#I’m at my fucking breaking point. I just need a new job
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#god I’m so fucking bitter abt life rn#got an email from my university’s graduate school that was all ‘thank you grad students you are the backbone of our university’#and all I could think was ‘yes we fucking know. we’ve been saying this. pay us more’#it’s genuinely not the grad school’s fault. they’ve actually been really helpful to our cause#like they commissioned a study a year or two ago that found grad students here are criminally underpaid compared to peer institutions#(as in they’d need to raise our wages by 25% to be competitive. as I said. CRIMINALLY underpaid)#and they have been advocating for us to the board of governors and whatnot using this study as evidence#so I’m not actually mad at the grad school. it’s the university in general#all they do is say ‘grad students are key to our institution’s success’ like yes we know we’re just cheap labor#we teach like 60% of undergrad classes bc we’re cheaper than tenured faculty#I read this article that interviewed a bunch of NTT faculty at my school and they were like ‘yeah we get paid like $50-60k and can’t survive#on that in this VERY EXPENSIVE housing market’#and I was like ‘well damn then I will no longer feel like my inability to survive on $30k is a personal failing’#I’m at my fucking breaking point. I just need a new job#and I’ve been applying like crazy and all I’ve heard back from anyone was two rejections#I’m sure it’ll work out but it’s very hard to see that rn
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cam girl (part ten)
pairing rafe cameron x female reader
rating explicit 18+
summary you work two jobs. by day, you’re a maid for the cameron household, where rafe degrades you any chance he can get. by night, you’re a cam girl, hiding your face so nobody can recognize you. when you discover your new subscriber, the filthy-mouthed man obsessively paying you to do everything he can think of, is rafe, you’re not sure what to do next.
» masterlist
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Rafe is on your mind constantly. At this point, you’ve accepted it. There was something about the way he looked at you in his car last night. Possibly. Hopefully.
You stand in a quiet aisle, eyeing merchandise while you hold the charm on the necklace he gave you, the metal warm under your fingertips.
You’d never been in a sex shop before. The guys you hooked up with before Rafe were nowhere near as kinky as him and you bought all the stuff you needed to be a cam girl online.
But seeing all the possibilities makes your stomach twist with excitement. You want to try absolutely everything with Rafe.
You’ve been thinking about coming here throughout all your classes today with one thing in mind. Rafe loves to use toys on you, but you’ve never used anything on him.
With Rafe’s need for control, you assume he won’t be all that open to using a cock ring, but you want to do something special for him. Maybe you can introduce him to something for a change.
You find a vibrating ring that you know will fit him, then decide to send him a photo of the toys in the aisle behind you and text him: this is a great place to meet guys.
Before you’re even at the register, your phone buzzes.
Rafe: dont joke like that
Rafe: buying something for yourself princess?
He sends you $100.
You reply: something like that :)
You check out at the register and head home, already looking forward to tonight. Your phone buzzes again.
Rafe: when can i come over?
You smile at your phone.
You: what about our cam session?
You get a notification that he sent $1000. The alert makes you wonder if he thinks you’re just doing all this solely for the money and gifts.
You’d do it all for free.
Rafe: i won’t wait that long
Not just can’t. He won’t.
You reply: like 8ish?
Rafe: ok
It starts to rain close to 8 and when Rafe arrives at your place, his hair is wet and his face and jacket are peppered with raindrops.
“Is the valet not working today?” you joke, knowing full well he had to find street parking on your busy road.
He breathes a chuckle, stepping into your apartment with his usual ease. You’ve noticed that he walks into every room like he owns it.
Rafe shakes off his jacket and places it on the back of one of your kitchen table chairs while you grab a clean hand towel out of your hamper.
“Sorry this towel’s not a million thread count,” you tease, meeting him to dab the towel over his face.
His blue eyes search your face with a hint of something new. Confusion?
You realize you didn’t even think about it; you thoughtlessly started to dry him off. It was such a mechanical response. Your impulse is to take care of him, make him comfortable.
It’s official. This man is not just a fuck buddy to you anymore.
“What?” you ask, knowing you need to crack a joke to break the tension. “I’m just drying off my seat.”
“Oh, my God,” Rafe groans, trying to act annoyed, but you know he’s not. You laugh and lower the towel, squeezing the cotton in your hands.
“What’d you buy?” he asks, clearly eager.
“I’ll show you later. I wanna hear what you have planned,” you say. “You always have something planned.”
“You first,” he says.
“Rafe,” you whine, dropping the towel to rest your hands on his firm shoulders. “Can’t I surprise you for once? What do you want to do to me tonight?”
“I wanna see what you bought,” Rafe solidifies.
You suck your teeth in frustration, looking up at him with doe eyes.
“Please?” you breathe. “I’m always the one waiting. Why don’t you wait for once?”
Rafe’s jaw tightens and he shakes his head in disbelief like he can’t believe he’s giving in, but he gives in.
“You ever been tied up?” he finally asks, his voice so deep that it reverberates through you. The air is suddenly thick and any impression of humor that was floating between you has been dismissed by his words.
“Like… bondage?” you say in a short breath, mulling it over as blood rushes to your cheeks. “No. I haven’t.”
He closes the already minuscule distance between you, cradling your jaw in his cool hand.
“I want your hands tied up while I fuck you,” he says. Your mouth goes dry. Just when you think he can’t get any fucking hotter.
Rafe’s hand drops and you hear his belt unbuckling while his hot breath spreads across your cheek.
“Why the fuck are you still dressed?” he rasps. You’re reeling as you strip down to nothing but the necklace he gave you. You hear the clang of his belt buckle falling onto your kitchen table beside you.
Rafe’s hands drag over your hips, pinching down when he turns you to face the other way. He’s still in his boxers, his cock jabbing against your ass. His warm chest is pressed on your back, rising and falling.
“You’re always the one waiting?” he mutters. The belt buckle drags off the table top, and when you feel him roughly grab both your wrists and wrap the thick leather around them, the familiar need for him between your legs aches.
“You’re always waiting,” he repeats with a scoff. “I’m the one who’s always fucking waiting.”
You want to know what he means, but the belt is suddenly tight around your wrists, your chest jutting out. Rafe pushes you by the back of your neck so that your front is down on your table, your cheek flush against the hard plastic.
“Spread your legs,” he orders.
The muscles in your thighs are strained and your hips burn against the hard table from the way he has you bent over. He couldn’t even spare the few seconds to go to your bedroom.
You feel his tip press against you, making you wonder which hole he wants to fuck.
“Beg for it,” he orders. His fingers tighten around the back of your neck. Your arms are already burning from being bound like this.
“Please fuck me,” you moan, lips flanged from how hard your cheek is being pushed against the table.
“Say my fucking name,” he tells you.
“Please, Rafe,” you obey. He groans in response, hands settling on your hips.
He stretches your cunt out so fucking slowly that you want to scream. You push back against him, and you swear, he laughs at your desperation.
Rafe finally bottoms out in you, his hips against your ass. He puts his hand over your bound wrists, starting to drag out again.
“This pussy is fucking mine,” he says. As if you need the reminder. He owns you completely.
When he picks up the pace, driving into you, your breath hitches. With every thrust, your hips grind against the hard table, making you ache in pain.
“Ow,” you snip before you can stop yourself.
Rafe immediately pulls out of you, making you writhe in frustration.
“What hurts?”
“Nothing,” you lie, wanting him more than you want the pain to stop. “Keep going.”
“What hurts?” he repeats sternly.
“My hips,” you admit. “I’m fine, it’s just ‘cause of the table. Please just-”
“I’m not making you cry again,” he snaps. He cups a hand on your shoulder. “Go to your bed.”
“Rafe, it’s fine.” You feel oddly ashamed, like you’re not doing your job pleasing him how he wants you to.
“Go,” he mutters. His hand pulls you up and you have no choice but to let him push you into your bedroom.
Your wrists are still bound at your lower back when he bends you over your bed. You sink onto your stomach, feeling Rafe’s fingers spread you open before driving his cock into you again.
You squeeze your eyes shut as he relentlessly pounds in and out of you. Your arms strain against the constrictions of his belt, the sensations so fucking perfect.
“Shit, I’m…” he groans, and you know he’s close, so you try to tilt up your hips so he can get as deep as possible.
Rafe shakes through his orgasm and you think how you could never tire of this feeling, of being the one he finishes inside of and reaches this feeling with.
He’s panting when he pulls out of you. Your wrists burn against the belt as he loosens it. His hand smooths over your ass before he spanks you and collapses beside you.
“Show me what you bought,” he says. “It better make you cum.” You tilt your head to meet his gaze.
“Have an open mind, okay?”
“Damn, what the fuck is it?” Rafe asks with a curious laugh.
You’re sore as you get up on your knees and shift to grab the white ring you already took out of the packaging and placed in your nightstand.
When you settle back on the bed and hold it out in front of him, his brows furrow.
“Is that…?” He can’t finish the sentence, his tone apprehensive.
“It might feel really good,” you say with a small smile. “I got a vibrating one.”
Rafe sits up, glancing down at your purchase before looking up at you again.
“Come on,” you laugh. “You surprise me all the time. I can’t surprise you?”
He clears his throat.
“I don’t know,” he says simply, blinking fast. It sounds like a hard no.
“Oh,” you say. You’re shocked he’s not at least a little open to it, considering how kinky he is. “Okay. Sorry.”
You turn to put the toy away, but his next words stop you.
“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Fine.”
“Really?” you ask, meeting his eyes again.
“You just look so fucking sad,” he groans.
“You don’t have to do it.”
“Let’s just try it.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “After everything I do to you…” You smile in response.
Rafe sits up against the head of your bed frame and you straddle him, dipping your head to kiss him. It’s strange how with him, making out feels more intimate than sex does. As good as the sex is, nothing gets your heart fluttering quite like when his lips are on yours.
Your hands settle on his shoulders and you tug at the ends of hair as you kiss him passionately.
Rafe smiles under the kiss, your lips molding together, his tongue tumbling with yours. You feel him getting hard again.
You pull back to slide the ring down his cock and he sighs in a way that tells you he can’t believe he’s actually doing this before he takes you in to kiss you again.
Rafe’s hands roll over your ass, squeezing and kneading as you sit on his naked lap. This is the longest you’ve ever kissed. It feels crazy to realize that, considering everything you’ve done together.
“Shit,” he shifts beneath you. His cock is growing, the ring starting to squeeze around him.
“How’s it feel?” you ask.
“Good,” he breathes, eyes low. It makes your heart swell with pride. “Ride me.”
You sink down on him slowly, feeling the ring against you once you’re fully seated. You find the button at the top of it to turn on the vibration.
You both exhale in pleasure at the same time. He skims his hands up to your waist, looking at you while you grind on top of him.
In the dim light of your quiet bedroom, the toy buzzing against your clit, how deep he is inside you, the way his eyes are locked on yours… it’s all so perfect. Everything with him is so fucking perfect that it can’t be true.
The fact that you ended up here all because of a part-time cleaning job and a cam website feels insane.
Your palm is against his hot chest. He looks down at it and his dimples dip into his cheeks as he smiles smugly.
“Your hands are so fucking cute,” he teases. The non-sexual compliment sends you into a tizzy.
“Yours are huge,” you retort, trying to keep cool.
“What else is huge?” he asks.
“Your ego.”
“Fuck off,” he laughs.
“Okay,” you tease, starting to sit up so he’ll slip out of you. He roughly pulls you back down by your hips.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Rafe mutters. You laugh and start to fuck him faster, your hips rolling in circles.
“Fuck,” he groans, head tilting back. “I… Fuck, I need to get on top.”
You shift to let him settle over you, your head resting on your pillow. Rafe’s hand runs up the side of your bent leg and he grabs your calf to pull it towards him, silently inviting you to wrap your legs around him.
You hook your ankles together, your entire body hugging him.
You fuck for at least twenty straight minutes, both of you sweating and panting and shaking. You knew he’d last extra long with the cock ring tight around him, but this is unbelievable.
You cum twice underneath him in the span of the session, earning a string of “good girl”s from him. By your third orgasm, he starts to tremble, too.
When Rafe cums inside you, his name tumbles out in his groan. Not princess, not baby, not good girl, but your name, and it gives you a knotted feeling in your stomach that you haven’t had with him yet.
Maybe it’s because he’s elated over coming down from a new level. Or maybe it’s more.
He pulls out, still dripping.
“So… you like my present?” you ask when he falls in your bed next to you.
“Fuck,” Rafe groans. “That was…” He doesn’t seem to have the words, but neither do you. How do you even begin to describe something this unreal?
“I need water,” you say, unsure of how you’re going to even stand up. “Want some?”
He shakes his head in response.
You stand at your kitchen sink, leaning against the counter and swallowing down cold water. On your way back to the bedroom, you notice a lit up screen on your kitchen table.
Rafe must have left his phone here before you moved to the bed. Through pure instinct, you look at the screen. By the time you realize you’re accidentally snooping, it’s too late.
You don’t see the contact name in time, but you do see the message.
bro where are you? too many bitches here for just me lol
A chill rushes through your body. It must be one of his buddies waiting for him at a party.
Of course. It’s a Friday night and you’re pretty sure all the rich people on the island have to do is party.
You feel like an idiot. Expecting exclusivity from Rafe in the arrangement you’re in was ridiculous. Of course he’s fucking around on the side. Someone like him, with his sex drive, can’t be satisfied by one girl.
At this point, you just want him to leave, so you collect his clothes off the kitchen floor.
Thankfully, Rafe’s already sitting up in your bed when you reenter your bedroom. Surely eager to go.
“Here,” you say coldly, handing him his jeans and t-shirt. You don’t look at him when he takes his clothes from you. “Are you gonna head out?”
You realize when you ask the question, it’s like a secret test you’re putting him through. If he stays, he gives a shit about you. If he leaves, he doesn’t.
“Yeah, I should,” he says. He should. Yeah, he really should go look at and flirt with and fuck other girls.
“‘Kay.” You start to collect some clean clothes from your dresser, covering your body with them, feeling strangely insecure around him now.
“You pissed off or something?” he asks behind you as he gets dressed.
You clench your jaw. Honestly, you’re more hurt than anything. But are you even allowed to be? Just because he acts like your boyfriend sometimes doesn’t mean he is.
“No,” you reply. You swallow down the painful feelings and turn to look at him. “Just tired.” You think back to your texts yesterday about how often you’ve hooked up. “Lost count, right? I might need a break.”
You don’t mean it. At this point, you’re just defensive. Wanting to hurt him like he hurt you.
Rafe’s face flashes in displeasure.
“What - why? What the fuck happened in the last fucking minute?” he asks.
“I’m not allowed to be tired?” you respond.
He dips his head, nodding as he buttons his jeans. He seems silenced by his own anger. Your eyes sweep down his muscled body, wishing he’d just hug you and ask you what’s wrong one more time and reassure you that you’re more than just sex to him.
You can tell he’s pissed off and you know you’re not being fair, but you let him leave without any more words exchanged between you.
After a long shower, you lie in bed and wish Rafe didn’t leave his smell on your pillow. You browse your phone, trying to distract yourself.
You tell yourself you’ll go to sleep in five minutes over and over again. You’re working at the estate tomorrow. You need to get up early. But you know the moment you close your eyes, you’ll be trapped in your thoughts. You don’t want to think about him.
It’s nearing midnight when a text comes in.
Rafe: princessssssdsssss
You look at your screen in confusion. Is this a drunk text?
Rafe: ur mean
Rafe: but ypur pussy is sooo niiice lol
Yeah. He’s plastered.
Rafe: ans you have cutehands
Rafe: you akwyas smell good how the fuck is fhat possibke
You hate that your heart warms at the fact that he’s clearly fucked up but his instinct is to text you.
You reply: i think someone’s drunk…
Rafe: yes iam
Rafe: idk what i’m gona do with yiu loool
You: what do you want to do with me?
You get an alert that he sent you $69.
Rafe: that
Rafe: looool
Sex. Of course.
You: are you going to make me do every position?
Rafe: you’r efreaky as fuck. i know youd like it
You: true…
Rafe: lowkey ur all i think about
Goddamn it. Your heart is pounding at this point. You try to play it off.
You: oh only lowkey. cool
Rafe: don’t be maddd
You: i’m pissed
Rafe: we should fuck aboutt it :)
You know the answer to your next question, that he sees you as a booty call and that’s all, but you know the confirmation.
You: is that all you want to do rafe? fuck?
Rafe: YES
Rafe: what if i come over again tonigjt lol
You: i work tomorrow. i need to sleep
Rafe: you need this dick
You: omg
Rafe: do you likw this skng
Rafe: song
You: ??? what song
You can’t stifle your laugh at how shit-faced he is.
Rafe: irs good
Rafe: u should giveme a lap dance
You: you’re drunk as hell. i’ll see you tomorrow, ok? goodnight
You think back to the way he looked when you snapped at him earlier and decide to send one more message.
You: sorry i was mean
He doesn’t reply. Maybe it’s better that way.
Your body is heavy the next morning. You barely make it to the Camerons’ estate. You don’t see Rafe at all in the morning. You’re guessing he crashed at whoever’s party he went to.
You wonder how many bitches, as he and his friends say, he talked to last night.
When it’s time to turn over his bedsheets, you take a moment to take in the familiarity of his bedroom. When you pull over a new fitted sheet, you realize just how exhausted you are.
There’s no reason for another maid to come into this room. It’s on your list only. And Rafe is gone.
So, what’s the harm in lying down to rest, just for a little bit? You’ll do a better job when you’re not exhausted.
You won’t close your eyes.
You lie on his pillow. Okay, maybe you can close your eyes for a minute. You’ll count to sixty then stand back up.
The numbers quickly melt away and you slip into a slumber.
When you wake up, nuzzling your face into the pillow, Rafe is in bed with you, his back to you.
It takes a moment to remember where you are. You sit up and he notices the movement, turning to look at you over his shoulder.
{ read part eleven here }
author’s note: shoutout to my readers for being so creative. thank you to this anon and this anon and to another reader (you know who you are) for your contributions to this chapter! ILY!
#we are FINALLY getting rafe’s pov in the next part 🫡#also dont hate me for the cliffhanger pls#two more parts and the series will wrap up!!! hope you’ve liked it 🥰#im excited to give this fic its ending but honestly sad its almost over#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe x reader#obx smut#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron fanfic
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shit happens
spider squad x platonic!reader
request?: yes
request: “Okokok, first of all CLASH WAS SOOOO GOOD OMGGI come bearing a request only if u want to. Teen!spider!reader who is Miguel’s favorite because they don’t cause him trouble. But it’s only because they get severely anxious when they break rules (I’m not projecting, you are). So he assigns them to go on a mission with the problem children hoping they’ll rub off on them, but the problem children just corrupt them. I just need more spider children being chaotic together and tired spiderdad MiguelMwah mwah love ur writing )pls only write this if u feel like it)”
requested by: anon
word count: 2k
genre: platonic
Warnings: language, anxiety, Miguel being unrealistic with his expectations, electrocution, spider squad gettin thrown around
A/N: omg wait no bc same HAHA as someone with diagnosed severe generalized anxiety i get so anxious to break the rules even though my spirit always tells me to lol, i hope you enjoyed this anon! thank you for the request :)
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You were the golden child. There were quite a few teens in Spider Society, but you were by far Miguel’s favorite. And that’s all because you did what he said. Now did that mean you never questioned his authority? Of course not, you questioned him all the time. But you were too nervous to go against him. You were too nervous to go against anyone. It’s proven a problem in your job since the police are not your biggest fans, but luckily you befriended a nice police captain who eases your fears every now and again. Your weekly visits with Spider-Therapist have been helping with the problem, too. Which is great for you. But you still did what Miguel said. Mans could be scary.
And that’s how you ended up here. With Hobie Brown, Gwen Stacy, Miles Morales, and Pavitr Prabhakar. There was an anomaly that needed taken down in Hobie’s world, and Miguel stuck you with the four of them. To say you were nervous was an understatement. “Right, so anyone got a plan?” Hobie asks, in his thick accent. “What? What do you mean, dude, we’re in your world,” Miles says, and Hobie shrugs. “So? Not my villain, dunno ‘ow to stop ‘im.”
“Okay, well we know that he’s an electro variant, so… what can we do with that?” Gwen asks, and Pav sighs. “Be electrocuted,” he says sadly. “Miles can handle that,” Gwen says, and Miles snaps his head toward her. “Miles cannot handle that! Why are we saying Miles can be electrocuted?!” Miles yells, and the other three shush him. “’ow ‘bout you, mate, any ideas?” Hobie asks you, and you shrug. You look around before pointing up to the water towers on the roofs of the multiple buildings in New London. “Water,” you suggest, and they all look where you’re pointing. “Smart,” Gwen says with a nod. “How do we get the water to him, though?” Pav asks, looking at you again. You frown. “I… actually didn’t think that far.”
“Well, ‘at’s, easy. We just bust ‘em. Get ‘im to fly near one and,” Hobie makes an explosion noise and uses his hands to imitate an explosion. “What? But what about all the people who will lose water?” you ask, and Miles cocks his head to the side. “It’ll get fixed fast, probably. It’s our job to fuck shit up and then have other people fix it cause if we don’t fuck shit up, shit gets fucked anyways,” he says, and you sigh. “But Miguel said to try and not cause too much of an issue—”
“Oi. Who gives a flyin’ fuck what ‘e said. Not me. And this is my bloody world, I’ll cause as much damage as I want to,” Hobie says, and you look down. “Sorry.”
“You don’t gotta apologize for nothin’, mate,” Hobie says, and you mumble another ‘sorry.’ “You know what? I think Electro can wait a minute,” Hobie says, turning towards you, “More important matters to figure out ‘ere.”
“Like what?” you ask, and he shrugs. “Why are you so nervous?” he asks, and you gulp. “I-I’m not, I just—”
“You definitely are,” Gwen says, and Miles throws in a ‘yup!’ with a nod. “Is it us?” Pav asks, a hint of sadness in his voice. “W-What? No, that’s not it,” you say, waving your hands in a frantic way to say no. “I just am nervous in general. It really isn’t that big of a deal, guys, we should be focusing on—”
“Nope. You’re not gettin’ outta this, you been in ya ‘ead this ‘ole time.”
“I’m always in my head, it really isn’t that big of a deal—”
“Is ‘at why you try to avoid everyone? Don’t talk to no one?” Hobie asks, and you gulp. “I-I talk to some people…” you mumble, and a small frown forms on Gwen’s face. “The therapist in Spider Society doesn’t count,” she says, and you look down. “Well, why not…? He’s a person...”
“Because he’s like 40, and you’re our age,” Pav says, “you’d get along better with us, bro.”
“Miguel said that if anyone could make us not as ‘moronic’ it would be you, but I feel like he just kinda takes advantage of you instead of recognizing the pressure he puts on you. I have some experience with that,,” Miles says, and you sigh. “He scares me, okay? If I break the rules then I might simply pass away from him yelling at me,” you say, and Hobie shakes his head. “Love, the rules are all bollocks. Made by people who just wanna control your life.” Gwen nods. “Miguel is cool, sure, but if anyone can get away with anything… it’s you,” she says, and Miles chimes in. “And if you’re really that scared, remember he literally chased me around his world and destroyed a train because of me. You’ll never piss him off to that point.” You stay silent, playing with your fingers. Pav reaches out and grabs your hands. “Rules are meant to be broken, (Y/n), I learned that from Hobie. And besides, the villains we face are the biggest rule-breakers imaginable,” Pav assures, and you nod slightly. “And rules are such rubbish. ‘ey’re always different anywhere ya go. Try not to put so much weight on your mind ‘bout it, breakin’ ‘em ain’t a big deal,” Hobie says. You do actually kinda feel better. Hobie brings up a good point. Rules are different everywhere you go, so breaking one every now and again isn’t that big of an issue. In fact, it can be kind of encouraged. “Besides, breaking rules is almost like challenging ideologies, you know? Like, in breaking a rule, you challenge a system in place that is telling you not to break them. No one likes that. Where would we be if people didn’t break rules?” Gwen says. “That was deep,” Miles says, and Pav nods. “'at was a wicked way a’ puttin’ it, Gwendy.”
That’s a good point, actually. You think for a bit. If you look at it as challenging a system, or even doing what’s right, who’s to say it’s a rule that shouldn’t be broken? Hobie smiles underneath his mask because he knows they’ve gotten through to you. “So, whaddya say we go blow up some water tanks, eh?” Hobie stands, rubbing his hands together. “Okay,” you say. Gwen and Miles fist bump, and Pav does a little clap. The five of you jump into action, immediately starting to taunt and lure Electro to get him close to the towers so you can douse him and put him out.
The plan was going pretty well for the first two attempts, but he eventually catches on to what the five of you are doing. Which makes it harder. Miles does, in fact, get electrocuted. As does Gwen and Hobie, and coming in as no shock to anyone, Miles is definitely the least affected. You were able to dodge all of the attacks. “You’re doing great, (Y/n)! Mind telling me how the fuck your spidey sense is so strong?!” you hear Miles yell. “MILES LOOK OUT!” Gwen screams, but it’s too late. He gets electrocuted again. “Ouch, bro! That one looked like it hurt!” Pav yells, and Miles, who is now lying face down on a roof, raises his hand up in the air, flipping him off. You snort, and then see Hobie fly past you, landing on another water tower. “Hey! Dumbass! Over here!”
“Oh, please. You expect me to fall for that? I know what your little plan is, and I’m not about to be put out,” Electro says, firing some electricity out at Hobie. Unluckily for Hobie, it breaks the water tower and electrocutes him and the water that pours out of it.
You land next to Hobie, who is now just laying on the rooftop, but he grunts and mutters some British slang that you wouldn’t understand even if he explained it to you. So, you know he’s fine. “I have an idea,” you say, and he nods. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But we need to make sure no one is on the street.”
“What’s the goody-goody plannin’ on doin’, huh?” he says, standing. “You’ll see, just make sure there are no civilians or anyone who will get hurt. And keep him distracted.” With that, you leap and go to another one of the water towers. You take a deep breath, thinking back to what Miguel said before the five of you left.
“Try not to destroy the city while you’re at it. (Y/n), I trust you’ll keep them all in line,” Miguel said, and you timidly nod. You’d love to not destroy the city, but it’s so hard doing that as a Spider-Person. But you also don’t want him to yell at you for going against his orders. Now you’re conflicted. “No promises, Miguel. We’re gonna do what we gotta do,” Miles says and Miguel sighs. “If anyone can reign the four of you in, it’s this one. Don’t let them pressure you into acting up, okay?”
You frown. Fuck that. Miguel is pressuring you into not doing your job right. You can’t always be perfect and careful. And lucky for you, the four of them were really good at distracting villains. You web two of the support legs, yanking them and breaking them off the water tower. It starts collapsing, but you catch it. “Shit, you’re heavy,” you grunt, but regain your balance, holding it on your shoulders. You twist your body, ripping the other supports off and making the water tower completely free. You get Electro in your sight and take a deep breath. You lift the water tower, tossing it up in the air before leaping out of the way and towards Electro. You shoot webs from both hands, connecting them to the water tower and yanking it towards you. You swing it around, connecting it with Electro’s body. Sure enough, it knocks him down and explodes on impact, drenching him. And you. And Hobie, Miles, Gwen, and Pav; but hey, you did it.
You land on a roof and look down. Sure enough, Electro is knocked out cold and completely out of electricity. You swing down, placing him in one of the technological cells that Miguel developed specifically for Electros, and nod. “That… probably could have gone better,” you mutter to yourself. Your self-deprecating thoughts were cut off immediately. “That was AWESOME, (Y/n),” Gwen says, giving you a thumbs up and hug. “Yeah, little Spider, that was bitchin’,” Hobie says, giving you a fist bump. “You made it look so easy! How did you do that, you have to teach me!” Pav says, clearly excited and impressed. “You were out here talking about how you didn’t wanna break rules so instead you broke an entire water tower? That’s cool, why don’t you try being less cool next time for the sake of us,” Miles says giving you a pat on the shoulder. You smile. “Thanks, guys.” Their praise was enough to make you feel better for completely and totally wreaking havoc.
But when the five of you return, soaking wet, Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose. “I said… to not destroy the city…” he mutters, looking at you with disappointment. You look down. “City’s still standin’, mate. (Y/n) kicked ass,” Hobie says, and the other three make sounds of agreement. “Y-Yeah, Miguel. All I did was break one water tower, it’s not that big of a deal,” you say, and he sighs. “One? You all broke four water towers on four different buildings! And you flooded an entire street! You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”
“Dude. I’m a teenager. Shit happens,” you say, a sudden burst of confidence from being around the group of four allowing you to speak out. Miguel puts his hand on his jaw, sliding his hand down. “Remind me to never team the five of you up again,” he mumbles, and Hobie elbows you. “Nah, we’re a band now. Sorry ‘bout it,” Hobie says, motioning everyone to leave Miguel’s sight. You all follow. When you’re out of Miguel’s office, Hobie bumps your shoulder. “See, that wasn’t all that bad, was it?”
He was right, it wasn’t that bad.
───────────────────────────────────
#spiderverse x reader#atsv x reader#hobie brown x reader#gwen stacy x reader#miles morales x reader#pavitr prabhakar x reader#spiderverse#spiderman#spiderpunk#spidergwen#hobie brown#gwen stacy#miles morales#pavitr prabhakar
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breaking my tumblr silence because mike schmidt from the five nights at freddy’s movie has me in a CHOKEHOLD (18+ POST MINORS DNI)
now, i see you sub mike enjoyers and you go guys (we need more sub men) however i am a firm believer in dom mike who can tame a brat and loves being in control
idk i’m just imagining it in my head, you’re his girlfriend, you live with him (this is after the events of the movie in my mind) and you watch abby when he has night shifts at his new job because you love abby and you work day shifts at the mall (where you guys met at). he comes home after a long night, abby’s with a friend at a sleepover, and you’re watching some shitty movie on TV when he gets home. mike’s tired, and he wants nothing more than to collapse into bed with you beside him (maybe a little snuggle fucking too…), however you just don’t want to listen. you keep telling him “5 more minutes!” watching the TV and every time he says the 5 minutes are up you keep asking for more.
he’s fed up with you at this point. mike knows you’re doing this to get a rise out of him, and luckily for you (or unluckily) he knows exactly how to deal with your bratty attitude.
“5 more minutes?” you whine one more time, giving him puppy dog eyes.
“no,” he says sternly. “i told you it’s time to go to sleep.”
“but ‘m not tired!”
“i don’t wanna fucking hear it. get your ass to bed, or you’re going to get it.”
you smirk at him before turning back to the TV, stretching out so your ass is on full display. you’re in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, making his cock throb.
mike wastes no time, grabbing the remote and shutting off the TV. you whine at first, but then he THROWS YOU OVER HIS SHOULDERS and manhandles you into the bedroom. you shriek and smack against his back, but he refuses to put you down.
when you get into your shared bedroom, mike sits down on the bed, before manhandling you over his lap. he tugs down the boxers, smacking your ass hard.
“5 for each time you asked to keep watching TV,” he says, low and gravelly. “and you have to count.”
it winds up being 15 spanks, by the end tears are streaming down your face. mike coos at you softly as he hugs you into his chest, rocking you back and forth and stroking your hair.
“you gonna be good girl for me now?” he asks.
“mhm,” you mumble. “wanna be your good girl.”
“i know you do, baby. just hard cause you wanna be bad sometimes, right?”
“mhm.”
“but i know exactly how to handle you and to make you my good girl. now that i think you’ve been punished enough, i think my good girl deserves to have her sweet pussy tasted.”
he eats you out until you come three times, before fucking you hard and giving you your fourth orgasm. he has tomorrow off from work, and abby isn’t scheduled to be picked up until 2 in the afternoon, meaning tomorrow when you wake up, he can fuck you nice and slow.
i just love mike schmidt <3
#mike schmidt x reader#mike schmidt#mike schmidt fnaf#mike schmidt smut#this was longer than i expected#josh hutcherson
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Make Love, Not Porn
Play Time!
HHJ
Masterlist, Series Masterlist
18+ content — minors, do not interact.
wc: 3.8k
Synopsis: You crave a life of normalcy, he craves you. And he'd do anything to keep you, even if you're for the world to see.
warnings: barista!hyunjin x cam girl!reader, smut, explicit sexual content, masturbation (m, f), he's a little obsessed, easing into the smuttier smut if that's even a thing.
Live : Play Time!
Next Scheduled Broadcast : Heat Signature
☆ﾟ
Rule number one; everybody is temporary.
There is no love in this industry, no trust, no friends, only coworkers that all want the same thing. Sometimes you work with them more than once, other times– most times, it’s a one-and-done deal.
They never want to stay anyways, you learned that lesson the hard way. It’s why you set up such a tough wall to break through, there’s no point in befriending anyone on your side of the pond.
It’s scary, really, how quickly you can be moaning someone’s name, kissing them like you need them to breathe, touching and feeling them as intimately as someone who truly was in love. Then as soon as the livestream ends, you can’t remember what their lips feel like and everything smells like latex and sweat. You offer them some water, snacks, a shower. They usually decline. Minutes later, your front door is shutting and you’re alone once again.
No one ever intends on getting into porn, you don’t even remember the details on how you ended up here. Your follower count had risen overnight and before you knew it, that one video had gotten you more money in a week than a month’s worth of minimum wage ever did. The humiliation was nonexistent considering you hadn’t even posted yourself naked that first time, if anything you were excited to post again. Who knew a video of you just sitting in a chair, playing with yourself under your skirt with your knees pressed closed would take off so rapidly. That thirty second video changed your life.
– fuck, who is this?? are they new??
– thats so hot. face reveal?
– show us your tits
– god i wanna fuck u so bad
– suck my dick pls
Those comments didn’t bother you, it was a little flattering if you were being honest with yourself. People wanted you, they don’t even know your real name, have never seen your face or what you look like in the sunlight. They don’t know you and yet, you’re everything to them, so much so that they pay you for your time, and body. They fill your wallet just for you to read their comment out loud, attention whores for you. And you love it. For some reason, their praise is much more fulfilling than anyone you've guested on your livestreams.
Recently, though, you’ve stopped bringing people on, not much to your viewer’s disapproval. There was more interaction and less vulgarity, like they wanted you to actually speak to them rather than just stuff your pussy with whatever new dildo you’d been gifted in your PO box.
You hadn’t planned on having such a personal stream today, you honestly just wanted the relief and thought your viewers would have a good time. But for some reason, the comments were less about getting you to take your clothes off and more about why your voice was shaking.
“It’s okay, I’m okay. Really!” Even you could hear the subtle octave change. “If you wanted me to cry, you could’ve just said please. You know I’ll do anything for you.”
Perhaps the forced sultriness of your voice worked its charm, the comments quickly switched back to their normal obscenities once you started to unbutton your top. Truthfully, you preferred when they asked you to get naked, it was a lot easier to do than to admit what it was you were really lacking. Honest companionship is the rarest thing.
Rule number two: no identifying features.
Even if you weren’t ashamed, your job is still taboo. No one and everyone knew what it was you did. Your best friend helped you pick lingerie and background mood lighting, your parents thought you were an office worker. Strangers have seen your most private parts, you only allow your grandma to give you a kiss on the cheek during Christmas. Safe to say your occupation was strictly need-to-know.
You’re glad you started live streaming before deciding to get any tattoos, running the risk of someone stopping you in the middle of the street was the most terrifying thing you could imagine happening. Naturally, you avoided getting anything at all once your streams started to really take off.
There was nothing you wore to accessorize unless a patron paid for it in advance, that was always done a week before streams and the contact with the patron was never more than a simple google form and an email from your business account to confirm. Other than that, you were a blank canvas, just a body with a voice that left more to the imagination than you would think. If your viewers were happy, you were happy.
“What do you think of my new nail color? A special someone picked it out for me,” you held out your hands to display the pretty shine, twiddling your fingers. The comments went crazy, “no, no, not anyone like that, c’mon! You know you’re my number one. But I think you should all give lovely user callingherdaddy a thank you for picking it out. Thank you, sir.”
You took the polish off the next morning.
Rule number three: be consistent.
Nothing kills a steady income more than ghosting the ones that put the money in your pocket. You stuck to a strict schedule of three streams every week and frequent posts on your socials. The stuff you posted on your social media wasn’t even related to your work on camming, but it doesn’t hurt when they leave a couple nice comments.
With a schedule and job like yours, you need a little bit of normalcy. Self employed, you don’t have a real routine when you aren’t streaming. It was starting to make you feel lazy, a bit lethargic, and overall unmotivated.
It wasn’t until recently did you decide to start doing normal people things, like waking up at 7 a.m., doing a mini work out, grocery shopping in the morning, even getting yourself a coffee from the shop near your house as a treat. Doing this was nice, you felt good, your head was clearer. Hell, you even got excited when it came time to do your cams because you felt so full of energy.
You had only been to the coffee shop once or twice before, but to get yourself to keep the routine, you told yourself you’d go every day for the next two weeks. Afterall, it only takes 21 days to form a habit.
It was packed, as usual for a morning weekday. There were only about six baristas working, all scurrying about the bar to get through the morning rush. You liked watching them, mindlessly completing drinks in such a way that made you a little jealous. Most of them seemed your age, obviously you knew that they couldn’t have all had perfect lives, but at least this part of their day was something they could openly complain about.
Were you really jealous? Of normal people? You had to be insane.
Shaking your head, you walked further into the shop and waited in line. You thought nothing of it, placing your order, “iced chai with three blonde shots, please,” and handed the barista the card, “thank you.”
You barely looked up at him, only when he held onto your card a little longer as you tried to take it back did you make eye contact. A little awkward, the barista was staring at you with wide eyes. He was handsome, too handsome to be working behind the counter. Long black hair framed his face nicely, pretty plump lips, and an endearing little mole under his eye that made his siren stare only slightly less intimidating. Yeah, handsome.
He didn’t look away even after he let you take your card back.
“S– sorry. You look like–”
“It’s okay. Thanks again.” You hurried away as fast as you could. He couldn’t have known who you were, right? Not a chance, you have never shown your face. You were wearing too many clothes for any particular body part to be recognizable. It’s just a coincidence.
Either way, the minor interaction with the barista scared you into hiding again, forgetting going out for anything else you had planned and deciding to hole away at home.
You had a livestream to do later anyways, focus on that. There were a few hours left for you to kill before turning on the camera, now would be as good a time as any to set up.
It wasn’t much that you did, mostly just thinking of what it was you thought viewers would like to see for the day. An hour before the scheduled stream, you set up a waiting room on the website that hinted at what the day’s theme would be. Today you thought you’d go a little easy on the eyes; “live soon, hardcandysweetheart: play time! <3”
A typical stream would start off soft, greeting viewers like any other meeting. You’d ask how their day was, if there was anything in particular they wanted to do or talk about, some answered genuinely while others urged you to strip. You liked the ones that asked you how your day was, too, and enjoyed sharing your thoughts with them. Though, it was no secret what everyone was here for, even if sometimes– just sometimes, you liked what came before taking off your clothes more than anything.
“I have a few things in mind for play time today, I’d like to hear what you guys think. Would you prefer this,” in your hand, you held up your favorite vibrator, big and baby pink. “Or this?” in the other, a new grinder that resembled the shape of a tentacle with the sucker-side up.
Comment section didn’t slow down as soon as you showed the second toy. “I thought you might like this one. I got it just for you! I’m excited to try it out with you.”
– im so fucking hard
– i wanna see ur pussy
– thats so nice, ur sweet
“Slow down! Haha, we’re gonna take our time,” you laughed away the weird feeling in your chest as you read the fleeing comments. “You’re so impatient today, lovely. Did you have a hard day? I know I did,” you slowly peeled down the blouse you wore, letting it hang off your shoulders to expose your bare shoulders. It seemed redundant to wear a bra, but you kept the shirt covering your breasts for dramatic effect, hard nipples peaking through.
“I just wanna take it a little more… gentler, if that’s alright.” The camera was angled to cut off at your neck to avoid showing your face, but you bit your lip anyways as you held up the grinder. “It’s a little out of my comfort zone, honestly. I’ve never told you about this fantasy before.” You ran your finger down the rubber center, feeling the many little suction cups bend.
You giggled as you came to the swirled tip of the tentacle, playing with the way it curled and how pliable it was. “When I ordered this, they let me choose the color. I think pink suits me, don’t you? But I also thought, maybe blue? Or black… but then it would be too hard for you to see, right?”
As you spoke, you laid the grinder between your legs but not quite touching it. With two fingers, you stroked it the same way you would your own pussy. Your other free hand was doing just that right behind the toy and beneath the length of your shirt, feeling your wetness building up with your hand down your panties. “Oh my, just talking to you– my underwear is soaked!” The giggle that left your lips was genuine, you didn’t expect to work yourself up so quickly.
You stole your fingers from your cunt and showed it to the camera, spreading them to let your viewers see the slick coating shine in the soft lighting. “Heh, told ya I was excited. You make me like this.”
When you started to really get going it was hard to pay attention to the comments, you tended to get a little lost until you finally came. Like now, you brought the toy closer to your core, lightly lifting yourself to sit on it. As soon as you did, you let out a whimper.
Hyunjin had never felt so embarrassed in his life. He doesn’t even know why, he couldn’t have been sure of anything.
Except he was. He was 100% sure, plus another 10% for good measure. He hadn’t even known about the site for long, you were just his favorite. He’d found hardcandysweetheart and never bothered to look anywhere else.
You were just another customer at first, a pretty one that caught his attention. He noticed you in line and had every intention of flirting and possibly asking for you to sign up for the rewards program with them just so he could use that as an excuse to get your number. Then you spoke.
All you fucking did was speak. “Please,” and “thank you,” and Hyunjin fucking crumbled.
Jesus, he must have looked like an idiot. He knows he did, but he was star struck. Fanboying, red in the face with embarrassment, about to fold at the knees, and hard as a fucking rock all at the same time. He had to excuse himself to the restroom as soon as you left just to get his boner to go away.
If it really was you– and he hoped to god it wasn’t– he’ll never forget such a pretty face.
Which is why he turned on notifications for your stream. He knew your schedule by heart but he needed to be sure that it was your voice he heard. As soon as he got home from his shift, clothes came off and he was sat in bed with his laptop nearby, just waiting for the ping notification from you.
God, it was you. As soon as he heard you through his headphones, it confirmed what he already knew.
What a kind voice, supple, soft, he could listen to you for hours– he has listened to you for hours. Sometimes he wished you could do live streams of just you talking, you never even had to take your clothes off. Now that he knew what you looked like, Hyunjin’s heartbeat faster than it ever did when you made conversation.
It was the way you did, as though you were speaking to him and only him. The image he created of you in his head looked like it was thought up by a child in comparison to seeing you in real life. He could put a face to the voice now, he wasn’t even thinking about your body. Just your voice.
“You make me like this,” you said in almost a whisper, tone cracking just a little the more you sat on the toy.
Hyunjin couldn’t help but palm at himself, not entirely stroking but moving at the same pace. This was a team effort, in his mind. You made him crazy, as he did to you. That was his fantasy. You always spoke with so much love in your voice, as though you truly cared for him and it got him harder than any other kind of porn ever could.
Was that really all it took? Was he that pathetic? Someone who didn’t even know who he was, talking to an ocean of people that all saw the same thing he did, and suddenly it’s the only thing that can make him cum.
He can’t even complain now, he’s seen you. That’s enough spank bank to last him a lifetime if you ever suddenly decided to stop camming. Shit– he hopes he didn’t just manifest that into existence.
The white button up top draped in front of your cunt to hide away from view. That’s alright, you said you were taking it slow today. Your hips slowly pushed forward and back, hands gripping tightly at the armrests of your uncomfortable looking desk chair. Hyunjin thought it was kind of cute how you would still cam in the same seat as you did when he found your first video.
His laptop on his abdomen concealed the view of his cock leaking, but the way you were sat on screen, he could envision it was him you were sitting on instead. That’s exactly what he imagined as you rocked faster into the toy, lifting your shirt and balling it in your fist to show that your wetness had spread to the front of your panties. Hyunjin didn’t even mind that the bold pink tentacle blocking a bit of the view, you were getting so into it that he hardly noticed anymore.
Hyunjin fumbled to find his dick, slowly beginning to squeeze the head as you turned to shorter and quicker ruts towards the front of the toy where the tentacle curled up. You moaned loudly, making him do so as well in return. “Fuck, I ruined this pair, didn’t I?”
Your cute laugh had Hyunjin breaking out into a smirk, “that’s okay,” he whispered to no one but himself.
“I should take it off but,” you rolled your hips again with a whine, “I kinda want you to work for it.”
The tips in the corner of the page were pinging like crazy as soon as you said that. He himself tapped the button rapidly and paid no mind to how his account balance shot down.
“C’mon now, don’t be shy. It’s just one little word that I wanna hear. I’ll say it first, if that makes you feel better.” The speed of your hips picked up a little, in turn Hyunjin let his fist slowly work up and down, no faster than you, of course.
“Please. Please, is the word I’m looking for, lovely. Say it, just once.”
Fuck, he couldn’t help speeding up just a little. He loved the way you said it, even more the way you commanded him to say it as well. “Please,” the whimper came out breathy and uneven as the precum lubricated his cock more.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Hyunjin shook his head, no.
“No, it wasn’t. Look what happens when you ask nicely,” you stood from your seat just to pull off the flimsy fabric, sitting fully back down on the toy and holding up the soaked pair with another chuckle. “You get nice things.”
Hyunjin could hear how wet you really were now, every lewd sound that came from you rubbing yourself back and forth on the grinder. You still didn’t let him– them– see you fully. He wasn’t even sure if you’d expose yourself at all this stream. Still, his fist picked up speed as you did, taking in every grunt you let out when you’d hit a particularly good spot. Hyunjin kept his eyes on you the whole time, memorizing the way you moved, what angle made you tick.
“C’mon lovely, I know you can do better than that.”
You were referring to the tip counter, but Hyunjin took it as he can do better than that. His other hand reached around the laptop, down to cup his balls as he worked his cock faster, occasionally running his fingers over the head for a break in stimulation. Somehow he managed to stop touching himself for a split second to rapid fire extra tips when they slowed down.
“Oh, someone wants a little extra attention today. What do I call you, lovely?” Hyunjin wasn’t sure if you were speaking to him, though he hoped and typed a nickname anyways. “Baby? That’s cute. Thank you, baby, you’re so sweet.”
His hand instantly returned to his dick, not caring about the speed anymore, instead wanting to cum to the sound of your voice. He quickly tapped the tip button a few more times and you giggled, “baby, you’re spoiling me. Here, since you’re being so nice,” you lifted the hem of your shirt to put your bare cunt on display, seemingly tucking the end of it into your mouth.
Hyunjin could see it so clearly, your pretty lips drooling onto the fabric, biting it to contain the moans that wanted to slip past. Fuck, he was going insane, wet, slick noises from his animalistic fisting on his cock almost surpassing the volume of your voice in his headphones.
He just watched now, listened intently to how good you were making yourself feel and it made his body light a fire. You were clearly getting closer as well, forgetting the dirty talk and humping away at the toy with little to no regard for who was watching. Hyunjin loved this side of you the most, when you couldn’t think of anything other than the impending pleasure. He could imagine your eyes rolling back, the furrow in your brow and beads of sweat dripping down your temples as you came nearer to falling over the edge. Your hands moved to grip the edge of the seat, aiding in pushing your body forward and back harder against the grinder and Hyunjin was jerking himself with a hotter fervor. Your muffled cries echoed in his head– he was making you feel like this, he was the one you were using to please yourself, he was the one you thought of as you came all over his cock.
Hyunjin suddenly held his breath and let his release take over his body, squeezing and pumping the tip of his cock as he spurt his seed all over his stomach and back of his computer. By the time he’d come to, opened his eyes, and regained his breath, you were slumped back in your chair and panting heavily. He missed your grand finale, but that was okay with him, you came at the same time. Even in post nut clarity, he wanted to hear your voice. More than that, he wanted to hold you, run his fingers through your hair, kiss you until you were breathless all over again.
Hyunjin’s shaky hand found the tip button again and tapped.
“Thank you, baby.” He smiled.
You groaned and found the strength to steal the toy from your aching cunt, holding it up for the camera to see it glistening with your essence. Laughing, “this was fun, wasn’t it? I enjoyed myself, I might have to buy more of these.” You tossed it onto the desk and suddenly seemed shy, tugging your shirt as far down as you could without exposing more skin. “Until next time, lovely. I’ll miss you.” You waved your dainty fingers at the camera, doing your signature sign off, and the screen went black.
Hyunjin’s head fell back into his pillows, staring at the ceiling trying to understand all the emotions he just rushed through.
He couldn’t compute them even if he tried. All he knew was that he was excited to go to work tomorrow morning, hoping that whatever god heard his plea, begging that you’ll come in.
When he went to shut his laptop, his fingers smeared the warm mess that was slowly dripping. “Fuck— ew,” and he hurried to clean up, alone once again.
☆ﾟ
tags: @sensitiveandhungry @babebatter @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffit @fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @hamburgers101 @skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl @dazzlingligth @alexis-reads-fics @linaliskz @0002linoskitten @chillichillicrabcrab23 @zerefdragn33l @straycrescent @binnies-donuts @soldierstangirl-blog @bakedlilgoonie @levanterlily @shelbyyy44 @yeetmehome @in2heartz @astroodledream @the-sweetest-rose @goblinracha @lilbugs-things @viviennenstan @staurdvst @alex--awesome--22 @imzenning @jeyelleohe @iadorethemskz @skyvastbunny @mamabymychem @katsukis1wife @woozarts @noellllslut
#stray kids#stray kids smut#stray kids fanfic#skz#skz smut#skz fanfic#stray kids hyunjin#skz hyunjin#stray kids fluff#stray kids angst#skz fluff#skz angst#hyunjin#hwang hyunjin#hyunjin smut#hyunjin fluff#hyunjin angst#hyunjin x reader#hyunjin x yn#hyunjin x you#hyunjin x y/n#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#skz imagines#skz scenarios#skz imagine#stray kids imagine#stray kids fanfiction#skz fanfiction
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Damian Wayne x Paramedic!Reader
Soulmate AU
Part One, Part Two, Part Three (finale)
The ache in your chest had been there for a week now, and it was becoming your new best friend. Coincidentally, the first and only time you talked to your soulmate was also a week ago.
You hadn’t expected it at first, and you even asked Harper to check if you were going to have a heart attack in the back of the ambulance during a meal break.
As you figured, nothing was wrong.
So after a long night shift, a shower and dinner for breakfast, you were almost, and by almost I mean seconds away from falling asleep.
A knock at the door snaps your eyes open and with a grumble, you get out of bed and get yourself into more appropriate clothing than sleepwear.
“I’m going to kill whoever's at the door,” you grumble, glaring through the peephole before you opened the door.
This was Gotham, and you weren’t stupid.
It wasn’t the Ridddler or the Joker, but rather your soulmate. Standing in a black jacket with the hood over his head, waiting patiently in the middle of the hallway.
Unlocking the door and pushing it open, you narrow your eyes at the tall and no doubt muscular figure.
“How the fuck do you know where I live?”
“Hello,” he greets, walking past you and into your apartment, gazing at it like he’s on a sightseeing tour. With a grumble, you close the door behind him and lock it again.
“What do you want?” The ache in your chest was gone but your heart craved even the slightest touch, begging you and pulling you towards him. Your other half.
“I want to talk,” Damian admits after a short pause, hanging his jacket on the hook by the door. “Something you apparently don’t want to do.”
“How are you feeling?”
“It’s been a week, habibi,” he points out, raising a dark eyebrow. “Don’t try and change the subject.”
“What does habibi mean?”
Your apartment goes silent before finally, Damian sighs. “I’m certain you’ll figure it out eventually. Now, we’re going to talk about this without you trying to change the subject-”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve made my stance on this very clear,” you state, lightly emphasizing each word in order for it to sink in. “I cannot have publicity if I want to be able to do my job.”
Being a paramedic was the biggest achievement of your life- a ‘fuck you’ to your parents, an amazing work partner, a fulfilling life- the pay didn’t matter much to you, and that’s what your parents hated.
“That’s fine. You don’t have to go to galas or anything similar.” His tone changes, “But you can’t just give up an entire relationship-”
“I don’t think you understand just how public of a figure you are,” you interrupt. “You could’ve been followed here by paparazzi- they follow you everywhere. I can’t be walking on eggshells whenever I want to go outside with you.”
“I wasn’t followed,” he says with a frown. “And… that is a valid point.” His jaw clenches, unclenches and finally he sighs his thoughts into the air. “What if we just try? This is all theory but in practice we might be able to pull it off.”
“That’s a lot of stress for someone that already has a high-stress job.”
Damian’s head snaps towards you, a grin slowly forming on his face. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
He explained it all. You kept thinking that was it but no, he kept going. The gist is; he was an assassin, then Robin, now Batman.
It created more problems than solutions but you were somewhat willing to hear him out. It was almost midday now and you were exhausted.
“And your plan is what, exactly?”
“You don’t date me, you date Batman. He’s a ‘public’ figure but he’s a different kind of public than a Wayne.”
You didn’t think it was a bad idea, much to your surprise. It could work, and perhaps not just as a temporary fix.
Your heart was screaming at you by now, kicking and shouting for you to just give in.
“That sounds doable.”
A smile, genuine and bright and rare, breaks out onto Damian’s face. He wraps his strong arms around you, pulls you close and is finally able to kiss you lightly on the forehead before resting his head on yours.
You were soaring in warmth and joy and you were finally here, where you needed to be. You could make this work. You will make this work.
And for the first time as you stand in your soulmate’s arms, you want to make this work.
~~~
Masterlist
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radio
pairing: the genz!driver x team x 23!grid
summary: some team radios of our beloved genz!driver
warnings: some swearing
note: oh i hope you all will like what i did here, it took me a hot minute, soo, pls don’t be a ghost reader
our genz!driver doesn’t drive for a specific team (pls imagine which ever is your fav), so the colours of the team radio will be violet, bc it’s not used :)
masterlist / taglist
Bahrain 2023
Q2
- „Okay y/n, you made it into Q2! Let’s keep that same pace you had in Q1“
- „Oh did you hear that? Where did Oscar place??“
- „Piastri is out in Q1, P18“
- „Wooh!! Oscar owes me 50 bucks!!! He lost the bet, he lost it! He didn’t think I’d out-qualify him!“
End of Qualifying
- „Good job, y/l/n! Thats P12 for you! Great start of the season“
- „Yeah baby! I’m the new Smooth Operator, Smooth Operator!“
Race
- „Uhm guys, I think there’s something wrong with my car…“
- „What is it, y/n?“
- „I just overtook Charles, how is that even possible?! Wtf guys, am I that fast?“
- „Oh my god, y/n, you had me stressed out here. I really thought you had technical problems for a second“
- „No worries, I’m just faster than a Ferrari“
—
- „Radio check“
- „It’s a cruel summer!“
—
- „Tell me, tell me how we finished, how I finished?!“
- „P11 baby!“
- „Uh, yeah, who’s almost in the points?!“
- „YOU!“
—
Saudi Arabia 2023
FP2
- „Tell me, is Danny here?“
- „Yea, why?“
- „Can you tell him I said hi? Please“
- „Uhm, sure I can, why?“
- „I just promised him yesterday I‘d give him a shoutout from the track, hahaha“
Q1
- „Okay, y/n, let’s get into Q3 today!“
- „Let’s gooooo!“
- „Could you not scream into the coms, please?“
- „WOHOO!“
- „y/n…“
- „Love you“
- „I don’t…“
- „You totally do“
- „I don’t“
- „You dooooo“
Q2
- „P12, good job y/n“
- „Could’ve gone better“
- „It’s a good result, y/n“
- „But still no Q3“
- „Hey, y/n, cheer up, it’s the same result as last race“
- „I thought we improved, I thought I improved“
- „We can still climb up the ladder“
- „As if, I’m not good enough for that many overtakes, I can defend, but that… I don’t know man“
- „Hey hey, listen to me, y/n. You deserve that spot in F1, you’re young and you’re learning with every race, with every test. I know you’ll be champion one day. Maybe not this race, but you’re gonna go far, kid“
- „…“
- „Are you crying, hahaha?“
- „Let me be emotional, dipshit“
- „Oh Lando is gonna have a field day with this, hahaha“
- „Please don’t show that to Lando“
- „Come to the garage first and we can discuss it“
Race
- „Radio check, y/n“
- „Vamos a la playa“
- „Loud and clear…“
—
- „FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, SHIT, SHIT, DAMN, WHY DOES IT NEVER GO MY WAY?!“
- „Unfortunate events, retire the car, y/n“
- „UNFORTUNATE?! STROLL JUST STOPPED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD AND I HAD TO BREAK SO HARD NOT TO CRASH INTO HIM THAT I CRASHED INTO THE WALL!“
- „It is what it is“
- „Don’t meme me, I’m mad… haha, okay, thank you“
Australia 2023
Q2
- „Good pace, y/n, let’s keep it that way and we’ll make it into Q3“
- „Alrighty mighty“
- „Cringe“
—
- „AND THATS P9 FOR YOU“
- „Huh?“
- „P9“
- „I’m into Q3?! Am I really?“
- „Yes! Yes you are!“
Q3
- „Whoop, whoop, that’s the sound of the police“
- „Whoop, whoop, that’s the sound that I need“
- „P10 baby“
- „P10!“
Race
- „Hi y/n, you’re doing really good out there, bring 'em home for me, will ya?“
- „Danny?“
- „Yes?“
- „Hi Danny“
- „Hi, y/n! You’re currently P9, with 0.548s to Piastri“
- „Okay“
- „Let’s push and stay in the points!“
—
- „YOU‘VE CROSSED THE FINISH LINE AS 7TH!!!“
- „THOSE ARE 6 POINTS, RIGHT?“
- „YES!“
- „It’s all because of Danny!“
- „I’ll gladly let him know“
Miami 2023
Race
- „I- help!“
- „What’s going on? y/n talk to me“
- „I don’t think my break is working“
- „y/n, we are going to retire then, box box“
- „I’ll try for one more lap“
- „No you won’t“
- „I will“
—
- „I think it’s fine“
- „…“
- „Yea, it’s fine, I can brake normally, hihi, sorry for the worries“
- „You’re a menace, y/n“
Monaco 2023
FP1
- „Monaco baby, the land of pretty people and expensive things, I am home“
- „Why’s that, you’re not from Monaco, y/n“
- „I am pretty and expensive therefore I am home“
Race
- „Radio check, y/n“
- „NOT NOW“
- „Noted“
—
- „I don’t feel pretty“
- „Sucks for you“
- „Man, that’s a shit move“
- „Sucks“
—
- „Okay y/n, you’re currently P11 with 0.639s behind DeVries, let’s push to P10“
- „DeVries? Nyck is P10? What happened?“
- „I don’t know, let’s just push him off of P10“
- „Harsh“
- „I’m a bad bitch“
- „Fuck that bitch“
—
- „Great job, y/n P10!“
- „Where is DeVries?“
- „P12“
- „Who overtook him?“
- „Bottas“
- „HAH!“
- „Be nice“
- „Ugh“
Montréal 2023
FP3
- „You are currently P3, I repeat, you are currently placed on P3“
- „Who’s pranking me? Max? Lando?“
- „No one, you ARE P3!“
- „WHAT?!“
- „Let’s take that pace into qualifying“
- „Uhm, yea, definitely“
Q2
- „What’s my time?“
- „1:18.725“
- „And Max‘s?“
- „1:19.092“
- „WHAT?“
- „You are P1, y/n“
- „Are you kidding me?“
- „I would never“
- „Mhm, but really? P1?“
- „I swear to god, P1“
Q3
- „Fuck! Shit! Holy macaroni fucking meatballs! I crashed, I repeat, I crashed“
- „Yea, we saw, retire the car“
Race
- „P7, good job!“
- „Thanks…“
- „Oh and y/n, you’ve been voted driver of the day“
- „Really?“
- „Really“
- „Firstly, I wanna thank the ground, because without it, I wouldn’t be standing here today“
- „That only works if you’re really standing somewhere, y/n, you’re sitting in an F1 car“
- „Then I’d like to thank my F1 car…“
- „I deactivated your coms“
Austria 2023
Sprint Shootout
- „What exactly is a Sprint really?“
- „Oh my god, really y/n?“
- „No… of course not…“
—
- „Great job, you placed P13“
- „Mhm, thanks… I‘m thirsty“
- „…“
- „Did no one hear me? I want my drink, where is the drink?“
- „You will not have the drink“
- „Oh you waited so long for that, didn’t you?“
- „No…, yes“
- „Kimi is a legend.“
Sprint
- „I don’t like this Sprint thingy“
- „Why?“
- „I don’t know, just because“
—
- „P15“
- „No good job?“
- „Not today“
- „Understandable“
Race
- „I want to go home, I am tired of this“
- „What?“
- „It’s getting boring with Max always leading and winning“
- „Thats why we need to push as hard as we can“
- „As if I’ll ever overtake Max“
- „One day, y/n, one day“
- „But not today, that’s why I want to go home“
- „You can’t“
- „Loser“
Silverstone 2023
FP2
- „Why do I not see Charles on the grid?“
- „Why do you have time to look at the screen and not see Charles on there?“
- „You should be driving“
- „I am“
- „Clearly not fast enough“
- „Hey, I am faster than you think“
- „You are currently driving with a speed of 156 km/h“
- „How do you know that..?“
- „I am your race engineer, I know everything“
- „Did you know that I just farted, hahaha?“
- „Unfortunately“
- „Hihi“
- „You’re gross“
- „Thank you“
- „Welcome“
—
Race
- „If Lewis stands on that podium, he owes me a dinner“
- „And if he doesn’t?“
- „I owe him a pity dinner“
- „And if you stand on that podium?“
- „Thats unrealistic, that’s why we didn’t bet on it“
- „True“
- „HEY!“
- „You said it first!“
- „Not a reason for you to call it out!“
- „Women“
- „I heard that“
- „You were supposed to“
- „Less talking, more driving!“
- „Yes boss“
- „Yes boss“
—
- „Omg, omg, omg, tell me I crossed that line without a single penalty and we don’t get a grid penalty? Please tell me this is true?“
- „YOU ARE P4 Y/N“
- „Am I really?“
- „Yes!“
- „If it weren’t for the safety car you would’ve been P3!“
- „I don’t care! It’s my best result so far!“
- „So near and yet so far“
- „Lew is P3?“
- „Yep“
- „P4 and I get a free dinner from Lew, what a day“
- „Be proud and loud“
- „WOOHOO!!!“
- „Maybe not so loud…“
- „Sorry not sorry“
Hungary 2023
FP1
- „Oh Danny Ric is back on the grid!“
- „Mhm“
- „Aren’t you happy to see my favourite person driving again?“
- „Totally“
- „Be happy!“
- „Okay…“
—
- „Oh… I just passed Danny“
- „You are on your flying lap, he needs to let you pass..?“
- „Yeah… but he needs a positive experience on his first race back…“
- „HES THE ENEMY“
- „He’s my best friend…“
- „Does he know that?“
- „Uhm, I hope so“
Race
- „Tell Lando he’s doing a great job“
- „Just drive“
- „Okay…“
—
- „Lando says thank you, by the way“
- „For what?“
- „Just forget it“
- „Okay“
—
- „Oh, for that! You’re welcome, Landi“
- „It took you 4 laps to realise“
- „My brain is sometimes slow, let me be“
- „I would if I could“
—
- „Oh how I hate Perez“
- „It’s mutual“
- „Hihi“
—
- „Radio check“
- „I am so glad that the summer break is right in front of me, just 33 more laps and it’s me chilling on the beach, getting tan and reading good books and you know, that’s how my dream life looks like and…“
- „How can she be so talkative but still be on for a podium? It’s a mystery for me“
- „And Lando and me oh and Danny will go on vacation together. Maybe Lewis will come as well. I want to go to the Maldives but we’ll see. Oh and you know what would be cool? If we really…“
- „Is she still talking? Yep…“
- „I could learn how to surf and eat loads of stuff and just relax“
- „So you finally decided to stop speaking and concentrate on the race? Great job, y/n“
- „Thanks!“
—
- „Thats P5 for you! What a race to start the summer break“
- „Thank you so much“
- „We’ll see us in 3 weeks!“
- „Byeeeee“
°°°
@ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @biglittlesecret, @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21 , @youkissedareaderinthedark , @mikauraur , @thybulleric , @lpab , @fdl305 , @mellowarcadefun , @teti-menchon0604 , @vildetry06 , @bibissparkles , @aurora-maria , @lunnnix , @sya-skies , @Buckywifeyy , @dakotali , @rechtrecht , @noncannonships , @1eclerc16 , @pitlanebabe , @sopheeg , @avengersheart , @thatsadsmallchild , @peachiicherries , @idkiwantchocolatee , @callsign-scully , @mehrmonga , @badbatch-simp24 , @lissyontour , @din0nugs , @elliegrey2803 , @gay-for-victoria-de-angelis , @10vely-yutazen , @daggersquadphantom , @azriel-the-shadowsinger , @i-love-scott-mccall
#f1 x reader#formula 1#f1#genz driver#team radio#f1 team radio#charles leclerc x reader#carlos sainz x reader#daniel ricciardo#charles leclerc#fernando alonso#sebastian vettel x reader#max verstappen
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how about a Jamie x reader fic when they go away to Amsterdam they sit together on bus and they wake up cuddling and then there’s an issue w hotel booking and there’s a one bed trope and they end up waking up cuddled together and then they admit feelings and reader goes to game with a tartt jersey on <3
I’ve been thinking about this forever, and I’m terribly sorry it took so long!! I do enjoy being an adult, but I’m at a point in life where I don’t have much free time and if I do, I use it to sleep😂
I really miss the days when Ted Lasso was still airing and the x reader tags had new content every day. I feel like that one meme of Thanos when he’s like “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Shoutout to all y’all who are still here and reading my stuff! Love you!!
smile at me
It’s straight-up fucked. It really, really is. But also maybe it’s good, as Keeley pointed out, because not having a boyfriend anymore means you can focus on yourself?
Or something.
Of course he had to break up with you right before leaving for Amsterdam. Hell, he broke up with you because you were leaving for Amsterdam.
“I don’t want you going to another country with a bunch of other guys,” he had said. “It’s them or me.”
“It’s literally my job,” you told him.
Apparently, that didn’t matter.
But what-fucking-ever, you’re at Keeley’s waiting for a car to take you to the airport, and she’s promised to make sure you don’t think about your stupid ex even once.
It’s times like these you wish Ted were still here with a spot-on pun and some dad-type advice. All you ever get from Beard is a weird anecdote and a vaguely threatening look.
Keeley chatters on for the entirety of the ride to the airport, through customs, and all the way to the lounge.
“You’re gonna get loads of great content for the socials, babe. Candids, action shots, behind-the-scenes. Friendlies are fucking amazing!”
Last time Richmond were in Amsterdam, they had lost horribly. They’re hoping to make up for it this time around.
The plane is full of Greyhounds, both footballers and coaches alike, with Rebecca at the very front. Keeley plops done in the seat next to her as Dani waves at you from the middle.
“I saved you a seat!” he calls. You smile as Sam takes your bag to put it in the overhead. “Thanks, Dani. You excited?”
Dani grins. “I think this time I am ready to see a whole field of tulips!”
You laugh as the lads roll their eyes. Jamie leans across the aisle toward you and says, “Oi, what’s the twat doing while you’re away?”
You press your lips into a thin line. “Not a clue.”
He raises an eyebrow and says, “You break up with him?”
“He broke up with me.”
Jamie twists his face into a scoff. “And you wonder why I call him the fucking twat. Prick. Bet it was so he could finally fuck his coworker.”
You shrug. Jamie’s never liked your boyfriend. It’s not like you were together long, only a few months. And sure, he was a little bit of a twat, but sue you. You had a special place in your heart for pricks with a heart of gold, only he didn’t even have a heart at all.
“You should date someone better,” Jamie continues.
You glare at him and retort, “Oh yeah, because it’s just that easy. You got some one in mind?”
Jamie gives you his most angelic look and says, “What about me?” which makes half the plane dissolve into laughter, yourself included.
“Cheers, Jamie,” you say as you wipe your eyes. “I needed that.”
A strange look crosses his face, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual cocky expression. “Anytime, love,” he replies as you turn to start a conversation with Dani.
As much as you’d like that, Jamie would never date you. His joke stings a little but you brush it off. Maybe you’ll find another twat in Amsterdam to distract yourself from the fact that you’re half in love with Jamie Tartt.
—
“I’m sorry, we don’t have a booking under you name,” the hotel concierge says.
You tap your nails to your wrist. “Are you positive? I’m with AFC Richmond, they should’ve had one.”
The concierge taps on his computer for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I’m afraid we don’t have anything. And all of our rooms are booked this weekend. Might I recommend the hotel down the road?”
Damn it. There’s no way this is happening. Everyone else has gotten to their rooms without a hitch and here you are, alone in the lobby as you pull out your phone to call Keeley. There’s no way this is fucking happening.
“Everything alright?” asks a voice behind you, and you jump.
“They don’t have a room for me, and they’re fully booked,” you explain.
Jamie looks at the concierge, who shrugs apologetically, then back to you. He asks, “Why don’t you share with me?” and you frown.
“I thought you were rooming with Declan,” you say.
Jamie lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, but he switched with Richard because O’Brien fucking snores and he don’t give a shit.”
You say, “So you’re with Richard, then,” and he shakes his head.
“Nah, Richard’s with Jan.”
“I thought Dani was with Jan,” you say. These fucking footballers. What’s the point in having set rooms if they’re just going to switch it all up.
“Dani is with Jan,” Jamie says patiently, as if this all the most obvious thing in the world. “But Dani’s a cuddler, so he’s probably going to fucking end up with, I don’t know, Isaac or someone. Which means I get a room all to meself.”
“Right,” you say slowly. “Alright, I can do that. As long as you don’t mind.”
Jamie winks. “Sharing a room with a pretty girl for four days? Ain’t a problem, love.”
You laugh and follow him to the elevator.
—
It feels a bit like playing with fire, agreeing to room with Jamie. Especially since you’re freshly single and definitely open to a rebound. But there will be two beds and a lot of space and anyway, you’ll be busy with the match and social media, respectively.
Except as soon as you walk through the door, you realize there’s a tiny little hitch.
“There’s one bed,” you blurt out, so surprised you’re unable to filter your words. Jamie blushes a little bit as he says, “Yeah, um, Cockburn and I hate sleeping alone, so we asked for one. He grew up sharing a bed with his brothers and I just fucking hate being alone. I can sleep on the couch if you want.”
“No,” you say firmly, “you need good rest. It’s not a problem.”
It’s not a problem.
Or at least it wouldn’t have been if Isaac had been a shittier captain.
But as it is he’s great, so he’s got the whole team going out to dinner at a pre-determined location complete with a dress code of no t-shirts and apparently you count as part of the team, so you have to go too. You’re in your massive bathroom trying to curl your disgusting travel hair when Jamie walks in wearing one of those white hotel bathrobes.
He asks, “You mind if I’m in here?” so you shake your head, struck temporarily mute by his bare clavicle. Fucking hell, you feel like a repressed Victorian woman.
Jamie says, “Mint,” and goes about his alarmingly detailed skincare routine. You’re pretty sure you’re done with your hair so you crane your neck in an attempt to check the back.
“Missed a spot,” Jamie says. “Want me to get it for you?”
You shoot him a dubious look but hand him the curler. He runs a hand through your hair, picking up the offending strand and it’s all you can do not to shiver.
“Mum taught me,” he explains and you nod ever so slightly, not wanting him to accidentally burn your neck. Jamie says, “All good,” and runs his whole hand through your hair this time, making the curls bounce.
You choke out, “Thanks,” and hurriedly put away your things, desperate to leave before Jamie can pick up on the fact that you can barely handle being in the same room as him, and that you have great concerns about what the night will bring.
—
“You look fucking hot,” is the first thing Rebecca says when you meet her in the lobby. Keeley looks mildly offended that Rebecca took the words out of her mouth, but she just laughs and taps your arm.
“Gonna break a few hearts tonight, yeah?” she grins.
You’re not sure about that, especially since dinner turns out to be a very domestic affair. It’s loud, sure, but it’s definitely toned down since it’s a pre-match celebration instead of a post-match one. You’re with Sam, Keeley, and Roy with Jamie far, far away. You push all thoughts of him from your brain only for memories of your ex to surface. You frown.
“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Roy says and for a moment, you think he’s talking to you. But he’s actually talking to Jamie who has moved from his place across the restaurant to right behind your chair.
“Fuck off grandad,” Jamie says good-naturedly. “Wanted to tell this one that some of the lads are going out dancing after this. Not too late,” he hastily adds at Roy’s burning scowl, “just for two hours and we’re only allowed one drink.”
You’re pretty sure that’s a bit more liberal than Roy likes, but he nods his head slightly so he must be in a good mood.
“So, you coming?” Jamie asks and before you can reply Sam and Keeley chorus, “Yes she is.”
You give Keeley a Look before turning back to Jamie. “Guess I am,” you reply.
The smile Jamie gives you does more to make your head spin than any amount of alcohol you’ve had in your lifetime.
—
Jamie has taken it upon himself to wipe that frown off your face. He might have been watching you over dinner and that might have been why he chose that exact moment to invite you out, but he’ll never fucking admit it to anyone except Sam. And Keeley. And maybe Cockburn when it was the off-season and they were a little tipsy. (But not drunk, never drunk.)
So yeah, sue him if he’s spinning you around on the crowded dance floor just because it makes you laugh. It’s not his fault that he’s been wildly in love with you since the day Higgins hired you. It’s not his fault that you’re easy to be around and have the most beautiful smile he’s seen in his life.
And fuck, it certainly isn’t his fault you can’t see in yourself what others do. Why you settled for a piece of shit like your ex, he’ll never know. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do his best to show you how special you are. He knows you’ll never feel the same about him, but maybe he can help you level up your standards. Maybe if you’re with someone good, it’ll hurt less that it’s not him.
So he lets you hold his hand for the entirety of the two hours that the team is out and doesn’t say a word when you don’t let go in the cab back to the hotel.
You’ve gotten that closed-off look in your eyes again, the one that means you’re thinking about your ex, so Jamie knocks his shoulder into yours and asks why he can’t have the password to the team’s Instagram account, which is a sure fire way to get you to lecture him on irresponsibility and aesthetics and the best way to get your eyes to come back to life.
—
Honestly, it’s easier to fall asleep than you might have expected. It’s a big bed and you’re fucking tired.
You just didn’t expect to wake up in the middle of the night crying, but it’s always fucking like this when you go through a breakup. You go to sleep fine and wake up sad, so you do your best not to wake up Jamie except you’ve both ended up entangled in each other’s arms, so he can feel you shaking.
“Hey,” Jamie says in a soft voice, “You’re okay, love.”
You half expect him to push you away once he realizes you’re so close, but he only pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. Maybe it’s because you’re both half-asleep, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
You sigh and settle into him, drifting off in a matter of moments.
—
You wake up to a pair of blue eyes watching you.
“How you feeling?” Jamie asks, voice gravelly with sleep.
You just blink at him. It’s hard to form coherent sentences within the first ten seconds of waking up, and even harder with the memory of Jamie’s arms around you last night.
Wait. Not just the memory. The present reality because neither of you have moved.
Jamie misinterprets your silence and begins to extricate his arms.
“Sorry,” he says, “I’m not to trying to like, cross and fucking boundary or something. Should’ve left you alone.”
You’re still not awake enough to talk so you grab him to stop him from moving away. He gives you a questioning look so you say, “I wouldn’t have agreed to share a bed if I thought you were a creep.”
Jamie grins. “So like, if Jan had offered to share a room you’d’ve said no.”
You wrinkle your nose as you say, “Jan’s not a creep.”
“He’s the fucking worst,” Jamie grumbles, “And anyway, can we not talk about Jan fucking Maas this early in the morning?”
“Sure,” you say, “let’s talk about something else.”
Despite your comment, you both lapse into silence. You’re enraptured by Jamie’s blue eyes. You’ve never been able to study them this close before, and you want to take this opportunity to memorize every fleck of green.
Jamie seems to have a similar thought, except his gaze flicks to your lips.
“I have morning breath,” you tell him and he says, “Real men don’t give a shit, babe,” before leaning forward.
It’s softer than you’d expected, sweeter.
It’s also strange to think that you’re making out with Jamie in bed, and that he’s the one who initiated it.
The thought is so absurd that you giggle, mid-kiss. Jamie breaks away and says, “Oi, there’s no way that was a shit kiss.”
“No,” you say between giggles, “it’s just weird that we’re doing this. Like, how are we supposed to look each other in the eye after?”
Jamie moves so he can look at you better, and you roll from your side to your back. “What do you mean?” he asks.
“Oh come on, we share a room and a bed, we kiss because I have all these sad feelings and you’re feeling a lot of emotions about the match, and then we have to work together after. It’s silly.”
Jamie cocks his head. “That’s what you think is happening?”
“Yes?” you say. None of this is going how it’s supposed to. “What do you think is happening?”
“I like you,” he says, and there is absolutely no mistaking his meaning.
“Oh,” you reply in a small voice. “Since when?”
“Since before you started dating the twat. When Higgins introduced ya to the team.”
“That’s a fucking long time ago!” you exclaim. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
Jamie rubs his face. “Yeah, ‘cept you showed up to work tellin’ everyone how you started dating the twat. And I ain’t a home wrecker.”
You groan. “Fuuuck. I literally only dated him to try to get over you.”
Jamie shoots up. “What?!”
“Yeah,” you say, “I’ve been like a little bit in love with you ever since you winked at me during that first promo I did.”
Jamie blows out a breath. “Okay. Think that’s enough talking. C’mere. We’re making out proper, like, then we’re going to breakfast.”
You grin as you climb onto his lap.
#jamie tartt x reader#jamie tartt fanfiction#jamie tartt imagine#jamie tartt x y/n#jamie tartt x you#jamie tartt#ted lasso
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do you mind if i ask for a bimbo gn!reader who thinks they have an unrequited crush on vox all the while being oblivious of vox's own attempt at flirting, please?
Daft Dolls
All that training with Velvette about how not to just pace but run in high heels really did pay off. Not only was it a valuable tool to have in Hell of all places, it was also just pretty damn useful to know in general.
You weren’t running from loan sharks. No, you were running towards a specific hotel. You weren’t in trouble. Far from it. You were excited. You could not wait to see the look on his face.
The doors were slammed open as you barged in. You looked across the lobby of the hotel.
Vaguely you registered other people (a man dressed in red who just appeared out of thin air) but your eyes zoned in on the pink clad spider at the bar.
“The fuck you doing here, toots?”
“I got you out of work!”
Your voices overlapped. Angel Dust looked at you with a raised brow. “What?”
“I got you out of work,” you repeated as you walked towards him, the door closing behind you. “Well, not work but work work. You know, Valentino work. I know it’s not what you wanted but being on set with me is better than being on set with Valentino, right? At least, that’s what I was thinking ‘cause when I went to talk to him about it he was mad. Like mad mad. He threw bottle of rosé at me.”
“Are you okay?” Angel asked.
You batted his hands away from you. “I’m fine. It’s no big deal. He has shit aim anyway. He missed but with the help of Vox I was able to get you off of Val’s set and onto mine!”
Angel Dust just stared at you, absolutely silent.
As he processed what you said, a blonde woman came up beside you. “Um, hi, I’m Charlie. You’re one of Angel’s friends, I guess? It’s so nice to meet you.”
You took her outstretched hand (it was really soft) and shook it. “Nice to meet you too! Angel’s told me about you. I’m—“
“Vox helped you?” Angel asked, coming out of his stupor. “Like TV head Vox? Overlord Vox? That Vox? He helped you get me out of work?”
“Yeah,” you said shaking your head. “He was already up there with Val. I kind of just barged in. I wasn’t thinking. That was probably a stupid thing to do but you were on the news and then you were messaging me all freaked out about what Val was gonna do because you were on the news so I just kind of went up there to talk about it and anyway. Yeah, why?”
He downed the glass that was on the bar beside him. “You’re so oblivious sometimes,” he said.
“What?!”
He pointed a finger at you. “You call me at least once every two weeks and moan and groan about how—“
You clasped your hands over his mouth. “Can we not ta— Ew! Angel!” You yanked your hands back, now covered in his saliva. “Gross!”
He smirked at you and leaned in close, “Just making sure you’re prepared for that hand job he’s gonna get.”
You pushed his shoulder and he pushed you back. This led to you both lightly hitting each other with no real intent to harm one another.
That was until a different woman’s voice sounded through the room, “What the fuck is going on?”
The both of you stopped and turned towards her. Grey skin, white hair, orange eyes, she was gorgeous. You couldn’t help but say as much.
She looked completely thrown off by your blatant statement meanwhile Angel threw his head back with a laugh and Charlie looked over at her with a huge smile.
“Vaggie,” Charlie said in a sing-song voice.
“No,” the woman (Vaggie) immediately responded with. “Absolutely not.”
She turned around and started walking away. “Sorry,” Charlie said before moving to follow her. “But they’d be perfect for the Hotel!”
“No, we’re not having two Angel Dusts,” Vaggie said.
“But, Vaggie,” Charlie’s voice then grew too distant to hear.
Angel waited a moment but then he turned to you again. “You really got me out of work?” he asked, voice so close to sounding fragile.
“Course I did,” you told him. You grabbed his hand. “Your my friend, Angie.” You let go. “I need to go back though. I’m on my lunch break and it’s probably almost over. I just got so excited, I had to come tell you in person.”
Angel pulled you in for a hug and squeezed you with all six arms. “You’re the best, toots.”
“I know, I know,” you said. “Anyway, I gotta go. See ya!”
You blew Angle kissed as you walked backwards to the door. You spun around, prepared to open it when you saw the red clad man from before holding the door open for you.
“Oh, thanks.”
“Of course, my dear,” he said, a radio filter on his voice. “Please, allow me to walk you back. I’d love to thank our mutual friend in person for helping our other mutual friend.”
“You know Vox?”
“Yes, indeed I do, very well, in fact. I’m Alastor. Pleasure to meet you, my dear, quite a pleasure,” he said.
You gave him your name in turn.
The two of you walked together in silence. You did notice as the two of you walked, many people sprinted away which was odd, especially for you.
You were normally approached by people when you were out. They didn’t run away.
See, several years ago youd made a deal with Velvette. You were one of her models and she’d provide you with protection from Hell’s many dangers along with the occasional free clothes as a bonus. Time passed and you and Velvette actually ended up getting along fairly well. She’d put you in her streams, in her posts, she’d hang out with you outside of work. That’s when one day she heard you singing when she invited herself over. A couple days later, you were basically told you were going to make an album. The rest was history.
So, people running from instead of approaching you was different, weird, even strange.
You looked over at your company but he simply wore a smile. You could hear him humming actually, something upbeat and jazzy. You supposed if he wasn’t deterred you shouldn’t be either. Maybe it was just one of those off days in Hell, especially since it was so soon after the extermination.
Eventually you got to the three Vs’ tower. What you didn’t expect was for Vox to immediately teleport to the entryway.
His posture was straight which was normal but it seemed tense. If that wasn’t enough to tip you off the fact that he was still sparking was and his eye strobing definitely was. You followed his gaze to Alastor and found yourself suddenly very cautious of the man.
While Alastor didn’t seem that bad on the surface you’d known Vox longer. You trusted Vox. You more than trusted Vox actually but the point was you took a very lengthy step away from Alastor and toward’s Vox even if he was sparking.
“What marvelous company this one makes,” Alastor said, gesturing to you. “Wouldn’t you say, old friend?”
Vox took a step in front of you. “Get the FUCK out of my territory!” he said.
Alastor’s smile turned into something devious, something knowing, and something very unnerving. He gave a bow and then vanished into the shadows.
Vox placed a hand on your back and guided you inside. “Do not ever go around him again, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” you said. Not once in your half a decade in Hell had you ever seen Vox like this.
He sighed. His sparking calmed down and his eyes stopped strobing. “Sorry, just, um, I— he’s— it’s complicated. Just don’t associate with him.”
“Sorry, I was just going to that hotel Angie’s staying at. He insisted on walking me back, that’s all,” you explained.
“It’s— Wait, what? What hotel?”
“The Happy Hotel that Charlie Morningstar started. There was an ad for it on 666 today before Angel’s fight.”
Vox stopped. “Alastor’s back and he’s staying at a hotel run by Lucifer’s daughter?”
Prior to all of the things that happened two days after the extermination, Vox had already said (as what you assumed was a way to placate Valentino) that he would be personally in charge of directing your music video but it seemed like since Alastor he wasn’t letting you out of his sight. That was silly though.
He did come into your apartment in the tower though and just sat on your couch. That was normal though. Vox did that when he was stressed. He said your apartment was less noisy than staying with the other Vs. Whatever the case, you made him dinner last night.
Now it was the next day and Velvette was dolling you up as she was prone to do. She blended out your lipstick with her finger. Then she put a thick layer of lip gloss on top.
“Pout for me. Perfect. You look pretty, innocent, and fuckable,” she said.
She pulled you out of your chair and to the nearest full length mirror. She was right, as always. She’d given you a very soft blue makeup look for the most part with sharp eyeliner and bold pink and black lips. She had dressed you in a pastel pink cropped sweater, a matching miniskirt with a high pastel blue g-string, and tall white boots. She’d outdone herself but she always did.
She ushered you out of the dressing room after you both got done gawking at yourself and to the set. There you found Angel in a very similar get up but with the pinks and blues reversed.
“You ready to blow this shoot?” Angel asked,
“Wrong kind of shoot for a blow,” you told him.
He rolled his eyes with a smile. One hand of his went around your shoulders. The other went around the waist.
You both went to set and chatted while you waited for Vox to arrive.
It was only a few minutes before he was walking through the doors, a tray of three cups in his hands. He set it down on a nearby table. Velvette went to grab one but he cut her off, taking it instead. You caught sight of her offended expression before it morphed into a done but knowing look. One hand on her hip while the other plucked a different cup off the tray,
Vox turned, now two cup in hand. He caught sight of you and raised an eyebrow. Velvette doubled over laughing. You couldn’t help but wander why. It was too loud to hear what they were saying but it didn’t look like either of them had moved their lips.
Maybe one of Vox’s soundboard noises went off. That was known to happen occasionally but you couldn’t think of why.
You didn’t really get the chance to think of any reasons though as seconds later Vox was in front of you. He extended the hand holding the cup he’d taken from Velvette.
“You look nice,” he said.
“Thanks, Velvette’s work,” you explained, taking the cup from him. You hummed to yourself when you were met with your favorite drink.
“I’m sure that’s not all true,” he said.
You were too busy to notice how his eyes lingered on your face but Angel did. Throughout the next few weeks Angel noticed a lot.
He’d never really seen you and Vox interact before. He would just hear stories from you afterwards and holy fuck. You had to be dense to think this man wasn’t absolutely obsessed with you.
Vox brought you your favorite drink every single day. He complimented you every single day. He would correct and critique everyone else in a very detached way at best and frustrated way more often than not. But with you, he was calm, gentle almost. He took your ideas and incorporated them. He would go out of his way to physically correct your poses or guide you through specific motions. Once you mentioned off handedly that your feet were hurting and there was an early lunch break where he didn’t even eat, he massaged your feet for you.
When Angel brought this up, however, he was brushed off.
“He brought Velvette a drink too.” Yeah, one she complained tasted like piss.
“He does that all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.” Angel had never heard Vox compliment anyone in his nearly seventy years in Hell.
“He just knows me better, that’s all.” Not once had Angel ever seen Vox being even half as kind to Velvette or Valentino.
“I’m sure he does that with other people’s ideas.” Angel remembered being told multiple iterations of the same story with different people, all because they did something as small as suggest different shoes for someone to walk in because it was too loud.
“It’s probably just easier to do that than explain. He knows I’m used to being puppeted around by Vel.” He spent five minutes explaining to Angel what to do instead of just moving his four arms into position.
“Do you want me to give you a foot massage, Angie? All you have to do is ask.” Well, yes, but that wasn’t the point!
Angel watched as Vox laughed at something you said. “Fucking dumbass,” he muttered to himself as he grabbed a yogurt off the snack bar.
“I know, right?” Velvette said, scaring the shit out of him in the process. “You think this is bad? Ugh, imagine being surrounded by it all the time and Voxy’s just as bad and there’s no escaping him. I have to put up with his bitch ass whining all the time. It’s exhausting.”
Angel relaxed enough to lean against the wall. “Kind of makes you want to press them together like dolls and make them kiss, don’t it?” he asked.
“Yeah. . . Wait a minute! That’s it!” Velvette slapped Angel’s shoulder.
She whipped out her phone and started typing frantically. Her legs started kicking from where they dangled over the edge of the snack bar.
Angel peeled open the yogurt and tried to lean to have a look at what she was typing. She was too fast though and shut off her phone with a satisfied smirk.
Her eyes were glued to the pair of you. You pulled out your phone and saw a message from her. You looked over at her with furrowed brows. She just smiled at you manically. You shook your head but gave her a thumbs up.
When lunch break was supposed to be over, Velvette clapped her hands together loud enough it echoed through the room. “Listen up, sluts!” she said, taking control over the room.
You watched as she and Vox had a back and forth which ended with Vox confused on the set couch in a new outfit Velvette poofed on him. It wasn’t anything too far out of his usual style but it was a change. It was simple black slacks and a white button up shirt but the sleeves were rolled past his forearms and several of the buttons were undone. He looked. . . You were staring that’s for sure.
The music came on and you began lip singing. You put your hands on either side of his head. You threw your leg on the other side of his lap and straddled him. You moved your body up and down, not grinding on him due to not sitting on him but it was a close thing. Your face was right in front of his. You tried to hold eye contact with him but for some reason his eyes kept darting down.
“Fuck it,” he said under his breath.
Then an arm was wrapped around your hips forcing you down and a hand was in your hair guiding your head closer to his. Your lips met his and static filled your entire body. His tongue was caressing your mouth, making you feel like you had a mouth full of pop rocks.
You moaned when he flipped you so your back was pressed against the couch. He rolled his hips against yours and you could feel him through his pants.
“Fuck the music video,” he said against your lips. “How would you feel about filming a porno instead?”
“Mmm, kinky,” Angel said.
“I am so sending this to ‘Tino,” Velvette said.
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❝ message in a bottle ; 마크이
𖥻 pairing: college!mark lee x female reader
𖥻 contains: college!au, fluff, slight angst, second chance romance
𖥻 warnings: swearing, marijuana & alcohol consumption / english is not my first language and this is my first work ever on tumblr so i am sorry if there are any grammar mistakes or misspellings
word count — 4.06k
synopsis — you and mark were in a situationship for a few months before things ended poorly when you got too scared of your feelings and he had to leave the country for an exchange program in london. now, six months later, you were at a party with your friends and discovered mark was back in town.
🎀
AND just like that, your whole world stopped spinning for a long and torturous minute. in the blink of an eye, you went from being over-the-moon excited — and slightly intoxicated — with the idea of partying with your friends during the first summer night before heading to your hometown in the next couple of days to being paralyzed, feeling all your blood get drained far away from where it should be in your body. in the blink of an eye, you went from being a happy girl with the arrival of the last member of your friend group to someone terrified with the sight of a ghost from the past. a quick glance, unintended by all means, in mark’s direction was all it took for the memories from that previous year to come flooding back to hit you like a lost train.
“hey, princess,” he said. his cheeks burning in a shade of shameful red, but something stronger than him was preventing his stare from going anywhere else other than your eyes. there was a blunt hanging between his teeth. “how you doing?”
“that’s it, guys; i’m done with this. i’m just gonna change my major or something like that! everything’s going terribly wrong, and i can’t keep torturing myself by studying this shit.”
you dropped your head and rested your forehead on your arm that lay on top of the desk in front of you right as the confession slipped from your lips like a dangerous poison that you should not have taken. it was the first time you’d ever said it out loud to someone else to hear — other than the mischievous voice inside your head — how you truly felt about the english major you were pursuing. the fear of judgment and of being too hasty about this decision was corroding every last bit of your emotional health, and because of it, you could sense that a storm was coming. what if you did change majors and ended up not adapting? how would you find a job, or better yet: how would you support living all by yourself if you couldn’t even pick an undergraduate academic path? time was running out, and the unbearable clock inside your mind wouldn’t give you a break. the tick-tacking of the goddamn thing was going to drive you to insanity at any point soon.
“hey, chill for once, okay? it’s normal to feel like that and to want something new. hell, i know i had to change my major twice before finding out what i actually wanted to do. jae did the same thing. you’re not alone.” jeno offered you a small yet reassuring smile or someone who didn’t quite know what to say but still wanted to see his friend more relaxed.
“exactly! take a deep breath and think things through with an easy heart. if you need help, we’re here to help you." swallowing the last bite of the sandwich he had bought earlier, renjun tapped the notebook in front of him. “how’s that linguistics project going?”
as you raised your head, you shook your head in a negative sign. “i mean, it’s good. too good, actually… and that’s sort of the problem. like, the dude i’m working with is super sweet and really fucking good at this class and so he’s kind of doing the whole thing by himself and dragging me along with it ever since we started. i feel terrible, even if he says it’s all good and stuff, but it is what it is, i guess.”
before either of the guys could express any opinion about what was just said, a guy with freshly cut black hair — it was even possible to see the drawing of a spiderweb on the left side of his undercut —, earphones in and a large yankees shirt approached the desk, more specifically you, and offered a genuine smile that wasn’t common to see between two colleagues who were only working on a school project together at you. the unknown man squatted so he could be at your height and unlocked his ipad’s screen to the word document the two of you were using to write notes together, or at least that was the initial idea because the reality was that mark was doing all of it alone, proudly.
“oh, hi, y/n, you good? just wanted to ask you a quick question… have you taken a look at this topic right here? i know we’re only supposed to work on it in two weeks but i was wondering if maybe you’ve come up with the same conclusion as me.”
feeling a thousand times more embarrassed than if a professor asked you to present a thirty-minute seminar alone in front of the whole class, you felt the tip of your fingers getting cold and a thin droplet of sweat rolling down your temple. “uhm, hey, mark. yeah, about that… look, i didn’t really have a chance to look at that yet, i’m sorry. i can barely manage this week’s assignments, let alone two weeks from now. i- i’ll text you when i read it, okay?”
you didn’t know it at the time — or if you did, you had an enviable ability of discretion — but every single time mark heard his name escape from your heavenly drawn lips, his heart would skip a beat or two and he felt like he was about to combust at any second. it was the first time in his whole life that he had ever felt that way about someone and dealing with feelings of that magnitude was both weird and extraordinary, which meant that the ravenette wasn’t completely aware of how to process them. mark’s solution for his overwhelming thoughts whenever you were around was to take charge of everything he could in that project, to make you feel relaxed about that one particular class. the canadian was terrible at linguistics, for his skills were much more reliable during literature classes: he could interpret and internalize poetry from the eighteenth century like it was nothing, and plays written in latin during the roman empire were of natural understanding for him; and yet, ever since the first day of that semester in which it was requested that both of you joined efforts to build the complicated assignment, it was impossible for mark to not pull all-nighters reading texts and more texts, watching one video class after another that broke down the subject of that class just so he could give his absolute best when the time came to work alongside you and you didn’t find him an idiot, as most people in that university usually did after meeting him for the first time.
mark just wanted to impress you and the last thing he could be worried about was doing all that alone, as long as it meant that he could still have the minimum interaction with you.
“yeah, sure, that’s cool. if you need anything let me know, alright?”
you were still in a state of complete shock. no words would come out of your mouth, making it impossible to answer properly the question directed at you by the boy that a year before was the reason for many sleepless nights and therapy sessions, through no fault of his, which was even worse, because mark was perfect and you hated yourself for how everything ended.
a cold breeze, too cold for a summer night, hit the both of you with enough strength to make you shiver and it was only then that you realized that none of your friends were around anymore. you were alone again with mark for what had felt like a lifetime since he left the country for an exchange program in london and with enough unspoken words to make the whole situation a million times more uncomfortable than it needed to be. what were you supposed to say right now? “oh, hi, mark, long time no see! listen, i’m really sorry for being horrible to you last year, i’ve spent the last six months torturing myself because i only woke up to the fact that i had let the perfect guy for me get away too late to try and fix everything”? you ran your fingers through your hair, knowing that there were no words of your knowledge that could make it easier, that could put together again the pieces of what had once been something magical that the two of them were building.
you couldn’t care less about all those times your therapist tried to be kinder to your heart than you had ever been, or how your friends always tried to distract your mind from the constant haunt of self-collection and, to be honest, didn’t really mind that yes, after all the effort and studying, you had managed to change your major to something you actually enjoyed if the price for it was to drop the perfect crystal piece that was mark’s precious heart. there were no words that could take that back, and going against every piece of advice that was given to you, you had imagined more times than you’d like to admit how this encounter would play out: what you would do, what you would say or not say, how it’d feel… but none of those scenarios inside your mind was anywhere near to the real sensation of being in front of him again.
mark looked taller — or maybe it was just the feeling of missing him crushing your soul and clouding your judgment —, the slim body now gave way to the body of a man who went to the gym and tried to truly take care of his health, his hair that previously used to be as dark as the t-shirts he used to enjoy wearing was now covered in a shade of red so bright that it reminded you of his favorite superhero’s suit. even still, the one thing that caught your attention the most were his eyes. before mark left, before the whole chaos, they were always big and full of life, like those of a curious cub and you could always feel a cozy warmth travel across your body when mark looked at you with such brightness; however, it seemed that ever since the canadian got back in town, they were opaque, closed off to the outer world as if his eyes were now carrying some kind of intense melancholy behind them. the familiar redness in his sclerae, months ago, used to always be accompanied by an excited and smiling version of mark lee, but that night the only thing apparent to you was that lee was holding on to weed like some kind of way to numb the break-up pain.
the redhead had lived a thousand different lives during his exchange: saw and learned things that he knew he would never have achieved if he hadn't accepted the opportunity to go to england and yet, his mind couldn’t recall any of those experiences with the genuine happiness he should’ve felt like any other normal and grateful person would if they were on his shoes; to mark, ever since you left him all alone, he had turned into nothing but an empty shell of what should’ve been the real mark lee. what were his experiences, his learnings, his funny stories if, at any moment, he was allowed to at least call the person he loved and share all of that with her?
“yeah, i guess i’m okay.” you answered, holding back a cry that was stuck in your throat before looking away. “you?”
a shiver went down the english student as he waited for his project partner to arrive at the coffee shop you two had agreed to meet at to finish for good the agonizing linguistics document. it didn’t even seem real that you were finally concluding the most stressful and endless project of your university career until that moment and despite the sweet taste of reaching the finish line, mark had on his lips a bitter one, because he knew that the very instant you pressed “send” on the body of that e-mail to your professor, all of his excuses to talk to you would come to an end. it was only the beginning of november, you should spend at least a few more weeks studying together if said professor were to follow a normal academic calendar like the rest of his fellow colleagues of the department.
mark would only have one last chance of making this work out and that chance was right there and then. anxiety and fear were destroying the boy with more strength than he himself was biting through his nails waiting for you to arrive.
“gosh, mark, i’m so sorry!” you said in a panting tone when you finally managed to get to the coffee shop and met the guy that, by that point, had already become your friend. “the bus took forever to get to the stop i needed and then the subway was also chaotic… anyways, i’m sorry that i’m late.”
the both of you stayed a long time in that coffee shop, not only finishing the assignment but also laughing together and watching a few episodes of modern family on his computer as a way to relax after all the constant flow of negative emotions the both of you were facing during that semester due to not only that particular class but also all the other ones with their enormous reading load. by the time you had indeed finished what you were supposed to do, you were feeling so comfortable in mark’s presence that you didn’t even notice when you heart started to race faster and faster before the mundane things the lee did: the way he smiled from ear to ear, or how kind he was to everyone around him. you were starting to fall in love with how mark explained all the different concepts he used to build his arguments across the paper like someone would explain the most basic things to a child, and you thought it was sweet the way he would say “dude” and “no way” every couple of sentences that fell from his lips. but, above all, unconsciously, the way mark seemed to glow every time he looked at you was ethereal to your eyes.
as soon as you sent the hated file, it started to rain on the outside of the coffee shop, but contrary to the ideal scenario, you couldn’t stay in there just waiting until the climate conditions became more favorable because the two of you had places to be at, on opposite directions. there would be no other alternative but to run to the nearest subway station, or in the brunette’s case, the bus stop.
mark immediately took off his hoodie to shield you as best as he could from the rain, in exchange for you protecting his backpack that contained his computer as if your life depended on it, the moment you two stepped outside the establishment and something of a thunderstorm was taking over the avenue. mark couldn’t help it and ended up laughing at the situation you two had found yourselves in, thinking about how he wished he was a little less broke and had a car to take the girl of his dreams back to her place without having to worry about the rain, or how he wished he was stronger to pick you up and carry you to the subway station and, with that, spare your shoes from coming in contact with the soaked surface of the sidewalk. before you could notice, you were right in front of the stairs that led to the station.
“bye, i think.” you said, giggling along with him while you tried to fix your hair that, despite mark’s hoodie’s protection, still got wet from the rain.
the lee was going to answer you like a decent and proper person, he really was, but in that very moment, a raindrop fell from the marquee above you and somehow managed to hit you right on the forehead, which made you close your eyes, but mark kept his wide open. with an automatic reaction of his body, almost like an involuntary movement that he was incapable of controlling — such as the beats of his accelerated heart — his left hand traveled to your neck while his right thumb was busy drying the solitary raindrop slowly, to give his mind time to analyze every little inch of your face so close to his. mark tried to respond with words to your farewell, but his impulse to kiss you was far stronger than any cohesive phrase that his brain could formulate in that moment.
the literature student, now in his final semester, nodded as he bit his lower lip and those opaque eyes fell to the floor beneath his feet after stepping on the remaining of his blunt. mark didn’t even know why he started that conversation in the first place, it was obvious that it was impossible for him to stand close to you without it affecting some part of him — whether for good or for bad — and even still, there he was, not managing to say a single word to you, nor being able to get closer, just feeding that giant gray and terrifying cloud that grew over both of your heads due to the impasse of what this was and what it should have been.
unlike his mind, that was only able to repeat tirelessly the day he finally built the confidence to kiss you, yours was in a hurricane of terrible memories that involved the brief, yet intense, relationship you two shared — or whatever the hell one could call it. how was it even possible that something that lasted only four months could leave such deep scars?
if mark was trying to hold back a smile remembering how it felt to have your lips on top of his, you were only torturing yourself with the replayed image of mark being crushed in front of you, by no fault other than your own. it was your fault that fear was allowed to consume every single good thing that the lee had ever given you; it was your fault that you’d thought that whole thing was a sick and sadistic joke from the universe and that, in reality, there was no way someone like him could've ever fallen in love with you. in the deepest, darkest, cruelest part of your soul, you were convinced that everything was your fault and not your mind trying to destroy you before something so pure and happy.
you were a sinking ship, navigating towards a port with not a single sight of a lighthouse’s spark to help you, not knowing how to reach the treasure that awaited your arrival because other people had already destroyed the lighthouse. the ability to grope around, trying to find yourself in the darkness you’d placed yourself, was stripped away from you the second you gave in to the bruises that were caused by third parties, and mark knew it wasn't your fault, although it was still difficult to try and be the guide to someone that wouldn't allow them to have access to the heat and light from the fire he tried to offer.
without even realizing it, the silenced cry stuck in your throat for months on end started to escape, not giving you any power to control it. you felt anger, sadness, frustration and you were missing mark… all at the very same time, in an endless swirl triggered by the mere vision of having mark back into your reality.
just like the first time you kissed, the unconscious answer of mark lee’s body to the sound of you crying after such a long time being away from you was to wrap his arms around your body without allowing himself to give too much thought to the action that just took place. if it was even possible, noticing you needing him in any way, shape or form was a true calling for him and it didn't matter how much time could've gone by, the lee couldn't ignore it. to love you and protect you was just as natural as breathing.
between the supplications for your tears to stop and hair strokes, mark then began to feel something that he thought was dead coming back to life inside the hollow box that was his chest. for months now, the redhead just knew that his heart was no longer there. instead, it must've been put inside a bottle and thrown away into the ocean that separated his emotions from his rational mind, as if he wasn't even the owner of his own feelings.
“please, princess, don't cry. i’m begging you.”
the cruelty of your mind wouldn't give you a break for not even a single second ever since the last time you've heart mark’s melodious voice so close to your ear, and the fact that it carried the same heavy tone of request didn't help with your genuine desire to stop your sobbings as your face was pressed against his chest. in that moment, the last thing on your mind were the looks that other people could be directing at the two of you; you could only see the desperation all over the face of the only man you've ever truly loved. he was in such pain that day — the day you told him you didn't want to see him anymore. soon, though, that image was replaced with the memory of the gut-wrenching feeling of chronic emptiness that filled your chest the following week and you came to your senses that you had make a mistake, but that it was also too late: mark was in another country, it was far too late to ask for forgiveness.
“i know you probably hate me right now. i shouldn't have done that, i shouldn't have said that, i was such an idiot, stupid… i'm sorry, mark, i don't know what was going on in my mind to treat like that, i-”
that sobbing wouldn't allow you to form coherent sentences properly and the way you were crying so helplessly was becoming melancholic instead of just sad to the man holding you. if only mark could get into your merciless head just how he would never be able to hate you, not in a million years, not when there was so much love, desire and adoration intrinsic to the image he had of you, then maybe that big gray cloud would disappear forever and the two of you could just live like he hoped for. all mark wanted was to have the privilege of loving you again.
“y/n, look at me” mark held the red and tear wet face of his beloved girl with kindness while his tone of voice was filled with all the firmness the moment could ask for. “for christ’s sake, y/n, i love you. i could never hate you. dude, really, for once just keep your head out of this and focus on what i’m telling you right now. i love you and this whole time i was thinking of you. only you.”
even if he knew you wouldn't answer anything for a few seconds, or maybe even minutes, mark just allowed a sweet smile to appear on his lips while he delighted himself with the feeling of being allowed to hold your face once again, to stroke your cheeks and to place small, delicate kisses all over your beautiful face — which he knew would force your breathing to slow down, giving you the chance to calm down again. the canadian was smelling like the combination of weed and beer, but somehow, your body knew how to identify the familiar and characteristic smell of his cologne; the same smell your searched for and ached for during the coldest nights, when missing him was too overwhelming it almost felt like a hole was being digged up in your chest. that familiarity was the reason for the shy smile that took over your lips, that opened a breach for light and happiness after all those tears while mark traced your lips with his thumb, admiring you like you were some kind of artwork created just for him.
“i was made to stay just like this with you, princess. and i’m not leaving this time.”
#— ⟡ 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐥𝐞𝐞 !#— ⟡ 𝐤𝐩𝐨𝐩 !#— ⟡ 𝐧𝐜𝐭 !#mark lee#mark lee x reader#mark lee x y/n#mark lee x you#mark lee angst#mark lee fluff#mark lee sfw#nct 127#nct u#nct dream#nct#nct dream drabbles#mark lee drabbles
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1968 [Chapter 3: Hermes, God Of Thieves]
Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.
Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.
Word Count: 4.5k
Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji @sunnysideaeggs
💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜
They say it’s the most dangerous job in Vietnam. That’s why I wanted to do it.
Chinooks transport men and equipment, Cobras are gunships, Jolly Green Giants are used in search-and-rescue missions. But the Loach—Light Observation Helicopter—is a scout. We have to fly low enough to spot fresh footprints in mud, glints of sunlit metal, blooms of firelight from smoldering cigarettes in the primordial maze of the jungle. And when you go looking for the enemy, sometimes that’s exactly who you find. U.S. Army regulations decree that each Loach must be inspected after 300 hours of flight time, but they rarely make it that long. I’ve been shot down twice already. You roll out of the wreckage, grab your buddies, and book it out of the area before the Vietcong kill you, or worse: drag you back to the Hanoi Hilton so you can die slow.
Currently we’re just north of Pleiku, coasting close enough to the treetops that I could reach out and touch them. I’m in the back seat with my M16, no door between me and the outside world, my hair tied back with a green bandana, the wind hot and sticky. It’s so fucking humid here. Why can’t the communists be trying to take over Malta or Sweden or Monterey Bay, California?
It was the old men who suggested I might be of greatest service to the family by enlisting. I was 25, newly graduated from Columbia Law—a family tradition—and dreading the desk job that awaited me at the Department of Justice. Some people are born to type their lives away in some leather-upholstered office with a view of Pennsylvania Avenue, but not me, and I know this like I know the sun or the stars, ancient truths that can never be changed. And so when Otto and Viserys sat me down—my father had only had one stroke by that point, and was still relatively involved in the day-to-day minutia of putting a Targaryen in the White House—and said Aemond having a brother in Vietnam would make him more relatable, more sympathetic, more noble, not an observer to the carnage of the war but a fellow victim of it…I told them I’d go.
Everyone needs a project. If you don’t have something to distract you from the futility of human existence, it’ll break you in half. I have the Loach. Otto and Viserys, both immigrants ineligible to serve as president of the United States, have their shared ambition of getting their bloodlines in the Oval Office. Aemond has his legacy. My mother has her children, and Criston has my mother. Helaena has her gardens, her bugs, quiet gentle things that she tends with her own thorn-pricked hands. Aegon doesn’t have a project, he never really has, and it’s driven him to the cliff’s edge of insanity. See what I mean?
Anyway, let me tell you something about Vietnam. The Army gives us all the steak, beer, and cigarettes we can handle, but I’d kill for a lemon-lime Mr. Misty—
“Daeron, get down!” the guy to my left screams over the noise of the rotors. His name is Richie Swindell, and he’s from Omaha, Nebraska, and now he’s plummeting out of the helicopter as bullets riddle his chest. I duck low and cover my head as we spiral sideways into the trees, snapping branches, shredding leaves like confetti. I can hear the pilot yelling something, but I can’t tell what. When we hit the earth, the lightweight aluminum skin of the Loach does exactly what it’s supposed to, crumpling to absorb the shock of the collision and reduce trauma to us mortals inside. I scramble out of the rubble on my hands and knees and go to check on the pilot, but it’s too late. He’s already being hauled out by the Vietcong and gets a bullet to the brain. I reach back into the ruins of the Loach to grab my M16, but there are hands around my ankles yanking me out. And now I’m next, and there’s nowhere left to run, and I’m hoping Criston will be there to hold my mother when she gets the Western Union telegram.
One of the soldiers shouts and stops the others, shoving them aside to get a better look at me. With the barrel of his AK-47, supplied by either China or the Russians, he prods at the patch displaying my last name: Targaryen. His compatriots don’t seem impressed. Again, he batters my nametag, speaking to them in Vietnamese.
He knows who I am, I realize. He knows Aemond is running for president.
Now there is a hell of a lot of excitement. The men are talking rapidly amongst themselves, marveling at me, poking and examining me. Then two of them grab me by the arms. I look to the soldier who knows English, at least enough of it to read those nine fated letters. He smiles at me, not like a friend. Like a wolf baring its teeth.
He says: “It is okay, Targaryen boy. We just have some questions for you.”
Guess I’ll be checking into the Hanoi Hilton after all.
~~~~~~~~~~
You wake up to Aegon strumming an acoustic guitar and singing Johnny Cash. The guitar must be new. The one he left at Asteria is plain maple wood and covered in stickers; this unfamiliar instrument is a vivid, Caribbean blue and has Gibson written across the headstock.
“I hear the train a-comin’, it’s rolling ‘round the bend
And I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when
I’m stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps draggin’ on…”
“Let me die. I’m ready to go.”
Aegon laughs, setting his new guitar aside.
“Is Ari okay?”
“Yeah, he’s doing great. And I got the stuff you asked for.”
Sure enough, there are three roomy sundresses hanging from the coatrack—you wanted to have options in case you had trouble finding one that fit correctly, though you gave Aegon a general neighborhood for sizes—as well as an array of cosmetics on the nightstand, including a bottle of shimmering champagne-colored nail polish. “I’m really impressed. You barely forgot anything. Though I will look odd with blush but no foundation.”
“Ohhhhh. Fuck.”
“And this isn’t human shampoo. It’s for dogs. That’s why it has a mastiff on the label.”
“I thought it looked like you,” Aegon says, smirking mischievously.
“Well, thanks for trying.”
“And I found this at the gift shop.” He tosses a card at you like a frisbee. You open the envelope to see a cartoon cow on the front, black and white and wearing a huge copper bell and a party hat. Inside is printed: May your graduation be legenDAIRY! Aegon has crossed it out and written instead I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf! followed by his illegible scribble of a signature.
“A cow,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “Because I’m Io.”
“You’ve got about a million of those pouring in from all over the country. Congratulations cards, get well soon cards, we really hope your husband gets elected so we aren’t consumed by nuclear Armageddon cards. And then Richard Nixon sent a pipe bomb.”
You set Aegon’s card on your nightstand, half-open so it will stay standing upright. Then you drink the apple juice from the tray the nurses left for you. “Aemond’s not here yet?”
“Uh, no, not yet,” Aegon says vaguely, kicking his feet up on the ottoman. He’s been shopping for himself too. He’s wearing a denim jacket over a black The Kinks t-shirt, ripped jeans, moccasins. He uses the remote to turn on the television: The Dating Game. “So, what did you study in college? You went to Manhattanville, right?”
You chuckle, shaking your head. “You really don’t listen when I talk, do you?”
“I try not to.”
“Yes, I went to Manhattanville. And I studied math.”
“No way. You didn’t major in math.”
“Women can’t do math?” you tease. “That’s sexist.”
“I didn’t say women can’t do math. I’m saying there’s no way your parents sent you to a housewife factory like Manhattanville College of the Sacred Heart to get a math degree.”
“They didn’t, which is why my bachelor’s is in math education. So half-math, half-kid stuff. Makes it a little more…domestic.”
“Cool. Teach me math.”
“What, really?”
“Yeah. Really.” He digs around in the pockets of his jeans until he finds a receipt, then locates a pen in the nightstand drawer. He hands both to you and then stands so he can watch over your shoulder as you work. You can smell him: cigarette smoke, rum, the cool grey rain that is falling outside. It drips off his hair, carelessly slicked back from his face.
“What’s something you don’t know how to do?” you ask, expecting to get an answer like exponents or calculating the volume of a pyramid.
“Uh. Long division.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Going all the way back to 4th grade. Alright then.” You begin writing. “So let’s take a large number—this year, 1968—and divide it by…hm…how many kids you have. So five.”
Aegon whistles. “Five kids. Goddamn.”
“Yes, and you probably couldn’t name them, but there are indeed five. Trust me, I’ve counted.”
“Okay, this is the part I don’t get. Five goes into 19 almost four times. But there’s no way to say almost four.”
“There certainly is not. Five goes into 19 three times, so we put a three up top and then subtract 15 from 19. We get four, drop down the six from 1968, and now we’re dividing 46 by five.”
“Nine.”
“Right. Five times nine is 45. So the nine goes up top and we subtract 45 from 46.”
“45 is basically 46. Let’s call it a day. Close enough.”
“No,” you insist. “We get one, then drop down the eight from 1968, which makes 18.”
“And five goes into 18 three times.”
“Where’s the three go?”
“Up top,” Aegon says, observing fixedly.
“And then we subtract…”
“15 from 18, which is three. So the answer is 393.3.”
“Wrong. Loser.”
“What! How am I wrong?!”
“You don’t just put the three after the decimal,” you say. “You drop down a zero—”
“A zero?! Where the fuck did a zero come from?”
“From the fact that 1968 is a whole number, so it’s actually 1968.0.”
“Oh.” Aegon blinks a few times. “Gotcha.”
“Add the zero after the three to get 30—”
“And 30 divided by five is six. So the answer is 393.6.”
“I am so proud. You are officially as smart as an average nine-year-old.”
He takes the receipt from you and studies it. “This was super enlightening.”
“You want to try calculus now?”
He cackles and sinks back into his plush salmon pink armchair, his miniature dominion in your hospital room kingdom. “You like teaching?”
“I love it,” you admit. “I had to do a semester of student teaching the spring before I graduated, and at first I was kind of petrified. But the kids are so hilarious and interesting and full of excitement about everything, and they’re sweet in totally unexpected ways. They’d chatter all through a lesson and make me want to jump out a five-story window, and then bring me some of their Easter candy. That’s when I realized they weren’t trying to torture me. They’re just kids.”
Aegon is meditative. “Yeah, kids are fun.”
“I wasn’t aware you had much interest in them.”
“No, I do.” And something about the way he says it makes you feel bad for taking the shot. He runs his fingers through his hair, perhaps debating how much he wants to share. “You know Viserys made us all do these little missions after college so we could learn about the real world, right?”
“Right.” Daeron spent his on lobster boats up in Maine, Helaena learned horticulture in France, Aemond helped register voters in Mississippi and Alabama. You can’t recall ever hearing about Aegon’s.
“I got sent to Yuma, Arizona to teach on the reservation there. When I stepped off the bus, I thought it was hell on earth. And then when my time was up I didn’t want to leave.”
“What did you teach?” And then you add: “Hopefully not math.”
“No, definitely not math,” he says, smiling but distant, remembering. “English. Books, poems, all that. But my favorite thing to do was take a song and break it down line by line, really get them curious about what the author was thinking. And then of course we’d all sing it together. I’d play guitar, they’d run around jumping on the furniture, it was a good time.”
“But you couldn’t stay.”
“No,” he sighs. “I had to come back here so I could get dragged kicking and screaming through law school and then married off.”
“And elected mayor of Trenton,” you say, trying to make him laugh. It works.
“Oh God, we are not talking about that. Most miserable two years of my life.”
“So far.”
“Yeah. If Aemond wins and makes me the attorney general, that might be worse.”
“Knock knock!” comes a cheerful trill from the doorway, and then Alicent and Mimi rush in. They descend upon your hospital bed, cooing and soothing, squeezing your hands and trying to smooth your untamed hair.
“What did it feel like?” Mimi is morbidly fascinated, swaying a little, eyes bleary with gin. “When they were digging around in there?”
“Well, obviously she was sedated, hon,” Aegon says, a bit impatiently. He and Mimi share a nod in greeting, no warmth, no depth. You wonder what it must be like for someone you spent so much time tangled up with to become a stranger.
“Oh, darling, I barely recognize you!” Alicent says. “You poor thing, you must be in such awful pain. I’ve never seen you like this before. Your face, your hair…”
Aegon gives her a quick, disapproving look and then lights a cigarette of the traditional variety. He puffs on it as he gazes at the window, like he’s counting the raindrops on the glass.
“I’m feeling a lot better now,” you assure Alicent.
Her eyes flick down to your belly, still swollen beneath your blankets. “Will it scar terribly, do you think?”
You shrug; you haven’t thought much about that part yet. “It’s a battle scar. Aemond gets them in the real world, I get them in here. Same war, different arenas.” You peek out into the hallway. “Is Aemond…is he with you…?”
“He wanted to be,” Alicent says, like it’s a consolation. “But, Washington, you know…the primary there is so close. So, so close. He kept saying that he and Humphrey were neck and neck, and they still are, I believe. Every vote counts, and he’s campaigning all over the Puget Sound.”
“He’s still in Washington?” Your voice is flat with disbelief, with disapproval.
“He wishes he could be here with you and the baby,” Alicent insists, stroking your hair. “I’m sure he’ll fly back as soon as he’s able. But he’s thinking of you so, so much. That’s why he let me and Mimi leave this morning.”
“Right,” you reply numbly. And then you remember what you’re supposed to say. “The election is important. It affects everyone, our son included. For the greater good, personal sacrifices are necessary.”
“We saw him,” Alicent tells you, radiant with joy. “Aristos Apollo.”
“So precious,” Mimi says. “But so small! And trapped in that hideous machine! We could only see him through those little round windows.”
Aegon casts her a violent glare. You are alarmed. “He’s not in an incubator?”
“They have him in a…what was it called, Mimi?” Alicent asks. Mimi has nothing useful to contribute. “A hyperbaric chamber, I think. To help him get more oxygen.”
“But he’s fine,” Aegon says firmly, giving his wife and mother a warning. “Didn’t the doctor say it was a precaution?”
“He did, he did,” Alicent promises you. “Yes, just a precaution, that’s what we were told. The doctor has been trying to reach Aemond, apparently, but since he landed in Washington, he’s never in one place for long…”
“We should buy gifts for the baby,” Mimi says excitedly. “Adorable hats and shirts and trousers. Although even the tiniest clothes might be too big for him right now.”
“Yes, gifts! We must shop for gifts. Oh, it’s all been such a whirlwind. We hurried off the plane to come straight here, love,” Alicent tells you. “Can Mimi and I get you something for dinner?”
“Sure, sure.” You are distracted, still thinking of Ari. “Anything is fine. Wherever you end up.”
“Would you like me to bring a priest to pray with you? Saint Nicholas Church is right around the corner.”
You smile. “That’s very kind, but I think I’d prefer some books.”
“Baby clothes, dinner, and books. We can do that. Can’t we, Mimi?”
“We absolutely can,” Mimi agrees with tipsy, girlish enthusiasm.
As an afterthought, Alicent says: “Aegon, have you been here all this time? You must be exhausted. We’re going to book a suite at the Plaza, there will be plenty of room for you too. We can drop you off there on our way to go shopping, if you’d like.”
“I’ll stay,” he says softly, watching the rain again.
Alicent’s brow furrows; her dark doe-like eyes are puzzled. “Alright, dear.” Then she and Mimi disappear into the hall.
“Is he really okay?” you ask Aegon when they’re gone.
“Yes. That’s exactly what the doctor told me, just a precaution. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Aegon,” you say, and don’t continue until he meets your eyes. “Why are you still here?”
He lights a fresh cigarette. “I don’t think you should be alone.”
“I’m not alone anymore. Alicent visits me, Mimi visits me.”
“Yeah, but you feel like you have to put on a show for them. Play the perfect Targaryen wife with all that stoic, dignified, unshakable faith. You hate me, so there isn’t as much pressure.”
“I don’t hate you, Aegon.”
“Yes you do. You always have. You don’t have to be polite about it.”
“Well…I have valid reasons to hate you.”
He smiles, exhaling smoke. “Right.”
“And you hate me too.”
Now he shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Everybody worships you, everybody thinks I’m a waste of chromosomes, is it really that hard to psychoanalyze?”
“No one worships me. They worship Aemond.”
“But you’re a package deal. Jack and Jackie, Franklin and Eleanor.”
You trace the lines in your palm with a fingertip, not knowing what to say. You’re so close to Aemond, so inseparable, and yet so vastly far. “Will you wheel me downstairs to see Ari after dinner?” It’s best to go at night when there are less staff around to try to stop you.
“Sure. You want a Mr. Misty?”
“Yeah. Lemon-lime.” That’s what he brought you last time, and it wasn’t bad for a cardboard cup of florescent green sugar water.
“Got it,” Aegon says, and leaves you alone.
You look at the phone on your nightstand. You’ve tried to call Aemond to no avail, though you spoke to Criston twice; on both occasions he said Aemond was in the middle of an interview. It’s understandable that you would have difficulty getting ahold of your husband while he’s off campaigning, leaping from town to town like an electric current. There’s nothing unusual about it at all. But Aemond could call you anytime he likes. You haven’t moved; he knows exactly where you are.
You keep staring at the phone. It doesn’t ring.
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s night again, and you swim up from morphine-soft dreams into your hospital room, dark except for the flashing color of the television, low volume, NBC news. Aegon is curled up in the chair he’s claimed, snoring and half-covered with a cheap, pale blue hospital blanket. And it’s a strange feeling—a foreign language, a new religion—to realize that you’re relieved to see he’s still here, that there’s a comfort in it, a safety.
Suddenly, Aemond is on the television screen. You sit up in bed as gingerly as you can, leaning in, listening close. He’s rarely looked better: blue suit, prosthetic eye, rested and measured and sharp. He’s giving a speech at the Hotel Sorrento in Seattle, three hours behind the time you’re living in on the East Coast. Flanking him on the stage are Criston, Otto, Helaena, Fosco, the eight charming children. Five-year-old Cosmo keeps waving at the camera.
“Right now, my wife and newborn son are at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City,” Aemond says, beaming, and the audience whistles and cheers. You should smile, but you can’t. He’s not supposed to be there. He’s supposed to be on his way home. “But tonight I’m here with all of you, fighting with everything I’m made of to win the great state of Washington. And I won’t leave until the job is done, because I know the greatest act of devotion that any of us can show our children is to ensure they grow up in a better America than the one we find ourselves in today…”
You look over at Aegon and see that his glassy eyes are open, watching the television just like you are. You don’t know how long he’s been awake. The two of you exchange a glance, and there is a silent, shared recognition of what won’t be said. You can’t criticize your husband. Aegon isn’t going to kick you while you’re down. You are grateful for this. It is a conviction he has only recently acquired.
Aegon pulls his blanket up to his chin and rolls over, turning away from you. You close your eyes and dream of being a child back in Tarpon Springs, mesmerized as you watch Greek sponge divers emerge from the bubbling depths in their suits of rubber armor.
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s the afternoon of the 13th. The Washington State Democratic Convention is being held tonight, and so win or lose Aemond will be walking into Mount Sinai Hospital tomorrow. He has to, he doesn’t have a choice. He’ll have no excuse to be anywhere else, and journalists will be swarming at the entranceway like bull sharks in the Gulf of Mexico.
It’s raining again. You’re reading one of the books that Alicent brought you, Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care. You had been meaning to get a copy before you were consumed by Aemond’s campaign and then his near-assassination, his maiming, his fleeting brush with oblivion. Aegon is cross-legged in the salmon pink armchair and plucking lazily at his guitar, singing so low no one outside the room would be able to hear him. It’s a Rolling Stones song, slow and mournful.
“You don’t know what’s going on
You’ve been away for far too long
You can’t come back and think you are still mine.”
As you flip a page and raindrops patter gently against the window, you find yourself thinking how easy this is, your hair undone and your feet bare, no photos to take or lines to remember, no practiced smiles, no overwrought itineraries, only compassion that is quiet and small and real.
“Well, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time
I said, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time…”
Aegon abruptly stops playing, cutting off with a twang. You look up at him. He’s gazing back with eyes that are filling up his face, glistening with horror. You turn to find out what he’s seen. There’s a doctor standing in the doorway, but he’s not alone. There’s a Greek Orthodox priest with him.
“Mrs. Targaryen,” the doctor begins, then glances to the priest. The holy man—black robes, gold chains, clasping a komboskini like the one Aemond keeps in a box on his writing desk at Asteria, stained with his own blood—gives an encouraging nod. “We’ve tried to reach your husband. We’ve called his hotel in Tacoma several times, but the senator must be out campaigning, and…” Again, he looks to the priest. Aegon is setting his guitar on the floor, covering his mouth with his hands.
Ari. Too early, too fragile, too defenseless in a world full of wolves.
Your words come out in a whisper. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”
“We must remember, child,” the priest tells you, vague patronizing pity. “That the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, but what is lost to us in this life is never truly gone. Those we love wait for us on the other side in paradise—”
“Please leave. I don’t want to talk to a priest. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
I just gave birth to him. I just started to believe he was mine.
The doctor begins: “Ma’am, I’m so sorry to have to deliver this news—”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone, I want to be alone. So please leave,” you beg, your voice breaking. “I want to be alone. Please leave me alone.”
The doctor looks to Aegon. A man’s permission is sought. “Go,” Aegon manages, raspy and strangled, and the doctor obeys.
“God bless you and your husband, Mrs. Targaryen,” the priest says as he departs with a swift bow. You can’t reply. You’re biting back sobs as the tears begin to slither down your cheeks, scalding and furious, not just grief but the bottomless rage of Nemesis.
Aegon is watching you, not knowing what to do, not knowing what you need.
Aemond would want you to be stoic. Aemond would want you to have faith, forbearance, grace. “It is God’s will.”
“Hey.” Aegon reaches across the space between you, grabs your hand, holds it so tightly your bones ache. Still, you wouldn’t want him to let go. “You’re allowed to be fucked up about this. I am too.”
When your eyes drift to him, they are glaring and heartsick and poisonous. “Where’s Aemond?” Why isn’t he here?
Aegon sighs deeply and picks up the phone with his free hand. He spins the rotary dial with his index finger and then holds the handset to his ear. He waits as it rings. “Pantages Theater, Tacoma, Washington,” he tells the operator. A minute or more crawls by. “I need to speak to Senator Targaryen immediately. Yes, I know there’s a convention underway there, that’s why I’m calling you. Go get him.” More minutes, eternal, terrible beyond description. “What do you mean you can’t find him?!” Aegon snaps. “Okay, give me someone else. Anyone travelling with him. Criston Cole, Fosco Viviani, Otto Hightower, Helaena Targaryen. Hurry up. Let’s go.”
Outside the rain grows heavy and loud; it falls in sheets against the misty windows. In the distance, thunder growls.
“Hi, Criston, it’s me. He needs to come home now. Right now.”
Aegon closes his eyes. Criston must be arguing with him.
“No, you don’t understand,” Aegon says, forcing the words to leave his lips and ride the wires to the West Coast, to where the sun sets, to where the future is dawning. He’s still holding your hand. “Aemond doesn’t have a son anymore.”
#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon targaryen ii#aegon ii#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader#aegon ii x y/n#aegon ii x you#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon ii x reader#aegon targaryen ii x you#aegon targaryen x you
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You want some Wriothesley requests, eh? I’m more than happy to provide ;))
Wriothesley is a busy man, he’s the Lord of the fortress of Meropide for gods sake, so the last thing he needs is more distractions.
So I raise you this:
Reader hurts themselves on a commission or something, and instead of telling their boyfriend about it and bringing him even more things to worry about, they decide to treat their wounds themselves and hide their injuries from him entirely.
When Wriothesley inevitably finds out, he scolds them and tells them that their health is always his number one priority, and that he’s more than happy to leave his work behind to take care of them.
It’s safe to say that reader always informs their boyfriend of their injuries from that point onward.
AUGHHAKDJS AUGHAJKSD LOVE AND CARE AND CONCERN 🥺 oh LORD
AAAAAAAAAA MY GIJUKANSDJKAJKSDNJKASJKD
OKay OKAY OKAYSYDKUAJS okay okay. Okay. ok. yes.
This,,,, this was supposed to be a blurb,,,,, and then somehow,,,, along the way,,,,, it evolved into a short fic like what the fuck i just can't shut up when it comes to him 😭😭
「 CWS : 」 Light descriptions of injuries, established relationships, Wriothesley being so soft for you
Okay. So it's no biggie to you, really. Getting a little banged up on the job? Just a regular day for an adventurer. There's no real cause for concern— no need to go to a hospital or a clinic, and certainly no need to bother Wriothesley about it. Not when he's already up to his neck with extra work since the court has just sentenced some new convicts to the Fortress.
You're a seasoned adventurer! You know how to do first aid. It's easy!
Until it gets a little bit more difficult.
Applying salve and bandaging up your arms and legs gave you no trouble. Your lower back was just a smidge bit more difficult, but nothing you couldn't do. The main difficulty, you conclude, huffing in annoyance and staring at your reflection in the bathroom of your home, is that stupid laceration between your shoulder blades that for the life of you you just couldn't reach, much less patch up and slap some gauze over. Your arms are already aching from all the stretching they've gone through, all in vain because you couldn't reach that stupid spot on your back. And to make matters worse, all the movement was beginning to make the laceration sting and you worry that any more exertion would make the scratches on your arms and shoulders open back up, which is a whole other can of worms you'd rather not deal with.
You're hyping yourself up, convincing yourself to try just one more time— no, if you're careful your wounds will absolutely not open back up and you'll definitely be able to clean up before your boyfriend gets home and—
You're so lost in your own thoughts that you don't even hear the front door opening. What does catch your attention is Wriothesley's voice from down the hall, calling that he's home and oh shit in your haste to patch yourself up you hadn't closed the bathroom door and fuck fuck fuck he's too close and you're too far from the door to slam it closed and you grimace to yourself when you see Wriothesley appear at the open bathroom door, his expression melting into one of surprise (and not the good kind) as his eyes grow wide and his mouth opens just the slightest bit, taking in the bandages wrapped around parts of your arms, parts of your legs and around your torso.
"...Hi." That's all you can come up with as your eyes meet his in the reflection of the mirror, looking both guilty and sheepish.
"...Hi," he echoes, still staring. Then it breaks, his brows furrowing with concern. You can see the questions on the tip of his tongue. Are you alright? What happened? Why didn't you call?
But instead, he approaches, taking the open salve you've placed on the counter into his own hands. "Arms down. Don't strain them," he says, giving them a gentle nudge until they fall to your side. He scoops a liberal amount of the salve up, gently covering that pest of a wound with it. The cooling sensation feels delightful on the clotted scratch, but you can't help protesting his help.
"I- I can do that, you don't..."
"I may not have to, but I certainly want to. The gauze, please, dearest." You hand it to him over your shoulder, and he takes it with a mumbled word of thanks, tending to the wound that had given you such a headache. He does it better than you ever could yourself, even laying a small kiss on the bandage that has your heart melting.
The he releases you, catching your eye in the mirror as he makes a turn around motion with his hand. "Come on, dearest, let me check on the rest of you."
You do as you're told, spinning around slowly. He helps you sit on the counter of the sink, hands careful to avoid any of your injuries where he grips your waist and hoists you up. He doesn't speak while he checks you over, hands skimming your skin so gently it almost tickles. He checks if you've done your bandages right, if you've missed any scratches or scrapes. To his relief you have not, and the only wound that you hadn't treated was the one he had helped with.
Wriothesley's checkup ends at a scratch on your face that you stuck a bandage on, and his hand gently cups your cheek when he's done. On instinct, you lean into his touch.
"You're all good. Nice job with the bandages, dearest," he says, pressing a kiss to your lips. Then he raises a brow, face turning just a bit more serious, tone becoming more like that of the duke that many people feared. "Now. Can you tell me why you tried to do it alone when you could have asked for my help?"
"Because I could have taken care of it myself." You tell him in a huff, looking away from his eyes. "You're busy and I wouldn't want to bother you over something I was capable of doing myself. It would have given you more things to worry about."
You make a pointed effort not to look at him, and Wriothesley can't help it when he laughs under his breath. "Even if I'm busy, you can always come to me for help. Work or no work, you'll always be my priority."
Before you can even protest, adamant that you would never want to willingly interrupt his workflow, the thumb of his hand comes to stroke your bottom lip, silencing you. "Nope. No if's or but's. Especially when it comes to your wellbeing, I'll never turn you away." He can feel the flustered warm that spreads through your cheek under his palm and has to stifle a smile.
"You're always worried about me, so let me worry about you too," he murmurs, giving you a peck on the forehead, and he can practically see your stubbornness crack.
"Okay," you acquiesce, sighing, but you can't deny how warm it makes you feel to have him dote on you like this. Your boyfriend, the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide, one of the biggest softies to you and only you. "I'll come to you the next time I need anything."
"You promise?"
"Yes, Wriothesley, I promise," you exclaim, dramatically rolling your eyes, but smiling all the same.
A similar smile is reflected on his own face, and he can't help it when he feels the need to kiss you again.
"Thank you, dearest."
#「 🐈⬛ 」 catcze.desserts#Wriothesley x reader#genshin impact x reader#Wriothesley#Genshin Impact#cw gn reader
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Hi hi can you write something along the lines of enha showing up to your job cuz they know you're stressed?? Or something? I hope that makes sense 🙂
“i’m sorry baby.” - enha reactions when you have a rough day at work
a/n: OF COURSE :3 i’m sorry this took a million years
warnings- none just fluff
MASTERLIST
🍊jungwon… he definitely notices that your text messages were getting kinda weird and off. you weren’t texting a lot either, so it kinda freaked him out a bit. which led him to make the impulse decision of showing up to your work with flowers. what he didn’t expect was to see your car on and you crying in the car. he accidentally scares the shit out of you but you let him in your car and you both talked it out.
“i’m sorry my love… work sounds really rough and i wish i could help more, i can show up more surprising you or take you out after…”
🥭heeseung… you called him ranting about some gross guy that showed up to your job trying to talk to you. it was someone who was about to be trained to work with you so it stressed you out really bad. as you’re on the phone with him you didn’t even hear the car sounds and the next thing you knew he was bringing you your favorite drink and walking up to your establishment. he sits outside with you on your lunch hour too.
“so which fuck was it? that guy? pshhhh he looks like a loser, let me know if you want me to rough him up.”
🌽jay… the SECOND he hears your voice whimpering into the phone he’s sprinting to your work. he’s probably breaking speed laws too. when you see him parked outside your job you walked over there real quick to tell him your lunch hour is about to start. when it does you walk out there and spend time with you. luckily he dropped you off too so if you’re having a rough day and he’s your ride, he will stay in the vicinity of your job until you get off work. because he wants to go somewhere after to cheer you up.
“i’m sorry darling, you didn’t deserve any of that… would it help if we got your favorite snack?”
🍒jake… he would at first set up a movie night for you both, so when he picks you up, with flowers and a teddy bear, he had a fail safe at home too. which he didn’t even necessarily need. jake already picked you up walking into your place of work to spoil you in front of your coworkers. you were his everything and everyone needed to know, especially your coworkers who had been giving you backhanded compliments all day. when you got home you both cuddled as he reassured you that you’re everything to him.
“darling you work hard everyday, and you deserve to be respected… please don’t listen to their backhanded compliments.”
🍯sunghoon… he would tell you to pretend to get sick in the bathroom to get you off early. and you listen to him, normally you would feel guilty however all day you were practically get harassed by this one coworker and even though your other colleagues were comforting you, they never stood up for you. so on your break you called your boyfriend and he sprung into action immediately. he tells you to get the rest of the day off, and brings an extra pair of clothes for you in his car. when he scoops you up he takes you out to get food and you guys would watch the skyline as the sunsets. he knew you needed to look at something and talk.
“baby i told you, you can quit. i will pay for everything you’d never have to worry ever…”
🍋sunoo… ooooooo boy if he found out you were having a rough day to the point where you were going to put in your two weeks immediately after this shift he shows up. sunoo is ruthless when he requests to see your boss and rips him a new one for disrespecting you AND your colleagues. he goes full on overprotective boyfriend and will take legal action if needed. let’s just say your boss was definitely more understanding of you and your colleagues. you had no idea sunoo did this, and he would never tell you either.
“baby i’m so glad work is getting better! i guess your boss just had a change of heart :)”
🍓riki… you had a part time job while you did school. it wasn’t anything serious but some days it did get stressful. you texted riki that you ended up crying in the bathroom because of the stress and riki rushed to the store. he picked up your favorite flowers, snacks, and he grabbed the gift he was going to give you for valentine’s day. which is fine because he’ll just buy you another gift for valentine’s. he shows up to your work and showers you with these gifts. everyone was a little jealous of you but that was riki’s point. to make you know you’re his favorite and they should be envious of your relationship.
“i picked these up for you, kiss on the cheek please!”
#enhypen#kpop#enha#enhypen imagines#enha imagines#enhypen x reader#enhypen scenarios#yang jungwon imagines#yang jungwon x reader#lee heeseung imagines#lee heeseung x reader#jay park imagines#jay park x reader#park jongseong imagines#park jongseong x reader#jake sim imagines#jake sim x reader#park sunghoon imagines#park sunghoon x reader#kim sunoo imagines#kim sunoo x reader#nishimura riki imagines#nishimura riki x reader#enhypen comfort#enha comfort#enhypen fluff#enha fluff#jungwon enhypen#jake sim#lee heeseung fluff
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i felt like i needed to write this as this is basically what it’s going on in my life with the guy i’m dating
damian priest x reader
reader is in her twenties! we need the age gap cause me and my “bf” have a huuuge age gap lol
fool me once
“i’m dating someone else…i just wanted to let you know” was what he texted you when you first met.
it pained you a little but in reality you didn’t even know him so you agreed of just staying friends.
he was happy about that, he liked you but not in the way you liked him back. you prayed every night you were the girl between his arms, you prayed he wouldn’t take that long to answer your text messages and you prayed every night that he would realise what he was really missing.
yes, you were friends and you liked the idea of having him in your life, even if he wasn’t your boyfriend.
in the end, he was a good person and you preferred having him as a friend than not having him at all.
one beautiful day he texted you that it was over. the girl he was dating was gone and that he was now more comfortable in seeing you.
you should have said no. you knew it wasn’t right for him to make you the second option but the crush you had for him was too strong and your brain couldn’t say no.
you agreed on that date. and everything went perfectly. he took you out for dinner, he paid for you, he took you to the cinema, he gently kissed you when he brought you back home.
everything was good.
and silently, in your mind, you finally said “fuck, something good is finally happening to me…”
you texted each other every single day and secretly you loved the attention he was giving you.
your friends didn’t like him. they said he was bad news. maybe because he was older than you, maybe because he chose you as his second option and not his first one or maybe because he was only using you in trying to forget her.
you knew all they said was true. deep down, you knew it but you didn’t want it to be real. you felt too good and too safe when you were with him that you thought for a second that all of your friends were jealous of you.
so a second date happened.
it was better than the first one.
he took you out of town on a beautiful but cold sunday night, you went to an amazing restaurant where he paid for you and let you enjoy your time together. the ride back home was amazing, you talked, you laughed and joked and before letting you go, he kissed you again, and again, this time it was more passionate and sensual and if it wasn’t for him, who had a show next monday, you would have invited him in.
you promised him that on the third date you would have offered him dinner.
a third date that never came.
you waited for him to remember it but when you got tired of waiting, you simply asked him. he said he was busy with work and in all honesty, you believed him.
he was a busy man, why would he lie?
he had a full career, a full time job. he was a grown ass man with his life and compared to him, you were just a girl in your twenties who’s in reality is a complete mess. you didn’t have a home to call 100% yours, you had only three real friends and you were always so busy that you barely see each others.
that’s when you realised how different you were.
you knew something was wrong the moment his text messages became slow, like he wasn’t texting you but just replying to your questions.
it came to a point where you got tired of that situation and asked him what was wrong.
“you know the girl i was daring before i met you…she came back…she told me she was sorry, that she knew she fucked up everything…i didn’t see her yet because i was not in the right mood but this made me think…” he texted you.
you felt your heart break.
everything was so good until it wasn’t.
you expected him to say that everything was fine, that he was just busier than usual, or maybe that he didn’t like you anymore. you were ready for that outcome. you weren’t ready to hear about her.
not what you imagined. not what you expected.
you knew, from the way he talked about her that he liked her…that he still likes her…and you knew that if he had to choose, he would choose her.
why would he choose you when you weren’t his first choice in the beginning?
“can we please talk about it? do you want to talk about it?” you texted him. you needed to know what he was thinking about the whole situation.
“not really…”
“okay…” you texted back “just to let you know, damian, i’m here in case you wanted to talk”
“i appreciate that…i just need time” he replied.
time.
time for what?
time for what when you already knew he would choose her.
you weren’t supposed to cry for him because he never was yours to begin with but you still cried. you cried every night before falling asleep. you cried when you saw he wasn’t replying to your text messages anymore. you cried because for the first time in your life you felt safe in someone’s presence.
and it wasn’t fair.
for you. knowing you would have given him all.
you’re still hoping that he would choose you, because, in the end, you didn’t make him suffer, you didn’t make him cry. you hoped that he valued those things.
he texted you good morning on a random tuesday morning and that little message made you hopeful.
of course, you texted him back, asking him if everything was okay.
it’s been three days and you’re still waiting for his response.
to be continued…
(if he answers)
#wwe#wwe x reader#wwe imagine#wwe x you#wwe imagines#wwe one shot#wwe damian priest x reader#wwe oneshot#wwe x original character#wwe x y/n#wwe x oc#wwe writer#damian priest oneshot#damian priest x y/n#damian priest x oc#damian priest x you#damian priest smut#damian priest x reader#wwe damian priest#damian priest wwe#damian priest imagine#damian priest#damian priest is hot lol
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‘tis my birthday today (it’s gotta be one of the worst birthdays to have, we don’t need to talk about it) anyways that’s where this is coming from
(also i’m not trying to imply that jan 1 is eddie’s bday. i wouldn’t wish that on anybody. besides, he is def a weirdo february aquarius)
The second half of the calendar year is nothing short of pandemonium for Eddie and Steve and their three daughters.
Moe’s birthday in late July kicks it off, almost immediately followed by Steve’s birthday in early August, then Hazel’s in September. Robbie’s birthday comes mere days after Halloween, and from there they dive headfirst into the bedlam of the holiday season.
Much to Eddie's relief, they all made it to yet another New Year's Day, and while the girls are definitely feeling the end-of-winter-break blues, Eddie welcomes the reprieve in festivities, brief as it may be.
His own birthday is up next – though not for another month.
He’s really not a birthday kind of guy. Never had been.
He loves making birthdays exciting for Steve and their daughters (they have a whole slew of traditions and everything – there’s names spelled out in pancakes involved; it's a very big deal), but his own…not so much.
It managed to fly under the radar for the past few years, but since this year is the big Five-Oh, he knows Steve won’t let him get away with that again.
Eddie has a complicated relationship with his birthday. When he was younger and the weight of Birthday Importance was at its peak, he never really celebrated the way other kids got to, and now, as an adult, he doesn’t know how to feel the things you’re supposed to feel about your birthday.
Steve does a good job, despite Eddie’s weirdness.
His favorite, Eddie thinks, was the year Moe was born, when Steve had managed to catch him off guard by renting a tiny cottage up in Maine for a few days.
“Moe or no Moe,” Steve had asked, “I’ve got Rob and Nance on standby.”
(They’d taken Moe. She saw snow for the first time. It was amazing, and people who don't want to involve their kids in stuff are a bunch of fucking weirdos).
Steve gives him a letter every year – handwritten on notebook paper and folded into whatever cheesy card he picks out.
Eddie keeps most of the letters in a fireproof lockbox along with all their passports and social security cards and birth certificates (look – Eddie doesn’t fuck around with priceless shit), but he keeps the most recent one – the one Steve gave him for his forty-ninth birthday nearly a year ago – in the top drawer of his bedside table.
He has it pretty much memorized at this point.
It says:
Ed! (with an exclamation point and everything – god, does Eddie love him)
49.
Holy shit we’re getting old.
Writing this is making me think about all the ones from the beginning, when I’d write about our future together even though we didn’t have a damn clue what we were working towards for a while.
I think we’re in it, man. Crazy, right?
(The ink color suddenly switches from blue to purple)
Sorry for the color change. Hazy decided she needed a blue pen immediately. Hope your vision hasn’t gone totally to shit and you can still read the purple.
Anyways, since I have you hostage reading this, I’m gonna take the opportunity to discuss you, because you don’t let me in real life most of the time.
You are gorgeous. Best looking face I’ve ever seen. I wonder how much time I’ve lost off my day just staring at you (actually, not a loss. I take that back)
You suck at puzzles – I know that sounds bad, but it’s great for me. I need that to rub off on Moe because she’s getting pretty good and that’s gonna be a problem for me.
You make me laugh so fucking hard every day. I’m praying the girls get your sense of “elevated” humor or whatever you like to call it
You’re so fucking smart, Eddie. I count myself lucky for it endlessly
You are completely 100% you all the time. I’m still working on that I think but I’m getting there because of you. I’m glad all that shit we went through didn’t take that away from you.
the BEST dad. Can’t believe I didn’t say that sooner. Not to brag but our kids are turning out pretty awesome (can’t go around saying that too much though it’ll go right to their heads and then any power we have left goes out the window)
You’re probably the best person I’ve ever known. Don’t think I’ll be forgetting what a catch you are any time soon, because I won't.
Thank you for loving me even all these years later. My life is better every day that I’m with you.
We’ll keep things quiet this year. Don’t get used to it though. Next year’s gonna be a rager.
Love you always!
- Steve :) ♡ ☆
#over-the-moon in love steve absolutely writes a mean love letter#to those who get steve's sign-off -> ilysm that's an old post#shoutout to the partners of birthday-haters#y’all are doing the most and it is appreciated#steddie#liv’s steddie dads verse#steddie dads#steve harrington#eddie munson
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The One Where It All Started
This takes place about a year before the rest of the posts will be taking place. Just to set the stage before the real schnenanigans start.
“So I said that was a terrible idea, because there was barely any research done so it would be misleading to the readers, right,” Nancy continued her story about the piece she’s been working on at work.
“Yeah, that would make me pissed,” Robin added, following along.
Nancy nods in agreement as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Exactly. I would rather print nothing than something they made up. But of course, the boss doesn’t think so. I’m thinking of dropping the project, so my name isn’t attached to it, but then that just means I ‘didn’t have faith in the work’. No shit I don’t, it’s completely fake.”
“Fuck those guys,” Steve adds, partially listening as he’s grading his student’s assignments.
Jonathan and Argyle walk into the café, finding the group at their normal seats and joining them.
“My dudes,” Argyle bellows. “How’s it going?”
“Ugh, don’t get me started,” Nancy groans.
Jonathan winces. “Those assholes at work again?”
“Yes,” Nancy exclaims. “I need to find another job but this is the best I could get after school.”
“Could be worse,” Robin adds.
“I know, I just hate working there.”
Steve stares at the paper in front of him with a confused expression. “What do you guys think of this one?”
He turns the paper around to reveal a hand turkey covered with red drops resembling blood. What would normally be the feathers are now plucked off and surrounding the turkey leaving the pink underneath. Or at least that’s what it looks like. It could just be pink feathers and a turkey standing on a pile of leaves. But that wouldn’t explain the X’s for eyes.
“Are you seriously grading hand turkeys right now?” Robin rolls her eyes. “And you think your job is hard.”
“Try to teach a bunch of first graders basic math after they’re all hyper from recess and then get back to me. And it’s not just hand turkeys. There’s also spelling tests somewhere in here.”
Jonathan takes the paper from Steve’s hand, showing it to Argyle better with a very concerned glare. “I think you might need to talk to this kid.”
“He drew a murdered turkey, dude. Kid’s got issues.”
Steve takes the picture back, assessing it more. “I mean, those could be leaves.”
Robin points to the picture. “And that’s not blood.”
“Yeah, I need to talk to the kid.” Steve turns it over and sees the name. “Wait, this is Bobby’s. His parents hunt wild turkeys. That’s normal.”
A man with long, brown curly hair approaches the group, wearing a leather jacket with a band tee and black jeans. “Sorry to interrupt but, Wheeler?” He turns toward Nancy, pointing softly at her.
“Oh my god, Eddie?” Nancy smiles standing up to give him a hug. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since high school.”
“Eh, it’s been better. But you, I saw the article you did last month. Best thing I ever read in the news.” Eddie sits down on the chair across from Nancy.
Steve is trying his hardest not to stare and keep grading his stack of papers, but it’s hard. Robin elbows him in the side and widens her eyes in a “Really?”. Steve shrugs in his defense, taking a sip of his mocha. Robin rolls her eyes.
“Aw, thank you. I worked hard on that. What are you up to now?”
“Kinda between jobs at the moment. I work as a freelance artist but I’m taking a break from that becoming a tattoo apprentice.”
“That is so cool, dude,” Argyle interrupts from across the table.
Nancy has a moment of realization. “Right. Eddie, these are my friends. Robin, Steve, Jonathan, and Argyle. Guys, this is my old friend from high school, Eddie.”
“Nice to meet you guys.”
The group replies with varied greetings, Steve and Eddie holding eye contact a bit longer than the rest of the group does. Resulting with another jab in Steve’s ribs from Robin. He yells at her with his eyes for her to stop.
“So, do you live in the city now?” Nancy goes back to addressing just Eddie.
He scratches at his chin with a pained faced. “Kinda. Moved here to live with my ex a few months ago. And then he sort of cheated on me, so I’m trying to find somewhere else, but money’s kind of tight right now.”
“Ugh, that sucks,” Nancy winces. “I’m sorry.”
“Is what it is.”
Nancy turns to Robin, whispering something in her ear. Robin shrugs and whispers something back.
“You know, if you wanted to, no pressure or anything,” Nancy starts. “But, my old roommate just moved out and I’m looking for a new one. It’s a nice place my grandma rents to me so it’s rent controlled. I know we haven’t talked much since high school, but it’s yours if you want it.”
“Have to think about it, and see the place. But that might be nice.”
“And you’d live across from me and Steve,” Robin adds, earning her an elbow to the ribs.
Eddie smiles flirtatiously. “Well that does sweeten the pot.” He notices the hand turkey still laying on the table. “What the fuck is wrong with that hand turkey?”
“I already said I would talk to the kid,” Steve groans.
“Why is this is this kid going on turkey hunting trips anyway,” Jonathan asks, concerned.
Steve shrugs. “How would I know, not my kid.”
Argyle reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a joint, handing it to Steve. “For your troubles.”
“This group is great,” Eddie laughs to himself, already agreeing to Nancy’s offer in his head.
General information about the fic here
Tag list (just tagged everyone who seemed interested, let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low, @thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady, @apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417
#stranger things#stranger thigns fanfic#freinds au#steddie#ronance#jargyle#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#nancy wheeler#jonathan byers#argyle#spicy six apartment schenanigans#morgan's friends au
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