the rain.

“Tommy! That’s not how you deal with things!” Tubbo scolds.

“Your turn then!”

You laugh, even as Tommy turns to you with an evil grin. You manage to drag Ranboo out into the rain with you, immediately getting soaked to your very bones. It’s a warm rain though, a welcome rain.

For the first time in a long time, you’re genuinely having fun.

“Tommy!” Wilbur yells, reaching out for the blond boy.

“I’ve got the camera, Wil! Can’t get wet!”

Chaos squad. This was chaos, and this was the five of you. You were back home.

#dsmp #mcyt #mcyt imagine #tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x you #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #ranboo x reader #ranboo x you #tubbo x reader #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #tubbo #ranboo

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ishipallthings · 2 months

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Cap Iron Man Rec Week 2024 (Wed)

Early in Canon Wednesday - July 24th for @cap-ironman Rec Week

Fics set early in canon as the boys are getting to know each other :D

Remember to show some love for your hard-working creators!

To Be With You (Is Easy) by Carsonian @carsonian (MCU)

Tony doesn't know what prompted him to visit the recently defrosted Captain America, and he certainly hadn't given much thought to the little confessionals he's given the comatose Capsicle. But when Steve Rogers wakes up and seeks him out, he finds there's an attraction between them that can't be denied.

No Return, No Return by Carsonian @carsonian (MCU)

In many ways, Tony Stark has spent his whole life waiting to meet something real enough to test himself against. He hadn't planned on it being Steve Rogers.

Wish You Were Here by One and Five Nines (MCU)

Steve starts sending Tony postcards.

tear these old walls down by susiecarter @susiecarter (MCU)

Steve didn't like Tony Stark. Stark probably didn't like Steve, either. They'd gotten off on the wrong foot, and that was putting it mildly. And having to pretend to be a civilian Stark was dating, as cover for trying to save Stark's life while Iron Man was busy with a SHIELD mission, obviously wasn't going to help.

when you're gone by talktothesky @thatbuddie (MCU)

Steve's had to get used to many things in the 21st century but falling in love with Tony Stark might be the weirdest one yet. Especially because the man's dead.

not a lot, just forever by Thahire @thahiree (MCU)

A few months after the Battle of New York, Tony invites Steve over to see the apartment he has built for him. Steve, of course, is totally normal about this and not panicking at all.

Handheld by talesofsuspense (MCU)

When Steve starts stopping for lunch at Shawarma Palace he isn't expecting Tony to show up and to keep showing up. And he definitely isn't expecting a guide to the 21st century.

posing up a storm by picturecat @snoozingcat (MCU, alt 2012)

“I have an idea. Can we just pretend the day ended with that really badass Superfriends pose we did?”

Machines and Marvels by rainbowninja167 (MCU, alt 2012)

Or: In an alternate timeline where the Avengers never formed, Steve and Tony need a crash course in team bonding. Stephen Strange just had to take that literally.

choke on me by imperialstark @persephonesfill (MCU, WIP)

After fending off an alien invasion, Tony Stark has one more obstacle to face; Steve Rogers. Steve believes that they have a connection which Tony is trying hard to ignore. After a moment of passion aboard the helicarrier, Tony can't seem to stay away from Steve as their lives grow ever more intertwined.

and two self-recs!

I'll Be (Good To You) by ishipallthings (MCU, soulmate AU)

Steve Rogers wakes up seventy years out of time to a new world and a soulmate. It’s an adjustment. What he doesn’t expect is Tony Stark, a brilliant futurist who is equal parts fascinating and frustrating, and has just as many demons as Steve. He also doesn’t expect to find a family with a ragtag team of superheroes, or to fall in love. Luckily, Steve is nothing if not adaptable.

An Armored Heart by ishipallthings (AA)

In which Red Skull goes after Steve Rogers, and Tony realizes just how much he has to lose.

Hope you guys enjoy the recs, and stay tuned! Please mind the tags before reading. Check out my tag for previous years’ rec lists :)

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #steve x tony #capimrecweek #marvel #my rec lists #fic recs

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tothosewholisten · 3 months

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Forever Healed | TUA insert

Chapter: 05

<<previous chapter | next chapter>>

Masterlist

…

Five and I discussed our new plan on the way back to the academy.

“We need to go back, now.” Five insisted as he paced around his bedroom.

I stood by the door trying to distance myself from the angry teen.

“I know..” I pause. “But you already saw how demanding works. And also you're a kid, of course they didn't take you seriously.”

“Why is this eye so important anyway?” I ask.

He huffs. “Whoever has this eye brings upon the end of the world. I need to figure out who it is.”

Every time Five repeats that the world is ending I try to ignore it. But with the D-day getting closer and closer I realize I need to do a few things on my bucket list.

“We need someone else.” He mutters, breaking me out of my thoughts.

He's right, our story wasn't convincing at all. You need a strong narrative to get information out of suckers. So we need a dramatic person who can play a part.

Suddenly it dawned on me. We need-

“You know, I am so thrilled to join your guys' spy mission! It's just like old times.” Klaus reminisced with sappy tears in his eyes.

“I don't think we've ever done this.” Five retorts.

I know that the boy wasn't the most excited about getting help from Klaus but I told him if Klaus puts his mind to it, we're getting that information.

Five and I went over to the dining room where Klaus was snoring on the couch. In his underwear.

At first he wouldn't get up, that was until Five offered him twenty dollars and he bolted upstairs to get ready. We trailed after him back to Five’s room where he was waiting on Five's bed.

I love Klaus but his outfit choices have always been questionable even when we were teens.

“What are you wearing?” I asked disgustedly.

I did not receive an answer because Five heard a noise and peered his head out the door.

An annoyed look on his face appeared when he turned back around to us. “Vanya's here. Klaus hide.” He whispers.

Klaus gets up from the bed and dashes around the room, looking for anywhere that's big enough to fit his lanky body. I point to Five's closet.

He contorts himself to fit inside and closes the door behind him. Just in time too because Vanya walks into the room.

“Thank god, I was worried sick about you two.” She expressed her uneasiness.

I frowned. “Sorry, we left without saying goodbye.” If only I wasn't dragged by that little boy I would've loved to talk to her more.

“No look. I'm the one who should be sorry.” Vanya turns to Five. “Yeah, I was dismissive, and I– I guess I couldn't process what you were saying. And I still can't to be honest.” She stutters out.

I couldn't tell if it was an act but Five’s face turned almost sad. “Maybe you were right to be dismissive.” He says.

I'm not sure where this acting was when we were at Meritech. But I match his hurt look.

“Maybe it wasn't real after all. It felt real. Well like you said, the old man did say time travel could contaminate the mind.” Five continued.

Five is interrupted by a loud crash that comes from the closet. I ran over to stand in front of it trying to distract from the noises Klaus was making as they kept talking.

“Then maybe I'm not the right person for you to be talking to. Look, I used to see someone. A therapist, I could give you her information.” Vanya shares.

Five is quick to feign a smile. “No thanks, but I think I'm just going to get something to eat. It's been a long time since I've had good food.”

Vanya nods and steps back out of the room.

As soon as Five goes back to the door to make sure that she is gone, the warm look on his face disappears and his permanent scowl returns instead.

The closet behind me starts to shake and I take a step away hoping that Klaus doesn't decide to fall on me.

His curled body leaps out of the closet. “That was so… touching!” He trips over fallen junk from the closet. “All that stuff about family and Dad and time. Wow!”

“Will you shut up, she'll hear you.” He yells.

“I'm moist.”

“What the hell Klaus.” I scoot further away from him.

Five takes a moment to look him up and down. “I thought I told you to put on something professional.”

The outfit he put on was a green button-up shirt with frilly red-lined sleeves. Honestly atrocious.

“What? This is my nicest outfit.” Klaus cries.

“Let's go look at the old man's closet,” I suggest pushing Klaus out of the room.

Five groans before following us out.

“As long as I get paid,” Klaus exclaims.

“When the job is done.”

He stops us. “Okay, but just so we're clear on the finer details. I just gotta go into this place and pretend to be your dear old Dad. Correct?”

“Yeah, something like that,” I replied.

“What's our cover story then?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Five gives him a puzzled look.

“I mean, was I really young when I had y/n? Like, 16? Like, young and terribly misguided. Then yada yada some years later you came along, Five.” Klaus rambles putting his hands on his chest.

“Sure.”

“Your mother, that slut.. whoever she was. We met at.. oh! The disco.”

I cackle at Klaus’s backstory but Five couldn't look more concerned.

“Remember that.” The man snaps. “Oh, my god, the sex was amazinggg.”

“What a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain.” Five turns to go down the stairs.

Klaus holds out his pointer like a stern dad. “Don't make me put you into time out.” He yells.

“Like I said to your son and daughter?” The same doctor questions us from before.

We arrived at the same part of the building but this time the man had the decency to bring us to his office.

“Yes, these are my children,” Klaus replies affirmatively.

He now had on one of Reginald's many suits; it made him look the part.

“Yeah, can't you tell?” My hand messaging my temple as I throw that in, trying to mask my sarcasm, cause well none of us looked alike.

“Well, like I told your children earlier, any information about the prosthetics we build is strictly confidential.” The man emphasizes each word to us like we are all babies.

Klaus sat in a chair across from the man's desk and I sat in the other, but Five stood up in the middle of us with his hands on the doctor's glass desk. Getting ready for round two of his yelling match.

“Without the client's consent. I simply can't help you.”

“Well, we can't get consent if you don't give us a name.” Five yells.

The doctor looks defeated. “Well, that's not my problem.”

I’m sure Five wished his powers were laser eyes instead of teleportation because of how he was staring at the man so intensely.

“Sorry. Now, there's really nothing more I can do, so–”

Klaus looked up from his lap. “And what about my consent?”

“Excuse me?”

Everyone turns to look at him.

“Who gave you permission… to lay your hands on my son?” Klaus cried.

“What?” Five, the doctor and I all say at once.

“You heard me.”

“I didn't touch your son.” The man states matter of factly.

Klaus slowly gets up from his chair “Oh, really? Well, how did he get that swollen lip then?”

“He doesn't have a swollen-”

The man didn't have time to finish his sentence because Klaus suddenly swung at Five and slapped him in the mouth.

I hide my expression with my palm and watch.

He inhales sharply. “I want it. Name, please. Now.” He slaps his hands onto the doctor's desk.

The man stutters trying to think of something to say. “You're crazy.” He replies.

Klaus fakes a chuckle. “You got no idea.”

He picks up the snow globe on the man's desk. “Peace on earth? That's so sweet.” He reads out loud.

He then smashes the snow globe into his head causing everyone to let out a shriek as it breaks into tiny pieces. I cringe looking at all that blood on his head.

He screams out. “God that hurt.” Water from the snow globe dripped all over his face.

The man doesn't break eye contact with Klaus but hurryingly reaches for the telephone on his desk.

“I'm calling secur– what are you doing?” The man yells out but Klaus takes the telephone right from his sweaty hands.

“There's been an assault… in Mr. Big's office, and we need security, now. Schnell!” Klaus screams into the telephone before slamming it back onto its post.

He sighs. “Now, here's what's gonna happen, Grant.”

“It's… Lance.”

“In about sixty seconds two security guards are gonna burst through that door, and they're gonna see a whole lot of blood and wonder ‘What the hell happened?’ And we're gonna tell them that you… beat the shit out of us!” Klaus rambles.

“While making googly eyes at my young daughter!” He sobs.

Five stares at Klaus admirably.

“You're gonna do great in prison, Grant. Trust me, I've been there. A little piece of chicken like you. Oh my god, you're gonna get passed around like a…” He moves his hips in a circle to make a point.

Then shutters thinking back at old memories. “You're just– you're gonna do great. That's all I'm saying.”

Lance almost cries out looking at all of us. “Jesus, you are a real sick bastard.”

Klaus stares at him blankly. “Thank you.”

He spits out a piece of snow globe glass. The look on Five face is priceless, I'm for one so proud of Klaus right now. He never went Broadway but this was pretty close.

Lance rushes over to a long line of filing cabinets. Searching for the information that will satisfy us. Klaus sat on top of the cabinet making the doctor go even faster, fearing for his life.

“Oh, that's strange.” He says.

“What.” Five ask.

“Uh, the eye. It hasn't been purchased by a client yet.”

Klaus jumps off the cabinet and gets up into Lance's face. “What? What do you mean?” He whispers.

“Well, uh, our logs say that the eye with that serial number… This can't be right. It hasn't even been manufactured yet.” Lance looks up at Five. “Where did you get that eye?”

Five huffs. He walks away from all of us to the elevator and leaves us with Lance.

I grab onto Klaus to move him outside as he blows Lance a smooch before we go into the elevator as well.

We walk out of the building's doors when Five starts to talk again. “Well, this is not good.” He says.

“I was pretty good, though, right? ‘Yeah. What about my consent, bitch?” He laughs.

“Klaus, it doesn't matter.” The boy sighs and we stop walking.

“What? What, what's the big deal with this eye, anyways?” The hurt Klaus asks.

I grab onto the two men to heal them of their injuries before answering for Five who looks like he's about to explode.

“There's someone out there who's going to lose an eye in the next seven days. And they're gonna bring about the end of life on earth as we know it!” I say, rubbing my forehead.

“Yeah, can I get that twenty bucks, like, now, or what?”

I stare at my adopted brother with my brows furrowed. “You're not gonna question what I just said, at all?”

Five steps closer to him. “The apocalypse is coming and all you can think about is getting high?”

“Well, I'm also quite hungry. Tummies a rumblin.” Klaus wiggles his fingers to imitate grumbling.

“You're useless.” Five shakes his head while walking away from the two of us to sit on the building's steps.

“Oh come on, you need to lighten up old man!” Klaus mocks. I move from Klaus to sit near Five and listen to the rest of Klaus’s spiel.

“Hey, you know, I’ve just now realized why you're so uptight. You must be horny as hell!”

Klaus’s laughter is matched by my own as he sits next to us. “That’s not funny Klaus,” I reply still giggling. Five on the other hand wasn’t amused, he looked deep in thought not even staring in our direction.

“All those years by yourself, it's gotta screw with your head, being alone.”

Five concentration breaks, “well.” He starts. “I wasn't alone.” Klaus and I immediately go silent and stare at him.

“Spill,” I say.

“Her name was Delores. We were together for over thirty years.” The small bit of happiness on Five's face was very easy to see.

“Thirty years? Oh, wow!” Klaus chuckles. “God, the longest I've been with someone.. I didn't know for three weeks. And that's only because I was so tired from looking for a place to sleep.”

Klaus went on like that for a good five minutes rambling about his love life and how hard it was not having anywhere to stay. I yawned in desperate need of a break from whatever this was. And it looked like Five was ready to blink away.

I turned to him and signaled that we should leave by nudging my head to the busy road that was right in front of the building. He nods back at me.

“He did make the most fantastic osso buco, though. It was..”

Five takes hold of my sleeve and we blink from the steps into a taxi. “Don’t stop, just keep driving.” Five demands of the panicked driver.

“Hey! Where’d you guys go?” I hear Klaus yell as we drive past him. Five turns to the window and gives Klaus a wave that makes him instantly stand up and try to run over to us.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, what about my money?!” He shouts but we’re long gone by then. I would’ve felt bad if this wasn't so funny.

Five was bleak at times and angry, and a lot of other things but he had his fun moments. We missed a lot of time getting to know each other but, this made up for it.

“So where to now?” I ask.

“I am going to run, uh an errand. I'm dropping you off at the academy.”

“Sounds good to me.” I smile. I needed this break to rest today. It was exhausting. “Our adventures have been fun, we should do it again.”

He turns to me, “Oh yeah?”

I hum in response.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The sky turned a vibrant shade of dark blue by the time we reached a familiar street, we were almost at the academy. I kinda wanted to join Five on his errand but I didn't say anything.

I paid the taxi driver the spare tens in my pocket for not freaking out and reminded myself that I'd pay Klaus tomorrow too. And walked up to the doors of the Umbrella Academy.

“Goodnight Five!” I call out as I open the front door. But I walked in before hearing his response, only hearing the sound of the taxi driving away.

I found myself in a spot I always went to when I needed to escape my ‘father’. It was a storage closet-like room that had a tiny balcony where Ben and I would hang out in the late hours of the night.

But now I was by myself and Ben was nowhere to be found. So I lit a cigarette and stared at the night sky. It’s a bad habit that I picked up during all my time with Klaus, It did help me calm my nerves though.

“Y/n?”

I turned around to see Alison in the doorway. A frown was painted on her beautiful face.

“It's good to see you, I didn't expect you to still be here.” She expressed while sitting down next to me.

“Me neither but I had a busy day chasing around a fifty-something-year-old. Thought I'd stay just to see what else happened around here. Or the truth could be I just kinda missed it around here, I'm not sure.”

Alison nodded. “I'm glad you're here, we haven’t really talked at all I've just been so busy with trying to get in touch with Claire and-“

I briefly cut her off. “Yeah, is everything okay with that?”

“My ex-husband, Patrick is trying to make it seem like I don’t care about this court stuff. Since I'm missing a session of mandated therapy.” She huffs.

“Can I have a cigarette?”

I reached into my black jacket pocket and pulled out the pack. Half of it was already empty but I just bought it before I came here, I guess I need more.

“Wouldn't the court recognize that as like, certain circumstances?” I ask.

“Yes! That’s what I tried to tell him. But he won't listen at all.” Alison groaned, holding the now-lit cigarette.

I smirk. “He sounds like an ass.”

“You don’t even know,” we both shared a good laugh.

“But,” she says while laughing. “What’s been going on with you? I know that's very broad because we haven’t seen each other since my wedding but, have you been doing anything new?”

I look forward to the pitch-black sky. “Yeah uhm, not much,”

Alison thinks for a moment, “Oh! I know. Whatever happened to your boyfriend? The guy you brought to my wedding.”

I froze, my mouth slightly open and the cigarette I held between my lips fell to the balcony floor. “Oh him..”

“Did something happen Y/n?”

“No no, we just broke up I guess.”

Alison grabs onto my hand, squeezing me tightly. “I'm so sorry.” She says.

It’s not that I forgot about my ex, no I couldn’t. I just liked to pretend that he was a part of my childhood nothing more. But in reality, we only broke up about half a year ago.

“We didn’t have the best relationship,” I told her. “He wasn't the nicest guy but I stayed. We were on and off but I officially broke up with him a couple of months ago.”

She fiddled with her curly hair. “I would’ve never been able to tell, he just seemed so nice at the time. I thought you guys were the perfect match. Y/n I'm so sorry, forget I brought him up.”

“It’s okay, I mean you didn't know,” I reassured the woman.

“If you need anything I'm always here for you, you know? I don’t think we were ever the closet but. I'm here for you.” Alison states.

I wasn't sure how to respond, this was all so surreal. Telling someone how I felt was like a boulder being lifted off my chest. I was comfortable enough to do it again.

“Thank you, Alison, I appreciate you.” I grinned

“Miss Alison, are you up here?” Pogo's voice called out. The ape walked into the room as dapper as ever in his suit. “Ah, Miss Y/n you’re up here too good.”

“I was looking for you.” He said to Alison.

We quickly put out our cigarettes and turned our attention to Pogo.

“How did you, uh.. How’d you know I was up here?” She asked.

“Well it wasn't hard, this is where you two would always come when you were upset. I remember it, yes.” He nodded.

I didn’t know that Alison would come here too. All of our childhood I felt myself slightly put up against her when really we couldn’t be more alike.

“Who told you I was.. Luther.” She sighs.

“It was Miss Vanya. She called to make sure you were okay.”

“What happened?” I blurt out.

Alison stretches her legs by walking around the room. “I said some pretty

unkind things to her earlier.”

Pogo shook his head. “She’s your sister. She knows you didn't mean it.”

“Doubt it” Alison scoffs. “She doesn't know anything about me, which is fine because I don’t know shit about here either.”

That was the downside of all of us branching out, we never stayed in touch. If I had moved to a different state I would’ve never known how Klaus was doing and how I could help him. How different my life could’ve been, I mean what if I didn't come to the funeral? Life would’ve died without me having the slightest clue.

“Language”

Alison chuckles at his humor. “Sorry.”

Afraid of just sitting there, I cut into their conversation. “It has been a while since we’ve lived under the same roof, you know?”

They both agree with my sentiment.

“Almost thirteen years,” Pogo said

“Wow,” Alison and I both remark.

“How did you do it? Also in this big house for so long?” I ask.

“Well, one grows used to things, even if sometimes.. one shouldn’t.” He replies, the sadness evident in his voice.

I should’ve visited him, I'm an adult, Reginald can’t scare me anymore and no one was here. I was so close to them but still, I never wanted to come back without a reason. This place was my home for many years, yes, but it wasn’t my first home.

Pogo senses that we’re both down in the dumps. “You two should come with me. I want to show you something. It might just cheer you up,” he says.

We followed Pogo downstairs into one of the mansion's many rooms. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen this room before. The hallway was dark with only a few orange lights that barely helped see anything.

The tiny room was filled with rows of old TVs and controls with glowing buttons. Most of the tvs were black but there were a few Pogo must've turned on. Then he went into a box and pulled out a tape. He placed it into the TV closest to him.

The tape played old security camera recordings of us as kids, probably around thirteen from what we looked like. It would’ve been creepy if it didn't make me sad, these memories are some of the good times at the academy that I ignored because of all the bad.

Alison and I gawked at the footage. We sat in two chairs that were in front of the TVs as Pogo talked to us from behind. “Your father stopped recording years ago. But I still come here from time to time. When I'm missing you kids.” He said.

Alison was the first to speak. “Pogo, this is..” she sighs. “Most families have home movies to look back on. We have surveillance footage.”

“I hoped it might cheer you up.”

I laugh. “This definitely does.”

Previous to the new tape Pogo just put in, some of the other TVs had more footage. My eyes drifted from screen to screen soaking up all the cute moments.

“Oh my god look how little we were,” Alison tells me.

One screen was Alison and I in her room trying on Grace’s clothes. “Ohh, I remember this,” I said.

And Alison turns to see the one I'm looking at. “This was so fun! Mom always had the best clothes.” She exclaimed.

Grace's dresses were obviously too big for us, but that didn't stop us. Her clothes were modeled after old housewives of a different time and might look strange and out of date to others. But we loved them.

I moved to another screen of me, Ben and Klaus talking. We were sitting on one of the main staircases. I wish I could freeze time to that moment forever, just the three of us again.

Alison follows where my sad eyes are staring. “I miss him so much.” She said upsetly.

“Me too” I whisper.

The screen next to that was of Vanya, playing her violin alone. You could hear the sound of us children in the background and Alison’s voice while she played by herself. It was the heartbreaking reality of our childhood.

“Why didn't we include her? I mean if anyone ever treated Claire like that, I can’t even imagine.” Alison wonders.

“You were children, Miss Alison,” Pogo replies.

“Yeah.. but I'm not anymore and neither is she.”

Pogo straightens up like he’s getting ready to head out. “If you two aren’t in a hurry. There’s more tapes in that cabinet.” He nudges his head to a large cabinet overflowing with tapes with all different labels.

The man drops the key into my hand. “Make sure to lock up when you're done, things have been disappearing lately. These are too important to lose.”

I tell him I will and Pogo heads back out through the door. But before he leaves he gives us one more look. I turn back towards the screens and rethink back to those happier days.

Alison stands up to go over to the cabinet, she picks up a similar-looking tape. But above the box, there was a rusty tape. The label was gone and it looked scratched up.

“What’s that?” I ask. She opens it and slides it into a screen.

“I don’t know but I guess we're gonna see.” She hits rewind and it starts to buffer before playing. The video was harder to make out than all the other black-and-white films. Alison and I both leaned in and once my eyes focused it was clear what was going on.

“Oh god, Dad.”

…

Aug 14 update:

If you'd like to be added to the tag list for rest of the series (starts at chapter 10) say taglist in the comments!

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foolishlovers · 6 months

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FAKE DATING FIC RECS: Below you can find a list of Good Omens fics in which Crowley and Aziraphale are fake dating each other. [AUs and non-AUs included]

[Requested by @waitingtobebroken. You can request more fic recs here.]

Tell Your Plants I Love Them by JustJReally (T, 3k) Trying to get over Crowley by going on a date with someone else, Aziraphale reflected, was not a good plan. Agreeing to go on a date with Gabriel, of all people, was an even worse plan. In which Aziraphale is rescued from a terrible date by a knight in shining sunglasses.

My Memory With You by jessikast (T, 4k) “Does anyone there look familiar? I am going to kill Adam, he’s done this on purpose!” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale frowned. “Well, Adam of course. And-“ “Nanny Ashtoreth?” came a disbelieving – and American – voice. “Is that you?” *** Adam brings his boyfriend, Warlock, home for the holiday. Adam figures out that Warlock's nanny and gardner may, in fact, be a certain demon and angel of his acquaintance. Adam has a very, very good idea. In which Aziraphale and Crowley are required to pull on some old disguises at short notice, Warlock is delighted to see his old caretakers again, and Adam's going to pay for this later but right now it's hilarious.

when you take me by the hand by summerofspock, wargoddess9 (E, 9k) Crowley's got a plan for managing his rekindled friendship with Aziraphale. It all goes to hell when he opens his big mouth. ** “I have a rather large favor to ask.” When he is silent for too long, Aziraphale prompts, “And what is it?” “So, my cheer captain was going to ask me out and I panicked and said I was dating someone and when they asked who it was I may or may not have implied it was…you.”

You, Soft and Only by thehoyden (E, 9k) He hadn’t expected a sudden lapful of angel. “Very sorry about this,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him.

Side Mission by KannaOphelia (T, 11k) Some time after Warlock's ninth birthday, Aziraphale and Crowley have realised they made a mistake, and tracked the real Antichrist down to Tadfield. Two years to save the world is more than enough, right? Except everyone keeps assuming they are a married couple, and it's almost too much for a hopelessly in love demon to bear. Especially when Aziraphale suggests they might as well go along with it.

be mine tonight (be mine forever) by artenon (T, 11k) Aziraphale knows he’s a solitary person. He knows Crowley may very well be his only true friend. He doesn’t mind this. He does, however, very much mind learning that his coworkers have a betting pool on whether he’ll be coming alone to the department holiday party next week. He especially minds when he learns that the reason there is a betting pool in the first place is because their intern, young Newton Pulsifer, is the only one naïve enough to believe Aziraphale might have a date. ----- In retaliation to a bet made against him, Aziraphale asks Crowley to be his date to the office holiday party. Certainly there are no flaws to be found in this plan. Certainly the secret love Aziraphale has been harboring for Crowley for the past several years won't be an issue. Certainly not.

The Arrangement by TawnyOwl95 (E, 19k) Aziraphale and Crowley are set up on a blind date as a joke by their respective housemates. They decide to get their own back and call everybody's bluff by gasp fake dating!

Talk About It by hope_in_the_dark (T, 20k) Aziraphale and Crowley have been best friends for sixteen years. Crowley's been in love with Aziraphale for almost that long. When Aziraphale tells his family that he'll be bringing his boyfriend to his step-brother's wedding, things get a bit complicated. A Fake Dating AU.

Like Best Friends Do by LittleLynn (E, 21k) As usual, Crowley had decided to open his mouth before thinking about what exactly it was that he was about to let spill forth from it. As a result of this, unsurprisingly, he was now in a spot of hot water. Boiling water. Possibly water so hot that it had gone ahead and become some kind of pyroclastic steam. At least Aziraphale could usually be relied upon to take pity on him. This was a big ask though, even by Crowley's please-let-me-keep-empty-aerosol-cans-in-your-cellar-it's-nothing-illegal-I-swear standards. This was, without a doubt, a bigger ask than the aerosol cans.

muddle through somehow by curtaincall (T, 27k) Aziraphale Fell runs a successful food blog, Celestial Comestibles, where he shares mouthwatering recipes and heartwarming stories about his happy domestic life in a cottage with his husband and son. As promotion for his upcoming cookbook, his publishers run a contest: one lucky winner will get to spend Christmas with Aziraphale and his family. What the publishers don't know is that the real Aziraphale Fell is a single city-dweller. And if he wants to keep up his happily married persona, he'll have to acquire a cottage, husband, and son before Christmas. As it happens, his friend and neighbor Anthony Crowley has his nephew staying with him for the holidays. One fake marriage proposal later, and everything seems tickety-boo--as long as Aziraphale can keep from developing inconveniently real feelings for his pretend husband…

Faking It by bisasterdi (E, 28k) In the immediate aftermath of the Nope-Let's-Notpocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale tentatively begin to move on, hoping Heaven and Hell will leave them alone in the wake of both of their failed trials. Of course, nothing could possibly be that simple. It isn't that Gabriel or Beelzebub have actually figured out how the trials were subverted…but boy, do they THINK they have it figured out. Thankfully, it won't take much to keep them in the dark. (Crowley and Aziraphale just have to spend eternity together, pretending to be in love with each other. All Crowley needs to do is make sure Aziraphale never finds out that everything he's saying and doing is true.)

dearly departed by attheborder (T, 29k) Finally, Aziraphale spoke. “You mean to say— you got us married?” “Just as a precaution, I never really thought I’d end up discorporated again, it’d been ages, you just don’t get stampedes or assassinations like you used to —” “You got us married, and you didn’t tell me?” *** Crowley gets inconveniently discorporated. And it’s not like it’s ever been easy to get a new body, but this time around, things really aren’t looking good. His new innuendo-obsessed lust-demon of a coworker honestly isn’t helping things. Meanwhile, Aziraphale has a dead body to contend with, and an occult mortician & his very normal daughter to fend off. What lengths will he go to in order to get Crowley back to Earth?

make it with you by NaroMoreau (E, 31k) PAID RESEARCH OPPORTUNITY: A romantic couples study!! ------ Aziraphale and Crowley are broke roommates who are struggling to keep up with rent and a harsh landlord. After Crowley loses his job and Aziraphale's bookshop hasn't managed to make enough profit, they'll resort to anything to save what they love, and when they come across with the idea of a paid study for couples… Because some ideas are good until they aren't.

The Small Ad by SylWritesStuff, ladydragona (E, 32k) WORK WANTED: Partner For Hire. Tall, lanky ginger of arguable gender available to be your significant other to keep pesky relatives, nosy coworkers, or well-meaning friends at bay. Able to be as annoying or as polite as you like. Causing a fight over Christmas dinner with your odd, bigoted uncle/aunt/cousin will require an extra £200 up front. £50 for the first hour, negotiable otherwise. Ciao. It isn't the sort of advertisement Aziraphale usually paid any attention to, but desperate times do indeed call for desperate measures.

In The Shadows Of Our Past, A Flicker by WaitingToBeBroken (E, 36k)

One went to Aziraphale's bookshop to exchange secrets, buy information or simply to use as a safe haven from the powers that be.

One did not go there looking for a partner for a seemingly-innocent mission to a tropical island, stalking a perfectly normal couple. Where unfortunately they would have to pretend they were married. As if that would have stopped Crowley, anyway.

Throw in their mysterious and complicated past, danger lurking from where they are least expecting and Crowley's very naked, very tattooed body that suddenly seems to be everywhere, and you might find them in a situation they are too ineffable to escape.

Or, my entry for the Good AUmens fest for the Fake Marriage prompt, with a hearty dash of Spies subplot.

Green Things Are Flowers Too by summerofspock (E, 60k) “Oh yes,” Crowley said breezily. “This is my husband, Francis. He’s a gardener by trade. We were hoping you might have an opening. An estate such as this.” Aziraphale gaped from where he stood on the stoop, feeling his heart speed up. Husband? Francis? Gardener? He’d never agreed to any of this! ** In which Aziraphale and Crowley pretend to be married while they stay at the Dowlings as Nanny and Francis.

and now all of my garden is grown in lavender by ilikeblue (E, 70k, WIP) Popular queer romance author, A.Z. Fell, has been lying about having a husband and a happy marriage for years. Longing to escape a string of failed relationships and looking for a fresh start, Aziraphale moves into the cottage left to him by his Great Aunt Agnes. When a TV adaptation of one of his books leads to sudden popularity and throws him into the limelight, his fans (and the press) are eager to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale's own mysterious leading man. Unfortunately, he still has to cast someone for that role. Enter the handsome gardener… Under Crowley's meticulous care the cottage's neglected garden slowly comes back to life, and Aziraphale finds himself writing the most important love story he'll ever write: his own

on the same page by Chekhov (E, 117k) Aziraphale Z. Fell is a rising star of the spiritual literary genre - the next Eat Pray Love guy - and his version of Chicken Soup For the Christian Soul is flying off the shelves. It's not that he's not grateful, but it's one thing to enjoy a career in writing and another completely to be pigeonholed into a specific genre, so much so that you are almost forbidden from writing anything else. So yes, maybe he has a bit of a secret. An outlet for his less… appropriate urges. And yes, if his typical readership got word of the sort of paragraphs he could put out on a particularly inspired night, they might suffer some form of heart attack typical for their age. But all of that is well hidden, and there is absolutely no way anyone would ever find out about his Arrangement with A.J. Crowley - the most debaucherous romantic fiction author of the decade. That is… until they have to pretend to be married to each other.

The Curve of Old Bones by Jenanigans1207 (E, 201k) Aziraphale watches as Crowley’s smile grows, sharpens and turns distinctively dastardly. And even though Aziraphale knows what he’s in store for, he’s entirely unprepared for the words that slip out of Crowley’s mouth next. “Name’s Anthony Crowley, Aziraphale’s husband.” Aziraphale is eternally grateful that he wasn’t taking a sip of his tea at that exact moment for he would’ve surely choked on it. -- When Crowley claims to be Aziraphale's husband to ruin what he assumes is a date, he doesn't think anything of it. But a day later it comes back to bite him in the ass when Crowley finds out that the date in question is, in fact, his new boss, who is looking to hire Aziraphale and hoping that Crowley, his husband, will put in a good word for them. Now Crowley is caught in a tight spot: either admit to his new boss that he was lying, or convince Aziraphale, his sort-of enemy, to pretend to be his husband to save face.

[You can find more fic rec masterposts here.]

#appreciating reblogs sm so other ppl can find these gems too 🥰#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #good omens fic rec #good omens human au #fake dating #aziracrow #aziracrow fic #aziraphale x crowley #go fic masterpost #foolishlovers

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