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eilidh-eternal · 6 months

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You have a secret

Part of the Metanoia series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

| SingleDad!Johnny x f!reader | 18+ MDNI | CW death of a loved one, grief, attempted SA, Johnny and reader are going through it |

Glasgow is cold in January.

Hogmanay came and went with the typical rambunctious celebrations, every bar and pub in the city overflowing with patrons that spill out onto the pavement and the streets, properly drunk and stumbling over one another as they make their way to the next bar. Some of your coworkers invited you out for a bar crawl, just as they did last year, but you’d decided going out in the freezing weather and nursing a hangover at work in the morning isn’t worth the trouble. So home you stay, curled up with cheap Tesco sparkling wine and the last book on your reading list for the year, the tv playing a montage of celebrations across the city quietly in the background, and you slink off to bed just as the fireworks settle and the night falls quiet.

The days that follow are quiet too, the first week of the new year creeping along in the hazy in between, that little reset that comes between the holiday season and the yawning winter that looms before you, corporate deadlines and end of fiscal year reports that will start to pile up soon. You enjoy the quiet calm of that in between, try to remember what it feels like to be able to step away from your desk and take a lap around the office to stretch your legs before you’re inundated with so many reports you hardly have time to break away to use the restroom.

Johnny frequents your thoughts more than you'd like to admit as you stroll around the office floor, wondering if he's operating in the same lull as you are, biding his time until his next assignment with dull busywork and monotonous routine. Wondering if he and Isobel had celebrated Hogmanay at home like you had or if maybe he’d taken her to a friends flat with him, one of his team members. Wondered if he let her stay up late with him and counted down the fireworks display together, or if he tucked her into a spare bedroom some hours before, waking her up just in time to see them and take her home to her own bed for the night.

The growing tinge of disappointment hung like storm clouds over your mood when you hadn’t seen much of them in the days leading up to the new year, and you began to think maybe all the smiles, all the double entendres, were just a friendly personality and polite kindness on his part; just a neighbor being neighborly. There was an exchange of phone numbers with the offer to call or text one another if the other ever needed anything after dinner several weeks ago. Hardly an invitation for conversation. Another polite exchange and thanks for your mutual goodwill.

Pretending not to care, to resist the urge to check your phone whenever it vibrates on your desk or in your back pocket, takes more effort than you had expected. It’s not him. Why would it be him? It’s not like he said he would call.

But Johnny has a habit of surprising you.

Snow and lights and festive wreaths don’t hold the same wonderment they used to. They all remind him of her. Remind him how she always insisted on a big family dinner. How she was always the one who invited everyone to their home and always had his favorite scotch on hand to toast with at midnight. The lights remind him of flashing red and blue, screaming sirens that cut through the air like the mournful wail of a banshee. The snow covered roads look too much like the roads did that day, tires slipping and sliding, the tail end of his car nearly spinning him out on the highway in his desperation to get to her.

And the quiet.

The quiet of the world when snow falls and blankets the earth in layers of glittering sorrow makes the silence deafening. Her laughter doesn’t echo Isobels, there are no footsteps mirrored in the snow beside hers, and the tiny angel in the front yard stares up at the clouds where its missing guardian watches over them. It’s hard, for both of them. Isobel doesn't remember the accident, doesn’t remember riding in the ambulance with her mother or the way the security guard and several nurses had to hold Johnny back when she coded. She doesn't remember the tears, the anger, the denial of everything unfolding in front of him, crumbling around him and knocking the air from his lungs, leaving him crumpled on the floor outside her room.

Isobel didn’t see how he sat slumped against the wall with his head between his knees, arms folded over his legs and fingers digging into his skin until the blunt edges of his nails drew blood. She never saw the procession of doctors and nurses that slowly filed out of the room, the only sound in the somber silence the soft tapping of rubber soles on tile. No beeping from monitors, no clicks and whooshes of the ventilator. Heavy, suffocating silence.

The social worker sat with him, let him fall apart right there on the hospital floor, a sympathetic hand resting on his trembling shoulder as he poured his heart out onto the cold, sterile white tile beneath him. When the silence became unbearable, when it started clawing at his skull and slicing into his skin like razor wire, he let her fill it. He listened to her tell him that Isobel is okay–scared, in shock–but alive and breathing. Lets her lead him through more sterile hallways to an office where another social worker does their best to occupy the tiny girl, but the minute Johnny walks through that door she’s all trembling hands and watery eyes, wobbly chin and confused tears.

He does his best not to let her see it, not when the snow is still full of magic and the lights still make her eyes bright with joy, pure and unbridled. But it's hard to hide the grief that dulls his own, the wintery haze that hardens them into icy pools that long for the warmth of summer skies. It’s hard to step outside and breathe the crisp winter air and not feel his throat constrict, feel the warmth seep from his body, replaced with the empty cold of a world without her in it.

Sometimes he can hear little bits of her in the way Isobel laughs, can see the same stubborn crease of her brow when she can’t quite figure something out and refuses to ask for his help. He sees the same light and spark in her eyes, the same mischief that they once shared through the years, and he can't bear to dim that light, to extinguish the joy and happiness that lives there.

It was a quiet holiday for the two of them. No big parties, no dinner and drinks, despite John's invitation. Just Johnny and Isobel, cuddled up together on the couch watching movies and sharing bites of whatever snack or dessert the other brought with them. He thought about texting you, asking if you had plans to go out, or maybe stay in. Isobel came trotting back from the kitchen, one of the cookies the two of you had made together in-hand, and clambered onto his lap, peering at the unsent message to you on his phone screen.

“What’s it say?” She squints her little eyes at the letters, still not quite able to put the words together.

“Nothin’, leannan.” The words disappear from the text field and he tosses his phone aside to settle his arms around her. “Did ye bring one for me?” She shakes her head no but breaks off a chunk and offers it up to him. “Thank ye.” He leans forward to take it from her, takes the bite straight from her hand, and her delighted giggles fill the gaping hole in his chest with comforting warmth.

Cinnamon and pine still lingers in the air, mingled with the scent of paper and ink, with the warm coffee several customers clutch between cold fingers. With boxing day and the holidays behind them, the shops are much less overwhelming at this time of year, most of the aisles in the book store blessedly empty and the silence only occasionally interrupted by the fluttering of pages or soft footsteps on carpeted floors. The perfect atmosphere for strolling between shelves and taking the time to read more than the blurb on the inside cover of a book before adding it to the small collection already cradled in your arms. It’s the perfect, quiet afternoon until it’s not. Until the silence is broken and every hair on the back of your neck is standing at attention.

“Well, lookit you. Pretty little thing, aren’t ya?” The words are clumsily spoken, slurred and hot against your cheek where his breath fans across clammy skin, sour and putrid, reeking of alcohol and god knows what else. He plucks the book from your hands, works hard to focus his eyes as he surveys the cover art and skims through a passage from the middle of the book. You stumble back a step, heels catching on the shelf behind you and nearly sending a few of the more precariously shelved titles tumbling to the ground. He follows, the only space between him and you created by the book in his hands, and you clutch your little stack tighter to your chest, willing hardbacks and delicate pages to become armor. “This isn’t the kinda stuff a little lady should be readin’.” He waves the book in your face, braces a hand on the shelf beside your head when he teeters off balance, and leans far too close, crowds you back against the shelf until the wood digs into your shoulder blades.

A glance at either end of the aisle reveals nothing but empty rows of shelves and not a soul in sight, no one to come to your rescue.

“I-I can read what I want. Please leave me alone, sir.”

“This is pure filth,” he sneers, shoving the book back at you. It lands on the floor at your feet with a fluttering ‘thump’ and the shelving behind you creaks as you try to maintain some distance from him. You wish that the novels at your back would open their covers and draw you in, hide you between the inked words within their pages. “Worse than porn, this is. ‘S not even any good. Why read this shite when you can have the real thing?” His hand dips down to fumble with something beneath his coat and you hear the metal teeth of a zipper unfurling.

You know what’s happening, know what you’ll see if you look down. You know that you should push and shove and yell and scream, but you can’t. Fear and realization settle heavy against your body, fog your mind with a haze so thick your vision turns blurry at the edges, and when you open your mouth to speak the only thing that comes out is a strangled, muted gasp as he presses his full body weight against you, searing heat pressed firm against your stomach and pinning you in place.

Everything feels slow and blurry. Like you're underwater, trying to run across the bottom of the ocean, salt water stinging your eyes. The dread that weighs so heavily on your chest keeps you there, refusing to let you surface, refusing to let you draw more than shallow breaths that feel like lungfuls of water instead.

Something cuts through the depths. A noise. Someone's shouting. Angry. And then that weight on your chest, the weight that pins your body to the shelf, is gone. You still can’t breathe, salt water still blurs your vision, distorts the movement in front of you and leaves you disoriented, unsteady on your own feet. There’s more noise, softer this time.

An employee. She’s asking you something. Asking if you’re ok. You let her guide you, away from the aisle to a back room to sit in a chair and drink water from a paper cup while she calls the police. She stays with you until they get there and while they ask you questions, sits in silent support beside you and refills your water when you need it. The police leave, tell you that if they see the man he’ll be picked up, and the younger woman asks if you want to call someone to get you, to drive you home.

The thought of anyone else seeing you, talking to you, trying to touch you, makes your stomach twist with nausea. So you drive yourself home, empty book bag tossed in the seat beside you, no music to fill the silence. You don’t quite know how you got there, sitting in your car outside your house. Can’t remember making the turn down your street or how long ago you killed the engine.

Long enough for Johnny to take notice, it seems. He’s knocking on the window, calling your name, and it startles you. Drags you up from the quiet depths of your mind and sets your heart racing. Too fast. Too much. The car is too small, the seat belt too tight across your chest, and you need out. He nearly gets hit with the door, dodges heavy metal as it swings open suddenly, and his brows slope together in concern when he sees your shaking hands, sees the way you won’t look at his face.

“Wa’s wrong, bonnie? Wha’ hap-” You shove the door closed behind you, brush him off and skitter around him, won’t come within more than a few meters of him, and he calls after you as you climb the stairs to your door, hurriedly fitting the key in the lock. “Have I done-”

You don't hear the rest of his sentence, and Johnny is left dumbstruck at the bottom of the steps, the slam of your front door and the sound of the deadbolt clicking into place ringing in his ears like he’s stood too close to a grenade.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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moonpascaltoo · 3 months

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╰┈➤18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all bucky barnes stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

MASTERLIST •MARVEL MASTERLIST • 04/04/24

𓇼 video games by @twoghostsfromeden

𓆉Sam Wilson attempts to teach Bucky how to play video games, but you have a different idea

𓇼 just like dad by @ladyfallonavenger

𓆉 The Reader loses Bucky in the snap and life presents a whole new challenge.

𓇼 coming in hot by @nexusnyx (ao3 link)

𓆉When your best friend Sarah recommends you a mechanic of her brother’s trust, all you can think about and pray to is that he doesn’t rip you off. Your car is your prized possession and amidst all the worry and concern of your medical studies, drowning in even more debt sounds as suffocating as it would be.

Of course, you never thought of the possibility of the mechanic being the problem. A hot, polite, gentle, and silent-type of problem.

Drowning in debt would be easier to navigate than the blue of Bucky Barnes’s eyes.

𓇼wallpaper by @cosmicbucky

𓆉 bucky finds out how to change the wallpaper on your phone, and takes every opportunity he can to do so. until one day he doesn't have the heart to.

𓇼 consequences by @duuhrayliegh

𓇼@ellemj

𓆉 letters to santa pt2

𓆉 need and wants

𓆉 against the rules

🫧 Bucky's trying to fuck you senseless so you'll have to sleep over. Isn't that how a friends with benefits situation is supposed to work?

𓆉 i hate you

🫧 y/n has these weird mind powers where she can feel others feelings or make others feel hers...she accidentally during a very heated fun time projects everything she is feeling to Bucky, basically doubling his pleasure

𓇼 trust by @kgficz

𓆉Set during the end of ‘Captain America: The Winter Soldier’. You had been forced to work as a nurse for Hydra’s soldiers, you never expected The Winter Soldier to be one of them. What happens when he starts to care about you?

𓇼 glitter and goo by @welldonebeca

𓆉 When you have to go on a mission to a different planet together, Bucky is hit by a mating ritual flower, and some feelings you two have been hiding come up

𓇼 accidental pic by @mostlymarvelsstuff

𓆉Reader recives Buckys nudes accidentally

𓇼 just friends by @cadaverousnight

𓆉A night of drinking makes Bucky bold and a harmless text makes him bolder

𓇼 @espinosaurusrexex

𓆉Worlds Collide

🫧 The world is ending. And there are two types of people: The ones that embrace the last pieces of happiness left, and the ones that just don’t bother anymore. When those two clash, there’s no way of knowing what will happen. But maybe, some hopes and dreams aren’t so different after all and the both of them get a chance at becoming more than just acquaintances.

𓆉 refuge

🫧 You had a track record of cracking tough cases, but this one proved to be your breaking point. The Winter Soldier was out there, thirsting for blood, operating in total anonymity, and leaving a trail of bodies in the cold Colorado snow. Then, just as a snowstorm was about to paralyse the town, Bucky Barnes appeared on your doorstep – lost, sweet, and in dire need of help. It all seems too good to be true, but what happens when his secrets come to haunt him and Bucky’s blurred past reveals a predicament neither of you saw coming?

𓆉happy little accidents

🫧 In a world after the war, Bucky tries to get pieces of his old self back by joining an art class. He meets you and instantly falls head over heels. Now he just has to work up the courage to ask you out.

𓆉serious questions

🫧 Bucky agrees to go on a date to make his colleagues shut up. Now, he just feels sorry for the poor woman that has to spend an entire evening with him. He really tries to make it work, though, because he actually enjoys her company.

𓆉 bad boys don’t buy flowers

🫧 Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

𓆉request oneshot

𓆉 remember me

🫧 After a fight against the most notorious Hydra agent of all, Steve and you discover that your assumed diseased friend Bucky is still alive. Old wounds resurface as you are confronted with the grappling reality that you have lived vastly different lives for the past 70 years. Will he remember your shared history? And most importantly: does he still feel the same?

𓇼 @pellucid-constellations

𓆉 unexpected

🫧 With all of his rough edges and impassive glances, Bucky Barnes looked to be the last person you’d find at an elementary school bake sale. Too bad Steve couldn’t make it, and dealing with a class hopped up on sugar wasn’t a feat you could manage alone

𓆉 i need him like water

🫧 You think Bucky’s having an affair. He thinks… well you aren’t sure what he thinks. But he must notice the living room light is left on. Every night.

𓆉 flowers in the compound

🫧 That girl from the flower shop seems to be taking up a lot of Bucky’s time.

𓆉 request one shot

🫧 You knew Bucky didn't like his arm. You just didn't know how much until he accidentally hurt you with it.

𓆉 counting

🫧 Time heals all wounds. Bucky’d been holding onto that proverb ever since blip. But time had never been particularly kind to him, so he opted to keep track of the sweet girl’s in his apartment building instead, the one that made him banana bread and took him to diners at two in the morning. Sometimes, you didn’t keep the same schedule. That made Bucky panic.

𓇼 everybody talks by @nickfowlerrr

𓇼 @buckyalpine

𓆉come back to you

🫧 What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform.

𓆉 did you hear

𓆉 40s bucky w/ nurse!reader

𓆉 sunshine

𓆉 spiral

𓆉 pick me

𓆉 untouched

𓆉 tongue twister

𓆉 wait what pt2 pt3 pt4

𓆉 can you not pt2 pt3

𓆉 choices pt2

𓆉 drabble

𓇼 aching by @bbyboybucket

𓆉After Reader gives Bucky a massage, he realizes how much he likes her touch

𓇼 tiny match maker by @jamdoughnutmagician

𓆉 Adjusting to his new life outside of the superhero business, Bucky makes the acquaintance of a very young, inquisitive girl.

𓇼 metal arm brrr by @bombsonboard

𓆉 Every problem needs a solution. Bucky just isn't the biggest fan of yours.

𓇼 the cards were dealt by @bucky-fricking-barnes

𓆉Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

𓇼 @holylulusworld

𓆉 a different kind of valentine pt2

🫧 Your fiancé breaks your heart on Valentine’s Day out of all days.

𓆉 happy birthday big grump

🫧 Your new neighbor is a professional grump. No reason to not be nice to him on his birthday.

𓆉 april fools day (stucky x reader)

🫧 Steve and Bucky ask you to join their prank.

𓇼 siren be bound to me by @darkdemeter

𓆉He is your captain. There is no place you'd rather be than by his side, nothing you could ever want for that is not him. You owe everything, your entire self, to him.

And yet overboard and on the tide you set sail across in search for a great and ancient treasure, a song continues to seep through the cracks of your heart and soul... a song so familiar yet unknown.

Forgotten. And Bucky reminds you yet again that there no place else for you that isn't beside him, that there is nothing out there

𓇼 to have and to hold harm by @queers-gambit

𓆉after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become

𓇼 @thighs-of-betrayal-blog

𓆉 jealous bucky

𓆉 request oneshot

𓆉 hold the door

🫧 You’ve never met your new neighbor, not until an incident happens involving the apartments elevator.

𓇼 out of practice by @drabbles-mc

𓆉 reader is a mom, bucky hasn't dated in like 70 years

𓇼 @jobean12-blog

𓆉 next door to love

🫧 When you made the move to the city you never expected your new neighbor to be so sweet and helpful...or hot.

𓆉 this spells love

🫧 Bucky is your best friend and he really is the best but he wants more, he wants everything, but the idea that it could ruin your friendship and he could lose you is too much...

𓆉 boom clap

🫧 Before tonight you wouldn't have been able to label your relationship with Bucky but after he gets home earlier than expected from a mission and shows up at the bar everything changes.

𓆉 everything you want

🫧 there’s no one you trust more than your husband and he always knows exactly what you want.

𓇼 meet my family by @skaye44

𓆉Your parents want to meet your boyfriend Bucky which you agree, but the whole family invites itself along for the meeting.

𓇼 my sun my star pt2 pt3 by @cosmos-coma

𓆉 You wait up late for your boyfriend Bucky to return from his mission, but it isn't Bucky who finds you

𓇼 @mrsbarnesblog

𓆉 my everything

🫧 The last thing that Bucky ever expected to see was the love of his life from the past trapped in one of the Hydra bunkers in the cryofreeze chamber. Yet here he was almost two days later, staring at your still unconscious body through the window at the medical wing, imagining the horror and disgust on your face when you found out that he was no longer the innocent and happy boy you knew before

𓆉 i t rust you

🫧 when Bucky comes back from a mission with a knife wound there is only one person who can convince him to get help

𓇼 5+1 by @mrs-illyrian-baby

𓆉 Whether it's on a mission, a work event or a holiday, your sleeping arrangements never seem to work out as planned. It doesn't really bother you until...it does. Confronted with a night sleeping apart, you and Bucky finally talk

𓇼 just like that by @navybrat817

𓆉Bucky suggests staying in a hotel together before an undercover mission, which would be fine if you didn't have a massive crush on the super soldier.

𓇼 @sergeantbuckybarnes

𓆉 begin again everything i wanted

🫧 When you go to meet your friend at her work you see a cute guy had been stood up, so you’re going to be the best date of his life.

𓆉 amnesia

🫧 During a fight in Madripoor you get hit in the head resulting in forgetting the last ten years of your life. And most important, your boyfriend.

𓇼 @angrythingstarlight

𓆉 diamonds

𓆉 chubby!bucky

𓆉 more chubby baker! bucky

𓆉 blow me away

🫧 You just discovered that your boyfriend has never had a blowjob before and that’s a travesty. Good thing you’re about to blow his mind.

𓇼 @literaryavenger

𓆉 not so bad

🫧 It's Bucky's birthday, but doesn't want to make a big deal out of it.

𓆉 happy birthday

🫧 It's your birthday and the only person who doesn't seem to be excited about it is you

𓇼 body and soul by @theladybarnes

𓆉 Reader has a conversation with Sam that leaves her a little confused before her date with Bucky. Includes probably the best romance movie quote to ever grace films.

𓇼 you’re my desire pt2 by @marvelouslizzie

𓆉Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.

𓇼 she chose me by @notafunkiller

𓆉Steve's hopes get crushed when he wrongly assumes you'd choose him over Bucky.

𓇼 bucky has a crush by @assembletheimagines

𓇼 buckyvision by @fictionalmemoirs

𓆉 pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt5.5 pt6 pt7 pt8 pt9 pt10

𓇼 @christowhore

𓆉 eye for an eye

🫧 you come home one night to find bucky in bed with another woman. after threatening divorce, he begs for your forgiveness and tells you he'll do anything. he should’ve known to always be careful with what you wish for.

𓆉 just one more minute

🫧 you grow tired of bucky constantly leaving you in dark when it comes to his feelings. finally, you have enough.

hopefully all links work, let me know if not <3

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes oneshot #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader

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mxtantrights · 4 months

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where you go, I go

a/n: okay so while I'm writing this whole series for azriel just know that I had this other recurring dream about a plot like this. I couldn't really make it a fully fleshed out story with a happy ending so I decided to type it all out and make it a one-shot with angst and not a lot of comfort (this is your warning, this doesn't end happily) anyways with all of that said, if you decide to read this please enjoy and tell me what you think! <333 also happy valentines day <333

azriel x assassin!fem!reader

5.1k words

The day court was home to many things. Vibrant colors, warm waters, ancient books and of course the very ancient and magical day blade. It's your job to know where that this is at all times.

You can't possibly understand why the shadow singer would try to steal it. Try being the operative word here. While you did sense him enter your court and break into the room where the blade was, it wouldn't have mattered.

Seeing as it is your job to protect the blade at all costs, it never leaves your sight. But that didn't mean you couldn't have fun with those who wanted so badly to get it.

In your pocket you feel a piece of paper appearing suddenly. You reach inside and unfold it. It's Helion. He's requesting your presence. You smile to yourself, this would be fun.

You leave your hiding place, the palace had many hidden rooms and hallways, and walk over to Helion's day room. As you approach from the hallway you can hear multiple conversations being had.

The door is closed so you open it slightly.

"There she is! Come in and greet my guests!" he says happily.

You make sure you face is kept neutral. You had an image to upkeep in this court.

The people respect you and fear you in the same breath. You don't go around killing people but you do often get justice in ways that aren't in the parameters of the law. Whether that be stringing up robbers and looters from their pants, or burning down the houses of dirty criminals.

You keep your eyes straight, not looking any of his guests in the eye. You walk until you are standing behind Helion who sits in his usual seat.

"I was just telling Feyre that I enjoy the new company. This is the inner circle." he says to you.

You nod once.

"She doesn't talk?" Nesta asks.

You know all of them. It's your duty to know The Who's who of the courts. The inner circle of the night court. High Lord Rhysand and High Lady Feyre-Curse breaker. Her sisters Elaine and Nesta. Rhysand's brothers Cassian and Azriel. Morrigan, past fiancee of Eris Vanserra. Amren, a mythical creature of serious power.

Helion laughs at Nesta's question. He knows you talk. He knows you very well, seeing as he practically raised you. But that information isn't public knowledge.

"She does, but not when theres something wrong." Helion answers.

You look at all of them now. How the girl closest to the shadow singer, Elaine, looks worried. And it's quick, you almost don't catch it, but you're so good at your job at this point.

"Trouble in the day court?" Rhysand says.

You lean over and whisper into Helion's ear about the blade. How the shadow singer came here to steal it, on a mission from his high lord. How he thinks he got away with it.

The room goes quiet as you pull back and Helion sits back in his chair. He loves the dramatics you pull off every single time someone tries to take the blade. The last person you caught was really delighted to be drowned in glitter, confetti and manure.

"Is there something you're forgetting?" Helion asks.

Rhysand looks at his inner circle with an incredulous smile. Then he looks to you, no doubt trying to read your mind. You can't imagine this will go over well either.

You can't feel it. The daemati powers that certain fae have don't work on you. You're not really sure why. Might have something to do with your unknown lineage. Or your overall hardheadedness-so Helion says.

Rhysand cocks his head to the side at your unmoving posture. He's still looking at you. You however are taking in the shadow singer. He's sitting there, not bothering to look at anyone. He must really think he got the blade.

"What would that be?" Feyre asks this time.

"Well, when you want something that another has you usually ask." Helion says.

At that everyone at the table grows grim. Caught red handed is what it seems like. You still manage to hide you smile though.

"Helion..." Rhysand starts.

"If you were anyone else I would have you locked up already. But lucky for me my security system is top notch." Helion smiles and grabs his glass for another sip of what could only be wine.

At his words the shadow singer now looks at the high lord. Your high lord. His face bares no emotion, like he can't afford to give a way a secret or smile.

You've heard about his reputation. But at this point that's all it is. He couldn't even steal from you correctly. This has to be the most interesting thing that's happened this year. You don't get around to much outsider business, you tend to stay out of it.

"I don't think it is." the shadow singer says.

Helion stifles a laugh. But you can hear it. And you know if you can hear it they all can. The room is big but not big enough that guests at a table can't hear things.

"Care to relieve them of their misery?" he looks up to you and asks.

You didn't really want to. But then again you'd have to play nice with them. Helion seems to like this group. Or most likely, his son is friends with this group and he wants to be friends with his son.

You sigh, "Take out the blade."

You watch in amusement as everyone at the table looks at each other. As if they all don't know what they really came here for. The shadow singer though, he's different. He's looking right at you.

His shadows materialize the blade right on the table for everyone to see. Cassian, gives him a look. But Azriel doesn't seem to see it or care.

"That's not the blade." Helion quips.

You call the blade to you with your powers. Being gifted with the ability to control sun made objects is fun most of the time. Most living things are sun made in a sense. So really you could control all things, to a certain extent.

The blade comes flying into your hand. As soon as it makes contact with your skin it transforms. The metal of the blade turns into a vibrant green stem. And the helm turns into the face of a sunflower.

Azriel seems to go through a range of emotions. First confusion. Then understanding. And then the last one, well you can't actually pin down the last one. You've gotten good at reading people but he's harder than others.

"The blade is safe in the day court, where it will remain until you ask for it." Helion says.

Rhysand lets of a breath, "I am sorry about lying, but we're short on time."

"And I thought our alliance was stronger than that. I am sorry too." Helion replies.

Helion stands from his seat, causing the others to match his actions. The sound of chairs on marble floors reaches your ears. You take a step back and cross your hands behind your back.

"We need the blade for a mission." Feyre speaks.

"It could be a simple mission or the end of the world. The fact that you have no respect to ask me tells me everything I need to know." Helion says casually.

You know that he is hurt by their lying. It's not deep, but it's there. He thought he could trust them. He thought because they had good relations with him before that they were better than the actions they are displaying right now.

Of course you know of the good bond between them. Which is why you don't understand why they didn't just ask. Unless there is a well justified reason. Why not ask the high lord for the blade unless he was implicated somehow.

How could Helion be implicated in a mission from the night court. He doesn't know anything, or he would have offered them the blade himself. No this is something he's not at the center of. But it still concerns him.

Lucien. You look at the guests around the room. He is no where to be found. True he's not part of the inner circle. He's an emissary. But if it was something the inner circle could simply ask Helion for, why not butter him up with his son?

Lucien may or may not know what going on.

"Where's Lucien?" you ask.

At you question all of the heads move to you. Right, you hadn't spoken to them this whole time. Well you weren't going to give them a smile and greet them kindly.

"What business do you have with him?" Nesta asks.

"He's in Spring. Managing relations." Rhysand answers.

You nod your head. Spring. If that answer can even be trusted. Let's say you do trust it for the moment.

The inner circle needs the day blade. They didn't want to ask for it. They didn't let Lucien come.

"Were you planning on returning it?" you ask again.

Nesta, rolls her eyes at your question. You can't help the giddiness you feel of getting under her skin. You hardly did anything to warrant it. But it felt kind of good.

"As soon as we were done." Azriel answers this time.

You don't ignore the stress he puts not he word soon. You also don't ignore the way his eyes seem to never leave yours.

"That blade is our most powerful weapon. We don't just give it out to anyone." Helion chimes in.

He maneuvers around his chair and stands behind you. When he grips both of your shoulders with his hands, you can tell he's smiling even if you can't see him.

"But I will let you use it," Helion continues, "on one condition."

"Go ahead." Rhysand says.

"Wherever the blade goes, she goes." Helion says.

"That won't be necessary." Nesta says.

At the same time Cassian says, "That's odd."

Helion shrugs his shoulders and lets go of you. He leans into your ear to whisper his next words very carefully. When you understand him and what he wants, you nod your head only once.

He grabs the sunflower from your hands as you uncross them from behind you. Helion stands next to you now. You watch as Helion brings the flower up to his nose and gives it a sniff.

"We agree to those terms." Azriel speaks up.

"Woah hold on-" Rhysand tries to cut in.

"Great. I think this will be beneficial to both courts." your high lord agrees.

You turn to face him now, your back towards the guests. Helion was looking at you with a very faint smile. You heard every word he whispered to you. And you understand the reason why: Family.

What you don't get it is why he won't just speak to Lucien himself. Why play nice with a high lord that knows his son when he can just reach out to him? Invite him to the day court or send him a letter.

Everyone in this room knows Lucien is Helion's son, except Lucien. And now your mission is to tell him so that he might finally have a true place to call home.

Helion wouldn't so easily agree to lending out the blade like this if it weren't for Lucien. And the night court wouldn't try to steal it if Lucien did know, because he could just ask on their behalf.

Your shoulders sag at the thought. You had no interactions with Lucien. You only ever heard of him from Helion and he only started referring to him as his son a couple of months ago.

It'll be you. You'll be the one to see him, come eye to eye to him, and tell him the truth.

You can see it in his eyes. The sadness. You'd do anything for him. He's a father figure to you. And you'll see this through, for his sake and Lucien's too.

"Promise me you'll smile a little bit during your trip." Helion says.

"The Sun Wraith doesn't smile." you answer.

"You're the Sun Wraith?" Cassian's voice asks.

You turn around and face the general. It's all over his face. The look of shock. It wasn't hard to become something of a legend in this court and the ones surrounding it.

"Even people in the night court are scared of you." Nesta says.

On her face seems to be another emotion. Not fear. Not shock. Something lighter amongst the surface. Admiration maybe? You aren't too sure.

"I'll grab my things." you say to no one in particular.

"And the blade." Azriel's voice sounds.

"I never go anywhere without it." you say, reaching behind you.

Grabbing the flaps of your yellow vest you flip it over and your hand wraps around the hilt of the blade. You pull it out for all of them to see.

"Best security in all of the courts." Helion jokes.

THREE WEEKS LATER

The mission has barely begun and you hate it here. You hate it in the night court. The days are shorter and you feel pale without even looking into a mirror most days. Nothing beats the sun of the day court on your skin.

Amren had told you it would get better. After your first meeting she had taken a liking to you. You were told by several members in the inner court that it was no easy feat. She talked to you the most out of everyone.

Second to her, came Nesta who was just curious about the things you allegedly did or did not do. You held off on telling her anything too juicy. It was funny toying with her with the details. She also likes your fighting style. Morrigan too.

Azriel talks to you. Sometimes. He's friendly to a point. Cassian is more friendlier than him but you're starting to understand it's just in his nature. Feyre and Rhysand are cordial. Elaine is, well you've been told that she's nice but you haven't really seen it. She greets you but that's it.

The inner circle didn't get on your nerves. But you also had your own mission. Deliver the news to Lucien that Beron isn't his father, Helion is.

Which is why though this whirlwind of a mission you're laying down on path of grass outside of the House of Wind. Weird. What was even weirder was the fact that Velaris, a secret city inside of the night court, has existed for so long with no one none the wiser.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Trying to turn your brain off. It wasn't working. The sun wasn't the same, it does't feel the same. You can't call off this mission either.

"Is this what you do in the day court?"

You'd know that voice anywhere. Which is weird to say as you've known the male for a couple of weeks now. But it's true. Azriel's voice was distinguishable from others. A bit low, but still soft. Clear.

"Yes." you answer.

"Is that all the explanation you can give me?"

"Yes."

You think he'll go away. He plays nice because you have the blade. He needs the blade, which means he needs you. Once he no loner needs the blade he won't need you.

When you hear the sound of him getting closer you want so badly to open your eyes. But you don't. You keep them closed. As much as you want to open them and see what he's doing.

The sound of him laying down beside you on the grass is one you weren't expecting. Also the feeling of soft cold tendrils nipping at your arm.

"It feels...nice. A bit cold." he speaks.

Of course he'd complain about he cold. Nesta had told you that Illyrians were whiny babies. You'd seen it personally when Cassian couldn't get a certain dish because there were no more potatoes for the day.

And now here his brother is. Complaining.

You hold up your left hand, the one close to him.

"Give me your hand." you command.

You half expect him to decline. To maybe even get up and leave. Or maybe say that he doesn't mind the cold. The other half of you expects him to just listen you-to see where it goes.

He takes your hand. You focus on letting the additional warmth you normally feel from the sun flow from your hand and into his.

Out of all the things you half expect and do expect, his laugh is something you don't plan for. It's deep. It comes from his core. It's gentle too. Which you wouldn't get just from looking at him.

"It's warm." he says.

"That's how the sun feels in the day court." you answer.

"I think you just spoke more than three words to me."

You scoff, "Don't get used to it."

"That was four words."

"Shut up."

"Two. We're regressing."

"Azriel."

"I'll be quiet now."

This is how you spend your time. If you are not training with Morrigan, Amren and Nesta. Or not eating with Cassian in the kitchen. You are laying out on the grass with Azriel in the sun.

It happens more times than you care to admit as the mission goes on.

ONE MONTH LATER

This place, Velaris, was starting to grow on you. You didn't want to admit that out loud, or in your letters to Helion. Or how well you were gettign on with Azriel. The trips into the city, the lingering glances and words with hidden layers.

You letters should only have on subject, Lucien.

He has been back from the spring court for two weeks now. You've taken that time to get to know him. You couldn't fathom unleashing the truth on him as a stranger. You don't need to be his friend. But he needs to at least trust the words coming out of your mouth when you say them.

Family dinner they called it. Even though only three of them were related to each other. But you guess that what makes their family unique. They choose each other, every day.

This meal was special. Seeing as you had finished the mission that Helion sent you on to protect the blade. There was a fae that needed to be tracked down and would only come out of hiding if he could see the sun blade.

Of course you didn't let him, but you did convince him that the fake blade you passed onto him was the real thing. When he found it wasn't after he revealed his intentions with it he got angry.

Angry enough to rain hellfire down on both you and Azriel. If it weren't for your fast thinking and powers you both wouldn't have made it out in one piece.

Now you're sat with the inner circle to celebrate your feat.

Someone clears their throat. This drags your gaze from the redheaded male to the dark haired one. The both of them were sitting in front of you.

How the mother is cruel and precious at the same time. One male is your mission which you planned for. The other male you didn't plan for, and yet...

"Az was asking if you miss home." Morrigan says from your side.

"Dearly. But its not bad here." You speak, not quite realizing what you just did.

You watch as Azriel's smile grows and grows on is lips. It hits you then.

"Wipe that smile off your face before I take it back." you say to him.

"No I don't think I will." he jokes.

You shake your head with a light laugh. You can pick up on his laugh too from across the table.

"Well if it means anything, you fit in well here." Amren speaks up.

Everyone at the table quiets down at that. You look over at her, peering around Morrigan. You nod once at the sentiment.

"You need to tell him." Elaine says suddenly.

You look to her sharply. She's gotten better about speaking to you. More than a greeting but still less than a conversation. It does weird you out some times but you let it go for the most part.

"Oh?" you ask rhetorically.

"Elaine I don't think we should discuss this here." Feyre starts.

"He needs to know." Elaine says again.

It upsets you. She is his mate. She is the one connected to him. She has known this secret longer than you. But you'll be the one to tell him? She doesn't want to get her hands dirty. None of them do.

"What do I need to know?" Lucien asks all of a sudden.

You look to him. Hoping nothin is being given away by your face. When no one answers him he scoffs lightly to himself and looks around at the table.

This is happening now.

"It's obviously about me, none of you can look me in the eye except for her." Lucien continues.

"I can tell you, in private." you offer.

He nods his head and gets up from his seat. You follow his lead and get up too. The two of you walk out of the dining room and onto the balcony. You pull the door close behind you.

"Before you say anything, do they all know about this?" he asks.

He can't be asking about Elaine. She's the whole reason you're having this conversation right now. No, he's talking about Feyre. His friend. Or who he thought was his friend.

What can be left of a friendship after a lie like this?

"Yes." you answer simply.

Lucien shakes his head, "Okay, you can tell me now."

You take him in. The tense shoulders. The bowed head. His hair is perfectly combed behind his back. In this light, he looks like Helion. Not too much, but just enough.

How do you up end someone's life?

"Lucien do you ever think about what it felt like growing up with Beron as your father?" you ask.

Lucien looks at you sharply, "It was unspeakable. I wouldn't wish that life on anyone."

"And it shouldn't have been yours either." you reply.

His brows furrow. Right in the middle like they want to meet so badly. You wonder if he's felt like an outsider before. If he's ever felt it amongst his brothers. The black sheep.

"When my mission is over here, do you think you could come back with me to the day court?" you ask softly.

His face goes from confusion to somewhat understanding. But you haven't told him enough for him to completely get what you're saying, what you're asking of him.

"A couple of times Eris tried to make me visit the day court." Lucien admits.

You nod your head at that. Of course. Ever the perfect actor. You knew him for a little slice of time in your life. A period in which you won't ever forget. He was your first kiss. You were young and kids, trying to figure out your own way in life.

Kissing Eris, the treacherous fox of the autumn court, was every bit exciting at your age. You gossiped, and word got around. But he didn't deny it. For all the lies and manipulation he pulled you thought he might say you were delusional, that you had made it all up. But he backed you claim.

Eris knew Lucien wasn't Beron's son. Eris probably protected him as best he could. In his own, Eris way. Whatever that means.

"You can invite him too." you say.

Lucien looks past you. No doubt at the inner circle lingering inside. If you were in his position you wouldn't even go back in there. You'd never talk to any of them again.

"I'll take my leave now, but thank you. For being honest." he says.

You give him a small smile, "To be clear I was to tell you the news in a gentle manner. What just happened was out of my hands."

"I get it. I'll see you around." he says.

You bid him goodbye. Then he's walking past you. You hear the door open and how voices inside seem to call his name. You don't hear him respond to any of them. You hear the front door slam.

With a breath you turn around and head back inside too. When you do everyone is looking right at you. It unnerves you. You hate it.

"I've done your dirty work now. I think I'll call it a night." you speak.

"He didn't deserve to find out like that." Feyre says.

"You're right, he deserved honesty from his friends." you retort.

"You were sent here to tell him the truth. Am I wrong?" Rhysand asks.

You turn to face him clearly. You can't believe he just said that. You cannot believe he formed the words with his mouth to say that to you.

Without saying another word you walk right out of the dinning room. You ignore Nesta and Amren calling out to you. And you ignore the shadow that walks with you right out of the room and into he hallway.

As soon as you get inside of your guest room the shadow disappears.

SUNRISE, THE NEXT DAY

You're skip training and packing for home instead. You wish you could pack faster but that isn’t possible. You don’t want to be here for another second. Not in this court, not among the inner circle.

When you throw in your last few shirts into the luggage a knock raps on the door. You don’t know who it is, but if it is Rhysand or Elaine you won’t open the door.

“Who is it?” You ask.

“It's me, can you open up?”

You go over to the door and open it. Standing there on the threshold is Azriel.

“I’ll be leaving soon.” You say.

His eyes seem to widen at that. You watch as he peers over you and takes in the bareness of the room, and the packed luggage. He straightens himself out.

“Why so soon? It feels like you just got here.” He replies.

Based on his words alone he doesn’t want you to leave. You can feel it too. How it’s only been a month or so but the two of you are comfortable around each other.

You sigh, “The mission is over.”

“And we’re back to this? Four word sentences?” He asks.

“Azriel.”

He looks down both sides of the hallway. His head turning left then right. Then he’s turning back to you. He looks nervous. Antsy. He doesn’t normally look that way. He’s usually so composed.

He takes you by surprise. He side steps into the room and closes the door behind him. At that you know your eyes go wide. He holds up his hands in defense.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for that but I just—are you mad at me?” He asks.

You scoff, “Yes I am.”

“Okay I knew that, but I was also confused because on that mission you saved my life.”

“Hardly.” You answer simply.

He groans at your one word answer, “You made sure those arrows didn’t plant themselves in my wings. You made sure I was safe.”

“It was nothing.”

“No it was something.”

You’re catching on now to how tense he is. Tense or nervous you can’t tell. His eyes are frantic. His breathing is also uneven. And his shadows are fully out on display now.

You do the one thing you can think of. You reach out for his hand. He doesn’t even seem to notice it. When you make contact he looks you in the eye. “Please calm down.” You whisper.

He bows his head, his hair covering his face now. All of a sudden he sinks to his knees. The action catches you completely off guard.

“I’m sorry.” He says again.

You focus on sending him warmth from your hand. In a second you can see his shoulders begin to shake. From this angle you can’t tell just yet if it’s what you think it is.

So you bring your free hand to the side of his face. You feel it. In the palm of your hand you feel his wet cheek. He’s crying. Azriel the shadow singer is crying, on his knees in front of you.

“I could have died and for the first time in a very long time I felt this deep regret in the bottom of my belly.” He chokes out.

What would he have to regret?

Slowly you drag you hand down his cheek. You place your pointer finger under his chin. Titling his head up, you meet his eyes. From this close you hadn’t realize how many shades of brown they hold.

“Azriel, you’re okay. I promise you you’re okay.” You whisper.

He shuts his eyes, more tears flowing down his face now.

“I don’t think I will be.” He admits.

“Why?” You ask.

He opens his eyes again.

“Because you hate us now, you’ll never come back here.” He answers.

In a sense he was right. Not totally. You didn’t hate the inner circle. You just couldn’t stand what they did last night. How they acted, how none of them would fess up. Even though some of them had known Lucien for a long time.

But you didn’t hate them. You didn’t hate him.

“I don’t hate you.” You reply.

“I could see it on your face last night. And now, you’re leaving so quickly. You want nothing to do with us.” He adds on.

There’s silence between the two of you. The emotions Azriel is feeling right now feel heavy. Way too heavy for someone he’s only spent about two months with.

You had heard many rumors about him. But him being like this, wearing his heart on his sleeve like this? You don’t think you could have ever imagined it.

Remembering that he’s waiting for you to answer, you remember to speak.

“Yes I’m upset and I want to go home. But that doesn’t mean I never want to see you again. Azriel I really enjoyed my time with you.” You speak.

You don’t realize it but your hand is stroking his now.

He gives you a look you can’t figure out, “Why does it feel like that time is over already? Like I’ll never see you again?”

He reaches up and places your hand on his cheek again. You don’t emit the warmth from there but he nuzzles into your hand like you are. His thumb rubs back and forth on the back of your hand there.

“You talk like everything is set in stone. Like there is only one path.” You say.

“I can just, sense it.” He explains barely.

You shake you head, “Azriel I was always going to leave.”

“Not like this. Last night changed everything.” He says, but it comes out more like a whisper.

“Get up.”

He looks at you, a bit of shock. You watch as he follows your command and gets back on his feet. He keeps your hand pressed to his face the whole time. Your other hand falls to your side.

“You can come visit me.” You say.

He’s silent. Silent but he nods his head at your words. You’re not sure if he believes you fully. But it’s enough. He wipes the tears from his face. His wings perk up, off the floor now.

You wrap your arms around his body before you can think against it. Instantly you feel his arms around you. Pulling you closer. He rests his head on top of yours. It feels right. It feels natural. No, it feels like something else too.

It feels the exact same way the sunlight in the day court feels on your skin. Like it is meant to be.

part two here!

#azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel fic #azriel one shot #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar fic #acotar one shot

325 notes · View notes

ponderingmoonlight · 23 days

Note

Heya, could you write one for Tanjirou where the reader gets hurt on a mission and he feels bad about letting it happen as they were protecting Nezuko and he has feelings for her?

Thanks. I love your writing and take your time x

Okay I LOVE THIS

Tanjiro realizing his feelings for reader after she risks her life to protect Nezuko

Pairing: Tanjiro x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Synopsis: Despite being well-composed and never deciding without thinking twice, you find yourself recklessly risking your life in order to protect Nezuko from getting hurt by Daki. Little do you know what an impact your second impulsive choice will have...

Warnings: severe injury, near death experience, fluff over fluff with Tanjiro with probably the cutest ending I've ever written, not proofread, I'll use one collage and one stand-alone AI pic so if this triggers you, I suggest not to read or look at them 🤍

You never considered yourself impulsive. No, you never acted out of a feeling, never operated without thinking twice. Always kept your composure, a cool head. Maybe this is the reason for you still being alive, the reason why you are able to call yourself a quite skilled demon slayer on the side of your friends.

“You’ll come with me. I need you to look out for my wives.”

It was clear right from the start that this wouldn’t be an easy mission. All of Tengen’s wives enjoyed education when it comes to fighting skills. As a former shinobi, he made sure they were able to defend themselves. If he lost contact to them, it was clear something bigger is behind it. Something way bigger than anything you witnessed until that day.

“I can’t allow you to take (y/n) with you like that. I will join!”, Tanjiro suddenly shouted from behind with his oh so confident voice.

You will never forget the way he smiled at you back then, how much he cared for your well-being each and everyday since you arrived in the red-light district.

“I would never allow a demon to hurt one of my friends!”

Friends. Not quite the word you’d like to use for him. Since you first met each other when he saved you during the final selection, you always kept an eye open for the boy with the special kimono.

And his sister.

Apart from many people who dislike her, you loved Nezuko since the first day you laid eyes on her. Slowly but surely, it became your mission as well to save her, to free her from the curse of being a demon.

“I guess I’ll never be able to thank you enough for your support.”

You didn’t allow yourself to look at him, fully aware of that you’d get lost in his tender orbs again if you do. No, instead your eyes roamed about the glittering city to your feet, drifting over the facial expressions of the people underneath you.

“We’re friends, right? This is what friends do”, you murmured into the night.

Oh, you didn’t believe yourself a single word. What a filthy little lie to call Tanjiro a friend when all you are able to think about is his smell, when his voice is everything that lingers through your mind. Are friends supposed to think about one another constantly, to ponder about how their lips might feel pressed against each other? You promised yourself to never find out. After all, revealing your true feelings might scare him away forever. And losing Tanjiro all at once is definitely far worse than calling yourself his friend. After all, this would be impulsive with a not foreseeable outcome.

But even after you swore you’d never act out of a feeling, you find yourself sprinting into certain death.

It all happened faster than you expected. Inosuke managed to find Tengen’s wives and therefore the demon.

The upper moon six, to be exact.

The devilish who injured not only your friends, but Tanjiro as well. And now, she’s about to injure Nezuko as well.

Apart from your usual composed self, you find yourself dashing forward while grabbing the handle of your katana tightly. This is ridiculous, you don’t stand a chance against a demon like hair. Nezuko is a demon herself, she’d probably recover from her injuries.

You furrow your eyebrows, eyes fixated on both of them. It doesn’t matter right now. All you are able to think about is helping your friend.

“Get your filthy hands away from her”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

A well-placed hit. Your knee hits the ground roughly. Then everything around you is discoloured red.

Like in slow motion, you watch your own body sink onto the ground lifelessly. Your lungs feel like collapsing any given minute while you gasp for air like a fish on land. Blood takes your sight, drips down onto the already soaked floor while all you can do is watch in sheer horror as that hell of a demon grins at you.

“You did well until now. Dumb girl, why would you even think about defending a demon? Look how weak you are.”

The urge to cough becomes unbearable. Over and over, you spit out your own blood until your ribs feel like breaking. Did she hit you? Are you severely injured? Apart from your aching lungs, your body feels completely numb, almost lifeless. Like in slow motion, you watch as she walks towards you, the upper moon six emblem sparkling dreadfully in her eyes.

Is this your end?

What a senseless way to die when Nezuko is a demon. After all, even an upper moon wouldn’t be able to kill another demon without the right blade to do so. You never considered yourself so impulsive, so reckless.

Your eyes dart towards Tanjiro’s beloved sister who puts up a desperate fight against all the debris that buried her. Not everything needs to make sense.

It doesn’t make sense you decided to spare her life in the first place. It doesn’t make sense that you fell for her brother, that you allowed yourself feelings deeper than sympathy in a world full of cruelness and death. It doesn’t make sense that you decided to follow the sound hashira only to rescue his wives, that you actually considered going with him on your own.

All of that because you are so madly in love with Tanjiro. All of that because you view Nezuko as your own sister and could never allow another person to hurt her.

“What an ugly girl you are with your face twisted like that. What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

You can hear your flesh bursting underneath another merciless hit of her belt, feel the throbbing pain that starts radiating through your bones. You will die right here and now, without any doubt. And you will die without seeing his face again, without telling him a single word about your true feelings.

“Don’t worry (y/n), I’m sure we’ll be fine! And as soon as we’re back, I’ll invite you to a bowl of ramen!”

A bowl of ramen?

Like in trance, you press your hand onto your leg, feel your busted flesh all too clearly, your very own blood slipping through your fingers.

Just like the love of your life.

“You need to get up.”

A distant voice in the back of your brain, muted by the constant ringing that takes over your ears.

“(y/n), can you hear me? You need to get up.”

Is Tanjiro still with Tengen-sama? They will manage to defeat those demons, you just know it. With the help of Inosuke, Zenitsu and Tengen-sama, Tanjiro will be alright. Who knows, maybe he’ll be a hashira in a week from now, maybe he’ll defeat Muzan Kibutsuji. Oh, what you’d give to hear that boy’s voice one last time, to witness his beaming smile again.

“She’s basically dead, idiot. Get lost so I can finish her.”

Are those hands lifting you off the ground or is your soul evaporating from your body?

“Please stay with me, (y/n). You need to keep on fighting.”

You allow your eyes for the briefest second. When you open them again, you barely miss how Nezuko catapults the upper moon six into a nearby building with full force. No, why would she risk to get hurt, what if that woman hurts her? It seems like you’re moving away from the scene and you’re unable to do anything apart from stretching out your shaky hand.

“No…I can’t…leave….”, you breathe out.

“Why did you risk your life like that? (y/n) you…you could be dead right now.”

That voice, it isn’t inside your head. No, someone is talking to you with an oh too familiar voice in a tone you know so well.

“Tanjiro.”

“I’m here, (y/n). And I promise everything will be alright? I just...don’t do something like that ever again, not even for Nezuko.”

Even though the sheer movement feels like breaking your own neck, you lift up your head enough to make sure this isn’t just a dream.

But his eyes are already set on you, filled with nothing but worry and threat while he carries you over the battlefield.

For a moment, time stands still. Just you and Tanjiro. No battlefield, no injuries, no demons. Just peace, love and Tanjiro.

Love.

“I love you”, you mutter so muted that he almost fails to understand.

You can feel his heartbeat picking up next to your throbbing head, watch how his eyes widen. Oh, how lovely they look in that red light, how easy it is to get lost in their gleam. What a waste of time it was to keep your feelings to yourself when all you were able to do was thinking about him. How lucky you are to feel your body pressed against his one last time.

One last time…

“I…so…tired…”

Desperately, you fight against the urge to close your eyes. You need to take this sight in for a little longer, need to stay awake at least for another minute. But your vision slowly but surely starts to get darker and darker until you can’t see him anymore.

“(y/n), don’t give up on me, not when I didn’t told you that-“

Nothingness.

-a week later-

“You should really start focus on getting back on your feet yourself, you know? It won’t help her if you don’t get better too”, the Kakushi next to him speaks out.

Since the moment he opened his eyes and realized that you aren’t awake, Tanjiro didn’t allow himself to leave your side. The last time he did that was at the entertainment district. The last time he did that you almost lost your precious life over defending his sister.

“I will stay just a little longer”, he mumbles lost in thoughts.

You always loved Nezuko dearly despite being a demon. Even though your logical thinking and composed acting, you accepted her as the human she was before and supported him in finding a cure for his sister. Still…

He runs his fingers through his hair roughly, frustration almost taking over him. Tanjiro never expected you to almost sacrifice your precious life for his sister. Not when she’s fighting against a demon, not when two upper moons are your opponents. No one would have doubted you, would have judged you for staying in safety. Nezuko would have never allowed you to interfere if she could, just like him.

“I should have arrived sooner. I should have been right by her side all the time. Maybe none of this would have happened if I kept an eye on her like I promised…”

“Don’t be a fool, she would have never allowed you to stay by her side knowing that it might cost the success of the mission. Still, I didn’t expect someone like her to act so reckless. Who’s your sister doing?”, the man opposite of Tanjiro replies.

“She’s been crying the whole time.”

“Did she finally wake up?”, Inosuke suddenly blurts out while entering the room on his own.

“She’s still unconscious”, Tanjiro explains briefly.

“Did you put that horrible bandage around her head? Before you came here, it looked alright”, the Kakushi interferes dryly.

“With the power of master Inosuke, (y/n) will be back on her feet in no time!”

“H…Hello?”

When your eyes flutter open, you get greeted by 3 pairs of excited eyes in an instant, your clouded mind still unable to process that you’re awake.

“Where am I?”, you croak with your throat feeling like sandpaper.

“I will call Shinobu-sama right away”, the Kakushi announces and gets up with a swift motion.

“You’re at the butterfly estate, dumbass”, Inosuke barks at you.

“(y/n)….I was so worried about you!”

Before you’re able to react any further, you find yourself emerged by green and black fabric, surrounded by a scent you know so well by now.

“Tanjiro”, you breathe out.

Over and over, you whimper his name like a prayer in order to convince yourself that this is real. You didn’t die. You are still alive. And right now, none other than Tanjiro Kamado holds you in his arms as tenderly as you always imagined. Is it a dream, maybe? A sweet hallucination to get you through the immense pain?

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. All of this, only to stand up for my sister. Words can’t express how worried I was. How is it possible that this made me realize how much I-“

“You’re finally awake, how relieving. Would you mind moving to the side so that I’m able to examine (y/n), Tanjiro-san?”

That voice as sweet as honey belongs to Shinobu Kocho, without any doubt.

“S-Sure.”

“You really fought well, (y/n). Surviving that long with such severe injuries took its toll on your body, though. All of this because you wanted to protect Tanjiro’s sister?”

Her skilled hands begin roaming around your skin while you feel her gaze fixated on you. But you cannot look at Shinobu-san right now. No, your eyes are locked with those of Tanjiro next to you.

“They both mean the world to me”, you murmur.

He lets out his breath visibly while taking a step towards you. What is that glimmer in his eyes? Sorrow, dread?

Or maybe affection?

“How unusual for you to act this reckless. But maybe this is what love makes us do, right? I will leave you two alone for now. How about you’re taking a look outside? The sunset looks lovely today. But please use a wheelchair since your leg is still shattered.”

With a last bright smile, the insect pillar is gone in the wind again, leaving you alone with Tanjiro in a suddenly so tensed room.

“What do you think? Do you want to watch the sunset with me?”, Tanjiro questions with low voice.

“I would love to.”

As careful as ever, he lifts you off the bed and places you into the wheelchair before gently guiding you outside.

Your eyes get greeted by the prettiest red you’ve ever seen covering the whole sky. Like a painting, the beautiful scenery lays itself in front of your eyes. Shinobu-san’s flowers painted in the colors of the sky, the fluffy clouds that look so comfortable from afar.

But what mesmerizes you way more than that is the striking sight next to you, the boy you loved in silence since you first saw him. With his face lit by the downgoing sun and the ever so slight blush that creeps up his face while looking at you, you can’t help but get lost.

“Maybe I needed this”, he speaks out.

You blink a few times, still tired mind trying to process the meaning of his words.

“What?”

There is it. His usual beaming smile, the optimistic glimmer inside his gorgeous orbs. Careful not to hurt you he grabs your hand and gently strokes it while kneeling down next to you. Is this really happening? Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, reminds you urgently that you are definitely still alive. Why would Tanjiro Kamado get onto his knees for you?

“You.”

An answer so simple and yet so intimate that you can’t help but blush as well. Like in slow motion, you watch as he draws closer and closer until his face is only inches away from yours.

“I love you, (y/n). I guess I was too dumb to realize it until I saw you injured like that because you protected my sister. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The words leave your mouth just in time before he places his soft lips onto yours, making all your dreams come true with one innocent kiss.

You always acted well-thought and composed. But oh, what a plot twist it was to follow your heart twice in a row.

-bonus-

“Did…Shinobu-san put this around my head?”, you question while staring blankly at your messy hair and the wild bandadge around your head.

“The insect girl? Of course it was me! You wouldn’t even be awake if it wasn’t for me! But don’t worry, you can worship me later”, Inosuke replies while stretching out his chest in full proud.

“You look…”

“Well…”

“I mean…”

None of the three girls dare to raise their voices at him whereas you stare yourself up and down. Of course, it was Inosuke. Shinobu-san would never stitch you up like that.

“Do you want…Kanao to fix this?”, one of them finally suggests quietly.

“Yeah….I guess that would be pretty nice.”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu

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theirishwolfhound · 2 months

Text

I do love the idea of an unhinged reader. Not like brutally unhinged but... like the kind that is harmlessly annoying and is just a brat to Task Force 141.

Like the mother fuckers nickname is Menace and they're somehow still alive after everything so they make it everyone's problem.

They're great at what they do, amazing even— but no team wants menaces like Menace, not even the heavens nor the hells want the damn person.

This is the same Menace who wears a devilish half-mask, but only above their mouth so people can see their shit-eating grin (think similar to the ghoul mask above) as they leave small firecrackers under the lids of toilet seats, or so people notice the way their lips curl up in mock disgust when someone is talking.

Menace who only goes through with the SAS training to one up another soldier they despised, enough to have sicked a pack of squirrels on that they personally hand fed a few days after— they even bonded enough with the little fuckers that when they were finally transferred out to be someone else's problem, the squirrels would steal the remaining soldiers foods.

Laswell, whose grand idea of knocking the boys down a peg since she's tired of their shenanigans includes getting this Menace of a person to join 141 with faint threats of blackmail— to which Coporal Menace respects, leading Kate to being the only one who is not subjected to the dumpster fire that is about to happen, but is only encouraged by her wife.

Price, who in his right mind, nearly rejects the idea of this misfit joining because of their turnover rate but gives in when Laswell tells him it would be worth it— that her wife likes them and they're an excellent solider after all.

Immediately upon arrival, Menace lives up to their name— pissing on the side of the building as if to mark their new territory before deciding it would be a good idea to rile up the behemoth of a man by asking Price: "Didn't anyone tell the poor bastard that Halloween was four fuckin' months ago? Look at 'em he looks emo."

It wasn't until then that the poor Captain realized how much of an untamed brat his new corporal was— only to be further set in after the first two weeks on base.

Sure Menace got along with Soap, but they were far too alike for Menace's likings and Gaz, sweet sweet Gaz, gave them a few too man odd glances and playfully snide remarks for their liking— meanwhile Ghost had made them scrub the bathroom from top to bottom with a small sponge, and well they could already see the forming regret in Price's eyes.

So Menace did what they did best.

It started out simple: silently attaching balloons on strings to the back of their clothes without them noticing, flipping all of the furniture upside down during the middle of the night, purposefully mocking every single move of one of the operators for a full day, sugar in the salt shaker or salt in the sugar dish, you name it they did it.

Glitterbomb the captain? Oh yeah, and there's still glitter in his mustache.

Tied the two sergeants' doors together so that neither could open it? Done and done, they were locked in their rooms for a good hour until someone cut the rope.

Move the lieutenant’s furniture two inches to the right so that he would constantly stub his toe? Yeah, you can practically see him fuming after every trip to his office.

And what irked the lads the most? Menace kept getting away without being caught— managing to even out sneak Ghost, which the only reason for it is: Menace knowing they don't know what they look like without that mask. So obviously they take it off and blend in with the many other people on base.

They made a fool of their sergeants, their lieutenant, and their captain and it was time to get back at the cunning prankster— but Menace grew suspicious. Usually they would have been booted out by a normal team by then, but what Menace came to realize a bit too late was that Task Force 141 was not normal.

And reality came to a head when Menace was called to Price's office to collect something— only for that something to be a bucket of ice cold water falling onto their head and for the captain to tell their now soaking wet and cold Coporal: "Game's on, brat."

#cod mw2 #gaz cod #ghost cod #john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mctavish #soap cod #price cod #call of duty x reader #cod x male reader #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #honestly can turn this into smut #menace reader #task force 141 #tf141 are totally brat tamers while also being brats #tf 141 x reader #drabble

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jo-harrington · 5 months

Text

Standard Operating Procedures 1.05 (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's a normal Sunday night. You're just going over to have dinner, smoke, and listen to music. It's not a date. What could possibly go wrong?

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.04

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Mutual pining, alcohol and drug use (wine, beer, and weed), R has a minor panic attack while high, fluff, lighthearted smut (petting/groping/dry humping), minor angst, misunderstandings and miscommunication, driving probably a little under the influence, slight anachronism (slapping the bag)

Note: Big note for this one if you've read the most recent installations of SMVerse that I've posted...this is NOT in chronological order. SM and Eddie are not together in this one, we are rewinding back before Closing Time. This chapter and the next one are both a little longer and have been lingering in my head for quite a long time. Almost a year. So without further ado, please enjoy SOP 1.05.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Sundays were your favorite days, hands down.

They sort of always had been, even before moving to Hawkins. Now, though, you had an extra special reason why they were your favorite.

Sundays meant that you could be yourself after you clocked out. They meant standing in the mirror and wiping away the layers of glitter eyeshadow and scented nail polish off. They meant shedding the overly sparkly jewelry from work and the trendy clothes from the JCPenney or Madigan's Juniors department that were definitely cut for a teenage body.

No matter how young you still were, you just weren't sixteen anymore.

You could finally breathe a little easier.

No more Dress to Impress, no more preppy popular girl, no more customer service voice.

Sundays meant freedom.

Lately, part of that freedom meant walking out of the store, taking the most freeing breath you could, and walking right up to your crush best friend so you could spend those last few dying hours of the weekend together.

Shooting the breeze, laughing, and getting to know one another. Getting to really see one another.

Tonight, though, there was just this cloud hanging over you as you stood in the store's bathroom after hours and shucked off the plaid vest and fashionably unmatched skirt you'd chosen for the day in favor of a t-shirt and comfy stirrup pants.

Summer was over, school was back in session, and you hadn't gotten to see Eddie as much as you normally did.

Which, in the grander scheme of things, a lot of things changed with the new school year starting: a bunch of your associate's schedules changed, a few of them even left town for college, and business started to slow a little during the week for the first time since the store opened.

Still, you missed him.

It felt weird from practically seeing him every day to only seeing him in passing or on the weekends.

What if he didn't want to be friends anymore?

Well, that was just silly. Some remnant of fear about the fickleness of your friends memories in childhood. Besides, the first shift after school started back up, he immediately came running to your store and talked your ear off about the new kids that he forced to join Hellfire.

"God, they're such losers," he reminisced with a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his lips. "They have so much potential. I can't wait for you to meet them."

Tonight though...

Tonight was like any normal night; you were getting together after the mall closed and picking up pizza.

However, instead of any of your usual haunts or shenanigans in and around Hawkins, Eddie insisted you come over to his place. Totally normal.

"And we can smoke," he added as an afterthought.

"You know I don't smoke Eddie," you reminded him. "My grandpa and his crackly lungs? I've taken him to enough doctor's appointments."

"Doesn't stop you from sucking up the air around me when I'm having a cigarette on break. No. I mean smoke. Reefer. Weed. Jesus, don't act ignorant Miss Goody Two Shoes."

"Excuse me," you choked. "How am I Miss Goody Two Shoes?"

"Because," he began with dramatic emphasis. "For all of your stories about garage beers and parties that your work friends dragged you to, you've never mentioned partaking in any sort of illicit substances. You're being obtuse on purpose or you're afraid."

You were caught like a deer in the headlights.

"I...I'm not."

And you weren't; it wasn't fear. It was just...inexperience.

Back home you were always careful, even when you hung around friends from school or work; with your overprotective father and uptight mother and two brothers who wouldn't hesitate to rat you out if they found out you broke some kind of rule? It would be over.

So you never got too wild at parties. Disheveled clothes could be straightened, and you could pretend that swollen lips were just a side effect of getting a little sick. You never drank more beer than whatever made you feel a little floaty if you weren't sleeping over at a friends. And you never smoked weed.

Ok so it was fear, in a way; residual fear. Just not the way Eddie thought.

"Hey, don't worry," Eddie said in the most understanding way he could. "You just tell me and I'll drop it, if you're afraid."

You wanted to tell him, wanted to explain it, but in a moment of reflection and wanting to assuage his worries, defiance got the better of you and you told him that you weren't afraid and it would all be fine.

You were going to be with him; you never needed to be afraid when you were with him.

Now though, staring at yourself in the mirror as you got ready to go and meet Eddie you realized you might have made a mistake.

Hanging out with your crush friend alone at his place? Fine. Sitting close on the couch as you ate pizza and listened to music? Cool. Drinking and smoking together, knowing that you got a little bit chatty when you loosened up a little bit under the influence? Uhm.

What could possibly go wrong?

---

The spread that you and Eddie had created was impressive.

Pizza and a six pack and red vines and...and...and...

Eddie was usually very thorough when it came to providing snacks or planning outings where you could get a nice little treat together. Tonight it was partially your fault.

You'd originally planned just to drive to his place after work and the pizza would be delivered, but he said that when he'd called to place the order at Lou's--large pepperoni and a box of cannoli--they told him that the delivery driver was out. Takeout only.

But then he also forgot to stop at Bradley's for soda.

So you offered to go to Bradley's while he picked up the pizza, and you might have gone overboard.

Soda and a box of wine and peanut m&m's and...and...and...

"And you say that I'm bad," Eddie scoffed as you walked in, arms laden with shopping bags.

"Excuse me, this is the once in a blue moon you let me pay for anything, I'm gonna take advantage of it."

Wayne was still home getting ready for his shift when you got there and he simply shook his head at your bickering with a fond smile, then pilfered a little of everything for his own dinner before leaving you both to it.

Once he was gone, the festivities began.

You were both overzealous, talking a mile a minute over each other about your days as you set up for the night. Eddie divvied out food--creating a plate that reminded you of the Peanuts' Thanksgiving feast, overflowing with multicolored candies and popcorn and pizza slices--as you took care of the drinks.

You were a little smug that you got to teach Eddie something during these little Sunday night not-dates for once.

"Where did you learn this?" he asked skeptically as you ripped into the cardboard box. "What even is Franzia? Sounds fancy."

"It is the least fancy thing you can get," you grinned maniacally and freed the floppy plastic bag full of pink liquid from its confines. "Honestly I should have thrown it in the fridge but it's fine. You can put it with some coke; it'd probably taste better anyway."

He made a face.

"I'll just have a beer."

"Oh my--Eddie! Live a little." You settled the bag on the coffee table and gestured to it. "You don't have to drink it...chug a beer, I don't care...but you need to slap it."

He huffed and shuffled across the carpet on his knees to settle beside you.

"Is this a Claire's thing?" he asked, he looked up at you through his bangs.

"No it's not a--well...no. It doesn't matter! My old store manager, Jen, made us do it whenever we went to parties and hung out at her place. It's fun."

"Why does this feel like a lie?"

You reached out and smacked your hand against the plastic, listened to the liquid slosh inside. He let out a long suffering sigh but gestured for you to go ahead and he settled on the floor as you squealed with glee.

Eddie popped the little tab on the spout and the cheap wine poured freely into his mouth; he maintained eye contact with you the whole time, even as he choked on the unfamiliar taste of the pink zinfandel.

When you'd hung out with Jen and your coworkers and friends, it was just...a silly thing. Now, though, it was just you and Eddie; you stood over him with the bag gently held in your hands over his mouth and his hand rested on your calf as he drank. It was tense and intimate and as you started feeling a little hot under the collar, you wondered if this was a mistake.

Regardless, when he'd had his fill, he shut the spout and raised his hand and slapped the bag so hard it soared out of your grasp and across the living room.

You both burst out laughing as it swished and sloshed with a pronounced glorp on impact with the floor, and Eddie collapsed against your legs as the giddiness got the better of him.

"Ok, that's better than a keg stand." He looked up at you and wiped a hand over his mouth. "Blagh...probably gonna need that coke if I have any more though. Your turn, sweetheart."

Then the tables were turned, but unlike Eddie, you stood toe to toe with him as he held the bag for you.

To avoid the tense eye contact, you kept yours closed as you pulled mouthful after mouthful from the bag. You almost felt a little smug; you'd always been good at this, despite how awful the wine burps were gonna get after. You knew Eddie's competitive nature--always seeing who could finish a blizzard from DQ first and giving himself a brain freeze in the process--so you were hoping to last a little longer, hit the bag a little harder, and get him to concede.

You counted down in your head and finally when you couldn't take the heartburn the wine caused any longer, you shut the spout and released it, ready for victory.

Of course, opening your eyes provided nothing of the sort.

Eddie stood there, inches away from you; his pupils were blown and he was breathing a little heavily and for a split second you thought to ask if he was ok.

Until he leaned a little closer.

Close enough where you could smell the laundry detergent and the general amalgamation of mall scents coming off of him.

Then you noticed that his eyes were locked onto…your lips?

Was he gonna kiss you?

You already thought…well…and in the van the other week? When he licked frosting off your hand? You'd thought...

Except that was the thing, you always thought, you never acted. Too stuck in your head weighing and judging the options and if you could just do something about it. If you could just lean forward a little, you could stop worrying and have your answer right?

And if it wasn't meant to be and things were weird? If he didn't actually mean to try and kiss you? You worked retail; you could bullshit with the best of them if worse came to worse.

Then you'd just pretend that your heart didn't ache from rejection for the duration of your friendship. You were already familiar with disappointment; this would be no different.

Alright, that's it, you weren't gonna chance it anymore. All the worrying you did back at the store was enough. You were just gonna kiss him. Just lean forward; just go. Just go. One, two...two and a half...

Eddie's eyelids fluttered a little bit, and your heart clenched in hope, until he leaned away and cleared his throat.

The wine bag was tossed onto the coffee table and Eddie gestured to the plates he'd prepared.

"So, pizza?"

---

Music was the next event of the night.

And the weed.

Funny how all of your anxiety over smoking flew out the window when you were anxious about something else.

Because you just couldn't get your feelings out of your head after Eddie walked away from a kiss like that.

Was it even going to be a kiss? Or was it just the awkwardness of your positions in that situation? Were you overthinking the overthinking?

On and on those thoughts spiraled.

Until Eddie said he was going to get his stereo to start your comprehensive education of metal.

"We really don't have all night Eddie," you said and threw a balled up napkin at him as he fiddled with his tapes.

"Ok, maybe not fully comprehensive," he held his hands up in surrender. "Nothing sounds better than vinyl and I have all of that at Rick's. And my mom's records. You wanna talk about classics? We've gotta spend a whole weekend there."

He put a tape into the slot and hit play and the room was immediately filled with guitar riffs and singing and shouting; he turned the volume down immediately.

"I've gotta give you the whole history sweetheart," he explained. "So you've gotta hear me too. This song's not so important...I'll turn it up when we get to the good part."

Of course, Eddie's music history lesson...started with him.

"Picture this," he said, arms waving as he walked over to his school things that had been haphazardly thrown in a corner of the room: a wilted canvas backpack, a black binder, and a dented metal lunchbox. "11-year old me, fresh after my mom's funeral and everyone she knew was coming up to us but I refused to talk. Wayne kept making excuse after excuse. But Rick, bless him, said 'gotta make him cry.'"

And on he went as he spilled the contents of the dented lunchbox on the coffee table and began the fine work of rolling a joint.

"Took me to the record store, let me pick out whatever I wanted. Of course I chose Sad Wings of Destiny because the art was cool. Little did I know that would change the course of my life forever."

You didn’t know what to focus on and that made you spiral a little bit further. The words, the music, his lips and his fingers as he followed steps that he seemed to know but didn't feel the need to elaborate on were all very appealing targets; the music and his story was what was important here though and you made the attempt.

He told his story in a way that only Eddie Munson knew how to—arms flailing, minute details, expressions and voices and everything you loved admired about him. He took a moment to swap cassettes and crank up the volume before he fell onto the couch beside you in a mess of cushions and limbs and hair.

"I would say ladies first," he began as he presented the joint to you. He then stuck it between his lips and continued talking around it. "But I'm nothing if not a gentleman and I need to teach you how to do this. It's a little different than cigarettes."

It was a comprehensive lesson and you'd gotten the hang of it quickly, but the proximity did nothing to help calm your nerves; Eddie's knee touching yours, his face and hands so close to yours as he held the joint to your lips, then one hand your shoulder as he soothed the cough that escaped you after your first hit, and finally the way he inhaled along with you as you took another.

Want burned in your lungs along with the smoke, but it didn't leave you when you finally exhaled.

You were very much looking forward to the light and mellow feeling that Eddie promised once the weed hit your system.

"Until then," he grinned and took another hit himself before dropping the smoldering stick into a nearby ashtray. "We just dive into the mind of the great Ronnie James Dio."

You rested back against the cushions and turned your head to really watch him; it was strange just...observing him. You had never done it like this before, close and quiet at this distance. Your time together was always spent with conversation and laughter, your observations and mental notes about him done in little snapshots as he moved through life like a blur.

Now you got to experience the simplicity of his presence in private and the addictive frequency that he emitted.

It was nice.

You watched the way his lashes brushed against his skin as he melted into the sofa beside you and closed his eyes. The way his plush lips pursed and then stretched as he hummed along to the music. You closed your own eyes for a second as he matched the sharpness of the lyrics with his voice, hushed and then shrill, and then hushed again.

And when you opened them back up to watch him some more, he was watching you and practically vibrating.

Your heart skipped a beat...

"Sweetheart," he reached out and touched your wrist. "You ok?"

Wait...he wasn't vibrating.

You were.

Then you noticed that your heart skipped many beats, then the beats suddenly tripled, and then it all slowed again, pounding harder and faster in your chest than you believed to be possible.

Did your chest hurt? Or were you imagining it?

It felt like the few times you ran the mile back in high school, but you hadn't run.

Had you?

Your legs felt like jelly. Your arms too.

So you must have run...but when?

No wait, you were forgetting something. Your chest, your heart, your lungs. You had to focus on them first, you needed them to live.

You tried to fix it all by taking a great gulp of air in--if you felt like you'd just run the mile, surely catching your breath would fix it--but you found that it didn't fix anything. In fact, you seemed to lose even more control of your body. You floundered, breathing heavily over and over, quicker and quicker to try and get a hold of yourself.

And the panic set in, unlike anything you'd ever experienced before in your life.

Your consciousness became untethered from your body and you sank deep within yourself. Like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Only instead of a rabbit hole, the you that existed in your mind fell away from your eyes and deeper into your skull then out the back of it and into the so-soft cushions of the couch.

But this wasn't sinking, this wasn't melting. This was being buried alive.

You remembered Eddie’s taunting before, about being afraid of smoking. Why hadn’t you told him that you didn’t want to do this? Why hadn’t you told him you were afraid? You were a stubborn idiot and now you’d die here, buried amongst pilling fabric and lost change and lint and a few cheerios that were stuck between the cushions.

You would die here on Eddie's couch...

"Eddie!" you practically sobbed and reached out for him, remembering suddenly that he was there with you. Why wasn't he doing anything to keep you from sinking? "Help!"

"It's ok hey!" He grabbed your hands now and pulled you back from the void, hooked the tether back onto you and saved you from the depths. "It's ok, breathe. No, not like that. Slowly, deep breaths with me. In and hold it and out. Whoooooo."

You focused on the whooshing sound of the air that escaped his lips and you tried to make the same sound yourself. Over and over, slowly as he guided you.

"That's it," he smiled. "Good girl."

You slowly grounded yourself through Eddie, escaping whatever horrible clutches had just grasped at you. You began to feel better, lighter; more centered within yourself but…nicer?

Had that awful feeling been the high? Or was this?

Maybe everyone got caught by a demon when they smoked and then if they escaped they felt a nice light flutter and instead of a heavy beating heart that threatened to burst out of their chests, they felt...silly. Happy. Bubbly.

Like you did whenever you were around Eddie.

Only now it was better, and it was all getting better as he spoke to you and smiled and wiped at the few tears that had escaped your eyes.

Breathe in, breathe out. Good girl.

You kept breathing and staring at his lips.

Breathe in.

Lips.

Breathe out.

Eddie's lips.

Good girl.

You thought about earlier...minutes or hours you couldn't tell for sure...about the way Eddie leaned close to you and almost kissed you. All the worry you'd had about not being able to make a move because you were thinking so much you couldn't act. Here you were now, thinking again. When his lips were right there and you could do something about it.

With one last shaky breath, bubbly infatuation flooded your body; you smiled and said one final farewell to your nervous thoughts, and you surged forward. Your hands shook his away and grabbed at his face, as your lips slid clumsily against his.

Your noses bumped and teeth clacked painfully but it didn't quite matter because the sparks that emanated from your joined lips shot through your limbs and made you both feel tingly and pleasant. At least, you assumed they did for Eddie because he let out a sound that was somewhere in between a giggle and a moan.

But he didn't push you away; in fact, his hands clapped over yours and smushed them further into his cheeks.

He wanted you to kiss him. He wanted to kiss you. He...liked you.

It was a euphoric moment of joy and realization, but your need to put your lips on him outweighed that. So you tried again. Gentler this time.

Eddie followed your lead for a little while as you pulled him towards you; one of his hands found your waist as the other arm rounded your shoulders, and he became your anchor to prevent you from being buried by the sofa again. As thanks for his chivalry, you gifted him with soft caresses, quick pecks, and sharp little nips.

Your fingers developed a mind of their own, and seemed to love his cheekbones and getting tangled in his hair, although they couldn't quite decide which they loved more so back and forth they went.

The rest of you, though--mind and body--just basked in the kissing.

You were good at kissing; you liked kissing. And you liked kissing Eddie, more than you ever thought you would. Kissing under the light, buzzy influence of a beer or two was nice, and it might have been the weed or it could have just been Eddie himself, but this was nicer. Floaty and tingly and transcendent.

The music itself had stopped, but Eddie himself continued to provide the soundtrack to the night. Instead of guitars and vocals and pounding drums, it was a symphony of soft hums and sweet sighs.

Eddie, who often pilfered bites and nibbles off your plate and cited that he was a "growing boy," seemed to prove that his hunger was greater than yours the way he bit and nibbled at you too, appetite growing the longer you kissed. The pace you set no longer fed him the way he wanted and he started to feast a little more; that was a side-effect of being high, right? Hunger. Insatiable hunger?

His mouth pulled away from yours and started to explore your jaw, the column of your neck, the junction between your neck and shoulder. You let yourself get lost in the feeling of his attention, of his lips and hands as he gave and took, of the floaty feeling that settled comfortably in your limbs now, all the nerves of the day forgotten.

Before you knew it, your own hunger grew as well. You wanted him closer, needed more of him now that you had him.

You let yourself drift back along the pillows until you were laying comfortably and pulled Eddie along with you; one hand still lingered in his hair as the other fisted the collar of his shirt and got him right where you needed him to be.

Of course, you couldn't just take without giving as well, and as he settled onto you, your hips bucked up into him. You both moaned--savoring the proximity and delicious friction that his jeans and your leggings provided--and then giggled together as he collapsed on top of you, unprepared for the sudden surge of delight.

His breath fanned across your neck and jaw as he laughed breathlessly, and your hands caressed his head and shoulders fondly as you mirrored him.

He strained his neck a little to look you in the eye; his grin accentuated all the lines in his face, and for a second he struggled to form words. His mouth opened and closed silently and then he licked his lips to compose himself. The next thing you knew, his hand was coming up and squeezing one of your breasts with an exaggerated "honk" as he fell back against the other one and pressed his mouth to the swell over your shirt.

Back into the throes of unadulterated giggles you both went as he continued to honk and kiss and suck at exposed skin.

One of the highlights of the whole night was when he blew a raspberry against your neck; the feeling of goosebumps that erupted along your body and the spittle that sprayed across your skin would be a sensation you would remember and cherish forever.

"No fair," you whined and shifted against him again, both to protest the fact that you currently couldn't return the favor of all the attention he was giving you. Nevertheless, you treated him to the attention that you could, and you bucked your hips up again, only to be met with the feeling of him grinding down onto you.

Giggles began to mingle with desperate pants as he began to shift against you and settled into the cradle of your thighs; he grew harder and ground and rutted against the covered softness of you, faster and sharper, and your body eagerly responded, wanting to be as close to him as you could. As close as either of you could honestly fathom at this point, feeling too good like this to consider that there was more pleasure to be had if time went on and clothes came off.

Sunday nights together were truly gleeful and hedonistic, and tonight was no different. However, instead of snacks and arguments accentuated by the sounds of light-hearted talk and laughter, it was your writhing bodies and mingled breaths that took center stage; the two of you never stopped, only paused for your lips to smack wetly against one another, for your nails to rake through his hair and scratch against his scalp, and for him to grasp at your hips to pull you closer and closer as he drove you higher and higher.

"Eddie, I'm--" you broke away from him and keened, and he responded with a husky "uh-huh" and pressed his forehead against yours. Both of your eyes closed as you felt the pleasure building between the two of you, as he moaned and your toes curled...

As keys jingled in the lock of the front door of the trailer.

...and suddenly it was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over the both of you and you froze, all thought of completion forgotten.

Your eyes shot open and you stared into Eddie's panic-filled, pleasure-blown pupils. He shifted sharply and then paused, almost like a glitch, and then he was off you, across to the other side of the couch in the blink of an eye. You watched, dumbstruck, as he panted heavily to control his breathing, and he held his head in shaking hands.

"No, no," he muttered. "Shit. Shit."

You reacted quickly as the door started to squeak open--throwing your legs over the edge of the sofa to sit upright as your hands clumsily fixed your disheveled clothes--and Wayne walked in. You took the extra second as he grumbled at the threshold and fiddled with his keys to look at Eddie, hoping for some kind of...secret conspiratorial smile or...or heated gaze...just something but he refused to look at you.

Suddenly, all of the good feelings that had flooded you since the moment that Eddie had chased your panic away...they vanished. The sweet giggles and shared pleasure were gone; even the love bites you were sure Eddie had left behind stung instead of blissfully buzzed.

And in their place, an acute clarity of what the two of you had just done.

"You wouldn't believe the mess I walked into tonight," Wayne chuckled with disbelief as he finally shut the door.

No kidding Wayne, you thought bitterly.

"Some of the machines were down when I got there and it took a few hours to figure out the problem. Some rusted old part..." On and on he chattered as you spiraled, stuck in your thoughts once again.

You and Eddie, Eddie and you. You and your secret crush...had just...on his couch. You and your best friend, your only friend in town...got high and kissed and canoodled and now he refused to even look at you.

You didn't know if it was the weed again or if it was just you, but you could see stars in the corners of your eyes and you felt lightheaded as the panic settled back in. And it only got worse the longer you sat there and tried to get some kind of sign from Eddie, only to be left with nothing. Such a stark contrast from just moments ago where you were giving and taking and responding to one another so freely.

Giving and taking...was that really what it was? Or did you just...do this to him? Do this to the both of you? Effectively tank your friendship the way you'd worried about since the first time you'd hung out and Eddie had specifically said it wasn't a date?

You abruptly got to your feet and Wayne stopped his chatter and looked at you questioningly.

"I..." you felt your throat closing up with emotion. "I just forgot I have a really important call first thing tomorrow. I...need to go!"

Eddie finally looked at you with wide, shocked eyes.

Were those tears? Oh god...

"I...it was nice to see you Wayne, sorry..." you scrambled to grab your bag from where you'd tossed it by the door and then looked back at both Munsons. Back and forth at Wayne's curious expression...and Eddie's devastated one. "I'm...sorry."

And you bolted out the door, into your car, and back across town to the lonely confines of your apartment, where you would wish for a second chance at Sunday all over again.

Because until tonight, Sundays had always been your favorite days.

Next Part: Leave of Absence

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #store manager verse #Eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #stranger things Eddie munson

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arctic monkeys for q magazine, june 2011 (x) (x)

ARCTIC MONKEYS: Inside Alex Turner's Head

Words Sylvia Patterson Portrait John Wright

The day Arctic Monkeys moved into their six bedroom, Spanish-style villa in the Hollywood Hills, where the first-floor balcony looked over the patio swimming pool, they knew exactly what to do.

"From the balcony, you could get on t'roof and jump in't pool," chirps the Monkeys' most gregarious member, drummer Matt Helders, in his homely Yorkshire way. "We looked at it and said, That's definitely gonna happen. So by the end, we did a couple of 'em. Somersaults in t'pool, from the roof. At night time."

In January 2011, as Sheffield and the rest of Britain endured its bitterest winter in a century, Arctic Monkeys capered among the palm trees, eschewing hotels for a millionaire's Hollywood homestead as they recorded and mixed their fourth studio album, Suck It and See.

The four Monkeys, alongside producer James Ford and engineer James Brown, lived what they called the "American man thing": watched Super Bowl on giant TVs, played ping-pong, hired two Mustangs, cooked cartoon Tom And Jerry-sized steaks on barbecues on Sundays, had girlfriends over to visit, all cooking and drinking around the colossal outdoor kitchen area featuring a fridge and two dishwashers. Living atop the Hills, they could see the Pacific Ocean beyond by day, the infinite glittering lights of downtown LA by night.

Every day, en route to Sound City Studios, they'd travel in a seven-seater four-by-four through the mountains, via bohemian 60s enclave Laurel Canyon, blaring out the tunes: The Stones Roses, The Cramps, the Misfits' Hollywood Babylon. For the sometime teenage art-punk renegades whose guitarist, Jamie Cook, was once ejected from London's Met Bar for refusing to pay €22 for two beers, the comedy rock'n'roll life still feels, however, absolutely nothing like reality.

NICK O'MALLEY: "It were really as if we were on holiday. When we came back it's the most post-holiday blues I've ever had!"

JAMIE COOK: "It's hard to comment on that. It were just really good fun."

MATT HELDERS: "We always said, As soon as things like that feel normal, we're in trouble. But it's just funny. You might think it would get more and more serious as you get older but it's getting funnier. We've done four albums now and I'm still only 24, I'm still immature to an extent. So who cares?"

Alex? Al? Are you there?

ALEX TURNER: "Yeah, it were good times. But we were in the studio most of the time. So there's no real wild Hollywood stories. Hmn. Yeah."

Wednesday, 16 March 2011, Strongroom Bar, Shoreditch, East London, 11am. Alex Turner, 25, slips entirely alone into an empty art-crowd brasserie looking like an indie girl's indie dream boy: mop-top bouffant hair which coils, in curlicues, directly into his cheekbones, army-green waist-length jacket, baggy-arsed skinny jeans, black cord zip-up cardigan, simple gold chain, supermoon sized chocolate-brown eyes.

Almost six years after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor became the indie-punk anthem of a generation (from the first of Arctic Monkeys' three Number 1 albums), and nothing prepares you for the curious phenomenon of Alex Turner "in conversation". Unlike so many of the Monkeys frenetic early songs, he operates in slow motion, seemingly underwater, carrying a protective shell on his back, perhaps indie rock's very own diamond-backed terrapin. The most celebrated young wordsmith in rock'n roll today talks fulsomely, in fact, only in shapeless, curling sentences punctuated with "maybe... hmn.. yeah", an anecdotal wilderness sketching pictures as vague as a cloud. He is, though, simultaneously adorable: amenable, gentle, graceful, and as Northern as a 70s grandpa who literally greets you with "ey oop?".

"People think I'm a miserable bastard," he notes, cheerfully, "but it's just the way me face falls." Still profoundly private, if not as hermetically sealed as a vacuum-packed length of Frankfurter, his fante-shy reticence extends not only to his personal life (his four-year relationship with It-girl/TV presenter Alexa Chung, whom he never mentions) but to insider details generally. Take the Monkeys’ Hollywood high jinks documented above: not one word of it was described by Turner. Before Q was informed by his other Monkey bandmates, Turner’s anecdotal aversion unfolded like this:

Describe the lovely villa you were in. AT: "Well... we certainly had a... good view."

Of what? AT: "Well, we were up quite high."

The downtown LA lights going on forever? AT: "I dunno. It was definitely that thing of getting a bit of sort of sunshine. Is it vitamin D? If you can get vitamin D on your record, you've got a bit of a head start. So we'd get up and drive to the studio."

What were you driving? AT: "Nothing... spectacular. But yeah, we'd drive up the studio, spend all day there and sort of, y know, get back. To be honest... we had limited time. So we spent as much time as possible kind of getting into it, like, in the studio.

So your favourite adventures were what? AT: "Well, they were really… minimal. We were working out there!"

Any nightclubs or anything, perhaps? AT: "You really want the goss 'ere, don't you?"

Yes, please. AT: "I could make some up. Nah!"

And this was on the second time of asking. It's perhaps obvious: Alex Turner, one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation (four Monkeys albums and two EPs in five years, The Last Shadow Puppets side-project, a bewitching acoustic soundtrack for his actor/video director friend Richard Ayoade's feature-length debut Submarine), is dedicated only to the cause – of being the best he can possibly be. He simply remembers the songs much more than the somersaults.

Throughout 2009, Arctic Monkeys toured third album Humbug – the record mostly made in the Californian desert with Queens Of The Stone Age man-monolith Josh Homme – across the planet. While hardly some cranium-blistering opus, its heavier sonic meanderings considerably slowed the Arctic Monkeys' live sets and on 23 August 2009, Q watched them headline the Lowlands Festival, Holland and witnessed a hitherto unthinkable sight – swathes of perplexed Monkeys fans trudging away from the stage. With the sludge rock mood matching their cascading dude-rock hair it seemed obvious: they'd smoked way too much outrageously strong weed in the desert.

"Heheheh, yeah," responds Turner, unperturbed. "That's your theory. You probably weren't alone."

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Turner's arm is now nonchalantly draped along the back of a beaten-up brown leather sofa. He ponders his band's somewhat contrary reputation…

"I think starting the headline set at Reading with a cover of a Nick Cave tune perhaps was a bit contrary. D'youknowhat Imean?! But to be honest, that summer, at those festivals, we had a great time. And I know some fans enjoyed those sets 10 times more. And you can't just do, y’know, another Mardy Bum or whatever. Because how could you, really?"

With Humbug, notes Turner, "I went into corners I hadn't before, because I needed to see what were there," but by spring 2010 he wanted their fourth album to be "more song-based" and less lyrically "removed". He was "organised this time", studied "the good songwriters" (from Nick Cave, The Byrds and Leonard Cohen to country colossi Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline), discovered "the other three strings" on his guitar, and wrote 12 songs through the spring and summer of 2010, mostly in the fourth-floor New York flat he shared with Chung before the couple moved back to London late last summer (the New York MTV show It's On With Alexa Chung was cancelled after two seasons). The result: major-key melodies, harmonised singing and classic song structures.

At the same time he revisited the opposite extreme: bands such as Black Sabbath and The Stooges ("we wanted a few wig-outs as well"); he was also still heavily influenced by the oil-thick grinder rock of Josh Homme, who is clearly now a permanent Monkeys hero. After four months' rehearsals in London, on 8 January the Monkeys relocated to LA for five swift weeks of production and Homme came to visit, singing backing vocals on All My Own Stunts. Tequila was involved.

"Tequila is probably me favourite," manages Turner, by way of an anecdote. "But it takes a certain climate... It's not the same... in the rain. Yeah. [Looks to be contemplating a lyric] Tequila in the rain."

Vocally, he developed the caramel richness first unveiled on The Last Shadow Puppets' Scott Walker-esque The Age Of The Understatement, finding a crooner's vibrato. "Everything before was so tight,” he notes, clutching his neck. "Probably just through nerves. That's just not there any more." Suck It and See contains at least four of the most glittering, sing-along, world-class pop songs (and obvious singles) of Arctic Monkeys' career: the towering, clanging She's Thunderstorms, the summertime stunner The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, the heavenly harmonised title track and the Echo & The Bunnymen-esque jangly pop of closer That's Where You're Wrong.

Elsewhere, in typically contrary "fashion", there's preposterous head-banger bedlam (Brick By Brick, the rollicking faux-heavy rock download they released in March "just for fun", featuring vocals by Helders; Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair, and Library Pictures). News arrives that the first single proper will be Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair. Q is perplexed. Brilliantly titled, certainly, but arriving after Brick By Brick, the new album will appear to the planet as some comedy pastiche metal album for 12-year-old boys.

You've got all these colossal, summery, indie-pop classics and you've gone for... The Chair? AT: [Laughing uproariously] "The Chair! I'm now calling it The Chair, that's cool. Well for once it weren't even our suggestion. It was Laurence's (Bell, Domino label boss). And I were, Fucking too right! He's awesome. It'd be good to get a bit of fucking rock'n'roll out there, won't it? It's riffs. It's loud. It's funny."

If you don't release The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala as a single I'm going round Domino to kick Laurence's "awesome" butt. AT: "I think it'll be the next one!"

The record's title, meanwhile, could've been more enigmatically original than the un-loved phrase Suck It and See. The band, struggling with ideas due to the opposing sonic moods, invented an inspiration-conjuring ruse: to think of new names for effects pedals in the style of Tom Wolfe, Turner being long enamoured with the American author's legendarily psychedelic books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, "cos that just sounds awesome".

"There's the Big Muff pedal," he elaborates, "That’s the classic. I've got the Valve Slapper. And there's the Tube Screamer. So we came up with the Thunder Suckle Fuzz Canyon. And… wait till I assemble it in me mind… em… it'll come to me… The Blonde-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. So we were going for summat like that."

A wasted opportunity?

"Nah. Because some of those things ended up in the lyrics anyway. Suck It and See was just easier."

Alex Turner, rock'n'roll's premier descriptive art-poet, still writes his lyrics long-hand in spiral-bound notebooks. "Writing lyrics is a craft that I've practised a bit now," he avers. "In me notebook it looks like sums. Theories. There's words and arrows going everywhere. There's always a few possibilities and I write the word 'OR' in a square."

For our most celebrated colloquial sketch-writer of the everyday observation (all betting pencils, boy slags and ice-cream van aggravations) the more successful he becomes, the less he orbits the ordinary. "I'm not struggling with that, to be honest," he decides. "In fact I'm enjoying writing lyrics much more than I did. Stories. Describing a picture. Um. There's quite a bit of weather and time in this one. Which is probably not reassuring. 'Oh God, he's writing about the weather.' Maybe leave that out!"

There are also some direct, funny, romantic observations: "That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun/And I only hope you've got it aimed at me..." (from the title track).

Some of your romantic quips, now, must be about Alexa. AT: "Right. Yeah. Definitely. Well... there's always been that side to our songs, when we weren't writing about... the fucking taxi rank. It's kind of inevitably... people you're with." [At the mention of Chung's name, Turner is visibly aggrieved, head sliding into his neck, terrapin-esque indeed.]

It must have been very grounding being in a proper relationship through all this madness. Because if you weren't, girls would be jumping all over your head. AT: "Em. Hmn. Well, of course that helps you to... I don't really know.. what the other way would be."

Does Alexa wonder if the lyrics are about her? AT: "Oh there's none of that. Yeah, no, there's no looking over the shoulder."

She must be curious, at least. "Maybe."

Did you ever watch Popworld? AT: [Nervous laughter] "Em! Now and again."

Did you ever see the episode where she helps Paul McCartney write a song about shoes? AT: "Ah, yeah I think so, maybe I did see that."

Well, if I was you, I'd have been thinking, "She's the one for me." AT: "Well. Yeah... maybe that would've... sealed the deal! Hmn. But maybe that wasn't when i got the ray of light. When was? Nah [buries head in hands]. I might have to go for a cigarette..."

Q can't torture him any more and joins him for a snout. Turner smokes Camels from a crumpled, sad, soft-pack and resembles a teenager again. As early song You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me says, "Never tenser/Could all go a bit Frank Spencer…”

In January 2006, when Arctic Monkeys' Number 1 album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not became the fastest-selling debut in UK history, inadvertently redefining the concept of autonomy and further imploding the decimated music industry (& wasn't their idea to be "the MySpace band", it was their fans': the Monkeys merely kick-started viral marketing by giving away demos at gigs), the 19- and 20-year-old Monkeys were terrible at fame. They weren't so much insurrectionary teenage upstarts as teenage innocents culturally traumatised by the peak-era fame democracy.

To their generation (born in the mid-'80s) fame was now synonymous with some-twat-off-the-telly a world of foaming tabloid hysteria where renown and celebrity meant, in fact, you were talentless. Hence their interview diffidence and receiving awards via videos dressed up as the Wizard OfOz and the Village People. Which only, ironically, made them even more celebrated and famous. (“That were a product of us just trying to hold onto the reins," thinks Turner today. "Being uncooperative.")

Q meets The Other Three one morning at 11am, in the well-appointed, empty bar of the Bethnal Green, Bast London hotel they're staying in (all three live in Sheffield, with their girlfriends, in their own homes). First to arrive is the industrious, sensible and cheerful Helders, crunching into a hangover-curing green apple. He has recovered from last year's boxing accident at the gym, which left his broken arm requiring a fitted plate. Now impressively purple-scarred, the break felt "interesting" and the doctor couldn't resist the one-armed drummer jest: "D'you like Def Leppard?"

Currently enjoying an enduring bromance with Diddy, he still doesn't feel famous, "it just doesn't feel that real, there's no paparazzi waiting for me to trip up." He and Turner, during the four-month rehearsals last year, became an accomplished roast dinner cooking duo for the band. "I reckon we could have us our own cookbook," he beams. "Pictures of us stirring, with a whisk."

O'Malley, an agreeable, twinkly-eyed 25-year-old with a strikingly deep voice and a winningly huge smile, is still coyly embarrassed by the interview process. A replacement for the departed original bass player Andy Nicholson in May 2006, he went from Asda shelf-filler to Glastonbury headliner in 13 months and still finds the Monkeys "a massive adventure". His life in Sheffield is profoundly normal – he's delighted that his new home since last October has an open-hearth fireplace: "Me parents had electric bars." He has also discovered cooking. “I’m just a pretty shit-hot housewife, most of the time," he smiles. "I cook stews, fish combinations, curries, chillies. I made a beef pho noodle soup the other day, Vietnamese, I surprised meself, had some mates round for that."

Recently, at his dad's 50th birthday bash, the party band, made up of family and friends, insisted he join them onstage "for ...The Dancefloor. So I were up there [mimes playing bass, all sheepish] and it were the wrong pitch, they didn't know the words or 'owt, going, Makin eyes... er..." He has no extra-curricular musical ambitions. "I'm happy just playing bass," he smiles. "I've never had the skill of doing songs meself. It'd be shit!"

Cook, 25, is still spectacularly embarrassed by the interview process. He perches upright, with a fixed nervous smile, newly shorn of the beard and ponytail he sported in LA: "Rockin' a pone, yeah, because I could get away with it." With his classic preppy haircut and dapper green military coat (from London's swish department store, Liberty), he looks like a handsome '40s film star. (Turner deems Cook "the band heartbreaker" and had a word with him post-LA: "I said to him, Come on, mate, you've got to get that beard shaved off. Get the girls back into us. Shift some posters.")

His life in Sheffield is also profoundly normal. He still plays Sunday League football with his local pub team, The Pack Horse FC (position, left back), remains in his long-term relationship with page-three-model-turned-make-up-artist Katie Downes and "potters about" at home, refusing to describe said home, "cos I'll get burgled".

A tiler by trade, he always vowed, should the Monkeys sign a deal, that he'd throw his trowel in a Sheffield river on his last day of work. "I never did fling me trowel," he confirms. "Probably still in me shed." He's never considered what his band represents to his generation. "I'd go insane thinking about it, I'm pretty good at not thinking about it… Oh God. I'm terrible at this!"

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Alex Turner is cloudily describing his everyday life. "I just keep meself to meself," he confounds. He mostly stays indoors and his perfect night in with Alexa is "watching loads of Sopranos. And doing roast dinners".

No longer spindle-limbed, he attends a gym and has handsomely well-defined arms – "You have to look after yourself."

Suddenly, Crying Lightning from Humbug rumbles over the bar stereo. "Wow. How about that? I was quite happy the other morning cos Brick By Brick were on the round-up goals on Soccer AM. It's still exciting when that happens. It was like Brick By Brick is real."

He spends his days writing music, "listening to records", and recommends Blues Run The Game by doomed '60s minstrel Jackson C Frank ("who's that lass?... Laura Marling, she did a cover recently), a simple, acoustic, deep and regretful stunner about missing someone on the road.

Lyrically, he cites as an example of greatness the Nick Cave B-side Little Empty Boat [from ‘97 single Into My Arms ], a comically sinister paean to a sexual power struggle: "Your knowledge is impressive and your argument is good/But I am the resurrection babe and you're standing on my foot."

"I need a hobby," he suddenly decides. "I'd like to learn another language." Since his mum is a German teacher (his dad teaches music), surely he can speak some German? "I know how to ask somebody if they've had fun at Christmas." Go on, then. "Nah!"

Where Turner's creative gifts stem from remains a contemporary rock'n'roll mystery; he became a fledgling songwriter at 16, after the gift of a guitar at Christmas from his parents. An only child, did his folks, perhaps, foresee artistic greatness? "I doubt it!" he balks. "Cos I didn't. I wasn't... a show kid." Like the others, he doesn't analyse the past, or the future.

"You can't constantly be thinking about what's happened," he reasons, "it's just about getting on with it." The elaborate pinky ring he now constantly wears, however, a silver, gold and ruby metal-goth corker featuring the words DEATH RAMPS is a permanent reminder of he and his best friends’ past. The Death Ramps is not only a Monkeys pseudonym and B-side to Teddy Picker, but a place they used to ride their bikes in Sheffield as kids.

"Up in the woods near where we lived," he nods. "Just little hills. But when you're eight years old they're death ramps." The ring was custom made by a friend of his, who runs top-end rock'n'roll jewellery emporium The Great Frog near London's Carnaby Street. Ask Turner why he thinks the chase between his writing and speaking eloquence is quite so mesmerisingly vast and he attempts a theory.

"Well, writing isn't the same as speaking," he muses. "Not for me. I seem to struggle more and more with... conversation. Talking onstage... I can't do it any more. Hmn. I'll have to work on that."

The ever-helpful Helders has a better theory.

"Since he's been writing songs," he ponders, “It seems like he’s always thinking about that. So even when he’s talking to you now, he’s thinking about the next thing that rhymes with a word. Even when he’s driving. We joke he’s a bad driver, his focus is never 100 per cent on what he’s doing. Which is good for us cos it means he’s got another 12 songs up his sleeve. I think music must be the easiest way for him to be concise and get everything out. Otherwise his head would explode.”

The Shoreditch.com photo studios, 18 March. Alex Turner, today, is more ethereally distracted than ever, transfixed by the studio iPod, playing Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, a version of I’d Rather Go Blind. Occasionally, he’ll completely lose his conversational thread, “Um. I’ve dropped a stitch.”

The first to arrive for Q’s photoshoot, he greets his incoming bandmates with enormous hugs (and also hugs them goodbye). Today, Q feels it’s pointless poking its pickaxe of serious enquiry further into Turner’s vacuum-packed soul and wonders if he’ll play, instead, a daft game. It’s called Popworld Questions, as first posed by someone he knows rather well.

“Oh, OK. Let’s do it,” he blinks, now perched in an empty dressing room. He then vigorously shakes his head, “Um…I’ve gotta snap back into it.”

Here, then, are some genuine “Alexa Chung on Popworld” questions (2006-2007), as originally posed to Matt Willis, Amy Winehouse, Robbie Williams, Pussycat Dolls, Kaiser Chiefs and Diddy.

Why do indie bands wear such tight jeans? AT: “Um. I supposed they do. They haven’t always. When we first were playing I was definitely in flares. You need to be quite tall to get the full effect, though. So, that's why this indie band wears such tight jeans, cos we've not got the legs for flares."

What makes you tick in the sexy department? AT: "Wow. Pass. What do I find most attractive in a woman? Something in the head? That's definitely a requirement. Well... Hmn. I'm struggling."

Tell us about all the lovely groupies. AT: "No!"

If dogs had human hands instead of paws, would you consider trying to teach them to play the piano? AT: "Absolutely. I'd teach Hey Jude."

How many plums d'you think you can comfortably fit in one hand? AT: "They're not very big. [Holds small, pale, girly hand up for inspection] It's a shame. Probably three. Diddy only managed two? Maybe not then. I can carry a lot of glasses at once, though. If they're small ones I can do four."

Are you cool? AT: "Not as much as I'd like to be. There's this clip where Clint Eastwood is on a talkshow and he gets asked, Everybody thinks of you as defining cool, what d'you think about that? And he gets his cigs out, takes one out, flicks it into his mouth, lights it and says, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Here, Turner locates his Camels soft-pack and attempts to do a Clint Eastwood. He flicks one upwards towards his mouth. And misses. Flicks another. And misses. "Third time lucky?" He misses. "I'll get it the next time." And succeeds. "Hey. Fourth time. Don't put that in! So there you go. I'm four steps away from where I wanna be."

Thank you very much for joining me here on Popworld, here's my clammy hand again. There it is, let it slip, hmmn. You can let go now. AT: "OK! Were you a Popworld fan, then? It was funny. Cool. What were we talking about, before?"

Blimey, Alex. What must you be like when you're completely stoned out of your head? AT: "Stoned? What d'you mean, cos I seem like that anyway? Yeah. A lot of people... tell me I'm a bit... dreamy. But I like the idea of that. Of being somewhere else."

Two days earlier, Turner had contemplated what he wanted from all this, in the end. Many seconds later he gave his deceptively ambitious answer.

"I just wanna write better songs," he decided. "And better lyrics. I just definitely wanna be good at it. Hmn. Yeah.”

—

RUFUS BLACK: AKA Matt Helders, on his ongoing bromance with Diddy

Matt Helders has known preposterous rap titan Diddy since they met in Miami in 2008. “He goes, Arctic Monkeys! Then he said summat about a B-side and I was like, He's not lying! I just thought, This is funny, I'm gonna go with this for a while." Last October Diddy texted Helders, suggesting he play drums with his Diddy Dirty Money band on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, to give his own drummer a day off. “I were bowling with me girifriend at the time. In Sheffield, on a Sunday." On the day of recording, says Helder, "We had a musical director. That were one of the maddest times of my life. Next day Diddy said, Why don't you just stay? Come along with me. So I went everywhere with him." Diddy had "a convoy of cars" and made sure Helders was always in his. "He'd stop his car and go, Where's Matt? You're coming with me! So I'd get in his car. Just me, him, his security, driver." Diddy, by now, had given him a pseudonym - Rufus Black. "He kept saying, I don't wanna fuck up your image. And I'm, I don't think it's gonna do me any harm!" He stayed in Diddy's spectacularly expensive hotel. Some weeks later, Helders almost returned to the Dirty Money drumstool for a gig in Glasgow. "But we were rehearsing in London. I were like, I might come, how are you getting there? And he were like, Jet. Jump on t’jet with me. But I had to stay in Bethnal Green instead.”

Love’s young dream: Diddy (left) with Helders

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #nick o'malley #jamie cook #sias era #interviews #q magazine #my image id #bands #this is such a funny interview honestly shfjwjs #self proclaimed housewife nick my beloved......#also why did the interviewer describe alex's hands as small pale and girly HELPME #btw im missing page 93 it's probabky just a photospread but yeah #i managed to find the dead links' images on vk #eye contact #not my scan

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eco-lite · 11 months

Text

I’m once again returning to do god’s work by bringing you delightful moments from Spock’s World by Diane Duane.

[Text ID: “Spock was bent over [the Science Station], making some adjustment. ‘Readout now,’ he said, straightening and looking over his shoulder at the large, shaggy-fringed rock that was sitting in the center seat. Some of those glittering fringes stroked the open circuitry of the communicator controls in the seat’s arm. ‘Point nine nine three,’ said a scratchy voice from the voder box mounted on the rock’s back. ‘A nice triple sine.’ ‘Nice?’ said Spock. Jim raised an eyebrow: you could have used Spock’s tone of voice to dry out a martini.” End ID]

There’s a Horta crewman on the Enterprise now and they’re great!

[Text ID: “Still working on her doctoral thesis, Jim thought. Uhura was busy working on improving universal translator theory, mostly by taking the old theory to pieces and putting it back together in shapes that were causing a terrible furor in academic circles on various planets. Jim vividly remembered one night quite a long time ago when he had asked Uhura exactly how she was going about this. She had told him, for almost an hour without stopping, and in delighted and exuberant detail, until his head was spinning with phoneme approximations and six-sigma evaluations and the syntactic fade and genderbend and recontextualization and linguistic structural design and the physics of the human dextrocerebral bridge. The session had left Jim shaking his head, thoroughly disabused of the idea (and ashamed of how long he had held it) that Uhura was simply a sort of highly trained switchboard operator.” End ID]

Uhura continues to be a total badass and is amazing at what she does.

[Text ID: Chatroom title in all caps: “COMMON ROOM OPINION, INFORMED AND NON- RANTING AND RAVING PERMITTED NAMES NOT NECESSARY” Regular text: “It was one of the places he came to find out what his crew was thinking. Messages did not have to be attributed to a name or terminal, but they could not be private. The office of the common room system operator rotated through the crew, offered to various members on the strength of their psych profiles in areas like calm reaction to stress and anger. The common room syops tended to be closemouthed and dependable, the kind of person that others refer to as ‘a rock.’ (Once it had actually been Naraht, to the amusement of just about everyone.) Here tempers could flare, awful jokes be told safely, suspicions be aired, rumors be shot down. The common room was sometimes a peaceful place, sometimes a powderkeg. Jim never ignored it.” End ID]

The Enterprise has a dumpster fire chat room that has just as much shitposting and vitriol as twitter.

[Text ID: “Jim bowed over her free hand. ‘It’s been too long,’ he said. ‘It’s good to be back,’ Amanda said. ‘And in the middle of a party as well.’ She looked a little wry. ‘A little entertainment will be pleasant before the deluge.’ Sarek’s eyes flicked to Kirk, a considering look. ‘My wife speaks figuratively,’ he said, ‘in the tradition of her people. Deluges are not common on Vulcan.’ ‘My husband speaks circumspectly,’ Amanda said, just as dryly, ‘in the tradition of his.’” End ID]

Amanda and Sarek are as charming as ever.

[Text ID: “Jim was mildly surprised to see that to his other rank tags and decorations, McCoy had added a small, understated IDIC. ‘If I didn’t know you better,’ he said, ‘I’d think you were going native. When did you get that?’ ‘Today in the gift shop, when you were looking at the snowball paperweights with Mount Seleya in them. Tackiest things I ever saw.’ ‘Yes,’ Spock said; ‘they were imported from Earth.’ ‘You be quiet. We can’t let these people leave the Federation, Jim. At least not until they teach us how to make tasteful souvenirs.’” End ID]

Just this.

[Text ID: “There was Sreil, the burly, brown-haired biologist from the Academy, and T’Madh, a little bright-eyed woman of great age and curiosity, a computer programmer; and her son Savesh, who when asked what he did, said, ‘I am a farmer,’ with a sort of secret satisfaction that hinted he thought his job better than any of the more technical ones that the people around him held. Jim had to smile; the thought of a Vulcan farmer was slightly funny, even though there naturally had to be some. But the image of a Vulcan in coveralls, chewing on a stalk of hay, kept coming up and having to be repressed.” End ID]

I love Savesh the Vulcan farmer!

[Text ID: “’Jim,’ he said, ‘the best translation of nehau would be an old word: “vibes.” The feeling-in-your-bones that something gives you. It’s highly subjective.’ ‘Right. Go on, Savesh.’ ‘Well, Captain, I have heard numerous Vulcans say that losing the Federation and the Earth people would be no particular loss, because they had bad nehau, and that could not fail to affect us sooner or later.. But I must tell you that I find your nehau not objectionable at all; pleasant, even.’ End ID]

Vulcan wanting to leave the Federation because the ~vibes~ are off.

[Text ID: “His grasp of dialect and idiom as amazing for anybody, off-planet or on. He once reduced the President of the United States—then a ceremonial post, but one much loved by the people who lived within the old borders—to tears of laughter at a state dinner, by delivering a learned dissertation on computer data storage technology in a flawless Texan accent. The lady was later heard to propose an amendment to the Constitution to allow off-worlders to hold high public office, so that she could have him for her running mate in the next election.” End ID]

I would give anything to hear Sarek do a perfect Texas accent.

[Text ID: “—but when Amanda became annoyed over what she perceived as his smugness about being right, her eyes would flash and she would become splendidly insulting, usually in bizarre Anglish idiom that Sarek found as refreshing as it was annoying. She caused him to laugh out loud for the first time in many years when she told him, after a disagreement over the translation of the word for war, that he should only grow headfirst in the ground like a turnip. Later that month, when he was right about something again and made the mistake of not immediately down-playing it, she issued him with a formal malediction, wishing that the curse of Mary Malone and her nine blind orphan children might pursue him so far over the hills and the seas that God Almighty couldn’t find him with a radio telescope. Sarek laughed so hard at that that he entirely lost his breath, and Amanda panicked and started to give him cardiopulmonary resuscitation, which was useless, because his heart was somewhere other than the spot on which she was pounding. It took him nearly an hour to recover: he kept laughing. He had never been cursed like that before, not even by union leaders, and it was very refreshing.” End ID]

This dynamic is perfect, no notes.

[Text ID: “The next night they sat in the Rec Deck again, in the middle of a large impromptu party that was going on around them by way of celebration. The sense of relief in the ship was palpable. A group of about a hundred crewfolk, mostly human, had surrounded Spock earlier in the evening and sung ‘For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow,’ accompanied by twenty crewmen on kazoos. Sarek had been given champagne.” End ID]

I really hope the TOS Enterprise has crew performances like on Next Gen. This kazoo band needs to be heard! Also, I can perfectly picture Spock’s annoyed-but-tolerant expression as he resigns himself to the kazoo serenade.

Thank you @dianeduane for making me laugh!

#star trek #star trek tos #spock’s world #diane duane #star trek books #star trek novels #spock #jim kirk #leonard mccoy #sarek #amanda grayson

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projectionistwrites · 10 months

Text

REMINISCENCE

boston!Joel Miller x afab!reader

You and Joel discuss the things you miss most about life before the outbreak.

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ mdni) WARNINGS: age gap, canon-typical violence, alcohol consumption, SMUT (pornography, unprotected p in v sex, dirty talk, mentions of masturbation) NOTES: this was meant to be a short little drabble, and then it sort of morphed into...whatever this is.

Joel didn’t gain much from his relationship from you—in terms of equity theory, the costs slightly outweighed the rewards when it came to your unorthodox companionship.

But nonetheless, he walked you home from work every single night without fail.

You were a bartender at the local undercover pub—operating (presumably) right beneath FEDRA’s noses, although it was a well-known fact that some of the officers chose to unwind in the forbidden sanctuary that the underground enclave offered.

Free booze. That was Joel’s price. It seemed silly, really—he’d brood silently at the far end of the bar all evening after he’d finished his menial jobs around the city or smuggling-related tasks, watching you smile and interact with the other patrons. He was sacrificing valuable twilight hours by sitting there, waiting for the minutes to roll by until it finally hit 2AM.

Every night as he sat there, listening to your friendly conversations with the other customers, Joel could do nothing but reprimand himself—he was being a fucking idiot, stewing off to the side all night on his lonesome, wasting precious minutes that would better be spent on more labor or catching up on his sleep. This is the last time, he’d tell himself. Get a fucking grip.

But then your gaze would flutter over to him from halfway across the bar, your lips curling up in a delicate smile as your eyes glittered, and his mind went to static. You didn’t look at any of the other patrons that way—all these men pining for your attention, and your eyes only seemed to catch on Joel.

You had to exchange pleasantries with the other customers—had to flirt and smile and giggle in order to earn your keep. But that didn’t stop your attention from constantly straying to the man in the corner, whose dark eyes never left your form as you mixed and served drinks.

Excitement always bubbled in your chest when you heard the telltale clink of his glass hitting the counter, signaling that he’d finished his drink and needed another. It was a momentary escape, a brief but welcomed reprieve from the exaggerated, inauthentic friendly demeanor that you used to placate the crowd—you took your time topping off Joel’s glass, never serving him more than about two-fingers-width worth of liquor in hopes that he’d finish it quickly so you had an excuse to visit his end of the bar again. You never spoke to each other when you were on the clock—you had to give off the impression that you were available, you couldn’t play favorites. But still, you couldn’t help but drift towards him as you wiped down the countertop, looking for absolutely any opportunity to be near him.

But it was the nightly walk home that really kept him coming back.

You were sweet. Painfully so. Bright-eyed and naive and full of life. You made him smile—sometimes, you even made him laugh. He didn’t talk much, but you didn’t mind—you filled the silence between you with mindless chatter, complaining about your job and the difficult customers or sharing stories from your life before the outbreak. Joel could listen to you talk for hours—the dulcet cadence of your voice, the light breathy laughter that escaped your lips, the twinkle in your eye as you walked by his side.

It had started when a FEDRA soldier gave you a hard time about being out past curfew—roughed you up just enough to strike fear in your heart, your temperament at work the following night distraught as you dreaded the trek back to your dingy apartment.

Joel had already been a regular at that point. He was quiet, kept to himself, never shared more than a few brief words before his gaze drifted back down to glare into his liquor, his shoulders seeming burdened with more weight than any one man should be able to carry.

He didn’t give you the same attention that the other men did—maybe that’s why you were so drawn to him. While the other patrons shamelessly flirted with you, making obscene comments and proposals in an attempt to gain your affections, Joel just treated you like a person. Maybe it was that Southern hospitality that you inferred from his Texan drawl, or maybe it was something else. But nonetheless, the mysterious bargoer was the first person to notice your change in demeanor.

“Y’alright?”

He’d asked as your trembling hands tilted the bottle of amber liquid to refill his empty crystal glass. Your eyes darted to his face at the question—it was the first time he’d ever gone out of his way to speak with you, never offering a word unless he was prompted.

You gulped, setting the bottle back down behind the counter with a slight clang. Your gaze nervously scanned over the crowded room, fearing that someone might catch you with your guard down. Luckily, the patrons all seemed to be wrapped up in their own conversations, so you allowed yourself to indulge Joel with an honest response. When you looked back at him, his dark brown eyes were already fixed on your face.

“FEDRA’s getting antsy. An officer stopped me on my way home, last night—confiscated my cards for being out past curfew, said the consequences'd be worse if it happened again.”

You’d admitted quietly, and Joel could see the fear that was crawling beneath your skin, threatening to claw through your flesh. His heavy brows furrowed.

“How far’s home?”

He asked, and you bristled, not particularly keen on the idea of sharing such personal information with someone who was practically a stranger.

He must’ve sensed his misstep and quickly backpedaled.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“It’s a few blocks west of here, by the outpost.”

You weren’t sure what had compelled you to share such intimate details with him, but clearly it had been the right call. He nodded carefully, lifting his new drink to his lips and taking a swig before he acknowledged you again.

“My place’s on the way. I can walk you home, if ya want.”

That was nearly six weeks ago—now, it had become routine. In exchange for his chivalry, you'd offered him a night of bottomless drinks—when he realized this could be an ongoing perk, you were quick to accept his continued companionship on your midnight commutes. FEDRA soldiers knew better than to confront him about violations of curfew, so you were safe from further disturbances when accompanied by his presence.

Tonight was no different. The crowd of drunk customers was beginning to thin out as you made the announcement for last call. When the last patron finally stumbled up the stairs and out of the bar, Joel watched your shoulders sag with resignation, relieved to be free from another grueling shift.

He downed the remnants of his third pour of whiskey and stood up, stretching his legs out for the first time in hours. He wordlessly slipped behind the counter beside you to rinse and clean his own glass in the sink, watching you slump against the counter out of his periphery.

“What a long fucking day.”

You grumbled, your voice losing the artificial peppiness that you struggled to maintain in front of your customers. Joel let out a breathy chuckle as he returned his cleaned glass to the correct shelf, turning towards you.

“Then let’s get you home, darlin’.”

He’d had a rough couple of days. The night before, you’d panicked when he failed to show up by midnight—he was rarely later than ten-thirty, and his absence was enough to send you into a worried spiral.

When he’d finally stumbled through the doors, there was dried blood beneath his fingernails and a bruise forming across his jaw. As soon as he saw the unfettered alarm in your gaze, he felt guilt consume him. You were worried about him.

He struggled to sit at his usual stool, grunting as pain flared in his ribs at the movement. You were in front of him in an instant, sliding a glass of whiskey and an ice pack wrapped in a towel across the bar to him.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

You’d challenged harshly, but your voice betrayed you—although you’d attempted to convey your anger, the anxiety in your wavery tone was indisputable. Joel’s gaze dropped as he reached for his glass.

“Trade went bad.”

He offered simply, cringing slightly at the burn of the liquor at the back of his throat. When his eyes found yours again, there were tears forming across your lower lashes, and he let out a long sigh. His fingers brushed over yours as he reached for the ice pack, gaze soft as he leaned a bit closer to you.

“M’alright, darlin’. Everythin’s okay.”

Still, you could tell he was on edge, even if he refused to admit it. So, the next evening, you stopped him right before you could part ways at the entrance to your building.

“I have a surprise for you.”

You wiggled your brows theatrically as you plopped your backpack down at your feet, leaning down to unzip it and reach into the main pouch. Joel forced his eyes away from where your cleavage exposed itself to him as you bent over.

When you straightened again, you were holding a glass bottle of amber liquid, a triumphant smile on your face as you held it out for him expectantly. His brows furrowed, but when he reached for the bottle and inspected the label, his brows shot up to his forehead.

“Macallan?”

He questioned in awe, his eyes wide as they flitted back to you. Your smile was dazzling as you beamed up at him, anxiously awaiting his approval as you bounced on the balls of your feet.

“How the fuck did you swing this one?”

“Flashed my boss.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, and Joel immediately sputtered, eyes blowing wide. You just laughed at his obvious discomfort, reaching to rest a hand on his forearm in an attempt to change the subject.

“Oh, relax. I grabbed some nice glasses from the bar, too—why don’t you come up and have a drink with me? A nightcap on the roof.”

Joel hesitated. The two of you had gotten markedly closer in the weeks you’d known each other—you’d met Tess, and his brother Tommy, and he even trusted you enough to key you in on his illegal smuggling activities. But still, neither of you had ever interacted outside of the bar or your nightly walks home—this was uncharted territory.

Just as he was about to object, to deny your request and head back home, his eyes met your wide, hopeful gaze as you looked up at him so innocently. He let out a long breath through his nose before he finally nodded.

“Yeah, okay. Just one drink.”

That’s how Joel found himself here, sitting atop the concrete roof of your apartment complex, leaning back against the half-wall that corralled the stairs that led up from the top floor to the roof. You were splayed out to his left, taking careful sips of your liquor as the midnight breeze tickled your skin and left goosebumps in its wake.

The night was calm—or, at least, as calm as it could be in the Boston QZ. Distant gunshots interrupted the quiet, but neither you or Joel even flinched at the sound. Your arm was brushing against his from how close you sat together, and Joel was surprised to feel an uneasy sense of comfort wash over him as he relaxed in your company.

You drew in a slow breath before you tilted your head to gaze at him, a small smile gracing your features.

“What do you miss most about life before the outbreak?”

Joel’s entire body stiffened at your question—it was an unspoken rule between the two of you. Joel didn’t talk about his past, and you didn’t pry.

You quickly backpedaled, laughing sheepishly.

“I don’t mean who do you miss or shit like that, just—the mundane things. Things we took for granted. I miss the drive-in movie theater. Tonight would be the perfect weather to go see a show.”

Joel felt his lip twitch up at the corner on its own volition, your eyes fixed up at the night sky as your tone turned nostalgic. He took another sip of his whiskey, the taste deep and rich and smooth.

“I miss good liquor.”

He offered lazily, and you elbowed him lightly in the side.

“Hey, that doesn’t count. I got you good liquor. Sure, it cost me my dignity, but it was worth it.”

Joel laughed, then—a deep, genuine chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at you.

“You really did that? Lifted up your shirt for your boss just to get your hands on the good stuff?”

You nodded cheekily, a mischievous gleam in your eyes as you grinned wickedly up at him. He chuckled again.

“Thought you were a good girl.”

He muttered, more to himself than anything, and you felt your face flood with heat at his grumbled statement. You ignored the way his words made something stir between your legs and nudged him again.

“Come on, I’m serious. What else do you miss?”

He pondered for a moment, tilting his head back to rest against the concrete behind him. There were a lot of simple things he missed about the past.

“Miss barbecues.”

He offered, and you seemed pleased with that response, letting out a giddy squeal as you agreed enthusiastically.

The conversation continued on easily for a long while—reminiscing about your previous lives, offering suggestions back-and-forth. Hot showers. Chapstick. Birthday cards. Summer block parties. Board games. Holidays. The smell of clean laundry. Road trips. Celebrity gossip.

Half the bottle of liquor was gone when you became too emboldened.

“I miss porn.”

You heard Joel choke on his drink as he coughed, lifting a hand to cover his mouth as he attempted to swallow down his shock. Your cheeks flooded with heat at your own confession, surprised at your own brazenness as the man beside you shifted uncomfortably.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—that was kind of out of the blue. I’m sorry.”

Joel shook his head, although he averted his eyes from you.

“No, s’alright, just—wasn’t expectin’ that.”

Joel tried to hide his surprise. He wasn’t uncomfortable—just the opposite, actually. He was dumbfounded—you? Watching porn? Surely not. Not sweet, naive, innocent you.

He could feel the embarrassment radiating off of you as you looked down sheepishly, obviously regretting your admittance. It was shocking—the woman who flirted with all her patrons, who made a show of seducing each man she served, blushing relentlessly at the mere mention of something lewd.

You stared down at where your hands were folded in your lap, fingers fiddling together anxiously as you tried to think of something to say that would salvage the conversation. To your surprise, Joel beat you to the punch.

“I guess I didn’t realize... I mean, how old even were you when everythin’ happened?”

Neither of you were oblivious to the clear age gap between the two of you, but still, his question somewhat offended you. You scoffed slightly.

“I was twenty. I wasn’t a kid.”

Joel lifted his hands up in surrender.

“No, no, ’m not sayin’ that you were, I just—guess I didn’t expect you to—”

“—to have watched porn?”

You finished for him, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed thickly. He nodded, and you let out a breathy laugh, turning your gaze back to the hazy night sky.

“I had an older brother. Snuck into his room one time when I was, like, sixteen, and found some raunchy tapes under his bed that he rented from Family Video. Some stupid adult films.”

You explained, your embarrassment somewhat dampened by the alcohol surging through your bloodstream.

“It was funny. There was this one video that I really liked, so I kept it, and then my parents got this huge bill from the store because my brother didn't return it on time. What a fuckin’ idiot, renting porn using my mom’s credit card.”

You giggled at the memory, looking back fondly on your time with your family. You had moved to Boston for college when the outbreak happened, and you never did find out what happened to them when everything fell apart.

Joel’s voice broke you from your stupor.

“D’they ever find out it was you?”

You laughed again.

“Nope. It’s probably still under the mattress in my childhood bedroom. Watched that thing too many times to count.”

An easy silence fell over you, and you took in a few deep breaths of crisp night air, eyes fluttering shut as you leaned backward against the wall.

“It’s your turn.”

You prompted Joel, reminding him that he was up next to share something he missed from his past.

“What was it?”

He asked instead, and you blinked your eyes open, turning your neck to face him only to find his gaze already on you. Your brows furrowed.

“What was what?”

You asked for clarification, and you saw his jaw tick slightly.

“The video that you kept. What was it?”

You felt your lips part in surprise as your breathing stalled, face flushing crimson at his question.

“You—I mean—”

“M’just curious.”

He shrugged indifferently, facing forward again, but your heart was still hammering against your ribcage.

“If you liked it enough to keep it, must’a been good."

You swallowed, eyes falling to your hands once again before you finally responded.

“Honestly, I don’t even remember the plot. The guy in it, he was just—he was loud. He talked a lot, and the sound of his voice really did something to me.”

You offered sheepishly, voice faint and breathy as you recounted the film. Joel hummed in response, seemingly unbothered by the explicit content of the conversation, but you would be lying if you said that discussing sex with Joel didn't make your pulse jump.

“I didn’t even need to really watch it. Sometimes I’d sit with my back to the TV and just listen, and—well, you know.”

Joel felt his already hardening cock twitch in the confines of his jeans as he imagined you with your legs spread wide, hand shoved hastily into your pants as you played with yourself, eyes closed as you listened to the porno guiding your movements.

“What was it about his voice? Somethin’ special?”

“I don’t remember.”

You answered a bit too quickly, your response jumbled and rushed. Joel immediately noticed, his eyes landing on your face to see your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you refused to look at him, clearly embarrassed. He didn’t push it, even if he knew you were lying.

Again, another long bout of silence, the air between you thickening with tension, although something had shifted. The awkwardness in the space was wavering, replaced with something heavier, something deeper.

“I miss sex.”

You thought your neck was going to break from how quickly your head jerked to gawk at Joel, who had muttered the sentence so coolly that you were almost certain you had misheard. He didn’t look at you—kept his eyes straight forward, focused on some point off in the distance. Your fingers curled into the flesh of your thighs, trying to fight off the budding desire that was tingling lowly between your legs.

“You—but you have Tess, right?”

Your voice sounded small, meek, and Joel huffed out an indignant laugh, shaking his head somewhat ruefully.

“No. S’not like that. We’re just—partners. Keep the bed warm for each other. Nothin’ else.”

Oh.

That caught you off guard. You’d assumed the pair had been a couple, or at the very least fuckbuddies, but Joel’s confession caused butterflies to erupt in the pit of your stomach.

“What about you?”

He pressed, and you felt your lungs collapse as you struggled to breath, his dark gaze pinning you down.

“Me?”

He chuckled somewhat condescendingly, his lip pulled up at the corner.

“Yeah. You miss sex?”

Your eyes darted away from his face, swallowing harshly.

“I don’t know. Only happened a few times, with my high school boyfriend back home. Wasn’t anything great.”

You explained, and Joel hummed, relishing in the way your voice wavered and your eyes darted around nervously, lashes fluttering.

“He ever give you an orgasm?”

Joel’s casualness startled you, his language so lewd and crass that you did a double take. Your cheeks burned even brighter as you pressed your hands to your face, shielding yourself from his judgmental stare.

“No. Always had to finish myself off.”

You finally admitted, trying to ignore the way you could feel Joel's body heat radiating from beside you. "And lately, too, it’s been—it sucks. Getting off, I mean. My brain is always somewhere else. That’s part of the reason I miss porn, I guess. It’s hard to take your mind out of all of this. I can never focus long enough to actually...”

“Cum?”

Joel's voice was low as he finished your sentence, and you nodded breathlessly, somewhat bashful at your admittance.

“Yeah. And skin mags don’t help, either. It always helped when I could hear it, y’know? More than just watch. It helped me stay in the moment, I guess. More immersive.”

You shrugged, and you could feel his dark eyes boring into you as you looked down.

“You’ve got a line of men a mile long who’d jump at the chance to be with you, darlin’. You got the choice of any guy in that entire bar.”

“Not any guy.”

You corrected before you could realize your mistake. You felt Joel’s body stiffen beside you, and you outwardly grimaced, quickly catching on to the fact that you’d basically just outright confessed your feelings for the man beside you—the one man in the entire QZ who seemed completely uninterested in you.

“You were lyin’ earlier.”

You blinked away your confusion as your eyes flitted to his face—he was watching you carefully, his hands resting on his jean-clad thighs as he regarded you, his eyes dark and somewhat daunting. You swallowed.

“’bout not rememberin’ why you liked that guy’s voice so much. You can’t say you watched that porno more times than you n’count and then not remember why.”

Your eyes darted away, but then you felt warm, calloused fingers slip beneath your chin and coax your head back towards him, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He was leaning in closer to you now, close enough that you could smell the sting of booze on his breath and see the spatter of freckles that spilled across his nose.

“So tell me, darlin’. Why'd you like the way he talked so much?”

Joel knew the answer. He’d noticed the way your eyes always settled on his lips when he spoke, how you always turned bashful when his Texas charm bled through into his words.

“I—it was—it was called The Bone Ranger. Y’know, like—like the kitschy old Western show. The guy, he was—he was a cowboy.”

“So then what accent did he have, huh, sweet thing?”

You resisted the urge to squeeze your eyes shut in shame, clenching your jaw harshly as you opened your mouth. You could tell he already knew the answer—must’ve had a sneaking suspicion from the start, especially when he factored in the way you always seemed to swoon when he called you darlin’.

“I—he had a Southern accent.”

The satisfied smirk that curled on Joel’s lips made your blood boil, humiliation making your cheeks warm even hotter as your face contorted into a look of discomfort, feeling shameful and dirty.

But Joel smiled at you. Really smiled. It was somewhat wicked—a devilish sort of grin, one that awoke something deep within your core. His eyes were wild, darkened with something almost feral.

“Yeah, I bet he did. Do I remind you of him, darlin’? You like the way I talk?”

His voice dropped to a low timbre, barely more than a throaty growl, his Texan drawl exacerbated by the lust that coated his tongue. You couldn’t help but whimper at his teasing, your gaze instinctually falling from his eyes to glance at his lips.

“Bet I can make sure you stay in the moment. Help you focus. Make you cum.”

The squeak that passed through your lips was almost inhuman, and for a moment, you didn’t even realize that it was you who had made the sound. But then Joel was smirking at you again, and in an instant you were on him, fingers skating across his shoulders as your lunged to kiss him.

He met you with equal fervor, shifting slightly to pull you atop his lap, your legs sliding to cage in his waist as your fingers threaded into his graying hair. His hands pressed into you, burning your skin with each move as he grabbed at your waist, hips, thighs, ass, anything within his reach as he licked into your mouth, pressing you as close to him as physically possible.

“Oh, God—please, Joel.”

You weren’t entirely sure what you were even begging for, but when Joel pulled away long enough to glance at you through hooded eyes, gaze swimming with intoxication from both desire and alcohol, it was like he could read your mind.

“ ’ve got you, darlin’. Let me take care a’you.”

Joel lifted up his knees, allowing you to lean back slightly against his muscular thighs as you grinded your core against the sizable bulge in his worn jeans. With your weight leaned backwards, Joel matched your pace with slow, deep grinds of his hips, his cock pressing against your clit as he rutted upwards.

“Mmm.”

Joel hummed, experienced hands spread against the expanse of your back as he guided you forward for another searing kiss, swallowing the whine that passed through your lips. You squirmed when his fingers began to explore, skimming across your sides before his thumbs swept just beneath the swell of each of your breasts. Your chest immediately pushed into his hold, making him chuckle.

“Take it off for me, then. Lemme see you.”

In a matter of seconds, you were ripping the heather gray shirt from your body, tossing it carelessly to the side and letting your head fall back with a soft sigh. You squeezed your eyes shut tight so you didn’t have to see Joel’s face when he finally looked at you, but he caught on to this action quickly.

His left head reached to cup the back of your head and force it to face forward, your eyes fluttering open to meet his—his pupils were blown wide, gleaming devilishly as he slowly let his gaze draw a line down your sternum and across your newly exposed breasts. A growl rumbled in his chest.

“Filthy little thing, aren’t ya? No bra, wanted everyone in the bar to see those pretty little nipples through that thin shirt?”

There was a sort of anger laced in his words, his brows lowered as his thumbs brushed across both of your nipples with a featherlight touch, both of the nubs peaking instantaneously.

Part of you wanted to shake your head, to prove to him what a good girl you are, but instead, you let out a breathy giggle.

“I told you I flashed my tits for the boss—had to get the right liquor to convince you to come up here.”

Joel's eyes narrowed, and you hummed when he shifted one of his hands came to wrap around your delicate throat.

“You wanted me to come up here to fuck you, huh? S’that it? Sweet thing, all you had to do was say please.”

Your fingers curled into his t-shirt as you pulled him towards you, pressing your lips to him again. His teeth sank into the flesh of your lower lip, sucking it gently. He pulled away just long enough to discard his own shirt, his weathered skin hot against your abdomen.

“He didn’t deserve to see you—didn’t appreciate these pretty tits, did he?”

His lips traced a sloppy line down your throat before wrapping around your right nipple, rolling it between his teeth. You cried out, your arousal beginning to soak a wet patch straight through your jeans, skin prickling with electricity.

His other large hand kneaded the flesh of you left breast as he ravished the right one with his tongue, your back arching into his hold.

“God, fuck—need you so bad, Joel, please.”

A dark chuckle vibrated over your skin, causing you to shiver. He stared up at you through his lashes, pulling his mouth away a leaving your skin shining with his saliva.

“Yeah? You wan’ me t’fuck you, darlin’? Wan’ me to stretch ya out over my cock?”

His voice was gravelly and low, words slightly slurred through his thickening accent.

“I’m ready for you, please, please—always been ready for you—”

He shushed you quietly, straightening his legs and flipping you over gently to lay you on your back. You nearly blacked out as you felt him peel the denim from your legs, your panties with them. You stared straight up at the night sky, stars twinkling as you listening to the clink of his belt and slide of his zipper before he was on top of you, his cock nestling against your lower stomach as he leaned in for a kiss.

“Yeah, gonna give it to you good, darlin’—you just lay there and take it.”

He lifted himself off of you just enough to guide his cock through your slick folds, the smooth head tapping against your clit before sliding down to your entrance.

“Sweet, innocent little girl, thinkin’ about me fuckin’ ’er every night in the bar.”

You squirmed at his taunting, cheeks ablaze.

He let out a breathy groan.

“Fuck yeah.”

He muttered lowly, slipping just the tip through your quivering hole. Almost immediately, you were clenching around him, your body tense and resisting the intrusion. He tutted at you, and you felt tears of both shame and desire flood your eyes.

“S’okay, sweet thing.”

He cooed, his demeanor suddenly softer, comforting.

“Gotta relax. ’ve got you. Jus’ focus on the sound of my voice.”

Your bleary eyes zeroed in on his face, the slight curl of his lip upwards as he sank a few more inches of his thick cock into you, burning with the stretch. You hadn’t had someone inside you in so long, and never anyone as big as him.

“Shh, shh—doin’ so good for me, darlin’. Fuck, tha’s a tight little cunt. You can take it.”

A pained groan blew through your lips as he proceeded forward, your walls squeezing around him until he was finally fully seated inside of you. A long, drawn-out groan escaped his throat as he pressed himself against you, his heavy balls nestled against your ass.

“Yeah, that’s it—you feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

You gasped when Joel reached between you and pressed a hand against your lower abdomen, feeling the bulge of his girth stretching you open.

“Fuck, yes—”

As soon as your cunt fluttered around him, finally accommodating his length, he offered a few shallow thrusts, his tip kissing your cervix with each movement. You mewled against him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Yeah, there we go—”

Finally, Joel began to fuck you. He pulled out almost entirely before forcing his entire length back into your awaiting channel, your wetness leaking around his cock and dripping down your crack onto the concrete beneath you. The cement scratched at your bare back, but you couldn’t even feel it—Joel’s fat cock overwhelmed all of your sense and left you a drooling, crying mess.

“Yeah, fuck yeah, darlin’—so fuckin’ tight aroun’ me. Always wanted to ruin you, y’know that? Knew you’d make the prettiest little sounds, knew you’d—fuck, knew you’d squeeze me so tight.”

Each of his quickening thrusts was punctuated by a high pitched moan from your lips, your tits bouncing with each motion. His fingers began to messily circle your clit as your eyes rolled back, surrendering yourself to Joel’s control and the impending orgasm that was building within you. He pressed his lips to your ear, groaning against you.

“Yeah, gonna make you cum, darlin’—fillin’ you so good, fuckin’ you nice and deep—jus’ like you wanted, jus’ like you deserve, yeah? Fuck, oh, baby—mmm—not gonna let anyone touch you again, not gonna—not gonna let anyone look at you again—pussy’s too fuckin’ good, s’all mine, s’all—fuckin’—mine—”

You let out a shriek as your climax peaked, Joel’s dirty tongue sending you over the edge as your walls clenched around him. Your vision turned white as your toes curled, your nails sinking into the meat of his shoulders as he continued to pound into you through your orgasm, sweat beading at his hairline.

“Oh, fuckkk—yeah, yeah, jus’ like that—keep squeezin’ me like that and I’m gonna—”

His pace turned frantic, his thrusts so harsh they were almost painful as he reached the deepest part of you, prolonging your orgasm and making heat coil in your core.

“Give it to me, Joel.”

It was barely a whisper, your throat hoarse and utterly wrecked, but Joel's body tensed above you.

“Yeah, gonna—gonna give you this fat fuckin’ load, baby—mm, mm, gonna—gonna cum inside you, fill you up so full—ah, fuck, m’gonna cum, m’gonna—”

His words were interrupted by an involuntary growl as he thrusted once, twice more, before seating himself fully inside of you.

“Oh, m’cummin’ baby, fuckin’—shit—”

He exploded within your walls, his white hot seed filling you in sporadic spurts, each one punctuated by a roll of his hips into you, a mixture of both your arousals creating a stickiness around his cock.

He rolled off of you almost immediately after, bare back against the cool concrete. Another series of gunshots rang out in the distance—all you could hear was Joel’s breathing.

Silence permeated the twilight air, and you felt your chest tighten with each passing second. He was staring straight up at the sky, unwavering, brows furrowed in thought.

“I didn’t get the whiskey just so you would—you know...”

The moment you started talking, you regretted it, trailing off slowly and averting your gaze from him when his neck turned to look at you. You sheepishly sat up, reaching for your t-shirt and holding it to your chest protectively.

“It was more of a—more of a thank you, really, for—for making sure I get home safe.”

Joel nodded slowly, his lips pursed slightly—already, you could see the ghost of regret dancing behind his eyes.

Again, the night was quiet as you both got dressed, the only sound from the rustling of clothes and the clink of Joel's belt. Part of you was still reeling from the unexpected turn of events—the other part of you was ashamed and embarrassed and horrified.

“Thanks.”

You whispered in acknowledgement, and he nodded curtly.

“Glad we could help each other out.”

It was like he’d just finished with a business deal—a transaction.

When you were both fully clothed, you wordlessly began descending the stairs, Joel trailing behind as he walked you to the front door of your apartment. It was the second door to the left on the fourth floor.

As the door swung open, you paused in the threshold. You contemplated your words for a moment before sighing.

“You know what else I miss?”

Joel’s big brown eyes turned soft once again as they locked with your glassy gaze.

“I miss flirting. And dating, and—and holding hands, and romance—”

You blew out a breath, infuriated with yourself—because of the tears trailing down your cheeks, because you gave yourself up so quickly, so easily, and all it took was a man with nice hands and brown eyes and a Texas drawl that sort of resembled a porno—

You almost flinched when you felt his left hand reach up the cradle your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle and completely out-of-character. You felt the pad of his thumb swipe the tears from beneath your eyes as he leaned in—

And then something hardened in his gaze—like he was remembering himself, pulled from a stupor. A shadow crested his features as his expression turned stony.

His arm dropped back to his side, and he took a step back, his hands slipping into his pockets as he regarded you one last time.

“See ya tomorrow.”

His heavy boots grew quieter as he walked the length of the hall, and you finally let the door click shut between you.

The truth hurt—all the things you missed, you took for granted, gone and left behind in a time forgotten.

Really, though, what you missed most of all, was love.

#tlou #the last of us #tlou series #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel x reader #tlou smut #tlou imagine #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfic #joel and ellie #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #projectionistwrites

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puppetmaster13u · 6 months

Text

So I am rotating the batfamily, but not like, civilian or vigilante. I am slowly rotating them all having a Malone-sona of sorts that is their in to organized crime.

Like you can't tell me people wouldn't start noticing this family that the bats, the literal cryptids and monsters of Gotham, don't even touch and lets continue to operate despite taking the older crime families apart.

And to Gotham that screams power.

Alfred = Albert “Old Al” Malone I wanna say that he doesn't go out as 'Old Al' often, but gives off Godfather sort of vibes. Usually sitting there with an old cane (that definitely has a sword, they're all dramatic like that lol) half in the dark with a cup of tea or other drink. He gets to stretch his acting skills and honestly the kids definitely had a say in the persona. Old Al is something they all made together and they have fun implying so much fun shit.

Kate = Mary “Madam” Malone She definitely gives off 'snap your spine over her knee if not for the fact it would get your blood all over her clothes' vibes. Stylized nails, hair up in fishtail braids or ponytails or whatever, looks like she could tear out ones throat and they'd thank her. It's a running gag that she's in finances, even if no one in the underbelly believes it.

Bruce = “Matches” Malone I mean, it's classic Matches (though most probably assume that Matches isn't his real name) who seems rather chill until someone breaks the rules. Gives off vibes that he doesn't usually get his own hands dirty but will do so to make a point, and enjoy doing it. He sometimes uses Matches to check in on places he can't as a shadowy cryptid, and it's not like the lower income areas would fully trust Brucie Wayne.

Barbara = Madison “Maddie” Malone Now let's be honest, Barbara enjoys messing with people, she enjoys knowing every little thing as Oracle, and she definitely does that as Maddie. The thing is, no one knows how she learns about things, other criminals search for a traitor, for a leak, for anything, and get nothing. Which is utterly terrifying. Because there has to be some sort of information network, there has to be. And somehow they're so good that they're indistinguishable to any others.

Dick = Micheal “Mikey” Malone Honestly Dick uses this chance to get into a bunch of fights just for fun. Flirts a bit more freely but doesn't really have an interest in actually getting with someone. Just has funs and is known for throwing his own parties that usually end in free-for-all brawls. He absolutely loves being able to have parties that are the opposite of galas he's usually dragged into.

Cass = Molly Malone She's quiet and graceful, but she takes it to unnerving levels as Molly. Looks slim but carries guns on her at all time to better differentiate between Cassandra Wayne, Black Bat, and Molly Malone. Everyone knows if you need a weapon, guns, meelee, whatever, she's the one you go to. Gotham help you if you cross her though.

Jason = Peter “Petey” Malone Where Molly Malone goes, everyone knows Petey will be there as well. Jason absolutely adores the time he gets to do so, it's his turn to be silent and dramatic. Everyone can recognize the jagged scar over his neck, they can recognize it from corpses the Bats have gotten their talons on. Honestly he's delighted in being able to be Cass' enforcer of sorts and just have a good fight. Even if he complains about how making his Malone mute makes it where he can't quote Shakespeare like he wants to.

Steph = “Mia” Malone Ah yes, the explosive Malone. The one who has more arson charges than Firefly. Or at least she would if she was caught, but the entire Underbelly knows it was her. Steph is living her best life being able to pull all sorts of pranks and crazy shit and takes several ideas from Harley. Honestly she probably smells like gasoline or smoke all the time, and definitely put glitter in her hair. Maybe even has red hair as a Malone as well.

Tim = Alvin “Al” Malone He still goes by Alvin Draper too, which results in half the underbelly thinking that Draper is his middle name. Honestly he's having the best time, everyone knows to come to him for forgeries and less than legal identities, which he loves to create. I mean just look at how many new identities he creates for himself alone. He enjoys this type of thing, and hey, it's so easy to keep track of whose identity is fake when you're the one who made them. Plus it also lets him do good for those on the run for good reasons, a way to make sure people are safe.

Duke = Dennis “Denny” Malone Everyone knows Denny was adopted, but y'know what, I bet they don't care. And you know Duke is utterly insane, like jump off a bridge to escape the cops and create the We are Robin gang insane. And he gets to play that up as Denny. He will put forth the most batshit ideas and actually pull them off. I bet he uses his future-sight to cheat at different games and pool tables and all sorts of things, but no one can ever prove it. Because there is no proof, and the other people playing just has to deal with it.

Damian = “Mini M” Malone The little baby of the family, who everyone knows the older Malones absolutely dote over. This is his chance to act like an actual child, just with a hint of art theft. Hey, it wasn't like they got it legally either, so it's free game, especially if they weren't taking proper care of the art or a pet. He's just pleased to get to have even more pets, and that Goliath his demon dragon-bat gets to go on walkies.

Jarro = Jadan “Lil J” Malone Now Jarro is delighted to have a third mech, and is even more delighted for people to believe Damian (or technically M jr) and him are twins. Gives off someone is going to die- of fun with Mini M, and honestly enjoys being able to use his natural telepathy to be a small horror movie child that knows too much. Like will stare up at someone with wide eyes covered in blood and the others in Gotham's underbelly still aren't sure if the blood was his or someone elses. (it was neither)

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

Honestly I might write a oneshot or something for the Cryptid Batfam focusing on just them as the Malones family.

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loveinhawkins · 11 months

Text

kept thinking about Eddie & Steve deliberately making jokes to ensure that Dustin and co don’t get into the boat on Lover’s Lake.

“Nicely done,” Steve says when they’re far enough away from the bank—when they’ve left a disgruntled Dustin behind rather than a worried one.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” Eddie says—glances back to where the kids are, although they’ve already got swallowed up by the darkness. “‘Course, man.” He gives a weak smile as he drags the oar through the water. “Those little shrimps would probably try and, like, cannonball right in, and honestly? I, uh, really don’t think my heart could handle that.”

“Yeah, they… really throw themselves into things.”

Steve decides that he’s never gonna bring up Operation Child Endangerment if Eddie’s in the vicinity—the dude already looks at them all like they’ve got a few screws loose, he doesn’t wanna make it worse.

Although, on second thought, him and Dustin probably let that particular cat out the bag with their persistent optimism way back in the boathouse: “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Eddie’s wide-eyed look painted a thousand words.

Oh, he thinks you’re crazy, sing-songed the perpetual high schooler hiding in Steve’s brain. Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson thinks you’re crazy. Time to seriously re-evaluate your life choices.

“Did you think Eddie was a bit, uh, weird back there?” Dustin asked him later. “Like, he’ll be okay, right?”

Dustin was prone to using ‘weird’ as a catch-all term, where it could mean anything from someone being genuinely weird to them experiencing severe emotional distress.

Steve clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly. “Henderson, I’m pretty sure he thinks we’re weird.”

He almost wants to make a joke about that now, get Eddie to laugh, maybe. To tell the truth, Steve had almost cracked and laughed himself once he’d gotten into the boat, when he turned and saw Dustin’s comically outraged expression.

It was only as Nancy and Eddie began to row that he registered the laugh would’ve secretly been one of relief—heartened by the sight of the kids left on the shore.

He stays quiet; Eddie’s shoulders are slowly tensing more and more the further across the lake they go.

It’s not noticeable at first—Robin’s providing a running commentary on the movements of Dustin’s compass, while Nancy determinedly pulls her oar in and out of the water—but Steve soon realises that Eddie’s kind of stopped rowing, instead just making ripples as his grip goes slack.

It’s damn hard to see, but Steve just barely makes out Eddie’s eyes glittering in the dark, staring down at the lake.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. “You don’t have to—we’re not too far out, we can take you back, man.” He tries for levity. “This thing holds three people tops, remember?”

Eddie’s smile is more of a grimace. “Nah, man. Had enough of being chickenshit.”

“Dude, you’re not…”

Steve trails off, biting back his frustration—it doesn’t look like Eddie’s listening to him anyway; he’s still not taken his eyes off the water. Steve briefly wonders if he’s got that thing Robin says she gets sometimes, something about an imp—it’s why she never gets on Ferris wheels or whatever, convinced that she’s somehow gonna fall.

Eddie gives himself a shake and resumes rowing.

“Sorry. S’just… pitch black down there. He—” Eddie clears his throat. “He wouldn’t have seen—”

His voice cracks, fades into the night. His grip on the oar slips—he snatches it back before it can fall.

“Eddie,” Steve begins, but Eddie speaks right over the top of him.

“I—I hoped he was just drowning instead.” Eddie scoffs, and there’s a bitterness to it, an edge of self-loathing that Steve wishes he couldn’t hear. “And then maybe—” A sigh, another grimace disguised as a smile. “That’s a pretty fucked up thing to think, huh?”

He’s got that tone, Steve thinks, like when he kept repeating that he ran away from Chrissy—like he thought that if he said it enough, someone would snap, condemn him. Like he’s looking for proof that he’s monstrous.

Robin’s still talking, tactfully giving Eddie a semblance of privacy. Underneath her chatter, Steve hears Nancy’s rowing falter for just a moment, and he feels a pang in his chest.

He thinks of Barb and drowning. Wonders again if an ordinary tragedy would’ve been better compared to…

Then he lets it all sink back down.

“That’s not fucked up,” he says firmly. “Trust me, dude, that’s… that’s normal.”

Eddie chuckles shortly—it sounds like he’s doing something similar, pushing everything down, down…

“Normal, huh? No-one’s called me that before.”

“First time for everything.”

There’s a flicker of amusement across Eddie’s face when he replies, “Guess compared to you freaks, I’m pretty normal.”

“Ooh, did that feel good?” Steve says, appealing again to his mental high schooler. “Bit of role reversal?”

Eddie laughs more genuinely. “Sure did. Community theatre’s done wonders.”

A silence falls, and Steve encourages himself to get all relaxed by the boat bobbing up and down. Yeah, nothing’s strictly been confirmed yet, but he already knew what he was getting into when he stepped off the shore, water leaking into his shoes.

It’s gotta be him.

“I know what you’re doing, Harrington,” Eddie murmurs.

Steve gives him a questioning look.

Eddie pulls in some long breaths in exaggerated imitation. “You’re not subtle, Mister Swim Captain.”

“Co-captain,” Steve corrects, hiding his surprise. He can’t really imagine Eddie paying attention to the swim team, least of all a former swim team.

“Oh, forgive me for my inaccuracy.”

Hmm, he’s getting borderline poetic, Steve thinks. Like he was with Mordor and stuff.

So. He’s afraid.

“I’ll be fine,” Steve says lightly.

Eddie lets out a short groan, mutters something that sounds like famous last words. Then, quieter still—Steve can’t quite make it out.

Something about the dark.

Steve could repeat that he’ll be fine, but he knows that’s a shit reassurance. He settles for continuing to breathe in and out, long and slow; Eddie’s beginning to look like he’s unconsciously mimicking the pattern, his shoulders lowering.

“Just come back up, Harrington,” he says, so softly that Steve might’ve imagined it.

“Co-captain’s promise,” he says.

Eddie’s lips twitch. But he’s still fixed on the lake’s depths, like he’s waiting for something—dreading it.

Like something’s lurking in the dark.

#the boat ride across Lover’s Lake #before the dive #pre steddie #eddie and the party #steve and the party #steve and dustin #eddie and dustin #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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starleska · 1 month

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i see this opinion echoed across the Doctor Who fandom: that we really enjoyed Maestro, and love the idea of The Devil's Chord, but feel like the episode was lacking a little something in the writing department. so here's my suggestion: they shouldn't have killed off Timothy Drake 👀🎶 hear me out:

from the start, we're introduced to Timothy Drake as a deeply talented individual, and one disgruntled with his position in life. his passion and genius have been squandered, and he's been relegated to teaching his craft to disinterested schoolboys. but we learn he has a darker interest...Timothy is a scholar as well as a composer, and he decides to spice up his day by telling his pupil about the lost Devil's Chord. and then, Maestro erupts onto the scene...and they are everything that Timothy has never been able to be. Maestro is loud, and flamboyant, and unreservedly powerful: every glittering gem on their body screams you will look at me, and you will listen. and while Timothy's polite-society conditioning and time-typical bigotry are his initial response, we can tell that Maestro intrigues him. in return, Maestro doesn't just talk to Timothy, oh no. Maestro all but seduces the man, by speaking aloud all of Timothy's most private thoughts: that he's a misunderstood genius, and that it isn't his fault he never got that break. in this way Maestro manifests as a Devil figure, luring Timothy into an unspeakable Faustian bargain. here he is, wasting his life and talent and songs away in some stuffy school...when he could have so, so much more. like Maestro, he could be powerful. he could be who he wants to be. and most importantly: he could make people listen to him. i would've loved a version of The Devil's Chord where Maestro manipulates Timothy Drake into drawing out the music of others, thereby killing them, and feeding Maestro in the process. perhaps there could have been a caveat to Maestro's power: as the Essence of Music, it could be that Maestro has to operate through a living being, much like a demonic muse. not only could Timothy get all of the attention he ever wanted, finally being recognised for his musical brilliance...but he could exact revenge on those who said he'd never make it. wouldn't this have been a fascinating parallel with The Beatles? what if we'd seen an increasingly power-mad Timothy Drake, rising to stardom in an alternate timeline where everyone is devoid of musical inspiration, leaving him as the sole musical genius in the world? what if the Doctor and Ruby's horror at a devastated world included the theme of creation for creation's sake, as opposed to the manic pursuit of adoration which Timothy so clearly desires? perhaps i have lost my mind. perhaps i am reading far too much into the way Timothy looks at Maestro in the latter half of the clip above. but i think the terror of Maestro would have come through even more if they'd kept Timothy Drake around, and trapped him in a Phantom of the Paradise-esque doomed narrative with Maestro whispering in his ear and helping him take control of his destiny 🎶🔥

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awkward-sultana · 1 year

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5 Times Joel Engaged in Minor PDA + 1 Time He Engaged in Major PDA

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: Implied smut, use of Y/N, medical terminology and mentions of medical conditions (child death/miscarriage, head injuries) and operations (stitches,) injuries, drinking/alcohol, cursing, mentions of death, guns and shootouts, PDA (mostly kissing), panic attacks, unwanted advances from minor male characters.

Summary: Joel Miller has always had a bit of trouble with PDA, but he's learning.

I. You loved Jackson, loved this new normal you had never even considered possible in your 30 years of life. You had only been 10 when the outbreak happened, all scraped knees and tangled hair, giggling over notebooks and glitter pens. Now, after losing your entire family, being expedited through an intensive medical training program, and trekking across the country with a feral 14 year old and a loaded gun of a middle aged man, you felt about 100.

Here, in Jackson, surrounded by laughing children, smiling parents, and a wall that seemed to keep out the rest of the world, you felt like maybe you could discover some semblance of the normal you had before.

Even you, Joel and Ellie had bloomed into the little family you dreamed of having on those warm nights when you couldn't sleep for the sound of death in the distance. It had been rough, the three of you settling into your small home in Jackson, especially between you and Joel. It had all culminated one night in a screaming match in the barn between the two of you when, like you knew he would, he tried to run away, afraid to lose another family. You had told him to leave and never come back, so goddamn angry he would abandon Ellie like that, make her lose another person when you had both promised her you'd give her a good life with two people who loved her. Joel had left, shattering your heart and sending Ellie into a spiral that resulted in quite a few fist fights with older kids. Thankfully, she had had Dina to ground her. You had no one. You didn't let Ellie see your heartbreak after he rejected you, didn't let her take on the weight of someone else's world again. Joel had ended up returning a week later at 3 AM with soft words you didn't know he was capable of, promises to never leave again, and a ring you didn't pry about, not wanting to know where he got it. You had forgiven him almost instantly like the lovesick idiot you were, but it took a few days and a few rancid curses and half hearted shoves from Ellie before he found forgiveness from her.

Now, your normal was beginning to lay a foundation. Ellie was attending school, Joel had found his footing as a handy man and patroller, while you were at the medical clinic, using your medical education from one of the last remaining hospitals in the US and learning from the more experienced doctors already set up in Jackson.

Things were as perfect as they could be. Except for one or two things that irked you a little bit. Most specifically, Joel's complete aversion to PDA. You were young, pretty (of course you were pretty, you looked like your mom and your grandmother), and had a growing appetite for physical affection now that you found a man who spoke to every part of you. Joel, on the other hand, struggled quite a bit with physical affection in public settings. He was affectionate in private and had no problem keeping up with you behind closed doors, but out in public...let's just say, people were honestly shocked when they found out you were a couple, and not just because of the age difference.

While it was something you had long ago made peace with, you still found your mind wandering down other avenues of possibilities, such as now as you finished putting away the last of the files at the clinic. It was Friday afternoon and the clinic was closing early because there were no patients on the schedule and it was the first day of fall, so everyone wanted to get outside while the sun was still up and enjoy the beautiful weather before the winter chill settled in. The other staff had taken off before you, eager to go and be with their families. You were happy to stay behind and close up, as Ellie was staying after school to help out with one of the teachers and Joel was on patrol until late.

"Need any help?"

Cursing hysterically, you whirled around at the sound of a male voice behind you. Greg, one of the farmers stood in the doorway, having the courtesy to look bashful for scaring the hell out of you.

You took a moment to catch your breath, putting a hand to your pounding heart and letting out a startled laugh. "Jesus. Sorry. No, thanks, Greg. I appreciate it but this is all confidential information. I'm actually almost done anyway."

He grinned and you had to admit that he was handsome. "Is anything really confidential in Jackson?"

You laughed again, seeing his point. Nothing was private in such a small town. Sometimes 300 people felt more like 30. "Even so, I know at least four people in these files who would be pissed if anyone besides their doctors saw their medical information."

Greg held up his hands in a well meaning acknowledgment of defeat. "Totally understand. I actually have a question for you."

More than used to having citizens pull you aside and bashfully ask for medical advice, you set down the stack of files in your hands and turned to fully face Greg, your stethoscope swinging on your neck.

"Sure. What the problem?"

"What are you doing tonight?"

You blanched, but recovered quickly. This wasn't the first time a man in Jackson had asked you out since you had arrived in Jackson, and you were sure it wouldn't be the last. Greg was the second this week. Of all the gossip that seemed to travel around Jackson, the fact that you weren't interested in dating didn't seem to be part of it.

You pasted on what you called your 'patient smile.' "I'm flattered, Greg, but I'm not really looking right now."

He chuckled. "I'd be careful with that. Pickins' are pretty slim here. Wouldn't want to find yourself runnin' out of time." You pursed your lips and narrowed your eyes, not impressed by his not so subtle implication that you were already over the hill at 30 years old.

"I'm actually not too worried. Again, I'm flattered, but I'm not interested." When Greg took a step closer, you instinctively backed up further into the room. You didn't know if he was purposefully being intimidating, but you weren't a fan either way. "Any way I can change your mind?" he asked.

"She said she wasn't interested."

You jumped at the deep voice coming from the doorway and Greg turned, neither of you having heard Joel come into the clinic. He stood in the doorway, his rifle slung over his shoulder and his brow furrowed deep. In his heavy boots and heavier coat, he looked even bigger than normal.

"Hey, Joel," Greg chirped, somehow unaware of the menace in the room. "I'm just chatting with y/n here. Thought you were on patrol."

Joel was walking through the room this time, sticking to the perimeter, his eyes not leaving Greg. "Horse started limpin'. Doc Jetson's takin' a look at her." Joel had made it to your side and had angled his body toward you, the front of his coat brushing your shoulder. He looked ready for a fist fight. You were just shocked he was being this obvious about getting close to you in a semi-public place.

"Well," Greg continued, somehow missing the obvious body language of the two people in front of him. "I was hoping to talk y/n into changing her mind." A bright, boyish smile. "Got any tips?"

"Don't think it's going to work out for you this time, bud," Joel responded, no longer looking at him. He was now reaching very deliberately across your chest and pulling the stethoscope from around your neck and tossing it gently on the counter next to you. "You ready?"

You nodded, still baffled at his behavior. His hand on the small of your back sent a thrill up your spine and you allowed him to usher you past Greg, who was staring at the both of you with raised eyebrows.

Outside, the sky was frosted and there was a glorious bite in the air. You had been in the clinic all day and the sharp temperature change made you shudder and wrap your arms around yourself.

Joel looked down at you and quirked an eyebrow. "You bring a coat?"

"No, Bev Lanson's daughter fell out of her bed and needed stitches in her scalp at 5 this morning so I didn't get to grab one."

"And Ellie said she never saw you at the mess hall for lunch."

You grimaced at the chiding, but a glance at Joel showed his mouth was quirked up in amusement and he was shaking his head. "Hold this." You only just caught his rifled as he hauled it over his shoulder and plopped it in your arms to take off his coat.

It was heavy and warm as he settled it around your shoulders. You grinned like an idiot as you held it around your shoulders and leaned into him. While he didn't put his arm around you, he let you lean deep into his side as you walked through the town.

II. You exploded out of the clinic, making three women who were headed to 5 AM morning patrol jump and look at you like startled deer, their rifles clattering together as they stumbled against each other. You ignored them and Dr. Hansen's voice behind you as you stormed down the steps and down the road toward the barn.

Your chest was tightening. Your lungs were constricting. Your heart was a hammer in your chest. You were having a panic attack. The first since you got to Jackson and the first in months. Your last panic attack had been when you though the fireflies were going to tear Ellie's brainstem out. Flora's baby hadn't made it. Only two months left on a seemingly health fetus and she had miscarried. Jackson didn't have the equipment for an operation, so you had done your best to stem the bleeding, then held her as Dr. Hansen finished up. She had been bawling so hysterically you thought she was going to pass out and you were the only person she would let hold her.

It was the first time in Jackson that something had felt so truly hopeless. Was this the future here? Watching people die? You had come to Jackson to escape that and now you wrist deep in the blood.

You sucked in a violent breath as you approached the sheep pen, a new sense of panic settling in when you realized breathing was getting more difficult.

In...Out...In...Out.

You closed your eyes and repeated the mantra in your head as you leaned against the rails of the paddock, gripping the splintered wood in your palm.

"Y/N?"

Starting violently, you whirled around and ran straight into Joel's chest. When he grabbed your arms to steady you, you jerked back, your body defaulting to fight or flight. He held fast, pulling you back into his chest, even as you shoved at him.

"Calm down, honey. Take a breath. Just like you taught me."

You closed your eyes again and took another deep breath, but it only whistled through your lungs in a weak gasp. Gripping the lapels of his thick coat in your hands, you tried again, shutting your eyes tight and bending your head in concentration. Joel took a step forward until the top of your head was pressed to his chest. After a few more deep breaths, he cupped your face in his callused hands and pulled your head up to rest your forehead against his heart. You listened to the strong beat beneath his sternum and the soothing words he murmured into your hair, felt the bite of his zipper against your palms and the scent of hay on his flannel.

After what felt like a lifetime, your breathing returned to normal and your heart resumed it's regular beat.

"There, honey. Good. Good."

Pulling your head from his chest, you opened your eyes and stared up at Joel's bearded face, his eyes creased with worry but strong with resolve. Leaning forward, you buried your nose against the exposed patch of skin beneath his shirt and took a deep inhale. The two of you stood like that in comforting silence until you cleared your throat and pulled lightly at his grip. He let go of your face, but cupped your shoulders and pulled back slightly to look down into your eyes.

"What happened, baby?"

You cleared your throat again. "Nothing. I mean...I'll tell you later. I have to get back before Dr. Hansen finds me and calls me a pussy." A grizzled old army surgeon, he didn't take lightly to what he perceived as weakness.

"I'll walk you back."

That took you a bit by surprise, but you wouldn't say no. One of the first things Joel had ever told you when you met - after nearly blowing your head off - was that he didn't do comforting or coddling. He had gotten better, but he was always visibly uncomfortable.

He didn't press any further as you walked down the road back to the clinic, but he reached his hand out to brush it against yours and eventually tuck it into his own.

You took another deep breath when you got to the porch of the clinic, bracing yourself for Dr. Hansen's inevitable speech.

"You sure you're okay?" Joel asked again.

"Yeah," you answered, not actually lying this time. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks."

Before you took a step forward, he took the back of your neck in a gentle grip and laid a long kiss to your temple.

As you trudged up the stairs, you turned and gave him a sultry look over your shoulder. "You can just talk me through anything, can't you?" You squealed and laughed, jumping through the door as he reached out to pinch your ass.

III. "Hey!

When Joel didn't immediately turn around, you looked around for something to throw at him. Spotting a bucket of freshly picked apples, you picked one up, tested the weight with a little toss, then hurled it at the back of his head.

He turned immediately, looking every bit the grumpy old man as he glared at you and rubbed the back of his head.

"What the hell was that for?"

"You didn't answer me."

"I didn't hear you."

"Hence the apple."

Joel rolled his eyes as he picked his way through the sheep he had been corralling into the paddock. Slipping yourself through the gaps in the fence, you leaned back against it and gave him an innocent smile.

Crossing the paddock, he fixed you with an exasperated but amused look. "What do you want?"

"What do you want for dinner tonight?

He snorted. "That's what you threw an apple at my head for?"

You rolled your eyes in response. "Ellie left for that nature trip with her class this morning so we can make whatever we want." For a feral cat of a child, Ellie could be surprisingly picky.

That seemed to peek Joel's interest. "Hmmm. How about steak and potatoes?" You grinned, having started prepping this morning knowing he would choose that. "Perfect."

You stood in companionable as Joel got the sheep settled and fed. You piped up again, "Ellie won't be getting back until Sunday night."

"That's what I heard."

"And neither of us are on shift this weekend."

"Yeah, 'bout time."

"I wonder what in the world we'll do all weekend."

Joel shrugged, your innuendo flying straight over his head. "No clue. Probably catch up on the sleep I haven't gotten for the past 20 years."

You rolled your eyes. "Joel...Joel." His head shot up from the stubborn sheep he was trying to push around with his knees. "What?"

"We're alone for a whole weekend, with no reason to leave the house, for the first time since we got here and all you can think about is sleeping?"

It took him a long moment, but then his mouth turned up into a sly smile and he maneuvered around the sheep to stand in front of you.

"Did you have something else in mind, darlin'?" His broad hands settled on your hips.

You pretended to think. "I'm not sure. Sounds like sex isn't on my husband's mind half as much as mine. Plenty of other single men to choose from--"

You squealed and laughed when Joel plucked you up off the ground and sat you down on the top rung of the fence. You hooked your feet around the bottom rung and clutched his shoulders for balance. He squeezed your hips and gave you a narrow eyed look, oblivious to the stares you had garnered. "Brat. Try it and I'll suddenly remember how to brawl."

"I've seen you brawl at least ten times since I've met you."

"Should've seen me in my twenties."

You squeezed his shoulders, kneading your nails into the thick material of his coat before murmuring quietly, "All I care about is that you know how to brawl with me." Joel groaned and hauled you down for a long, desperate kiss to your mouth. Turning, he tried to adjust himself as discreetly as possible before walking back out into the pen. You remained on the fence for a little while longer, heart glowing every time Joel walked past to give you a peck on the knee and a sultry look that promised many things.

The two of you turned in about three hours early that evening, your carefully prepared steak barely touched.

IV. "Where'd you get that dress, y/n?"

You turned away from the carrots on the counter to Ellie, who was flopping down the hallway of your home with her usual puppy-like grace.

"Oh, Mrs. Sawyer made it for me for delivering her new grandbaby. Do you like it?" It was short and airy, made you feel feminine and beautiful after spending day after day in scrubs. It was unseasonably warm today, probably the last warm day before fall fully settled in. "Yeah, I like it a lot," she answered as she swiped a carrot off the counter.

You gave her a side eyed smirk. "Want me to ask her to make you one?"

Ellie blushed and sputtered. "What? No! No way! I mean...I'm okay. Seriously. Where are you going?"

"Maria, Leslie and Megan invited me to the bar. And no I'm not sneaking you a beer."

Elli glared and grumbled something as she headed to the front door, trying and failing to dodge the hand you reached out to ruffle her hair. As you turned back to your food prep, you heard Ellie say hello to Joel as he walked into the house, heard his answering grunt of greeting. The door closed behind Ellie and you heard Joel stride across the wood floors until he was standing right behind you. You shuddered when he traced his hands lightly up the sides of your thighs, inching the dress up your legs. "I like this dress," he rumbled, laying a long kiss to your hair.

"Yeah, me too. Brenda Sawyer wanted to pay me somehow." He was pressing in tight to you now, cradling your hips back against his, your dress above your waist now. He nuzzled another kiss to you hair. "I'll have to thank her. Where you headed all dressed up?"

Your grip tightened on the hilt of the knife as he slowly kissed down your neck, his hands kneading your hips. "Tipsy Bison with Maria and, um, some other women. Drinks." Joel gave your hips a squeeze one final kiss to your shoulder before pulling away. "I'll go with you." You looked over your shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He raised an eyebrow right back. "Yes, really. Why is that so shocking?"

You shrugged and went back to chopping carrots. "No, it's just you've never gone with me before. I guess you're usually on patrol." He struggled being idle.

"First time for everything. What time you going?"

"I was thinking about 30 minutes?"

"Plenty of time."

The knife was pushed out of your hand and the carrots swiped to the side. You shrieked and laughed when Joel whirled you around, shoved your dress back up your hips, and plucked you up onto the counter. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders as his mouth found yours.

A quick 20 minutes later and narrowly avoiding a second round, you two were walking into Tipsy Bison, which was already in full swing. Joel had walked a little closer to you than normal, his fingertips brushing the hem of your dress as you walked. After a brief brush of his hand on the small of your back, you went your separate ways in the bar, you heading toward a booth with the women who had invited you, and Joel toward his brother and some other men he often found himself paired with on patrol. As much as you would have liked to stick by his side all night, you were happy he was trusting people enough to make friends. Despite the fact that he fucked you hoarse nearly every night, you felt a bit like a proud mom sometimes.

As the night went on, the drinks flowed and the laughter became louder. The warm weather seemed to settle in everyone's bones and everyone was on the small dance floor, from the 70 year old carpenter shuffling with his three toddler granddaughters to the fifteen year old girl shyly asking her classmate to dance. You and your friends had made your way out to the floor as well, your drinks sloshing onto the floor as you laughed and danced like teenagers. When a slow song came on and the lights dimmed, the string lights on the ceiling coming on, you began to make your way back to your booth, but a warm hand on your wrist stopped you. Turning, you found Joel standing behind you. You frowned in confusion. "You okay?"

He frowned right back as he tugged you toward him, pulling your arm around his shoulder and sliding his other hand across your waist. "Does something have to be wrong for me to dance with you?"

Smiling big, you tightened your arms around his shoulders and pressed tight to his front as his callused hands settled on your hips, massaging your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. "Joel Miller knows how to dance?"

He chuckled as you both began to sway to the beat. "I never said that." Grinning back, you massaged the nape of his neck and nuzzled you cheek against his shirt, closing your eyes and listening to the strong pulse of his heart. When the song ended, he wrapped your hand in his and led you back to the bar, shouldering through curious looking patrons. Maybe it was the whisky, but he was handsy for the rest of the night, pulling you between his legs as he sat at the bar talking with some of the other guys from his normal patrol, his arm around your waist as he laughed and sipped his whisky. Around midnight, it was you who tugged on his hand and informed him it was time to go. You only made it around the back of the bar before your dress was around your waist for the second time that night.

V. It had been a long, busy day at the clinic. All the doctors and nurses were called in to treat all sorts of injuries, allergies, bites, coughs, stomach aches, bloody noses, etc. By 6 PM, all you wanted to do was collapse into bed, but a pile of charts was waiting for you and you had already been hounded twice about being behind. Scrubbing your hands over your eyes, you reached for the folder at the top of the file.

"Y/n?"

You turned as Maria came into the clinic, red cheeked and huffing like she had run there.

"Yeah, hi, what's wrong?"

"It's Joel. Sally's gun went off close to him, grazed him on the side of the head. He says--"

You were already shoving past her and sprinting down the road, your heart hammering beneath your ribs. You heard Maria call after you then curse, but you didn't stop, dodging people and moving past the guards through the now open gate.

The patrolmen had stopped a few hundred feet from the entrance. A few had dismounted their horses and were gathered around someone with their head down. "Move," you ordered, putting every ounce of hard earned medical authority into your voice. The crowd parted and you saw Joel standing there, his head bent and his gloved hand prodding at a serious laceration at the side of his head. Your heart flew into your throat as you stopped in front of him and pulled his hand away from his head. "Stop doing that," you snapped.

Joel rolled his eyes but did as he was told, letting his arm fall to his side but keeping his head bent so you could take it in your hands and turn it this way and that. You cleared your throat, not fully trusting yourself to speak, but knowing you had to nonetheless. "Decent laceration, nothing serious. Worse than it looks. Few stitches should be fine."

"Can you make it to the clinic, Joel?" Tommy asked, earning an irritated look from his big brother. "Yes, I can make it back to the damn clinic. She didn't blow my head off." Then he turned back to you. "And what are you doing out here without a gun or an escort?"

You gave him a furious glare. "Don't start. C'mon before you faint." With that, you turned on your heel and strode back toward the gates. There was some shuffling and mutters before you heard the group following behind you.

You got back to the clinic a few minutes before them and grabbed the suture kit, laying it all out for when they arrived. Hearing heavy boots come up the stairs and Joel tell Tommy to "get off me", you turned in time to see Joel poke his head in, then quickly duck back out. You came to the door. "What?"

He cleared his throat, looking a little green. "It...It smells. I'm gonna be sick if I have to go in there."

"You're nauseous?"

"Yeah, I guess."

The anxiety flared back up but you slammed it back down. "Then your head wound is worse than I thought. You might have a concussion. Fine, sit down on the bench."

He did as he was told, this time not yelling at Tommy for guiding him with a hand to the elbow. He sat down with a grunt, pulling off his gun and disarming it.

"Ya'll good here?" Tommy asked and you nodded. "Yeah, I'll patch him up and put him to bed."

"I don't need-"

"Be quiet."

Joel scowled at you and then at Tommy, who didn't bother hiding his grin before turning away toward Maria, who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

You unloaded your kit in silence, cleaning up the dried blood before running a lidocaine pad over the cut. It really wasn't too bad, but it was over his old scar and would be tricky to suture at the angle you were now at. After a few minutes, you very gently prodded the skin around the cut. "Feel that?"

"No ma'am."

"Good, tilt your head to the side and don't move or I'll sew your ear to your head." You heard him chuckle, but he once again did as he was told. Stepping closer to him, you angled his head to the side. You were so focused you almost didn't notice his hands come up and begin massaging the backs of your legs in slow, sweeping motions from the tops of your thighs to the back of your knees. When he got close enough to your backside to make you shudder, you gave his hair a little tug. "You're distracting me."

Joel only hummed in answer, his eyes closing almost in relaxation, as if you weren't sewing his head shut. His hands settled at the backs of your knees, his forehead resting against your chest as you finished up your work. He didn't let go of you immediately, instead pulling his head up and resting his chin between your breasts, blinking lazily up at you. You let yourself wrap your arms around his neck and stare down at him, the forceps and scissors still in your hands.

"You were shot."

"Yep."

"Don't let it happen again."

His mouth curved in an amused smile and his hands squeezed your knees. "Yes, ma'am."

"Now go to bed."

He seemed to open his mouth to object but you cocked your eyebrow in a withering glare. Sighing, he stood with your help, gave you a chaste peck on the head, and grabbed his rifle before moving off toward your home.

+ I. "Wait, so are you and Joel actually, like, married?"

You blinked at Maria's question. You had never actually never been asked that before, as most people didn't even know you were together. You often wore the ring he gave you, if not on your hand, then on a thin chain around your neck, and you had never bothered getting a ring for Joe, as you wouldn't even know where to get one. You did refer to him as your husband and he told you he thought of you as his wife and referred to you as such whenever it came up.

When you were younger, you had, of course, had the girlhood dreams of a big white wedding and a storybook marriage, but when the virus struck, it all seemed so trivial. Now...you weren't really sure how you felt.

"I mean, I guess not," you finally answered with a shrug. "Never really considered making it official."

"What're you two yappin' about back there?"

Both you and Maria flinched in your saddles when Chet barked back at you, nudging your horses faster to keep up with the rest of the patrol. They had been short a man today after Will sprained his ankle, so you volunteered to step in since the clinic was slow and fully staffed. Joel had groused about it, but you were excited to go beyond the walls for even a few hours. And nothing had happened on patrols in months, so you weren't particularly worried.

"Do you want to make it official?" Maria prodded when the two of you got a little closer to the rest of the group, but still far enough back to have some privacy.

"Again, never really thought about it. We've just been getting settled and making sure Ellie gets settle." Another shrug. "It just hasn't been a priority."

"Do you want it to be a priority?"

You gave her a hard side eye. "What's with the sudden investment in me and Joel's relationship? When we got here you didn't even like-"

"RAIDERS!"

Your stomach dropped, panic barreling up your spine into your heart as chaos ensued. Shots rang out and people shouted as horses screamed and reared up in surprise. You scrambled for the gun at your hip, pulling it out just in time to get a raider in the knee and finish him off with one to the head. More shots sounded, closer this time and there was another cry of pain as eleven more raiders closed in.

Pain burned through your arm and you cried out, dropping your gun, which went off as it hit the ground. Your horse reared up in surprise, sending you out of the saddle and sprawling to the ground. When your back met the grass, the pandemonium faded away, overwhelmed by a deafening ring as your head snapped back on your spine and your brain slammed against your skull. Groaning, you tried to breathe through the pain.

It all came roaring back when a massive weight fell into your gut, pushing the air out of your lungs in a massive below. The unblinking eyes of the raider sprawled over you stared back at you and you heaved him off with a grunt. Pushing to your knees, you just avoided a riderless horse as it galloped past you, back toward the commune.

There was still shouting, gunshots, shrieking horses and grunts of pain. As everything came back into focus, you managed to reach out and grab a raider by the ankle, sending him sprawling onto the ground in front of you. He turned onto his back, eyes wild as he leveled the barrel of a pistol between your eyes...

His head snapped back and his gun dropped from his hand, his whole body going limp from the bullet in the back of his head. Blinking against the sun, you could see the group of people running from the direction of Jackson, each of them stopping sporadically to steady themselves and fire off a shot. It was Joel who slowly lowered a rifle aimed in your direction, his eyes wild and his chest heaving.

The group was on you in the next second, falling on the last remaining raiders as they attempted to escape, leaving their dead behind. You hadn't made it to your feet yet, the pain in your arm screaming even as the pain in your head receded. It was Joel who finally hauled you up despite your cry of pain when he grabbed you under the arms.

"What is it? Where? Where does it hurt? Show me! Show me!!" You had never heard him sound so frantic as he ran his hands roughly over your body, unzipping your jacket to look for blood on your shirt.

"My-My arm. It's my arm."

His hands became gentle as he took your arm in his hands and cradled it for Dr. Hansen as he bustled over with a medical kit.

"Just a flesh wound," he said gruffly. "Let's get her back to the clinic. You'll need quite a few stitches. Thank christ you're the only injury."

Joel rounded on you, taking your other arm in his hand and placing a hand on your back to guide you back toward Jackson with the rest of patrol following close behind.

An hour later, you and Joel walked out of the clinic, your arm freshly stitched but still burning in pain. Joel had watched over Dr. Hansen like a bear until you thought the two of them would come to blows. You were exhausted and just wanted to shower and sleep forever. Joel had been quite since you had gotten back and you had a feeling he would blow up when you got back to your house, ban you from ever going on patrol again, and sleep outside your bedroom door with his rifle.

"Joel," you finally prodded as you stepped onto the porch of the clinic, his back to you as he stared out over the town, hands on his hips. "Are you okay?"

Silence.

You sighed. "Joel, will you please--"

"Let's get married."

You blinked, not sure if you had heard that right or if you had rattled your brain more than you thought.

"I'm sorry?"

He turned to face you, his face completely serious. "Let's get married. Right now."

"Joel, what are you--"

He strode toward you and cupped your face so tenderly you could have cried. He let out a trembling breath as he leaned his forehead against yours. "We should have gotten married the day we got to Jackson. It didn't seem important then but now...I didn't know why."

You reached up to grip his wrists. "It doesn't matter to me if we make it official in any way or any of the legal stuff. Is that what's bothering you?"

"You could have died today."

That realization settled into your stomach for the first time and you barely suppressed a shudder. "I could have."

"We've both almost died a hundred times since we've met, and every day I wondered...would they have buried us next to each other? Would anyone have known that we loved each other after we're gone?"

For the first time in a long time, you were speechless, enamored by this man who made you weak.

"I just..." he took a shuddering breath. "I-I love you on purpose. And I want everyone to know. I want you to know."

You opened your mouth once. Twice. "I...okay. Yes. Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"TOMMY!"

His shout sent your brain reeling again and you nearly fell as he let go of your head and whirled around.

Tommy poked his head out from behind the horse he was leading to the barn. "Yeah?"

"Where's Pastor John? Y/N and I are getting married."

"What?"

"Pastor John? Where is he?"

"I heard that part." Tommy had abandoned the horse to a passing woman and headed over, his face comically confused. "You're getting married?"

"Yeah."

"Right now?"

"Yes! Right now!"

Joel had grabbed your hand in his and was pulling you down the stairs toward the church.

"I...okay." Tommy trailed behind the two of you, cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out for Pastor John. You had drawn a crowd by this point, Jackson citizens wandering out of the buildings and murmuring excitedly as Joel beat a warpath toward the church and you stumbled after him, grumbling at Tommy to stop yelling before you punched him.

Finally, Pastor John appeared out of the mess hall, adjusting his glasses and straightening the collar of his flannel like it was a full cassock. "What's all the hollerin' about?"

"Y/N and I are getting married," Joel stated as he came to a stop, causing you to run into him with a grunt. "Right now."

Pastor John blinked and looked at you as if for confirmation. You leaned into Joel and nodded happily, the reality of the situation finally beginning to settle. You were getting married. Joel wanted to marry you. And he wanted the whole town to see.

"Ah, okay," Pastor John finally said, adjusting his glasses again. "I guess we should head on over to the church."

The mass of people at your back grew with every step you took through the town until you were all 300 of them were tittering like school kids behind you.

"Move! MOVE! No, you get out of my way. Y/n!"

You turned in time to see Ellie shoulder her way through the crowd until she was at your side, her chest heaving like she had personally shoved aside all 300 people to reach you. She stared up at you with huge eyes. "Were you really going to get married without me?"

You cupped her face in your hands. "Baby, I didn't even know I was getting married until five minutes ago."

"Can I be your bridesmaid?"

You laughed. "Of course." She gave you a massive grin and threw her arms around your middle, holding you tight and you could hear her sniffling against your chest.

Twenty minutes later, every citizen in Jackson, from the oldest to the youngest, had squeezed into the small church with you and Joel at the front with Pastor Joe, Elli standing behind you holding a handful of daisies she had ripped from the ground outside the sheep pen.

"...I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

You expected a small, chaste peck on the lips, but Joel took your face in his hands and swooped down to take your mouth in a kiss so intense you had to grip his shoulders to stay upright. The church exploded in applause and cheers and Joel pulled you back upright, giving you one more chaste kiss before giving you the biggest smile you had ever seen on him. Taking your hand in his, he walked you down the crowded aisle.

He never let go of it again.

#The Last of Us #The Last of Us HBO #Joel Miller #Pedro Pasal #Joel Miller x Reader #TLOU #Joel Miller fic #Joel Miller x Y/N #Joel Miller x You #The Last of us fanfiction #Awkward-Sultana #5 + 1 #TLoU fanfiction

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imthebadguyyy · 7 months

Text

Hold Me In Your Arms Tonight

pairing : steve rogers x reader

fandom : marvel

synopsis : steve comes home from a mission, and all he wants is to be wrapped up in your warmth and in your arms.

a/n : i just wanted to write something tender and sweet and smutty so here ya go

warnings : smut

the usual murmur of the quinjet had dulled, into a thick and heavy silence. as the machine soared through the night sky, the avengers found themselves in a rare moment of quietude after a particularly intense mission.

the air inside the jet hung heavy with a mix of exhaustion, and tension.

tony as usual, was the first to break the deafening silence. reclining, in his seat, his signature smirk missing commented, "well, that was fun, wasn't it? remind me to thank fury for these vacations."

natasha, sitting across from him, raised an eyebrow, one hand pressing an ice pack to the indigo bruise blooming on her wrist.

"now's really not the time" she muttered, eyes gesturing towards steve, who looked the picture of defeat.

the mission had started promisingly and could have been regarded as an amateur operation. intel suggested a hydra base operating in a remote location, with plans for a powerful biological weapon that could endanger innocent lives.

steve and tony had decided that the entire team didn't have to come, so the two of them with natasha and thor had suited up and gone, leaving bruce, wanda, clint you and sam to wait in the compound. they had what they thought was a meticulous plan to infiltrate and neutralize the threat.

until they actually reached the base.

as the team breached the compound, it had become evident that hydra was one step ahead. the entire facility was a trap, a carefully orchestrated ambush. waves upon waves of highly trained soldiers overwhelmed the avengers, forcing them into a chaotic retreat, that had left most of them nursing minor injuries.

"we didn't know cap" nat said, looking at the simmering anger in steve's eyes.

steve didn't lift his eyes off the spot he was focusing at on the wall.

"they knew we were coming. how the hell did they know?" thor asked, slamming mjolnir down in the ground.

tony muttered something along the lines of "our intel was compromised" but steve didn't care.

as the silhouette of the avengers compound came into view and natasha heaved a quiet sigh of relief.

she knew that the only person who would be able to calm steve and get through to him was you, and that you'd be the only person he'd ever open up to a 100%

with a hum, the jet landed, and the four trooped out, to see an awaiting maria hill, a grim furrow in her brow.

"cap we need a debrief on the-" her words died on her tongue and she computed the glare thor sent her way.

she understood the message : leave him alone.

speaking of, steve had walked into the compound, stepping into the elevator, head dropping low, he finally let out a deep sigh, fingers pressing the 4th floor, wanting nothing more than to have you in his arms.

the ding of the elevator signalled his arrival to you before he did.

you were standing in the kitchen, listening to the merry bubble of the kettle as you boiled hot water for a warm cup of midnight tea.

tony had given you and steve the entire fourth floor as your residential area, and you couldn't thank him enough for the state of the art amenities and accommodation.

just as you put your two spoons of tea leaves in the ceramic blue teapot clint and his wife had gifted you for your birthday, you heard the elevator door open, and the heavy footfalls of your husband echoed in the hall.

smiling to your self, you poured the hot water from the kettle to the teapot, just as steve's muscular frame filled the door of the hallway, his long shadow preceding him as he walked into the kitchen.

steve could smell the scent of black tea before he saw you, the homely scent wrapping him a warm hug that he didn't know he needed.

there were softly lit candles glittering softly all around the penthouse, and fresh bouquets of flowers in every vase. the plush sofas looked freshly dusted and soft music was playing in the background

soft, muted lighting enveloped the space, casting a warm and intimate ambiance. the city lights beyond the windows twinkled like a myriad of stars, creating a breathtaking backdrop against the darkened sky.

but to steve, none of this mattered. the only view he cared about was the one of you, shuffling around the kitchen in fuzzy bunny slippers and your silk blue pyjamas.

he watched as you moved with a quiet confidence, navigating the familiar space with ease. the rhythmic clink of porcelain against the marble countertop echoing as the cups were placed gently on a tray as you selected delicate tea cups from the cupboard. he watched your fingers, adorned with subtle rings, tracing the edges of the cups with a practiced familiarity.

as steve observed you with a mixture of admiration and emotion, his gaze, fixed on you, spoke volumes as he recognized the beauty in the simplicity of this moment. the anxious lines on his face softened, revealing a depth of emotion stirred by the sight of someone he cherished engaged in such an ordinary yet intimate act.

"hi baby" you smiled at him, smile dipping when you observed at the tenseness in his body language. his shoulders were taut, remnants of anxious lines softly fading from his forehead as he looked at you.

"hey" he said, voice cracking slightly, even more as you let out a soft "oh" reaching him in two steps to wrap your arms around him.

in the dimly lit room, the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken emotions and words, but you both knew he didn't need words, he needed the unspoken reassurance that you were there with him, physically, in the moment.

he stood there, shoulders slumped, carrying the weight of the world on his weary frame. even captain america got overwhelmed sometimes. you approached him with a gentle understanding, eyes reflecting both empathy and love.

as you reached out to him, arms enveloping him in a comforting embrace, he crumbled.

the embrace wasn't just a physical connection; it was a lifeline, a silent reassurance that in this moment of vulnerability, he wasn't alone. your fingers traced soothing circles on his back, a rhythmic gesture that mirrored the ebb and flow of emotions he was clearly feeling.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, desperate to find solace in the softness of your presence. the scent of your hair, a mix of strawberry and vanilla, familiar and comforting, mingled with the quiet warmth of the room.

the thump of your heartbeat, pulsing through your body, steady and reassuring, echoed against his chest, a gentle reminder that they faced the challenges together, and that as you had stated in your vows, your hearts would beat together as one for the rest of your lives.

"we were so close, but everything fell apart. the intel was off, our intel was compromised, we were ambushed. the team got separated, and we couldn't prevent the disaster. it's like no matter what i do, it's never enough." he whispered, voice broken and eyes haggard, pulling back to look at you.

his eyes sought home in yours, desperate to find the love he needed so badly.

you listened attentively, absorbing the raw emotion in his voice. as he spoke, his hands clenched, betraying the frustration and helplessness he felt.

running your hands up and down his back, you whispered back, "you can't blame yourself for everything. you're only human. superhuman, sure, but still human"

steve ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, letting out a bitter chuckle.

"im supposed to be a hero, someone who saves the day. but what if I'm not cut out for this? what if I'm just making things worse?" he said, and you found tears rising to your eyes at the anguish your husband was in, blue eyes as stormy as the ocean, nothing but insecurity and fear reflecting in them.

you reached for his hands, holding them in a reassuring grip, fingers running over his knuckles in a pattern only you could interpret.

"darling, being a hero doesn't mean you always succeed. it means facing challenges, even when the odds are against you. it means being brave enough to admit when you may possibly make a mistake and it means allowing yourself to grow from the bad days. you can't control everything, but you can learn from it and keep going. you're not alone in this. you have all of us and we're always going to be there when you need us because you're always there when we need you. thats what makes you captain america, steve, your unrelenting ability to show empathy in the face of danger"

steve found solace in the warmth of your gaze. the weight on his shoulders didn't vanish, but the shared burden made it more bearable. "i love you so much" he said, leaning his forehead on yours.

bending down, he pressed his lips to yours, as you melted into the kiss, hands coming up to hold his jaw, as your thumbs ran along his cheekbone. he rested his palm on your waist, fingers splayed out and tracing a pattern, as his other hand reached up to caress your face.

you had to reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down by the neck to meet your lips. he pulled you impossibly closer to him, hands gripping you so tight as if you would vanish into thin air.

before you knew it his lips were heavy on yours, hot and needy, each kiss becoming more and more desperate as his hands roamed the expanse of your body.

his tongue pushed against yours urgently, but you broke apart, panting heavily, to kiss his cheek and whisper a soft "i love you"

steve swore his heart melted as you spoke, fingers caressing your cheek as he scooped you up from below, letting your legs wrap around his waist, hands gripping your thighs tightly as he guided the both of you to the bedroom.

the bedroom embraced an alluring intimacy, its subdued lighting casting a warm, hazy glow that danced across the plush surfaces. a large canopy bed, draped in rich, dark linens, stood as the focal point, its soft contours inviting and enticing. the plush cushions and silken sheets glowed softly in the dim lights,

the air was infused with a subtle fragrance of vanilla and lavender, creating a sensory tapestry that heightened the atmosphere.

the heavy curtains were drawn, swaying in the gentle breeze from an open window, allowing a filtered moonlight to cascade into the room, creating a soft interplay of light and darkness.

candles were strategically placed on various surfaces, flickering with a mesmerizing rhythm, casting enchanting patterns across the walls, rose petals scattered on the bed and the loveseat in bedroom.

steve carried you into the room, awestruck at how you had set up the room for his arrival.

"you did this baby? for me?" he asked, eyes softening. "all for you my love" you assured, smiling softly at him. "all of this and all of me is for you" you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest.

you felt him shudder softly against you, and the sudden pick up in his pace as he dropped you gently against the bed.

"i adore you" he murmured, pressing kisses all the way from your head to your forehead, trailing down your face, from the curve of your nose to your plump cheeks, pressing delicate kisses to the soft skin, before ultimately stopping at your lips.

he pressed his pink lips to yours, lips moulding into one as he let his body hover over yours. his tongue darted out to lick your lip, begging for entry and when he squeezed your hip and you let out a moan, he slid his tongue into your mouth, tongue clashing against yours, teeth stopping to sink into your lower lip, pulling it back to watch it snap back into place.

you kiss down his jaw, reveling in the soft sighing that he floods your ear when you near his throat. he groans when your mouth latches onto that sweet spot by his shoulder, your hot tongue sliding against his neck, with your chapstick tasting of shea butter and cherry, fingers dancing across the hem of his suit like a tease. his arms slide down to your top, the silky material scrunching up as he pulls it up, marvelling at the skin below.

"touch me" you whisper against his mouth with swollen lips and nudging noses. he sighs at the phrase, sea blue eyes never once leaving the comfort of yours. "touch me, use me, use me to get rid of your stress" you whisper, rocking your hips slowly against his.

you could feel his hard on against you, and you gently rolled your hips against his.

you were sure it got hard, this facade of being perfect all the time. so maybe just this once he needed to let go. let go of the gentleman person and fuck you raw till he was calmed down and satiated.

your shirt rides up even higher as steve drags a rough palm over your ribs, his rough hands have you jittering. his head rests on your stomach, lips pecking the area around your belly button and down your hip bone until you’re rotating your hips around him. "you're absolutely unbelievable" he groans as he gently licks around your sensitive belly button. he groans in pleasure when you tug on his hair, smiling when you say, "i dont know how lucky I got with you" he murmured.

"touch me. just touch me like you won’t ever stop" you whimper out, and steve studied the want in your glassy eyes and nodded softly, stroking his finger on either side of your cheek. the intimacy of the moment is jarring against how desperately the both of you want each other. but it's sensual and sweet because its a long buildup his finally being at peace.

agonizingly slow, his fingers dip down the waistband of your panties, cotton rubbing against the back of his hand as he curls his fingertips towards your pussy. the gentle notion makes your breath hitch, especially when he spreads your folds apart to expose the hood of your clit.

his middle finger circles draw leisurely over the sensitive nub with slow, rough circles and your thighs twitched.

his voice hitches in his throat as he observes your reaction. "oh, doll, you’re — oh, you’re just dripping, aren’t you?" he groans as you guide his hand further, the pads of his fingers dragging your arousal against your wet entrance. "my gorgeous, gorgeous girl" he whispered, pressing a sugar sweet kiss to your jaw.

"I'll always love you no matter what" you moan, scratching at his shoulders shamelessly, rocking on the heel of his hand for more friction. your eagerness spurs him on and so he increases the pressure, skimming his fingers over your folds and pressing ever-so-tantalizingly near your hole before he returns back to your clit. "fucking tease" you whine and he smirks.

your steve is usually demure even in bed, ever the perfect gentleman, gentle with you as if you'd snap into two if he was too harsh with you.

but this steve was daring and experimenting with his rough side.

your next sentence died in your throat, a soft gasp leaving your lips when he pushed his finger inside you, slow and deep enough to rip a whine right out of your throat from the stretchs.

he inhales loudly, eyes fixating on your mouth when you hopelessly sigh against his neck. you shift your knee higher up his leg, giving him more access to finger you. he hums at your expressions, mirroring them when you suckle dark marks just beneath his sharp jawline.

he mouths at your shoulder, leaving glistening patches of saliva in the wake of his sloppy kisses. you rock against the heel of his palm, mewling as he drags his fingers against your walls and he muffles his own moans against your skin.

"you’re so perfect" he groans, fucking his fingers in and out of you. the noises that leave your pussy and his throat are sinful, sounding like the harmonious mixture of splashing waves and delicate moans, his hand cupping your mound while he fingered you impatiently.

"fuck, Y/N. you’re making quite the mess, aren’t you, my angel? god, your moans are so fucking sweet to listen to"

"steve, your fingers..." you watch his wrist snap against you, juices squelching around him. you nearly sob, waterline beginning to water as the pleasure intensifies, "you get me so wet" you whimper and you hear the groan he tries to suppress at the juxtaposition of your angelic voice and face and the filthy words coming out of your pretty mouth.

"that’s good. I love pleasing you, you know that?" he asks as you clamp down onto the crook of his neck, teeth stifling your wrecked moans as he curls his middle and ring finger against that spongy spot inside you.

his touch is generous, and accompanied by his weathered hands, you can feel your orgasm approaching soon. he fucks you faster, thumb rubbing at your clit hard.

while others would resort to their own personal pleasure to de stress, it's your pleasure that brings steve relaxation. the fact that he could draw earth shattering orgasms from you was what helped him feel good and he knew that it was only when you were completely satisfied that he would be too.

you cry out into his chest, bite marks littering his skin as you hold him tight and gracelessly grind against him until you lose control over your climax.

your body shakes from your orgasm, gradually and slowly, steve's fingers scissoring carefully in and out of you.

your pussy pulses needily between your thighs, toes curling as you focus your attention on steve undressing. his suit comes off, discarded somewhere in some corner, his under clothes come off, and then finally, he drags his gray boxers down his legs, and his cock stands proudly, slapping against his stomach as he releases it from it's prison.

you moan as you take in the sight of his thick cock, long and girthy and big enough to leave you breathless as it always did. steve after all was a supersoldier, and his cock was to match. he also had incredible stamina and you knew he'd leave you exhausted.

he nears you again, heavy against you and you reach down to stroke him, smiling up at him, realising your hand doesnt fit all of him into your palm. his cock twitches again when you moan, a throb settling at the base of his spine with an uintelligible moan.

"stevie, baby, i want nothing more-" you strain, reaching behind your own hips to take ahold of his cock and line the weeping tip up perfectly "than for you to fuck me. i want you to fuck your pain and your distress away" you say, and his eyes darken with lust, the baby blues fading to black, like a dark and thunderous sky.

his dick catches against your clit first, causing your body to jolt in shock before you sweep him through your dripping folds. he grabs ahold of your hips, seemingly spellbound as to where else to hold you. his eyes flicker all across your bare skin, unable to settle on the best spot.

his teeth reach down to grab your nipple in between them, one hand reaching up to fondle the other. his tongue darts around the perk nipple, sliding all around it, saliva dripping all around it. your hips rut wildly at the pleasure on your sensitive nipples, and the feeling of the rough pads of his fingers toying with the other.

a chorus of gasps sounds between the two of you as you slowly roll down onto his dick, harmonizing almost like a symphony. he stretches you deliciously, and he's big. very big. perfectly filling. It’s akin to losing all sense of direction, unsure of up from down, left from right. your hips stutter and still from the shock because through your haze you feel steve thrust upward and into you to bridge the gap and you whine as he brushed a sensitive spot within you.

a high pitched wine of "oh fuck!* leaves your lips, and a deep groan echoes in steve's chest.

you groan, finally feeling him sink all the way into your pussy, already shaking from the overwhelming pleasure. before you can comprehend, hes bottoming out in your slick pussy.

rising back over the curve in his cock, you lift yourself back up until only his tip is pressed up against your pussy. you pause before you sink back down. you see the almost animalistic need in steve's eyes as he gazes up at you through his lashes, eyes following the clenching of his jaw.

the wet sound of your pussy being filled over and over echoes, the air that had held a chill seemingly warming at your shared activity. you can barely hear his groans, your heartbeat thrumming so loud in your ears that you’re convinced he can probably feel it thudding in your walls.

your eyebrows arch in bliss as the ridge of his head catches up against something so incredible that you’re drowning in pleasure, a light that must surely be heaven flooding your eyesight.

but it's not heaven no, it's a sight far better : your husband, mouth agape and head thrown back fucking into you like your life depended on it.

what you didn't expect was the harsh smack to your ass, his big hand smacking the sensitive skin of your ass and you let out an "oh!" skin stinging and pussy dripping, before the longing for more fills you.

"you like that, my pretty girl?" he asks, pinching the fat of your hips.

you merely moan in response, mind melting at the pleasure. a second smack to the ass follows, and a large vein-y hand grips your throat and forces you to look at him.

"words doll, words" he chides, and you stutter out a shaky "yes" your movements are stuttering at the way a familiar simmering feeling begins deep inside your abdomen, but steve doesn’t want you to stop. his hands take a firm grip of your hips, forcing them down as he begins to thrust up and into you in that same desperate pace.

he continued to brush against that part of you that just obliterated any coherent thought, your mind melting into sludge as pleasure overtook every nerve in your body.

his hands traced over your ass, still hovering between the edge of good boy steve and bad boy steve, but all it took for him to slip was your whimper of "spank me harder daddy" and he was gone.

your sweet gentle steve was replaced by an animal, hands delivering harsh smack after smack to the sensitive skin of your ass, feeling it burn red hot as his large lands landed on your ass with a harsh unoact.

the filthy sound of his hand slapping the jiggly surface of your ass and the sloppy, wet sound of his dick pounding into your pussy echoed around the room, and you had never been more glad for the fact that your floor was completely soundproofed.

you’re not exactly sure what part of his body you’re holding onto, the muscles canvas all melting into one, so far away from comprehension, but you know you’re holding it in a bruising grip, one that leaves a perfect impression of each of your fingertips that would most definitely remain imprinted on his skin.

sweat beaded and dripped down his forehead, as he continued thrusting and pounding into you as if his life depended on it.

your mewls and whimpers perfectly complimented his grunts and groans as his hips snapped further into yours.

your back arched off of the bed as he let your leg rest on his shoulder, pushing the other one away from you so you were perfectly spread out, pushing one leg far away enough so that it was almost touching your ear

the smirk on his lips told you that it was gonna be a long night and that steve wasn't done with you just yet. he grabbed your face, fingers lacking their usual gentility, digging into your cheekbones, before pushing your face sideways into the silky pillow, making you close your eyes at the contrasting sensation of your hot cheeks against the cold pillow, the feelings setting your body on fire.

the sensation of you digging your nails into his back, had his hips falterring and stuttering slightly as he let out another lke growl into his ear, as he allowed himself a moment to bask in the burn of the sting before regaining his pace and thrusting back "you're so, so fucking good, just squeezing me so well hmm?" he growled, grunting as your pussy squeezed him harder and your eyes shut.

you only raked your nails down harder, although your moans were slightly muffled, and the desperate whines leaving your lips fuelled, him, as he continued snapping his hips into you, nails digging into your thigh, the pleasurable sting sending you spiraling. you could feel ths tight muscles rippling in his back, and you scratched down the bare expanse of his back, knowing it always drove him crazy.

the red hot pleasure in the pit of your stomach began to tighten, making you pant. he started guiding his cock deeper into you, which you didn't think was possible, and placed your hand in the outline of his cock in your tummy, and the filthy sound of your wetness and the sounds of your skin slapping together echoed across the hotel room.

the bed began to knock against the wall, the thumping sounding sweeter than the sweetest symphony you had ever heard.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head once again, mouth falling open in a silent scream of pleasure. for a second, you thought you had floated into another dimension, a low hum filling your ears, and your body convulsing in pleasure.

you heard steve moan your name, before letting out a low grunt, feeling him release his chokehold on your throat and hips, watching as you squirted all over him.

your cum splattered him all over, and your vision almost went black from how hard you had just squirted on him.

he reached out to collect your cum on his fingers, licking it, moaning at your sweet taste. the sight had you blushing.

you thought you were done, but just as you began to come to terms with the force of your orgasm, you felt his thumb on your clit, making you jerk your hips away, shaking your head. "daddy please, no more, i can't, not anymore" you whined out, feeling your pussy throb.

"yes you can, one more my doll, just give me one more" he murmured, leaning down to kiss you again harshly, in a rough, dirty, demanding kiss.

you could feel his hips stuttering, his cock beginning to pulse inside you, his thrusts becoming sloppy, signalling he was close to his own orgasm.

you moaned into his mouth, taking the opportunity to suck his tongue. "come on captain, cum for me, wont you? you work so hard and I'm so fucking proud of all your hard work" you whispered into his ears, licking at the shell of his ear

at your words, he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his tongue poking out to lick patterns on the skin there, and you could hear his low, soft grunts as he chased his release, making the veins in his neck pop.

you could see his body glistening in the layer of sweat that had covered him, he continued to thrust into you for a second or two more, before a deep groan left his swollen lips, and an even deeper moan of your name echoed in your ear, as he spurted his cum into your warm pussy with a groan, your pussy clamping down on him like a vice, milking his cock

your body shuddered at the warm liquid dripping into you in hot spurts, covering your pussy in his cum, moaning in pleasure as the warmth of his release spread through you, enveloping you in a warm daze. panting softly, he stayed enveloped in your warm walls.

the both of you cuddled into the silk sheets, the aur conditioning doing little to cook your overhead bodies. steve pressed tender kisses to your face and body, whispers of "my beautiful girl, my angel, my doll, i adore you" leaving his lips like a mantra.

his hands, now no longer rough with want, traced soft patterns on your flushed skin.

"was that too rough for you?" he asked, concern etched in his eyes and worry lines appearing on his face.

"not at all" you said, quickly quelling his fears.

"you should do that again" you smirked, giggling when he blushed red. "thank you for that my love" he said, raising your knuckles to his lips to press a soft kiss to them.

"you don't have to thank me, steve. I'm always here for you no matter what" you murmured.

you were slowly sinking into a daze, but you registered him pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and heading to the bathroom

"I'll be back in just a second honey, I'm just getting some towels to clean us up" he explained, grinning at the pout adorning your bruised lips.

sure enough he came back, with cold towels to wipe you up with and a fresh set of pyjamas (his shirt and your shorts) to slip into, gently tugging you into the clothes and cleaning up the sticky mess on your thighs and cleaning you up.

he brushed the stray strands of your hair away from your face, pressing a soft kiss to your nose then your forehead, and then your lips.

he fed you a glass of cold water, and a piece of chocolate for a little bit of energy in the morning. cleaning himself up, he slipped into bed with you, his large arms wrapping you up, his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as you snored softly beside him.

in the warmth of your embrace, he felt an unspoken reassurance. as he held you close, the rhythmic beating of your heart echoed a comforting melody

in that tender moment, he realized that in your arms, he was not just physically close, but emotionally anchored. the world outside ceased to matter as he embraced the profound sense of safety and love that enveloped the both of you, creating a sanctuary where worries melted away, leaving only the simple joy of being together.

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moon-child-goddess · 5 months

Text

When we say goodbye Pt 2

Pairings: Druig X LightBender!Eternal!Reader (Fem)

Summary: Reader’s life after Druig left, and when they meet again, the reader is running an illegal operation selling weapons and stuff.

Warnings: MCU Violence, Blood, Fighting, I used Fem pronouns, angst, this is darker than I meant to be. Talks about killing and death.

Author's note: I got carried away again. This is almost 6k words. Part 3 will be shorter and fluff mostly. This is not proofread.

Part One Part Three

After that night in Tenochtitlan the group slowly split up on their own. Y/N had settled in a small town that was used as a trade route. Boats came from all over with fine jewels, linens and food. Half a mile from the pier was these empty stalls people would rent out to sell things for the day. Most people there made a livable profit to provide for their families. It was Y/N’s favorite place to hang out. She liked to check out what new things humans had created, and help the elderly set up shop.

One warmer than normal afternoon she made her way through the stalls smiling at all her favorite neighbors and purchased small things from them to help support their families. A booth of glittering knives and jewelry caught her eye as she passed by. More specifically a dagger of silver with blue stones in the hilt. His eyes were that blue, she thought. Her fingers danced gently over the stones lost in her memories.

“How much?” Y/N asked the small, round in the belly merchant. Her eyes didn’t leave the blade.

“I will give it to you for the piece in your hair.”

It was a pin that Druig had gifted her, a golden butterfly. This was the last thing she had of him. Y/N’s fingers subconsciously touched the cold metal; she had forgotten it was there. It had become such a habit to put it in first thing in the morning since he had given it to her. She never knew where he got it from, and when she asked him he smiled and just murmured her nickname. There was no way she could part with it. It was all she had.

“Umm, let me think about it. Thanks.” With a smile she continued down the stalls. She thought she was over the pain of him leaving but it was still as fresh as the day it happened.

As she passed a fruit stand, she heard a voice that sounded an awful lot like Druig. Her heart picked up a beat. Was It really him after all these years? Out of the corner of her eye she could make out dark hair and he faintly looked about the same size. She took a second to control her breathing before fully facing the man.

It wasn't him, just another human trying to haggle for a deal on the fruit. Her heart hurt a little more than it had at booth with the knives. She longed to see her friend again. She had searched for him but with no luck of finding him. He never cared, did he? Why stay away after all this time if he cared even an ounce? It's been over a hundred years.

Without a second more of hesitation, she ran back to the man with the dagger. Out of breath she yanked the hair piece out. The strands of hair it held fell back to their natural place.

The merchant stared at her as if she grew another head. He had half the mind to up the price since she wanted it that much, but something told him no. She studied the pin one last time. When she handed this to him she had nothing left that tied her to him. This- This was goodbye. Her eyes burned for a second, but she refused to cry anymore. Y/N thought about the time with the butterflies. A time where she was happy and never would have thought he would have left her.

Trading was the smart thing to do. Her powers didn’t seem to work anymore. Every time she tried to shape light after that night it put a strain on her body. She almost passed out every time. The shadows sometimes moved, but she couldn't quite master them yet. Ajak couldn't figure out why they stopped working either. The women had tried healing Y/N on many occasions, but nothing worked. At one point Y/N begged Ajak to take her memories and let her start over. Let her have a reset after 5,000 years. She was exhausted, and her soul hurt immensely. But Ajak said no.

The merchant held his hand open waiting for her to hand it over. Y/N dropped it in his waiting palm with a lone tear falling down her cheek. She took the dagger and turned, missing the flash of golden eyes watching her walk away.

She made her way back to the small place she called home, setting the weapon on the table. Sprite made her way out of her room to bother Y/N about being bored. But stopped any words from coming out once she saw the state Y/N was in and gave her a hug. They stayed like that for quite some time. Sprite extended her visit for a few extra days making sure Y/N was ok before she left to live with Kingo.

-----

Centuries passed slowly for Y/N, but she had stopped clinging to her feelings for Druig and moved on. She started dating humans and some aliens. They kept her company and cared for her the way she yearned for. They came and went throughout the years. She watched some grow old and die. Quite a few were whisked off to wars where they died. Each one of them took a piece of her with them as she loved them fiercely.

Two of them were murdered in cold blood right in front of her. She managed to kill one of the assassins in a fit rage. Before she knew the shadows around her came together forming a monster scarier than the boogieman. It tore the assailant apart making it so no one could identify him. Just as quickly as the monster was created it vanished. Humans continued to become such dark and miserable creatures that enjoyed inflicting pain.

Y/N eventually moved in with Ajak and Sprite soon after losing control of her powers. She didn’t mean to kill the man it had just happened. They moved around a lot because to many people became curious of Sprites appearance. During the years they were together they helped Y/N gain control of the shadows. Sprite often created illusions with her abilities to push Y/N to new extremes.

After an afternoon of fighting Y/N was ready to give up, the shadows were not working, and she wanted a break from learning. She felt like a child. Helpless. Sprite wanted her to actually shape something instead of using ribbons of shadows to do her work. They had done it four times last week.

“This is dumb. I am going to bed.”

“Come on Sunshine. Don’t tell me you can’t fight an imaginary bear.” Sprite teased. She knew the nickname would set her friend off.

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” Y/N bit out. Throwing ribbons of jet-black shadows at the bear. She held it in place keeping it from moving an inch. It ripped Sprites creation in half.

“Not what we wanted, but good enough.”

Y/N heaved. She was afraid of the shadows they tended to kill more then anything. IT was an extension to her pain and anger. They were way stronger then the light had been.

----

One particularly stary night she was making her way back home from the market. Y/N wanted to make a nice dinner for Ajak after everything she had done for her. She decided to cut through the forest to get back home faster. A man followed behind her. He waited till they were far enough away to get closer, so no one could hear her scream. Y/N could feel a cold stare on her. She turned and the man took the opportunity to attack holding a knife to her throat.

“Give me your jewels and money.” The girl stared at him like he was stupid.

“Are you deaf? I said give me your money!” He was livid now.

Y/N shot him a cold smirk. This pathetic man thought he could win? With that thought she let out a humorless laugh. The man almost backed away not expecting this response. He thought she would cry and beg for her life. This was a psychotic response.

“No. I won’t hand it over. If you want to live, I would walk away.” The man scoffed and pressed on the blade a little harder. A small trickle of blood ran down her neck.

“I am the one in control. I have the knife.” A spray of his saliva hit Y/N in the face.

Before the man could blink, she had him on his knees bound by shadowy ribbons. He tried to pull his arm out, but he couldn’t move. The darkness swirled behind the girl as she pulled out the knife she always had on her person. The man stopped breathing as he watched the girl walk up to him twirling the blade.

“you-you’re a witch?”

“No, no. I am an eternal. That is a vastly different thing. Now tell me, do you often attack young women in the street?”

She raised a brow waiting for him to answer. She wasn't sure what to do with him yet and his answer would influence her. A panicked look flashed through him, and she knew what the answer was. Biting her lip she kept her anger in check before she ripped the man apart. She promised Ajak no more human death.

Her shadows tightened and he cried out. A sickening crack echoed off the trees. She broke a bone for sure.

“You monster.” He cried out as she ran away.

Two days later Y/N was walking sprite back home when a bunch of villagers surrounded them. Amongst them was the man that tried to attack her.

“That's her. That's the witch.” He pointed a bulbous finger in her face.

“I knew she was to pretty.” On person mumbled to their neighbor.

“Devil worshiper.” Another said.

Sprite looked ready to attack but Y/N pulled her back. Shaking her head. She knelt down hugging sprite.

“Go. Run home I will find you later.”

Sprite had a remark that died on her lips. She wasn’t sure if Y/N would live past this. There were a lot of them, and she promised no more killing. Before Y/N could ask her again she ran. Ajak could help she thought.

When Sprite managed to get Ajak’s help the town square was filled with humans that had been knocked out. Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

-----

Y/N had made her new home Europe after that incident, and she stayed there for centuries. She studied with so many great minds and helped them build institutes and careers. When they died they lived on in the stories Y/N told everyone who would listen.

She settled in London during the women’s suffrage movement. Where she and her now boyfriend fought for women’s rights together. They made their way through the streets hanging posters when a women left out the doors of a pub.

“Y/N?” She straightened up at the voice. Sersi.

Y/N faced her with a smile on her face. It had been a long time since she had seen the girl.

“Oh, it is you. I have missed you.”

“Hello, Sersi. I have missed you too.”

She hugged the black-haired women. Y/N had forgotten how beautiful she was, and truly missed her hugs. Sersi and her had been close once. A rift grew between them when she married Ikaris. Y/N always stood on Druigs side while Sersi stood by her husband.

“Who is this?” Sersi asked looking at the tall guy next to her.

“Alexander. We are courting as one may say. We are also fighting for women’s rights.” Sersi smiled. Y/N was just like Druig wanting humans to stop being so cruel.

“Well, I am glad you are ok, and best of luck to you.”

-----

“I am going to be a nurse in the war. I want to help the men who are fighting.”

It was three years into the World War, and Y/N was tired of watching it happen. Alexander had fallen shortly after it started.

“Y/N please, I can’t protect you out there.” Ajak begged.

“I want to help; I can’t stay here. I will come back, I promise.”

Ajak shook her head not wanting to hear it. Phastos was already way more involved than she liked. Now Y/N wanted to leave and basically be in the front lines? This was her worst nightmare. Two of them may never return to her and she couldn’t bare to part ways with them.

“I just want you safe. You fought your war. The deviants are gone its your time to rest.”

“I have been resting for 1,900 years now. If it becomes too much, I will run.” Y/N put everything in her tone to sound sincere. They stared at one another before Ajak nodded and asked to be written as much as possible.

-----

The war had been over for a year now and Y/N settled in New York. She hung out at a club where her roommate sang nightly at. Everyone who was anyone came there. Gangsters made deals in the back booths, and Senators got their drugs or girls.

Y/N was sitting at the bar playing with her drink, waiting for her friend to take the stage. It was a busier night than usual. There was a man with black hair and ocean blue eyes that kept shooting her looks from his side of the bar. She blushed each time they made eye contact. He shot her a wink before she turned to face the stage where the musicians were changing out.

“Hello Ma’am. My name is Giovanni.” There was an Italian accent when he spoke.

“Y/N” She shook his hand smiling.

It was the start of their love story. They were happy, and Ajak adored him. He made her Y/N truly happy. They spent one weekend a month with Ajak. Family was important to Giovanni, and it was her family. She did tell him about the fact that she would never age, but he didn’t care. He loved Y/N.

“You know who he looks like?” Sprite wiggled her eyebrows. A smirk in her eyes.

“Shut up. That is not why I am with him. He is kind to me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and ruffled Sprites hair. Which annoyed the young girl. She fixed it and glared off to the horizon.

“I heard he asked Ajak for your hand in marriage.”

“He did. And asked me to marry him last night.” That night, he promised he would never leave her during his human existence. Y/N held out her hand, showing off the engagement ring. Sprite studied it before nodding. This was not the wedding she expected to attend for Y/N.

----

Y/N and Giovanni lived a lavish life together. She was utterly happy with their life. Giovanni brought her flowers once a week, never allowing a dead one in her sight. Their maid would pick out the dead ones every morning per his orders. Each Friday, he came home early to take her on a date.

One winter night, they were coming home from the ballet and giggling like two school kids with a secret. Giovanni spun Y/N through the opened front door and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are amore?” he asked, flipping on the light switch.

Before any of them could register the man in the hall to the living room, a gun shot echoed through the room. Y/N’s ears rang. Giovanni landed on the floor with a thud. If the gun wound didn’t kill him, the hit his head took would have. Her vision blurred. Blood rushed to her head. This is all a dream. She repeated it over and over, hoping she would wake up.

Y/N let out a blood-curdling scream when she could see clearly again. Her hand flew to her mouth as tears escaped. She hadn't felt pain like this since Tenochtitlan. Her body was on fire. Like it was turned inside out, and woodland creatures were feeding on her intestines.

She didn’t give the gunman a chance to run. Y/N used the darkness behind him to effortlessly bind him. He lay on the floor staring up at the dark ceiling.

"Amore! Amore! You are going to be fine, please, wake up.” Her white gloves were now crimson. She tried to apply pressure to the wound. But it was too late, he wasn't breathing, and his skin was a grey blue. Her now silent tears fell on his face. She used a shaky hand to close his cold, lifeless eyes. Y/N laid her head on Giovanni’s chest, still hoping that this was a bad dream.

The killer grunted, trying to escape the binds her shadows kept him in. Y/N’s head snapped up, looking right at him. He was going to pay for his sins. She would make sure of it. She didn’t care about the promise she made Ajak.

The man shook in fear as he watched her approach. Her eyes were completely black, with no white or color to be seen. She pulled every ounce of darkness to her, using it to create his own personal nightmares. The monster took on all forms. No one was close enough to hear him scream.

“Please, the Russians sent me. I have a family.” He begged.

Y/N only smiled. It was music to her ears to her him cry. She used the shadows to tear him apart. There was no body left, just blood dripping from her walls.

-------

Ajak watched Y/N throw dead roses on Giovannis' coffin. It was the last bouquet he had bought her. They were the only ones left at the cemetery. His family left as soon as the ceremony was over, going home to grieve alone. Y/N wasn't ready to say goodbye. She still held hope for it all to be a dream.

She called Ajak immediately after she killed the man. Y/N sobbed on the phone begging her to come. Ajak showed up as soon as she could to comfort the girl she thought of as a daughter. They planned the funeral together.

After five minutes of staring down into the hole, she fell to her knees. Weeping as her heart broke again. She was finally happy again, and it was dragged from her in the cruelest way possible. Ajak rested a hand on the girl’s shoulder. They cried together till it got too cold to be outside.

Y/N was tired of feelings. They were overrated anyway. All the light she had left in her soul was gone she was ready to take revenge on evil.

-----

Druig stood as straight as a board with his arms folded together. He listened to his fellow Eternals as they explained to him what Areshim really had planned for them. His eyes kept flickering back to the door. He waited for the only one he cared about to open them and walk in. He missed the smile she always wore. Letting her go was the biggest mistake he made in his 7,000 years. When he had gone to find her, she was happy, and he didn’t want to interrupt her life.

"Where is Y/N?"

No one responded or made a sound. They avoided his question. Druig clenched his jaw. Was she out there alone? His heart stuttered at the thought of it. Sprite refused to make eye contact with him. He was not going to like the answer. There was no easy way to explain that she had become a person he would hate.

“She is in New York, basically running a mafia. It’s been in the American news since the 50’s when she burned a church full of racists down. Ten died that day.” Sprite broke the silence. He needed to know. Druig was going to find out one way or another when they went looking for her. The group didn’t know either. The only other person was Ajak.

Thena and Gilgamesh turned to each other and began to talk in hushed whispers. That seemed a little dark for Y/N. She was the definition of happiness. Killing humans was something she would have never done.

Kauran used the camera to zoom in on everyone's faces as they took in Sprite's words. Sprite had been the only one Y/N talked to after the 50’s. Ajak attempted but never got a response from her. Y/N did not want to listen to lectures about why what she was doing was wrong. She also didn’t want to face the disappointment.

Druig frowned, that couldn’t be right. Sprite sighed.

"Look, Y/N/N went through some dark things in the last two thousand years. I promise this was a path that took its time to claim her.” Sprite paused her words before continuing. “She has recently been put on the CIA’s watch list. After allegedly murdering a senator, I don’t think she will help us.”

Druig was angry that they allowed her to suffer. His sunshine was out there in pain.

“Why didn’t you help her?” He asked, voice raised.

“Us? You left her. Ajak and I stayed with her most of the time. We tried to take care of her, but humans’ man they can be cruel” Sprite hissed.

“I will go talk to her. I will get her to help” Druig said in a final tone.

“If you plan on getting to her, it will not be easy. There is security armed with extremely illegal weapons posted 24/7. They are trained to shoot first and ask later. Plus, the last time I saw her was five years ago, and there was no Y/N left. She is not in there.”

Sersi shook her head. Everyone of them refused to believe what Sprite said. There was another silence as they processed the words.

“I will go. We need her, to pull this off.”

It was mainly selfish reasons for him wanting to go. Druig wanted to confirm that his beautiful sunshine had truly become evil.

“You don't understand. She is not going to help. Y/N doesn't care about anything anymore.” Sprite argued standing up crossing her arms.

“I am going to try. What's the worst that could happen? I can control minds anyway. Her security won’t be anything.”

"She kills you." There was no humor behind her words. Y/N would do it too, no hesitation. She watched the girl gut a man who betrayed her without even blinking. That was the last time she spoke to her.

"Fine with me." Ikaris chimed in. Druig rolled his eyes. Now was not the time to fight with him.

-----

Y/N stood over the traitor. Her slender fingers gripped onto his chin, holding his head in place. That way, he was forced to stare into her colorless eyes. Her rings were pinching his skin as she gripped tighter. He tried to pull out of the shadow ropes that were tying him down.

“What did you tell them?” He blinked then laughed. The sound was borderline maniacal. Y/N landed a swift punch to his nose. A crunching sound could be heard. She smirked; it was broken. Blood pooled out of it and onto her shoe.

Pity. She thought. Her favorite suede over the knee boots were now stained. Y/N yanked a knife out from one of the many on her leg. The light from the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling reflected off the blade as she dragged it up his shirt to his neck. He swallowed, and the blade kicked his skin. Scarlet drops slowly crept out. She bent over, pressing her lips right against his ear. Maybe if he heard them directly and clearly, he would understand.

"What did you tell them?" She asked again, her red lips leaving marks on his skin.

"I'm not saying a word. You may as well use that knife." They spoke and spit in her face. Some blood mixed in landing on her nose. She backed away, tightening the hold the shadows had on him. Her eyes turned completely black again as her blood pressure rose. Light evaporated as she pulled the shadows around them. She smirked when she saw his shudder.

"Very well then." Without another thought, she slid her dagger across his neck, ending it swiftly. The knife cut through like his neck was room temperature butter. She flicked the knife off to the side a few times before taking the black handkerchief her right-hand man held out. While she polished the blade, she let the shadows go.

"Y/N?" A male voice with an accent spoke. Her back stiffened. She hadn't physically heard that voice in many, many years. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn't real. She had heard his voice throughout time in her head, but it stopped after meeting Giovanni. Was she losing it like Thena? All the murders finally catch up to her.

"Clean this up. Regular protocol, and don't forget to burn your clothes this time. Also, remove the tongue so people know what happens when you betray us.” Y/N spoke after a moment. Electing to ignore her illusion.

"Ye-yes ma'am."

Her cohort looked confused while staring at the door behind her. So, he was real. He showed up now? It's a little too late. Y/N was not surprised he got in since he could control minds after all, but how did he find her.

Y/N walked past Druig out the metal doors he held open. Her long ponytail bounced with each step she took, and her heels echoed. She refused to acknowledge him and made her way to her office. She still wasn't entirely convinced it was him. Maybe the shadows created him to give her a consciousness.

Druig followed closely behind her. Slightly appalled at the sight back there. That was not the woman he knew. This person was a shell of who she was.

Her office was pristine and all black. Everything was in the exact place she wanted it in. Y/N poured herself a cup of Burbon, not speaking a word. She faced the window as she chugged it down and filled it back up.

"Can I help you? Or are you here to lecture me?" She finally faced the blue-eyed man. His jaw was still sharp enough to cut through glass. Leaning back on her desk, she crossed one foot in front of the other. Showing off her legs. She was intimidating. A true queen upon her throne.

Druig took in the lack of color in her eyes, and the iris was back. He looked over her swallowing. Knives were adorning her legs. Each dagger was delicately designed and had a blue sapphire in the handle. She looked good. He had to admit that.

Although he was not going to be intimidated by her. He folded his arms, copied her pose, and glared at her. This was not Y/N. He refused to believe that.

"Lecture you for what? Taking a human life? I should because the Y/N I knew would have never done that." Druig shook his head; some black hair falling in to his face.

"He was a traitor. They get punished. Which is none of your business. I stopped being your Y/N when you left me." She bit down on her lip, folding her arms. Druig flinched.

"What about the senator?" Oh, was that why he was here. Mad, I took the trash out of political power. Druig took a step closer, testing the waters.

"He was a bad man. He hurt children. Again, none of your business. Also, if I said anything, you would be an accessory." She was getting annoyed. This was why he showed up after 2,000 years to judge her. She grabbed the cup of bourbon and downed it.

"And killing him is, ok?" Druig watched her eyes flash all black. shadows covered the light in the room. This was new. He thought.

"Once again. None. Of. YOUR. Business. This is my empire." She enunciated every word spitting them out. Then threw her glass at him, missing his head. Druig took another slow step towards her.

"My sunshine, what has happened?" Y/N scoffed at his words. Her eyes went fully back again. He had no right to show up unannounced and tell her how to treat people. No right to use that nickname.

"I haven't manipulated light in 2,000 years, so don't call me that. The shadows... the dark is always there.”

It was true the sunset, the light disappeared. The Sun would cast shadow she could always find the dark. He bent down, putting his hands on the table under her. Effectively, he trapped her in front of him. They were mere inches apart. He took in the scar that was on her right eyebrow. It was on the rawer side telling him it was recent.

"There is always light. You just have to find it. So, tell me what happened."

“I was tired of being the good guy. You walked away, and everything fell apart, Druig. I was alone and hurt. I had Sprite but she couldn’t replace you.”

“I am sorry. I regret leaving you more than you know. I went looking for you once.”

Another laugh escaped red painted lips. How sentimental. Y/N pushed him, so he sat in a chair in front of her desk. It was her turn to make him feel little. Their faces inches apart.

"Pray tell me when did you look?”

“When you sold your pin to the man for the dagger.” His fingers traced the weapon that sat on her upper left thigh. She grabbed his hand and placed it back on the armrest.

“Then you what left?”

“Yes, because you didn’t seem like you wanted anything to do with me. You sold something I gave you.” Druigs voice raised.

“I sold it because I thought I heard you, and I guess I did. But my heart hurt, and I decided I didn’t want anything of yours to remind me you left! You- you ignorant ass hole.” Y/N yelled out. She tried not to hurt him. If it was anyone else, she would have. She moved her head to the side, refusing to look at him.

Druig used a finger to guide her face back to him. Her eyes were glassy as he stared into them. There were no words he could say to make it better.

“Why couldn’t you have been fake? Just another hallucination.” She mumbled, and he barely heard. His brow rose.

“You hallucinated me?”

“Yes, the worst one was during World War 2. My nursing tent I was working in was attacked, and I thought I was dying. You were there. I wanted to die honestly, but I was saved and sent home where Ajak healed me.”

Y/N backed away. Sitting on top of her desk again. She wiped away the stray tears before looking back at him.

“Anyway, why are you here? You don’t care about the senator I allegedly killed.”

"We need your help.”

Druig told her everything Sersi told him. How Ajak and Gilgamesh died, and why being sent here was a lie. Y/N did cry for the fallen. Telling Druig lying wasn’t funny, but he promised he was not lying. This time, he wiped away her tears and stroked her back, soothing her the best he could.

After a moment, he explained the plan to her.

“We need you, Y/N.”

"No. Screw your precious humans, Dru. I hope they all die." He flinched. Sprite was right. This was going to be hard. He sat back down in front of her.

"I'm dealing with shaking the Spiderman and other avengers off my trail. if we all die, so be it."

“Sunshine…”

There was a knock at her door cutting him off.

"Come in.”

The person looked at Druig and hesitated.

"It's ok to speak freely he is not a threat."

"The sparrow's youngest son is here to make a deal."

"Bleh him again. He is just in love with me, you know. What kind of deal?"

" To give you the evidence he has that proves your gun shipment is illegal. In exchange for a hit on his brother."

"I don't get involved with a family business. You know this, Loretta. The evidence he has is useless it proves nothing."

" You may want to talk to him. It's bad."

"Show Druig out. I will meet with our guest."

"No, I will wait. We need to finish talking Y/N."

"You guys are more than capable of doing it yourself. I have a business to run.”

“Please.” Druig’s voice cracked, and Y/N’s heart clenched. He sounded broken.

“I need someone to fill in for my right-hand man as they are busy. Come with me and then we will talk." He still held power over her. She did not want to admit it after all this time.

“Loretta, you can send him in here. Give 3 min to fix myself, and we are good to go.”

Y/N picked up the glass pieces from the floor and wiped any may up streaks off her face. Druigs eyes followed her, not sure what to do anymore.

“Y/N sweetheart. I have missed you." A new voice spoke as they came into the room. She sighed. This was a long night. Druig flinched at the nickname.

“Let me make it short since you are busy. I have your people on the pier with the crates, and I want you to kill my brother so I can take charge. We will not start a war with you.” The man plopped down next to Druig. His eyes never left Y/N.

“Let me think about it and talk to my people before I make decisions, ok?”

“I will give you 4 days before I have the Avengers here.”

Druig squinted at the man who was so brazen to throw threats around. He was tempted to use his powers and throw the man out of the room, but he stopped himself. This was Y/N’s fight. The two exchanged more words before he left.

Y/N sighed and sat back down. She stared at the blue-eyed man in a leather jacket that brought some feeling back to her. She thought of every outcome if she followed him.

Druig stood up and walked so he was in front of her. He took his hand out of his pocket, and she saw a flash of gold. He placed whatever it was in her hair before kissing her forehead and left.

She touched the thing. It was the butterfly pin. Y/N thought it was gone forever. He was truly there that day. Y/n ran down the hallway chasing him.

“Fine I will help.”

#druig imagine #druig x reader #eternals imagine #eternals x reader #marvel imagine

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