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the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 9 months

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You're waiting for a train...(5)

A Lesson in Planning

Robert Fischer x reader

description - the logistics of the dream begin to come together and get finalised by the group. Y/n's heart yearns for Robert more but she feels absent from those around her.

warnings - non-con touching (because she is not awake! UNCONSCIOUS PEOPLE DON'T WANT TEA!), mentions of surgery, mentions of murder.

word count - 2.2k

a/n - Boy you guys are gonna hate Arthur here! this is an important filler chapter for the plot but the real juicy stuff is still to come!

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“So now in the first layer of the dream, I can impersonate Browning and suggest concepts to Fischer’s conscious mind. When we get a layer deeper his own projection of Browning should-should feed that back to him.” Eames orated to our group as we sat concepting the plan for the mission.

“So he gives himself the idea?” Arthur questioned.

“Precisely.” Eames continued. “That’s the only way it’ll stick. It has to seem self-generated.”

“Eames.” Arthur leant back in his chair and looked to me and I nodded in agreement. “I am impressed.”

Eames chuckled. “Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated, Arthur, thank you.” I laughed at Eames’ quip, but felt I should cover my face to not embarrass Arthur further.

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I sat in the workspace with Ariadne as she worked on her totem.

She’d decided upon a chess piece with a partly hollowed out centre that would always fall a specific way. We’d actually had the idea together when we’d been walking in the park and had come across a group of old men who’d formed a chess club. When Ariadne had picked up the queen, it had felt right in her hand.

I glanced to my watch and commented on the lateness of the time but hadn’t noticed Ariadne had actually left our desk. I must have zoned out. That had been happening a lot recently. My mind went to Robert. It wasn’t always thinking back on our interaction, most of the time it was just imagining him beside me. Living in the moment with fantasies of him living it with me.

I perked up when Dad and Ariadne walked back towards me, Ariadne gestured for me to show my Dad the mazes but I hesitated.

“Each level relates to the part of the subjects subconscious that we are trying to access.” Dad walked past our designs, assessing the skill and intricacy. Ariadne and I loomed over her paper built mazes. “So, I’m making the bottom level a hospital so Fischer will bring his father, -- um you know, actually, I have a question about this layout.” Dad immediately retreated as if the sight burned his eyes.

“No, no, no. Don’t – Don’t show me specifics. Only the dreamer should know the layout.” I winced at Dad’s harsh tone.

“Dad, she just wanted some help.” I looked up at him.

“Just – “ He pointed at me in a fierce tone but doubted his words. His tone smoothed out. “Just no specifics.”

“Why is that important?” She questioned, amid our staring contest.

“In case one of us brings our projections in. We don’t want them knowing the details of the maze.” Dad feebly explained.

“You mean in case you bring Mom in?” I spat at him. The room went quiet, the tension was thick. “You can’t keep her out, can you? Right. If you know the maze then she knows it. That’s why you can’t build anymore.” I stalked towards him amidst my lecture.

“Cobb is this getting worse?” I appreciated Ariadne’s concern. She had been whisked in to this operation only to find out the leader’s brain was more fucked up than most. Who wants to share dreams with that. “Because the others need to know if it is?”

“Who said it’s getting worse!” He abruptly ended so we knew the conversation was done. There was a lull. “I need to get her home.” He pointed at me. “That’s all I care about right now. Is her.” He stood up and embraced me. My guilt weighed me down. He’d only ever thought of me, and my thoughts were filled with someone else. How selfish could I be.

“Why can’t you go home?” Ariadne fiercely inquired.

“Because they think I killed her.” Cobb said into my hair whilst we stayed hugging. I squeezed tighter at that answer. Ariadne stayed quiet as Cobb left my arms to walk away. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not asking whether I did.” He smiled appreciatively.

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“I will split up my father’s empire.” The word emblazoned on our whiteboard. “Now, this is obviously an idea that Robert himself would choose to reject which is why we need to plant it deep in his subconscious. The subconscious is motivated by emotion, right? Not reason. We need to find a way to translate this into an emotional concept.” Dad addressed us.

“How do you translate a business strategy into an emotion?” Arthur questioned.

“That’s what were here to figure out. Now, Robert’s relationship with his father is stressed to say the least.”

“Well, can we run with that?” Eames perked up. “We could suggest breaking up his father’s company as a ‘screw you’ to the old man.”

“No.” I commented. “Positive emotion trumps negative emotion every time. We yearn for reconciliation, catharsis. His bond with his dad is broken beyond repair. Maybe if we’re gonna be in there anyway, we could do him a little good.” When I trailed off softly, I felt all eyes on me, confused. I especially felt the hot gaze of my father.

“We need Robert Fischer to have a positive emotional reaction to all this.” Dad agreed whilst eyeing me suspiciously.

“All right, let’s try this.” Eames jumped to my rescue. “My father accepts that I want to create for myself, not follow in his footsteps.”

“That might work.”

“Might?” Arthur argued. “We’re gonna need to do a little better than might.” Eames turned towards him with a cheeky smile.

“Oh, thank you for your contribution, Arthur.” He said sarcastically.

“Forgive me for wanting a little specificity, Eames.”

“Specificity?”

“Inception’s not about being specific. When we get inside his mind, we’re gonna have to work with what we find.”

Ariadne had already prepped each of the dreamers with the layout of the maze. I was truly impressed, and I spent every minute telling her that. It was so great to have a girl on the team. I often felt I was drowning in testosterone.

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We had entered Yusuf’s dream which would act as the first layer. Ariadne had created a metropolitan city with towering skyscrapers. It was perfect. Complex and confusing if you were not familiar yet still had a sense of believability.

“On the top level,” Eames narrated to us all, as we stood in the direct centre of the road. “We open up his relationship with his father, and say ‘I will not follow in my father’s footsteps.”

I walked around in awe of the world around me. I’d been in many dreams and had created a few for myself, but nothing like this. I bumped Ariadne’s shoulder and whispered.

“This is seriously amazing.”

“you’ve told me that like 5 times, y/n.”

“Oh sorry—”

“No, it’s nice.” She threw her arm around me so we ended in a half way hug. I suddenly remembered the boys were talking.

“Then the next level down, we feed him ‘I will create something for myself’. Then by the time we bring out the big guns – “

“My father doesn’t want me to be him.” I finished. After speaking those fateful words I chanced a glance at my own father’s eyes. But I looked away in shame, missing his own longing gaze.

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“Three layers down the dreams are gonna collapse.” Arthur admitted. “Even with the slightest disturbance.”

“Sedation.” Yusuf proudly stated. “For sleep stable enough to create three layers of dreaming, we’ll have to combine it with an extremely powerful sedative. The compound we’ll be using to share the dream creates a very clear connection between dreamers whilst actually accelerating brain function.”

“In other words, it gives us more time on each level.” Dad explained for the ones who struggled to understand Yusuf’s chemistry.

“Brain function in the dream will be about 20 times normal. When you enter a dream within that dream, the effect is compounded, it’s 3 dreams – that’s 10 hours times –”

“I’m sorry maths was never my strong subject.” I chuckled at Eames’ confusion. “How much time is that?”

I decided to fill him in.

“It’s a week, the first level down, 6 months the second level down –”

“Its 10 years, the third level.” Ariadne said in a gasp. I nodded sadly towards her. “Who would want to be stuck in a dream for 10 years?”

“Depends on the dream.” Ariadne and I looked unamused towards Yusuf’s attempt at humour.

“So, once we’ve made the plant how do we get out? I’m hoping you have something more elegant in mind than shooting me in the head.” Arthur commented whilst swinging on his chair.

“A kick.”

“What’s a kick?”

“This Ariadne,” Eames gently tapped Arthur’s chair so he panicked and fell forward. “Is a kick.” He smiled innocently towards Arthurs unimpressed face. I giggled watching their little bromance.

“It’s that feeling of falling you get that jolts you awake.”

“Will we even feel a kick with that level of sedation?” I questioned.

“I’ve customised the sedative to leave inner function unimpaired.” I gave a grateful nod. Yusuf was truly a gift to this mission. “Let me demonstrate.”

“Arthur.” “Arthur!” Eames and I said in sync.

Arthur reluctantly rises and sits on the chair Yusuf gestures to. Yusuf puts him into a dream.

“You see the sleeper still feels the falling.” Yusuf tips Arthur and he jolts awake just in time to watch his body hit the ground. Eames and I burst out laughing. I wink at Eames as we both get the same idea.

“But Yusuf.” I begin. “He just fell sideways. I think it needs to be demonstrated that it works falling at ALL angles.” Eames and I could barely hold in our laughter as my dad shook his head in disapproval. Arthur was put under 4 more times and shoved off the chair each time. God this was too good. After the final time, he threw his hands up when Yusuf went in for one more IV. He abruptly stood up and walked past me. He slowed down when he reached my shoulder.

“Don’t be so childish.” My smile broke.

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“He hasn’t got any surgery scheduled, there’s no dental, nothing.”

“Wasn’t he supposed to have a knee operation?”

“Nothing. Nothing that they’d put him under for anyway.”

We were coming up with the final stage. And the most important element. Time.

“We need a good 10 hours.” My dad offered up the situation to the room.

“Sydney to Los Angeles.” Saito had very much taken up the role of the silent money. Quiet, observing. Merely here to protect his investment. When dad had told me he wanted to go under with us I wasn’t shocked. Inception is hardly a mission which has a physical outcome a buyer can hold. The only way to get proof is to be there with us. I did worry about safety. He was just another parasite the projections could flock to; this put us all at risk. And I had a feeling this sedation meant a simple kill shot wouldn’t suffice.

“One of the longest flights in the world. He makes it every two weeks.”

“He must be flying private then?” Dad questioned.

“Not if there were unexpected maintenance with his plane.” I smirked at this.

“It would have to be a 747.” Arthur jumped in.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Because on a 747, the pilot is up top,” I didn’t miss how Arthur directed the answer towards my dad. “and the first class cabin is on the nose, so no one would walkthrough but you’d have to buy out the entire cabin and the first class flight attendant.”

“I bought the airline.” We all flocked our gaze to Saito. “It seemed neater.” Ah of course! Why didn’t we think of that?

“Well then.” We had our stage. “Ariadne?” Dad stopped us as we went to leave. “Terrific work by the way.” I smiled her way but she missed it, taken up in a conversation with Arthur.

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My fingers fidgeted on the lock of the case. Itching to try again. Nothing around me was satisfying, I needed some release. The lock flicked up and I hurriedly unpacked the IV. I inserted it and let it do it’s magic. My eyes drooped, my heart slowed yet my excitement bubbled up. My head flopped onto the rough fabric of the deck chair. As my mind floated me away, a presence loomed in my peripheral.

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*Arthur’s pov*

I’d stayed behind late, hoping to have a word with y/n. She hadn’t seemed herself recently and I worried for the state of her mind when we begin this task.

I made my way to the door, believing I’d missed her. I noticed one of the deck chairs hadn’t been put away so I went to tidy up. I saw five painted nails loosen their grip on the edge of the chair and collapse to the side. There was an IV exiting the vein, I tracked it back towards the silver case.

I ambled my way towards her sleeping frame. So peaceful, yet so much life danced behind her closed eyes. I found myself stroking her soft cheeks. She was so perfect. My thumb caressed the contours of her face and it began to droop lower, until it met the curve of her lips. What was I doing?

I jumped back as if her skin had burnt me. Suddenly I was possessed by a new found drive. I ripped one of the other IV’s out of the case and dragged a chair up to the table. I inserted the tube and let the sedative consume my body.

My mind crumbled down and was rebuilt into her subconscious.

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Oh boyyyyy Arthur has gone into her subconscious! What's he gonna find? What's she hiding??

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away

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judgementdaysunshine · 4 months

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Christmas proposal

Pairing: Dominik Mysterio x Fem reader

Description: Christmas becomes even more of a special and wonderful day for you and Dom

Gif credits to @domysterio

You smile being pulled into a hug by Aalyah when her along with Dom's parents walk inside your mom's home where you, Dom, and your family were joking before slowly opening presents. All of you eat enjoying the time with your family noticing your nephew in the kitchen away from everyone else joining him and talking when dom walks in pulling your nephew outside talking to him which melted your heart not knowing that he was telling your nephew what he had planned after dinner and what he had told the rest of your family and his over the last week "I'm going to propose to her" laughing as your nephew looks slightly stunned before laughing and hugging dom going back inside to find you on the couch watching tv with your dad holding your niece in your arms as she sleeps not seeing the smile that forms on dom's face before he takes a picture of you and your niece waiting and checking to see if everyone was in the room giving the thumbs up to his parents, your parents, and your older siblings before tapping you on your shoulder after you laid your niece on the couch and covered her with a blanket. A smile forms when dom presses a quick kiss to your temple before everyone watches quietly shaking in their seats "Ever since I've met you, you've brought so much kindness, care, unconditional love, acceptance, and tenderness to my life that no one else ever has and never will and I want that in my life not just right now, when I needed it, or when my heart wants it but I want it for the rest of my life and I want all of that with you" your heart swells before tears formed seeing him slowly get down on one knee while some of you family cheered unable to contain the excitement anymore as you nod even before he got to ask you laughing "Will you marry me Mariposa?" you say yes before sharing a sweet hug and a kiss before you both are brought in hugs and pictures announcing the engagement earning texts and calls from your close friends after heading home admiring the ring throughout the night being brought out of your thoughts by dom caressing your rib under your shirt while laying in bed shivering slightly before being brought in a tender kiss with your bodies molded together "I love you" melting when dom begins to doze off as your fingers run through his hair "I love you too".

#wwe x reader #dominik mysterio #dominik mysterio x reader #wwe #judgementdaysunshine's Christmas celebration

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boo8008 · 8 months

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Three Months - Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Fem!Reader Chapter 01: Quadriller

Prologue | Chapter 01: Quadriller | Chapter 02: Mince

Series Summery: Its been one year since The Bear's soft open, and with everything running smoothly, Carmen's lost in his thoughts, until the final table of the night is seated.

Chapter Summery: Carmen arrives in New York, happy to get away from the disaster of one Berzatto Family Christmas. You and carmen however both seem to be too nervous to talk to each other…for now.

Quadriller (v.) to make criss-cross lines on the surface of food, as part of food presentation

Word Count: 2,821

My Notes bb: I’m sorry its so late tonight but I kept going down rabbit holes on information about actual food journalism and I also noticed I have a habit of explaining a lot and putting in random details that I think are important or cool but again this is my first Fanfiction I'm actually sharing so feedback is welcome. I will tell you now that nothing much happens this chapter save for reader and Carmy being introduced, but I do have a plan on that front its just again I'm overthinking stuff lol. Anyways I hope you all enjoy!

2019 (January)

Carmen:

It was peaceful in the kitchen as Donna cooked over the stove, flipping pancakes and frying bacon as she smoked. Carmen, Natalie, and Mikey were sitting at the table as they all joked and talked about something or another. Donna placed the food on the table and they all dug in, each getting a small stack of pancakes and some bacon. Carmen was looking up at Mikey as he poured the syrup, laughing at whatever he was saying.

As he looked down he was confused, written in syrup, “Fuck You Carmen” was on top of the pancakes.

Carmen looked up feeling panicked, only to see the fork stuck atop the plate of cannoli. He looked around to see the far end of the table flipped over and a car that had crashed through the front room. Mikey was yelling at his mom and a horn was blaring, not loud enough to cover the infinite sounds of a million timers going off behind him, along with a smoke alarm. When he turned around to make them stop all he saw was black billowing smoke coming from the kitchen.

Carmen jumped back to reality as the stewardess lightly shook him. Almost as soon as the plane lifted off the tarmac at Chicago O’Hare International Airport he was out like a light. He spent every second sense Christmas Eve beyond stressed and anxious. He was thankful Michelle and Stevie had agreed to let him come stay with them in New York after the new year.

He hoped they hadn't changed their mind as he crossed into the baggage claim area, only to be greeted by Michelle and Stevie, who was holding a sign saying “BEAR-zatto” with a poorly done drawing of what Carmen thinks is a bear. He chuckled at the gaudy neon pink and glittery sign, happy they went so far as to let him come, let alone pick him up and make a sign.

“Oh there he is, Carmen!” Michelle called, waving him over after finally seeing him. “We were starting to think you bailed on us. How are you? How was your flight? Everything go okay?” She asked, now hugging him before pulling back to look at his face.

“Good, yea, fine, the flight was-the flight was good I slept through most of it,” Carmen said, still hazy with sleep as he rubbed the side of his face.

“Glad to hear it! Beats our flight back. It felt like it was just crying babies and turbulence; couldn't sleep once,” Stevie chimed in, pulling Carm into an awkward side hug thanks to the just-barely-too-big-to-be-comfortable sign and Carmen’s duffle bag and backpack. An affirmative ‘hm’ was all Carmen could manage, unsure how to respond. Lucky for him, Michelle loves to talk and knew how to keep the conversation going.

“So which of these bags is yours?” she asked as the carousel began spinning and (somewhat violently) ejecting bags. “And how do you like your sign? Stevie’s friend made it; she's kinda like his family's Richie but a bit more-”

“Normal?” Stevie finished.

“Exactly, yea, she thinks of that type of shit a lot,” Michelle continued. “She thought it would be a cute thing I guess, said something about how helpful it would be to find us sense we’d stick out and more welcoming than that one.” She gestured in the direction Carmy came from, where he passed a sign with standard corporate text that read ‘WELCOME TO NEW YORK’ and a flat drawing of the city.

Carm was only half listening as Michelle raved on about how the girl did cutesy homemade things all the time and began to ponder why with Stevie, the two knowing the chatter didn’t really interest Carmy as more than background noise. He was on the lookout for his bag which held his prized knifes and chefs whites, just about everything else fit in his beat up duffle and backpack. He would have preferred to keep them with him at all times in an airport just to know they didn't get ruined or damaged in anyway during their transport. But he could also understand why the TSA would say to not bring knifes on a crowded, compact tube that floats in the sky. As soon as he spotted the black metallic cased bag carmen stepped and forward and grabbed it, checking the lock on the side as he stood next to his cousin.

“Jesus Carmen what do you have in there, fucking launch codes?” Michelle asked, seeing the overprotective suitcase.

“My knifes,” was all Carmen mumbled in response hoping it would do. Michelle just shook her head while Stevie nodded, both in disbelief at how weird he was about his tools.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” Michelle began, turning to lead the trio out to their car. “She's nice, and she's making us dinner tonight so don't be a dick. She's not a chef but god damn does she make a good baked chicken parm.”

You:

Waking up already today felt nervous. You only had work and dinner with Stevie and Michelle and whoever-the-fuck that you couldn’t remember the name of right now but the thought of work was mixing with it. Having to meet new people was one thing that you saw as dreadful and anxiety inducing; who else could you need to talk to outside of work besides Stevie and Michelle? And having to schedule and deal with interviews with busy high end chefs was another thing. A thing where the problem mostly came when you tried to get things explained in simpler terms than the hoity-toity French or Italian words they chose. Sure you knew what quadriller was but not everyone knew what it meant.

You could understand where they were coming from though in some cases. Mainly the Michelin star worthy ones who put so much pressure on themselves and the chefs under them to deliver perfection for an expensive dish made with the best ingredients. From what you could tell they mainly did it for the people that truly and deeply loved and enjoyed food and would save up to eat at such high end restaurants. It all led to them feeling drained at the end of the day, when the last thing they wanted to do was to explain something they knew so well they’d forgotten it was a name for something.

Luckily today all you had to do was schedule and write a few more paragraphs on your Top Food Trends of 2018 article for your editor to see. You were still working on it and it needed a better name but that wasn't a priority right now, it was mainly getting the bulk of it done and written in words that were more than bullet points and shortened words. And you got off early enough that you had time to run home and hop through the shower before headed to the grocery store on your way to Stevie and Michelle’s. It was the first meal for the new year of your bi-weekly dinners and you knew they probably didn't have much to cook with sense getting back from their Chicago Christmas Trip. Normally Michelle would have stories about someone named Donna doing something crazy and while it was a little funny, when you gave it a seconds thought it made you sad for her family and her that she ended up the way she did. It was something you gotten drunk and emotional talking about with her and she could see your point but that's as much as you could remember of that conversation, besides asking her what the fuck seven fishes had to do with Christmas.

You picked up all the ingredients you would need for chicken parmesan, garlic bread and a tub of gelato, Michelle always had some wine that would go perfectly with whatever pasta so you didn't worry about that. Hopefully the sign you made had gotten Michelle’s cousin’s attention and gotten them out of the airport in a timely manner before traffic hit so you could get a start on dinner as soon as you got there. They had given you a key a year ago so you could get in and start on dinner on days when they were running late, which was often, but you didn't mind as long as you got your fill on non-work related human interaction for the next two weeks.

As you brought in your load of groceries, you saw you were right as far as the low-stocked kitchen. You connected to their bluetooth speakers and started a podcast you'd been meaning to catch up on and got to work. You'd comment on some parts to yourself and got lost in thought on the topic they were discussing and in no time you were putting almost everything in the oven, the bread could wait until 8 minuets before so it was al ready at the same time and the gelato was already in the freezer.

It all seemed perfectly timed as your podcast ended and you were about to start another episode as you heard the front door open.

“God it smells so good!” you could hear Michelle call from the front door. You heard Stevie talking to someone and the sound of suitcase wheels and baggage moving through the front door. Michelle rounded the corner still in her coat and pulled you into a hug. “How are you? How was your week?”

“Fine, not a lot happening in the office so…” you trailed off as you hugged her back. “Got off early enough to shower before I got here.” She pulled back, finally taking off her coat as she headed towards the wine cabinet and Stevie rounded the corner with a beat up duffle bag slung over his shoulder and the neon pink sign you made.

“Hey,” he greeted happily, followed by your name and as best a wave he could manage with a heavy duffle bag on him. “Let me put these down in the guest room and we’ll come actually say hi.” He jet pass the kitchen eager to get the bag off his shoulder and get his coat off and was quickly followed by the third person you still couldn't remember the name of. Cameron? Cory? Conner? Either way he gave you a vague nod of acknowledgement as he rushed pass you seemingly faster than Stevie. He had on a thick wool coat and a baseball cap, but besides that you didn't get a good look at him.

“So should we do the chianti or the pinot noir?” Michelle asked using her mocking tone on the fancy words, bringing your attention back to her as she held up the two bottles.

“Chianti,” you chose. “I like the label more, its prettier.”

“That's one way to choose wine.” she said. She came back over to your side and pulled out the bottle opener as you grabbed the glasses. “Also I'm apologizing now if Carmen’s an asshole about dinner but it runs in the family.”

“Its cool, can’t be worse than Stephen…or you.”

“Oh fuck off,” she said with a smile, pouring the wine. “Who was he again?”

“The guy who wanted to be a ‘chef’ and narrated the whole time I made dinner and couldn't tell me what was wrong with the food besides ‘you just didn't do it right’,” you mocked his dumb voice as you remembered the date. “I mean I know I’m no Gordon Ramsey but I know what I’m doing in general.”

“Right that guy, Jesus your taste in people sucks,” she smiled as she slid the glass to you.

“Yea yea,” you said, taking a sip of your wine as you looked at the timer on the oven and went to put the bread in the oven. “I’d rather have actual input from someone than that shit though.”

“What shit?” Stevie asked walking back into the kitchen, finally relieved of the duffle.

“Vague shit,” Michelle said, vaguely.

“The best kind of shit,” Stevie pulled you into a hug as he finally said a proper hello to you. He turned some to the guy who entered earlier, Carmen you now knew. “This is Carmen, he's a chef, the one I was telling you about with the Noma and stuff.”

“Right, yea, hi,” you greeted, introducing yourself even though Stevie just did it for you, you'd cringe about it later. This is why you don't like meeting new people.

“Hi, your-your the journalist right?” Carmen stuck his hand out to shake yours, and now that he was right in front of you you got a good look at him. Crystalline blue eyes and dirty blonde hair that was all mess and curls, he looked tired and anxious. Even his clothing said so; a long sleeve white shirt pushed up to his elbows and jeans both of which seemed rumpled from the flight. You did take note of his tattoos, a snail on his forearm, and a Pyrex measuring cup with the world on the other, you saw on the hand shaking yours the SOU on his fingers.

“Yea food and stuff,” you said, bringing your attention back to his face. All around he was handsome but you could sense the same nerves you had on him. It was a relief when Stevie came back from putting his coat away asking how your Christmas was, saving you both from an awkward conversation.

“Not bad,” you responded. “My parents went to Arkansas for family or whatever and said their sending me some stuff and I got to buy myself a nice dress and no one bothered me over the holiday, an all round a success in my book.”

Just then the oven went off, and you took up Carmen's mumbled offer to get the heavier pan with the chicken and pasta while you grabbed the bread and plates, deciding to come back for the utensils and cheese. Michelle took charge of hers and Carmen's glasses sitting them across from each other as Stevie took his own and the bottle. You had to admit, it felt nice with everyone helping. You came back to the table before realizing you left you own glass, and that you would be sitting next to Carmen and would definitely need it to talk to the stranger.

Finally returning and looking to the table before sitting down you did one last check that everything was there; napkins, plates, forks all checked. The other three were already digging in as Michelle whispered something to carmen that sounded a lot like ‘don't be a dick’. You took one last second and turned on a relaxing playlist for the meal on a low volume and sat down.

“So,” you started. “How was your guys’s Christmas?”

“Shitty.”

“Awful.”

Stevie just frowned and shook his head in response as the other two responded in unison.

“That bad, huh?” you asked, finally serving yourself. Michelle avoided by chugging her wine and Carmen did the same by stuffing his mouth.

“I think its better if we don't talk about it,” Stevie said breaking the silence.

The rest of the meal passed well enough though and everyone seemed to like the gelato with the meal. Carmen didn't talk much, too stuck in his own head thinking about how he had to start looking for a job ASAP. What didn't help were the thoughts of how pretty you looked when he walked in, and especially now that he was closer seated next to you. Your hair and dress styled perfectly with some better suited shoes for the slippery winter weather outside. He quickly talked himself out of pursuing anything with you though, having the small bit of sense to not bring you into his fucked up personal life full of anxiety and stress and pepto. He didn't even know what to say to you now. How would he know what to say on a date? He knew you knew something about food but wasn't sure what exactly it was you knew. What if it was just something to pay the bills and you didn't actually like being a journalist on food? There were too many unknowns for him to be comfortable with anything other than small agreements and answers that were as short as possible whenever he was asked something, and he noticed you doing the same thing.

You did your best to not be awkward with Carmen but you both had a wall put up to keep the newcomer out. If it weren't for Stevie and Michelle talking about their plane rides and new years eve stories your pretty sure it would be silent between the two of you. They tried to get you both involved but it was clear enough that wasn't going to happen… not tonight at least.

#carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fic #the bear hulu #the bear fx #carmy x you #carmy x fem!reader #jeremy allen white

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thatztyv · 8 months

Text

Little Kids

Description:

- Adults being kids

Word Count:

- 852

Kɪ'Asɪᴀ Mᴏᴏʀᴇ

(kie- a-she-uh more)

"I don't understand why we're going to relationship counseling. I thought we was good?", Urban said as we walked in.

"It's not relationship counseling", I chuckled. "It's a fun couple activity."

"I feel like I'm being set up", he mumbled.

"What can I do for you today?", the receptionist asked as we walked to the counter.

"I booked a couple session", I politely replied.

"Names?"

"Ki’Asia M. and Urban W."

She clicked on the computer for a minute.

"Down this hall, last room to the right", she said and pointed to her left.

"Thank you", I said before grabbing Urban’s hand and walking down the hall.

We made it to our room and I opened the door.

"It looks like a preschool in here", Urban said. "You sure we at the right place?"

"We wouldn't've made it this far if we were at the wrong place", I said pulling him into the room.

.✿.

"It says answer the following question about your partner. Do NOT discuss answers. You will share answers amongst each other once the session is over", I read out loud. "Also please note that the environment you're in is meant to help you bring out your inner child. Do anything (child appropriate) you please."

"Bet", he said and started marking his paper.

I set my paper down and grabbed a pencil.

'1. Favorite color(s)?'

'Maybe grey, blue and black, sorry I forgot :( You look good in every color though!'

'2. Favorite position?'

"Woah", I said as my eyes widened. "How they go from favorite color to favorite position?"

Urban just laughed as he continued writing on his paper.

'Missionary. You like looking in my eyes while you- anyways…'

'3. Favorite thing(s) about them?'

'Your lips, eyes, smile and demeanor. Oh and you’re lips!!'

'4. Something random'

'Stop eating all my damn snacks!!'

'5. Favorite song(s)'

'Uhhhhh, I don’t know. '

'6. Random words of love'

'You are my most favoritest person in the entire world! Keep being you, I love you baby!'

I felt Urban leaning over trying to look at my paper.

"Hey, you're not supposed to look at my paper", I said nudging him back.

"I just want to see what you put?", he laughed.

"You'll see it at the end", I said and covered my paper.

"I'll tell you what I put", he said tryna bribe me out my answers. "I put Ki’Asia has-"

"LA LA LA LA LA LA LAAAAA", I said and covered my ears. "I can't hear youuuu!"

.✿.

"Have you ever painted before?", Urban asked me.

"Nope", I said putting the finishing touches on my painting.

"You sure? That painting look like Picasso did it."

"Naturally talented I guess", I said and put my brush down.

I looked over his canvas.

"That a flower?"

"It's a bowl of fruit."

"Oh", I said furrowing my eyebrows and tilting my head a little. "It's beautiful baby."

"Something's missing", he hummed.

He put paint on his hands then turned to me and wiped it on my shirt.

"There we go", he said.

"Urb, I'm gonna beat your ass", I said as I started chasing him around the room with a tube of paint.

"Wait babe I'm sorry", he laughed.

I continued chasing him before catching him and squeezing the yellow paint on his shirt.

"I just got this shirt", he chuckled.

"Well too bad", I said and stuck my tongue out at him.

.✿.

"I would make my mom a macaroni heart and flowers just like this for Mother's Day when I was little."

"You used to do this as a kid? My mom would yell at me if I wasted her pasta like this", Urban said shaking his head as he watched me glue pieces of elbow noodles onto a piece of construction paper.

I finished it and held it up for him to see.

"Still got it", I said.

I looked up just in time to see him about to throw glitter on me. I moved out the way and he missed.

"Urb!"

"Why'd you move?", he laughed.

"You're really taking the bring out your inner child thing seriously", I said sitting up.

"I'm having fun", he said and smiled.

"And that's all that matters", I said and leaned over to peck his lips.

I grabbed a bottle of open glitter and dumped it on his head before jumping up from the table and rushing away from him, laughing like a little kid.

He ran up to me and tried to hug me but I ducked.

I ran to the other side of the room.

"Relax I just want a hug", he said calmy with a smile, while walking towards me.

"Nooo", I laughed backing up. "You're covered in paint and glitter."

"We could be twins", he chuckled.

'Crap', I mumbled as my back hit the wall.

He sped up and quickly wrapped his arms around me tightly.

"Let go of me!", I yelled playfully as I struggled trying to get out his embrace.

"I love you", he hummed as he rocked us side to side.

"I love you too", I chuckled as I gave up.

#wattpad #urban wyatt #urban wyatt x black reader #x reader #urban wyatt x reader #urban henry wyatt #urban wyatt smut #jack harlow #jackman thomas harlow

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universitypenguin · 1 year

Text

Chapter XIII

The Princess & The Lawyer

Summary: A scare with her stalker causes Princess to take matters into her own hands. Meanwhile in Idaho, Lloyd finds himself between a rock and hard place.

Word Count: 8,058

Masterlist

Warnings: Description of a physical assault with a blunt weapon, stalking, harassment, dangerous encounter with a semi-wild animal, cowboy/ranch work, illegal drug trade, and corruption. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.

Author’s Note: I wish this installment hadn’t taken so long, but between going on interviews and then changing jobs, the past few months have been crazy. Thank you for waiting, encouraging me, and sticking with this story.

Chapter XIII

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You were counting down the seconds until you could end this call but Weston Tafferty was in prime form tonight. Even though you’d clocked out thirty minutes ago, he seemed to think your personal time was fair game for work-related conversation. He continued to fire off questions as you struggled to fill in your eyebrows and carry your end of the conversation. If he didn’t wrap this up soon, you’d still be on the phone with him during your belated family birthday dinner.

“Why wasn’t I cc’d on your emails to Detective Roth?” Weston asked.

“I’m not using my work account for those messages. Roth set me up on their encrypted server.”

“And this prevents you from emailing me how?”

“Wes, that information is too sensitive to share.”

“Hmmm. I’ll give you a pass for now, but next time, make sure I’m in the loop. I also noticed you haven’t been using my spreadsheet system. If you don’t comply with departmental requirements, I’ll have to write you up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay. Listen, I’m already off work and I have plans. Email me the details and I’ll take it up with HR.”

A while ago this sort of micromanagement would’ve sent you through the roof. Tonight, other stresses were taking up too much mental space for you to care. And thanks to Weston’s call, you were running ten minutes late. You tapped your phone to check the time and realized ten minutes had become fifteen. Great. Your Mom would kill you if you were late to your own party.

Another icon on the home screen caught your eye. There was no little red number hoovering in the corner of your message app to announce new texts.

There had been no new messages for a week.

Aiden had just… stopped. It should feel good, but your nervous system was screaming. An impending sense of doom settled over you and kept you trapped in the house all week. Your gut said this ceasefire was temporary and Aiden was biding his time.

You’d filed a complaint with the police and he'd gone no contact. It was disorienting. Just when you started taking Aiden’s threats seriously, he stopped making them. Filling out the paperwork at Metro had stripped away the delusion you’d maintained last week. Writing the incidents in black and white on police forms laid waste to your sense of security. As the silence had stretched from one day into two, and then into four, fear sank deeper into your consciousness.

Staying locked in Lloyd’s house forever wasn’t an option. If it were, you’d do just that. But your parents had already delayed your birthday celebration because of the Singapore trip, and backing out now would demand an explanation you weren’t prepared to give.

Checking your reflection in the full-length mirror, you frowned. Thanks to Aiden’s threats about your apartment, you’d avoided going home, so the only dinner outfit you had was the dress Lloyd gave you in Singapore. Unfortunately, the skirt didn’t cover your knees. Self-defense lessons with Landon and Jake had left them covered in ugly bruises.

There was no way Vivan wouldn’t notice and then your mother would make a fuss. You tried covering the marks with concealer. As you were applying setting powder, your phone buzzed. Hands full of makeup, you glanced at the screen.

A message read: Here.

You were expecting Jake and tapped ‘K’ in reply.

There was a noise from below as the front door opened, then the scuff of sneakers on tile. You tossed the concealer into your makeup bag and rinsed your hands before heading downstairs.

“Hey, Jake! Guess what? No new messages today. He’s gone from obsessed to silent. It’s crazy…”

You turned the corner and froze. The visitor wasn’t Jake.

“Zach!”

He removed his sunglasses, hooking them on the top button of his shirt.

“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming by,” you said.

“I texted. Jake’s working late. He asked me to check in, said there’d been trouble with raccoons knocking over garbage cans.”

“Yes… Racoons.”

“Everything okay?” Zach asked.

“Absolutely.”

He cocked his head. “Yeah? Who were you talking about before?”

“Uh… I was scheduling a follow up with a witness. A witness in another case. He was responsive at first, like, obnoxiously, but suddenly… you know. He’s ghosting me.”

“You seem nervous.”

You needed to lie - convincingly.

“I’m fighting with Vivian, and my birthday dinner is tonight. It’s going to be interesting.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah. Just family drama.”

“Hmmm. Jake’s been cracking his knuckles all week, which is never a good sign. I checked the location history on our work phones and saw Landon and Jake have been stopping by regularly. What gives, Y/N?”

“That sounds like an invasion of privacy,” you said.

“They’re my phones. Speaking of… give me yours.”

He held out his hand.

“No way.”

“Suppose the racoons aren’t just racoons, Princess. Give me your phone. I won’t check the location without cause.”

You hesitated.

Zach wiggled his fingers. “Give it.”

You handed him the phone. Zach tapped in commands as you collected your purse. By the time you’d checked your wallet and keys, he’d installed the app.

“When did you hear the racoons?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“Did the floodlights come on?” Zach asked.

“Ah… I don’t remember.”

You wished Jake had given you a heads up about the cover story. Zach passed you the phone.

“I’ll take a look. Don’t let me keep you, I’ve got my own keys.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Charlene, don’t be a bitch. Let’s talk about this before you do something crazy.”

Lloyd tried to make his tone as cajoling as possible. Facing down the bad-tempered female with death in her tawny eyes, he was willing to press any advantage he could, including charm.

The cow snorted and bobbed her head. He recognized that look and untethered his rope from the saddle horn in response. Through the act his eyes stayed locked on Charlene. She might be a Charolais heifer, but her temperament rivaled the most vicious Jersey bull. He uncoiled his rope and extended the loop to allow for her horns. While he understood his father had been sick, it was a crime not to have de-horned this monster when she was born. Her attitude was defense enough without having weapons attached to her head.

He swung the lasso a few times, getting it into shape.

“Charlene” – so named because all Charolais heifers were Charlene in his book – pawed the ground. Getting her out of the pasture hadn’t been easy and herding her through the corrals was an event he’d rather forget. But he hadn’t expected the sight of the narrow alley into the loading chute would turn her into a psychotic demon.

The rail-road tie fencing of the alley was six feet high and not much wider inside. Charlene had made up her mind about it in an instant, despite the fact she’d probably never seen such a thing before in her life. He’d found most of his father’s herd balked at the loading chute. Even in the pasture they acted half-wild, like they hadn’t seen a human in years. After that discovery he’d installed a series of gates in the alleyway for better control. The first was at the entrance and another positioned in the middle to prevent cows from backing up or creating a crowd-crush. The system worked, assuming the animal went in.

Charlene bellowed and raised her head, puffing herself up. Jane, the quarter horse under him, shuffled back a step. He hoped she had nerves of steel because the last thing he wanted was to snap his neck getting bucked off and finding out what the business end of Charlene’s horns felt like was equally unappealing.

“Can you hurry it up? We’re behind schedule!”

The semi-truck driver called to him over the fence and Lloyd ignored him. He adjusted the rope and turned it so the loop’s bottom strand flipped over his wrist. When he raised his arm, muscle memory kicked in. Without a conscious thought his thumb clenched and his fingers curled, while his elbow and shoulder rolled in a familiar motion. He stood up and put most of his weight into the left stirrup, preparing for the throw. When Charlene’s muscles rippled, he angled the lasso down and threw the loop, relishing the speed as it flew over his hand.

He was still focused on the mechanics of the action when Jane spooked. He’d leaned into the throw which placed his weight in the opposite direction of where she’d run. When she bucked again, he swore and lost a stirrup. Lloyd grabbed the saddle horn and fought to keep his seat.

The lasso sailed over Charlene’s horns despite Jane’s fit. He drew it snug and anchored the rope to his saddle horn. When the little roan under him felt the rope pull, she spun around, leaning back on her haunches. Charlene tossed her head, fighting the restraint.

“Good girl, Jane. You’re a roping horse, aren't you?”

The mare flicked her ears in appreciation. He laughed, surprised at his good fortune. His father hadn’t had many good traits but his taste in horses was impeccable. Lloyd twisted the rope back and forth. Charlene bellowed as it rubbed and moved forward. When he clicked his tongue, Jane backed into the narrow alleyway, dragging Charlene along.

“Hey, kid!” Lloyd called to the driver’s assistant.

“Yes, sir?”

“Shut that gate!”

This was the farthest he’d gotten her. If he lost his grip on the rope, he’d rather chase her in the confinement of the alley than around the corral. When the gate clanged shut behind her, the heifer kicked at it and made contact, causing the panel to clang against the chain fastener.

Charlene lunged at Jane.

The horse reared and Lloyd leaned into the movement just in time to avoid a tumble. Jane turned in mid-air and landed facing the gate that had just been shut. Lloyd yanked his rope over the saddle horn, and leapt off. He smacked Jane’s hind quarters, sending her galloping, and whistled at the heifer to keep her attention while the kid opened the gate for the horse.

Whistling really pissed Charlene off.

He turned and sprinted for the fence and felt her breath on his back pocket just as his foot hit the railing. He managed to climb halfway up before she slammed into his leg. Lloyd gasped at the burst of pain. When the pressure let up, he jumped down and rolled under the second gate.

“Holy shit, you’ve got a death wish,” the driver said. “I’m not taking this one!”

“She’ll calm down. She just doesn’t like trailers,” Lloyd said.

He had no idea if that was true, but he wasn’t about to keep her around to find out.

Charlene paced back and forth, eyeing him on the other side of the gate, dragging the rope he’d dropped through the mud. Lloyd stood up. She shook her head and bellowed, making the rope whip around. By a stroke of good luck he caught the end and pulled it under the gate.

As the alley narrowed, barricade posts set inside the high fence guided the cattle into the loading chute. He wound the rope around one and tugged, testing its strength. Charlene was big and this post wasn’t built to withstand that kind of weight. Lloyd wrapped the rope around again.

“If this cow kills me, I’ll sue you,” the driver said from the other side of the fence.

“I don’t think you’re the one she’s looking to kill.”

The assistant climbed over from the corral and landed beside his boss. He looked at Lloyd.

“You okay? Did she break anything?”

“No, I’m good. Do me a favor. Be ready to shut that trailer, fast.”

“What?”

Lloyd unchained the gate and moved to the far side of the alley. He glanced at the kid.

“Ready?”

The assistant ran to the trailer. Lloyd tightened the rope around the post, lashed it around his hand for good measure, and unlatched the second gate. He moved to the other side of the alley, parallel to the barrier post, and kicked the gate open, making it crash against the fence. This time the noise didn’t spook Charlene. She was too focused on Lloyd to care.

He stood there and let her charge. The barrier post served as a pivot point, creating a zig-zag that shortened the rope. Charlene was just a few feet away when she ran out of length and was swung around by the force of her own momentum. She stumbled into the loading chute and Lloyd shoved the metal panel into place behind her. He climbed up the fence and pulled the rope off her horns. When it was off, he whistled. She bolted in the only direction she could, straight into the trailer. The kid slammed the door shut.

Jane was waiting by the gate, exactly where she’d run after he’d jumped off. Lloyd led her out of the corral around to the cattle truck. The assistant watched him secure his rope to the saddle with obvious interest.

“Do you rodeo, sir?”

“Nope, never have.”

The kid’s expression was disbelieving. “Why?”

“My father preferred to train and sell horses instead of competing with them.”

“You could’ve made a killing at jackpot ropings!”

Lloyd chuckled, amused by the kid’s enthusiasm.

The driver scowled. “We’re behind schedule.”

“That’s the pleasure of working with animals,” Lloyd said.

“I’m charging you for the delay. You should’ve shot this one, she’s going to kill somebody.”

“She’ll be fine once you unload her. Do you have everything you need?”

The kid answered. “We just need your signature.”

The driver fetched the paperwork while Lloyd fielded the kid’s roping questions. It surprised him to find he enjoyed giving the advice.

When the livestock haulers were off, he walked Jane to the barn.

“You earned some oats for not breaking my neck,” Lloyd said.

Jane snorted and picked up her pace.

In front of the barn, he noticed marks in the dirt. He looped Jane’s reins through a hitching ring without bothering to secure them and crouched to study the boot prints. The mixture of clay and loam soil held its shape well, and the sun had baked the dirt into a detailed cast. He’d found similar impressions on Tuesday morning which had motivated him to spend the next few days herding cattle on the outskirts of the ranch.

The sneaky, unwanted visitor didn’t surprise him.

Settling the ranch’s affairs was his duty. Dealing with his father’s illegal side business wasn’t. He’d be insane to get involved in a drug running operation and risk a second strike on his record.

Lloyd studied the print. He knew it wasn’t from him. The first thing he’d done when he’d arrived was dig out his cowboy boots and start cleaning the barn. His boots were leather soled, designed to slide easily in and out of stirrups. They left a distinct heel and triangular forefoot print. The visitor’s boots had a tread pattern that was usually found on rubber soles. Whoever wore these shoes spent his days on city streets, not on a ranch. A sinking feeling settled in his chest. He had a strong hunch about the visitor’s identity, but hoped he was wrong. Lloyd dusted off his jeans, and went to untack Jane. He placed the saddle and blanket over the door of an empty stall.

He glanced toward the tack room and his stomach clenched. Inhaling sharply, he turned away.

After Jane was settled with a bale of grass hay and a bucket of oats, he walked to the small pen where a sick calf was bedded down in the straw. His eyes and nose were running with thick green mucus that left no doubt infection had taken hold. Lloyd checked his water. It hadn’t been touched.

“Whatever bug you’re fighting might not kill you, but dehydration sure will.”

The calf wheezed.

Lloyd shook his head. “You need a vet.”

His ears twitched at the words, but he didn’t raise his head. After changing the calf’s water Lloyd went to the house and used the landline to call Anderson’s Feed Store.

Henry Anderson picked up on the first ring. Of course, he not only knew the local vet, but promised he’d have them swing by around six. Then he started firing off questions with the zeal of a Spanish Inquisitor. How was college? Did he like Harvard, or did he wish he’d gone to Notre Dame? What had he enjoyed about England? How much did it rain over there? Did he know Coach Olsen had hung a framed picture of him receiving the Bushnell Cup in the gym lobby?

Lloyd sat down at the kitchen table and answered the inquiries. He noticed when Mr. Anderson skipped over questions about his post-college years and fast forwarded to current events. The effortless way he sidestepped the uncomfortable subject squeezed Lloyd’s heart. His unseemly history didn’t warrant such a tactful maneuver and because of it, Henry’s easy grace hit him like a three hundred pound linebacker.

“I knew that determination would take you places. I haven’t employed another highschool kid for four years straight since you.”

At that time, he’d done his best to stay out of Joe’s way which meant the long hours at Henry’s store were a perk. Later, their fully stocked breakroom fridge had allowed him to avoid going home for days at a time.

“How’s April doing?”

He finally asked about the topic he’d been expecting would come up, but hadn’t.

“She’s doing well. Married a boy from Portland and now we’ve got four grandchildren. The oldest is a senior this fall, and the middle one starts seventh grade. The second youngest is in kindergarten and the baby turns two in a month.”

“Wow… that’s a range of ages.”

“The baby is her Mama’s spitting image. It took four tries, but her genes finally hit copy paste.”

Henry laughed at his own joke while Lloyd tried to imagine it.

“I’m sure you’ll catch up with her, but I’ve got to let you go. A load of grain just pulled in. The vet says they’ll be by after 5:30, probably closer to 6.”

“Thanks, Henry.”

He hung up and tried to wrap his head around the bombshell that April Anderson was married with four kids. He wondered why Henry had suggested they catch up. It seemed to imply she still lived in the area. Lloyd shook off the curiosity and grabbed the truck keys. He didn’t have time for a social call. Already, it was mid-afternoon and his errands in town couldn’t be put off any longer.

Lloyd paused at the door and reached into the side table drawer. As expected, his father’s loaded .22 Sig Sauer was inside, encased in a leather shoulder holster that held two extra magazines in a pocket on the right strap. Being a felon, he wasn’t legally allowed to carry a gun, let alone a concealed gun. He thought of the boot prints and his suspicions about the night-time visitor, then removed his denim shirt and slipped on the holster. He covered it with the shirt and checked his reflection. The loose garment and compact weapon rendered the bulge under his arm almost invisible. He put on his sunglasses and grabbed a baseball cap from the shelf.

It was just a quick trip to town. He’d be in and out before anyone knew he was there.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You tugged at your skirt, trying in vain to shield your bruised knees. Even with setting powder, the concealer hadn’t provided the coverage you’d hoped for.

Vivian stirred her yogurt and watched you from the corner of her eye. Your birthday dinner had gone better than expected. For dessert you’d taken the family out for frozen yogurt and, at your Mom’s suggestion, walked down to the park so Alyssa could run around. She’d behaved well at the restaurant, but after two hours of sitting, she was getting antsy.

With the efficiency of a general, Mom had taken charge of Sam and ordered Juan to mind Alyssa. She had sent you and Vivian off to ‘enjoy the peace and quiet,’ which was code for ‘go make up because I said so.’ From a shady bench you watched Mom encouraging Sam to walk through the splash pad spray. She was bent over, letting him hold both her hands for balance, uncaring of the mist soaking the lower half of her linen pants. Hector, Caleb, and Diego were kicking a soccer ball in the grass and Juan was hovering nearby, watching Alyssa play in the landscaping.

“What’s Alyssa doing?” you asked Vivian.

“Playing with rocks. I don’t know why, but if you give her a rock, she’ll look at it for hours.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

“What happened to your knees?” Vivian asked.

“I fell.”

“Were you drinking?”

“Vivian!”

“What, you’re not uncoordinated. Were you drinking?”

“No!”

“Well, I have to ask. You’ve been acting super weird lately,” she said.

That was true. You cringed under her scrutiny and decided to change the topic.

“I’m sorry, Vivian.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“My reaction to your pregnancy was uncalled for. I overstepped, and I’m sorry.”

“I dropped it on you like a ton of bricks, so there’s that. You don’t handle change well and I should’ve known to break the news gently.”

“Hey! I’m great with change.”

“Absolutely, you just roll with the punches.” Vivian snickered, and dissolved into giggles. Then her gaze shifted to your frozen yogurt. “Can I have a bite?”

You held out the cup. She sampled it and made a face.

“Yuck.”

“First you insult my adaptability, then my taste buds.”

“Speaking of taste, congratulations on the break up.”

It took you a second to realize what she meant. “When did I tell you about that?”

“You told Caleb, which is like telling the whole family.”

“Right.”

“Does your boss live in the Historic District of Alexandria? By those swanky townhouses?” Vivian asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

Her eyes gleamed. “Last night I checked your location on Life360. Guess where you were?”

Oh, crap…

“Why were you at your boss’s house at three a.m?”

“I’m house sitting,” you said.

“For three weeks? Bullshit.”

“Damn it, I’m going to delete that stupid app. I thought I already did-”

“I stole your phone and reinstalled it. Before you ask, yes, I check your location every night. Are you dating your boss?”

“He’s not my boss. Technically, Weston Tafferty is my supervisor.”

“Lloyd’s last name is Hansen, right?”

You frowned. “Did you Google him?”

“I really should apply to the FBI someday,” Vivian said, grinning.

“Listen, you can’t believe everything on the internet…”

She was already opening a website on her phone.

“Have you seen this?”

You braced yourself to explain Lloyd’s escapades, but it was an article from the Boston Globe sports section dated 26 October 2001. The headline read “Harvard Beats Penn, Cinches Ivy Title” and the photo underneath showed a group of sweaty men in tight white pants and hulking shoulder pads. Lloyd was in the middle. He’d taken his helmet off, revealing a clean shaven jaw and hair three shades lighter than it was now, but there was no mistaking that bone structure.

“Look at that man. He is fine,” Vivian drew the middle vowel of ‘fine’ into a throaty purr.

“It’s not like that, I’m-”

“You’re sleeping with him, just spill.”

You groaned and covered your face.

“Y/N, please? It’s just us. And unlike Caleb, I can keep a secret. I can keep all the secrets, so tell me everything.”

Your sister was absolutely reliable as a confidant, but your relationship with Lloyd was so new and undefined. Then again, maybe you could use some outside perspective on the matter. It would probably go a long way toward repairing the rift between you.

“Okay. So, Aiden ended things-”

“Shut up! He broke up with you?!”

Her outrage was a delight. “Unfortunately. Lloyd took me out for dinner and you’ll never guess what happened then…”

By the time you left the park, dusk was falling. Talking to Vivian had settled your mind about the crazy twist your relationship with Lloyd had taken and confirmed that you were enjoying the new status quo, as tenuous as it might be.

There was a flier stuck under your windshield wiper. Assuming it was an advertisement, you grabbed it, slid behind the wheel and turned on the air conditioner, then unfolded the page. Breath froze in your lungs and your heart dropped like a stone as blood drained from your face so fast your vision blurred.

It was a photo of you and Vivian on the park bench. You scanned it for clues, trying to decipher the angle it had been taken from and realized the photographer must have been on the other side of the splash pad from where you’d been sitting. A shiver ran down your spine. You scanned the street, with its long shadows and fluorescent lamps. Aiden could be anywhere. Fragments of the messages he’d sent flashed through your mind, raising goosebumps on your arms. Your hands clenched into fists. This was no way to live. You couldn’t tolerate it.

Trying to calm your racing heart, you took several deep breaths. After the pressure eased in your chest and you felt clear-headed again, you evaluated your options. There was the obvious choice - contact Detective Diskant at metro and give him the photo. But hadn’t you already done that? Aiden had responded by stepping up his game. Not only had he followed you, he’d followed your family and been bold enough to leave behind photographic evidence of the act.

The message was clear: I’m watching, and you can’t stop me.

Reporting him had made things worse. You threw the car into reverse; it was time to show Aiden who he was dealing with.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

His errands took longer than expected.

The health district office was slammed, and he’d waited more than an hour for copies of his father’s death certificate. Paying property taxes in person was a bureaucratic nightmare, and so was settling the funeral home bill. His last stop was the priest, and he’d cut that visit short. To make sure they wouldn’t cancel Joe’s service because of his rudeness, he’d added a zero to his donation. With one eye on the clock, he made the final turn towards home. The clock ticked off another minute. Not wanting to miss the vet, he sped up.

Sirens wailed.

Lloyd hissed. He hadn’t risked speeding on the interstate after spotting the black and white vehicle tailing him, but he’d thought he had shaken them miles ago. Red and blue flashing lights followed him to the edge of the road as he pulled over.

Great. What a fantastic ending to an afternoon filled with unpleasant errands. He’d handed over a small fortune to the county and fucking donated to an organization that owned more land than Bill Gates. Like an ice cream sundae wouldn’t be complete without the cherry on top, this miserable day couldn’t be finished with anything less than a traffic stop.

He parked a few meters from the ranch’s front gate. The police truck didn’t pull in behind him; instead, it maneuvered around and turned into his driveway. It swung to the right and reversed into a parallel park, blocking the road.

The side decal on the pickup read ‘SHERIFF’ in bold print.

Lloyd watched the driver climb out. Even at a distance, he recognized the well-built man thanks to the distinctive outline of his Montana crease cowboy hat. This one was pecan colored instead of gray. It matched the tan uniform better than his old one, Lloyd noted.

He rolled down the window and propped his elbow on the ledge to hide the holster under his arm.

“Evening, Sheriff. Was I speeding?”

“License and registration.”

Lloyd took his time finding the papers and handed them over, one by one.

“You’re looking well, Holbrook. It’s like you haven’t aged a day.”

The jab made the Sheriff’s upper lip curl, but he didn’t bat an eye as he examined the papers. Charles Holbrook was his senior by twelve years, though the way he wore those years made it look like twenty. His bulky aviators didn’t cover the wrinkles around his eyes and what Lloyd could see of his hair had gone gray.

Holbrook tilted his hat back.

“Where were you headed in such a hurry, son?”

“I’ve got a sick calf and the vet’s due any minute.”

The Sheriff looked to the passenger seat where the file of tax papers lay.

“What’s in the folder?”

“If you’ve got a warrant you can look, but if not…”

“Where are you coming back from?”

“Town.”

Holbrook ran his tongue around his teeth. “You sure about that? Just town? Nowhere else?”

It seemed his instinct about being followed had been correct. He wished he hadn’t slipped their tail earlier, because it had given them the chance to set up this speed trap.

Lloyd shrugged. “I’m just trying to get home and take care of my animals, Sheriff.”

Knowing who he was dealing with helped Lloyd keep his temper in check. Thirty years ago, when he’d been a young deputy, Charles Holbrook had joined Joe’s drug running operation. Harsher sentencing guidelines made his father cautious enough to find an insurance policy and Holbrook fit the bill. He proved himself effective and ambitious, which was why Lloyd hadn’t been surprised to hear they’d had a falling out after he’d left for college. Rumor was, the Sheriff and Joe had spent the past twenty years at war, fighting over control of the intermountain west drug trade.

Holbrook grasped the butt of his gun. Lloyd tensed, then a blur of action drew his attention. The passenger door of the police truck flew open. A young man in a deputy’s uniform burst out with a pump action rifle.

Shit.

The .22 under his arm wouldn’t be any defense if the deputy was a good shot and given that Holbrook was nobody’s fool, especially in these matters… carrying illegally had been a colossal mistake. The tiniest infarction would be an excuse to throw him in jail. Lloyd’s jaw clenched as he appreciated that in this scenario, Holbrook’s definition of “jail” would mean “the bottom of Redfish Lake.”

“Watch your back, Lloyd. You know the rules in these parts.”

Rage bubbled in his chest at the threat. His nostrils flared as he took a sharp breath, struggling against the urge to fight. The Sheriff smirked.

“It’d be a shame if there were two Hansen funerals this week, Lloyd. Don’t do anything stupid. We need to have a serious chat about-”

Holbrook cut off at the sound of gravel crunching behind them. Lloyd saw another vehicle had pulled up behind his truck and scowled. He couldn’t decide if he should be amused or annoyed that he warranted backup. This was a run of the mill shake down, not… Damn it. His gaze swung to the rearview mirror. The white pickup had boxed him in. With the sheriff on his left, the deputy in front of him, and the newcomer behind, he was trapped.

It was a straight shot through the windshield with the pump action rifle. Lloyd figured he could shoot Holbrook and take cover behind the engine block, but that left him vulnerable to the occupant of the white pickup. By the time he got off a shot he’d have six rounds in his back.

“Luke! Put that away!”

Holbrook straightened up and faced the new arrival.

Lloyd didn’t blink, eyes tracking the deputy’s every move, while he complied with the request. His attention stayed on the rifle until it was out of sight. Only then did his attention return to the Sheriff, who wore a welcoming smile for the approaching woman. She wore a navy baseball cap, plaid button down, and Levi’s tucked into cowboy boots. There was something familiar about her that tickled the edge of his memory.

“Dr. Ward! Haven’t I told you it’s not wise to interrupt police business?”

Holbrook’s tone was the same one used to discipline golden retrievers - exasperated, but indulgent.

“Well, Sheriff, this time it’s you interrupting my business. I’ve got a sick calf to see and you’re blocking the road.”

She nodded at the police truck, and when she turned her head, he spotted the auburn ponytail. Lloyd’s jaw dropped.

“April? April Anderson?”

“It’s Ward now,” she said, grinning. “Dad mentioned you had an emergency, but this isn’t the kind of emergency I expected.”

“Nah, no emergency here. Sheriff Holbrook was letting me off with a warning.”

“That’s sweet of you, Sheriff. Do you mind clearing the road?”

Holbrook’s lips twisted into a sour pucker, but he touched two fingers to the brim of his hat and nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You sat in your car, gripping the steering wheel tight.

Just being parked on this street felt dangerous. Despite the risk, anger was more powerful than logic in your current frame of mind. You hung onto that fury. If the past few days had taught you anything, it was that living in fear wasn’t sustainable. Rage felt like a suitable alternative - it was certainly more pleasant than terror.

Thoughts of rage turned your mind to Lloyd. If he knew about your situation, he’d be apocalyptic. He’d protected you in Singapore with no consideration for himself and that recklessness worried you. If he flew off the handle there was a decent chance he’d end up facing a second round of felony charges. The prospect of Lloyd being sent to jail because of your mistakes was untenable. You needed to handle Aiden yourself.

From the spot you’d parked, on the opposite side of the street to Aiden’s house, you had a perfect view into the living room. He was inside and based on what you’d seen in the last thirty minutes, he was alone. Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage and imagined you were Lloyd. You thought of the irritable man who’d stormed into the paralegal office and invaded your life. The image filled your mind, thrilling and comforting in equal measure. You remembered the boisterous, almost wild energy that version of Lloyd had carried into a room.

Thinking of his confidence helped ease the tug of caution that insisted you’d be safer turning around and driving back to Virginia. You twisted your neck, warming up the muscles and taking deep, steady breaths. In less than a minute, your shoulders relaxed and your jaw unclenched as the last clouds of doubt rolled away.

Moving with purpose, you stepped out of the car and stalked across the street toward the two-story brick colonial with an immaculate front lawn. Your heart was hammering, but the fear was buried under a thick fog of anger. You were going to demolish Aiden.

You rang the bell and waited. The door opened and Aiden looked irritated to see you. The sight of him made your lip curl into a snarl.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

You shoved the photo in his face.

“This, Aiden. I’m talking about this!”

“Huh?”

“I found it on the hood of my car an hour ago. You took this picture and left it to threaten me.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Don’t lie.”

Aiden scoffed. “You’re crazy. It’s just a picture.”

“You’re harassing me. You’ve been texting me, stalking my building, and trying to make me uncomfortable. Well, guess what? I’ve already forwarded the texts to your father and filed a complaint with the police. Even with all that, you don’t seem to be getting the message, so here it is. Stop. Bothering. Me.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Trust me, Aiden. If you make my life hell, I’ll be happy to return the favor - in triplicate.”

“You’re a drama queen, you know that, right? I’m not the one who came to your house. You should be glad I’m giving you the time of day - it’s not like you’d do the same.”

“I know you sent the texts. You’re taking your problems out on me, and if you keep doing it, you’ll find out that I punch back. Stay away from me. Stay away from my family. This is the last time I’ll say it - next time you find out I mean what I say.”

He crossed his arms, straightening. “You should watch your mouth, bitch.”

“And you should watch your back. You’re going to leave me alone. If you don't, I’ll put you in a world of hurt.”

“See if I care.”

“You should. Because if you don’t, I’ll give you a reason to.”

“Whatever.”

You raised your chin.

“I don’t need you to believe me. Because whether or not you think I’m serious, I am. This is me giving you the chance to turn things around. Go very far away from me and stay there. If you don’t, you have no one to blame but yourself for what happens next.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The calf ended up with a prescription for long-term antibiotics, and he persuaded April to have a beer with him. He couldn’t help but stare as they sat on opposite sides of the small kitchen table. She broke the silence first.

“Nice mustache. It ages you, but somehow it suits you.”

“Thanks. I can’t believe you’re still here. I figured some city boy would sweep you off your feet and take you to Seattle or Boise.”

“He did, but I took him home instead of the other way around.”

“I guess your taste in men improved after high school,” Lloyd teased.

“Given my starting point, it couldn’t have gotten much worse.”

He laughed. “After Tyler, I was a step up.”

Tyler Claffey had been April’s first boyfriend. He played defensive tackle to Lloyd’s quarterback and they’d been on the same team since fifth grade. Their hatred of each other ran deeper than the traditional offense vs. defense rivalry every football team suffered. Tyler still held the distinction of being the most insecure person Lloyd had ever known. For his part, Tyler hated Lloyd’s sullen disposition, lack of regard for other people’s opinions, and most of all, for being a superior athlete.

When he was caught cheating on her the week before junior prom, April had asked Lloyd to be her date. He knew the goal was to twist the knife in Tyler’s side and had accepted the invitation. They went to prom together and ended up dating until graduation.

“Tell me about your husband,” Lloyd said.

“Michael. We met in college, but didn’t date until after. He’s a lawyer.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Is he tall, dark, and handsome… with a mustache?”

April snorted. “No, no, yes, and absolutely not. I know you aren’t married, because no woman would tolerate that facial hair. You should grow a beard.”

“My girlfriend doesn’t mind it.”

Lloyd felt a ripple of concern at how naturally the word ‘girlfriend’ rolled off his tongue, but pushed it aside. He considered April - the first and last woman to hold that title - and shook his head.

“I can’t believe you stuck around.”

“I didn’t hate it here, you did.”

“I had to get away. You know why.”

April nodded. She picked at the label on her drink and lowered her voice.

“How did you feel, when they told you he was dead?”

“Shocked, disbelieving. More of the latter, to be honest. The hospital called and explained but I just… I thought he couldn’t die.”

“Are you okay, being back? Like, here, in this house?”

Lloyd shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Have you been in touch with your family?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m it.”

April raised an eyebrow. “Your sisters?”

He looked away.

“You never searched for them? After all these years? I…” she broke off. “Lloyd? Did something happen to them?”

“I can’t say for sure. I didn’t look them up because I knew what I’d find.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother couldn’t take care of them. Even back then, I knew.”

“She left the summer before fifth grade, right?”

“Yeah. My father was away, it was just me and the girls. The house was peaceful. That’s what I remember most about those last days.”

April’s brow creased in confusion, so he explained.

“She didn’t have any of her normal outbursts, episodes, whatever you’d call them. Looking back, she must have started on some kind of antipsychotic meds. A few days before Dad returned I woke up to an empty house.”

He looked out at the barnyard and saw it as it was thirty years ago. Almost exactly thirty years to the day, he realized with a jolt.

“Her car was gone. Josephine’s closet was empty and so was Ingrid’s. Only some of my mother’s things had been taken, but when I saw the suitcases were missing, I knew they weren’t coming back.”

“I’m sorry,” April whispered.

She reached across the table and covered his hand. Lloyd folded his fingers around hers.

“I hate remembering. I can’t go through the barn without thinking of Ingrid and that evil little Shetland who bit everyone. I taught her to saddle him, but I think I put on his bridle every time she wanted to ride.”

“Clever girl.”

Lloyd smiled. “She’d hunt for arrowheads with me. Josie used to go with us because if we didn’t take her, she’d cry and that would set Mom off. She liked to collect flowers and press them in parchment. The first night here, I went into her room and…”

Emotion choked him. A piece of wax paper had fallen from the pages of one of her story books. It was a bright, cheerful Black-eyed Susan. He’d stood there staring at it, as if it were a rattlesnake.

Lloyd shuddered.

“My mother may as well have driven them off a cliff, instead of off the ranch. I never looked them up… not knowing is easier.”

April squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“When I was in prison, the psychiatrist asked me if I’d ever felt love. The question made me furious. I couldn’t believe he’d think me incapable of such a basic emotion, but then I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt love - no offense -”

“None taken.”

“I knew my reaction was genuine, but until Monday night when I saw the rocking chair, I couldn’t figure out where it had come from.”

Their eyes drifted to the pine rocker by the front window.

“That’s where they let me hold Josie for the first time.”

April squeezed his hand. “Is your girlfriend coming for the funeral? I’d love to meet her.”

“No. I didn’t want her to see me like this.”

Lloyd turned his hand, bringing hers to rest on top, and studied the impressive diamond ring on her left finger.

“Nice rock.”

“It spends most of its time on a chain around my neck. That’s what he gets for marrying a vet.”

He used his thumb to turn the ring left and right, admiring the way it caught the light.

“I knew we wouldn’t last, but I loved you, April.”

“Not really. We were good friends, Lloyd. But it didn’t run deeper than that on either side and you were turning bitter.”

She paused, eyeing him curiously as her tongue traced the edge of her upper teeth.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What happened between you and Coach Olsen?”

Lloyd slipped his hand free at the naming of his former football coach. “You don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s been decades and I’m still curious.”

“Olsen took bribes. USC paid him to make sure I didn’t sign with Harvard.”

“But you liked Harvard the most.”

“He was stringing them along, making it sound like I hadn’t decided so the money kept flowing. Obviously, that’s not kosher with the NCAA.”

“He put your scholarship at risk. I understand why you cut ties.”

His lips twisted.

“It was more than that. I got a call from USC in July, which was odd because I’d already committed to Harvard. Their rep let it slip about Olsen. I was livid. Mind meltingly furious, unlike anything I’d felt before.”

The memory made his stomach pitch. Something visceral had come over him and he’d felt his mind loosen, allowing the monster to emerge. The dam holding back years of rage burst and nothing could stem the tide.

“I’d worried I was like Joe, but until that night I wasn’t sure. Whatever had held me in check snapped. I don’t remember the drive into town, just walking across the field and seeing lights on in the shed. Olsen was in the office, working. The football shed wasn’t air conditioned back then, so the garage door was open.”

The scene played behind his eyes, undistorted by time. He saw the white cinder block shed and felt the thrill of finding his prey. Later, that feeling had become an addiction, better than cocaine and longer lasting than ecstasy.

“I snuck under the garage door into the storage area. They’d brought in the baseball equipment and there was a rack of bats beside the door. On my way through, I grabbed one. He turned when I stepped into the office and started to speak. I swung for his head but he ducked, so I only clipped him. He rushed me, and I struck his right knee, got him on the ground, and then…”

He remembered it in flashes. The sound of bones crunching, screams, then agonized cries.

When he’d snapped out of the trance there were blisters on his palms.

“I thought I’d killed him. That’s why I left for college a month early. When the team went to state a few years later, I read he was still their coach. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.”

April stared at him. “That was you?! We thought there was a psychopath running around town!”

“There was.”

“I don’t agree with everything you did, but your reaction was understandable.”

“The only thing I regret is not saying goodbye to you.”

“I figured you wanted a clean break. Once I accepted it was what you needed, I got over it. But I worried about you. I figured we’d stay in touch, you know?”

He hadn’t wanted anyone too close to him, not after realizing what he was capable of. If he was a monster then the safest place for April was far away from him. Hence, why she remained his first and last girlfriend.

“Speaking of the past…” April frowned. “Have you spoken to Elliot lately?”

Lloyd’s eyebrows rose. “Elliot? No.”

The mention of his cousin surprised him.

Elliot Hansen was the illegitimate son of his father’s sister and some drug dealer from Boise. The drug dealer had vanished upon learning of the pregnancy and two years later, his aunt committed suicide, orphaning her young son. Joe refused to acknowledge him and Elliot became a ward of the state. Like his parents, Elliot got hooked on drugs early and by the end of highschool, he’d been a certified junkie.

“He went to rehab and was working down in Nevada. When your father took a turn for the worse, he came back to help. For the past few months he’s been on Sheriff Holbrook’s list.”

“Is he on drugs again?”

“No. I knew Holbrook was shaking you down when I saw the traffic stop because he did the same thing to Elliot.”

“Which earned you a warning to stay out of police business,” Lloyd said.

“I pay my taxes, I have the right to be nosy.”

“Damn it, April. I told you Holbrook was dangerous. Why would you put yourself in his line of fire for that lowlife?”

Her glare was withering. “He kicked meth without anyone’s help and re-built his life from nothing. Don’t call him names.”

“Fine.” Lloyd held up his hands. “No name calling. Please, continue.”

“I caught the end of their argument. There was something about the ranch and ‘mercury’ but I couldn’t hear anything more.”

“Did you ask Elliot about it?”

She shook her head. “No, because I haven’t seen Elliot in two weeks. I’m worried about him, Lloyd. I think something’s happened to him.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Next - Part XIV

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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tinyvesselhearts · 1 year

Text

What Fear Does to People (Egon x You)

It's Chapter 8 of my series Thing Is but can be read as a standalone.

Rating: Mature (descriptions of violence) Pairing: Egon Spengler x You (no Y/N) Others: "Platonic" bed-sharing, pre-relationship, gentle touching, hurt/comfort, ghosthunting, Lovecraftian monsters, Ray's recovering from a bust and he's not currently at the station

(also: a reference to GB game. If you know, you know)

It’s roughly 2 a.m. when it starts.

Egon wakes up with a shiver. He’s freezing. A gust of wind runs through his clothes and that in itself is enough to put him on guard. Thing is, all the windows are closed, both of you are covered with quilts and there’s no tangible cause for the cold. No rational excuse, unless…

With mounting suspicion, he takes a look around. It’s pitch black and he can barely make out the edges of Ray’s empty cot. Warmth of the linen seems to hit him all at once, stark contrast to what he’s just felt on his skin. Disconcerting. Eerie, maybe— but he’s calm nonetheless. This is how those entities operate. The Collective: all kinds of eldritch horrors. They’re playing hide- and- seek until their victims can’t keep their wits about them anymore and he— as a devoted scientist and a Ghostbuster (yes, the very same)— is here to teach a lesson.

You’re unabashedly curled up against his side. Safe, unbothered, sound asleep. The attacker must be considering you innocuous enough, likely due to your comparative vulnerability, and is focused on Egon. Perfect. He lays his head back but doesn’t close his eyes— he’s vigilant— alert— ready.

The thing about Collective Unconscious is that despite being aware of its modus operandi, human brain is pretty pathetic in comparison. Its innate susceptibility to fear, specifically. During his years of Psychology, Egon would repeatedly hear that fear and love were the strongest of all human instincts, as they made the whole body receptive and focused in an instant. Later he’d find out that’s true about fear. He has no first- hand data on the latter— he supposes due to the troubled relationship with his parents— but Peter and Ray have done enough stupid things out of affection to confirm the thesis. Since Venkman’s incident with the tank a few years back, Egon hasn’t questioned love or its impact on a subject’s decision- making process. Or common sense. Or mating choices, just to be clear.

With that in mind, Egon knows what to expect. Diminished control of his body. Flinches. Unconditioned reflexes. He is determined to distinguish between real, physical stimuli and paranoia- induced ploys. A moment to cool off, analyze and conclude before acting on impulses. That’s the plan. Right. It’s easy in theory.

A distant bang echoes in the garage. It resembles a metal tool— a wrench, maybe?— but the sound is followed by nothing else, so Egon decides it’s nothing but a figment of imagination. Until—

“What was it?”

He leans back. He can’t see your face properly but enough to notice your eyes are open.

“…Oh. You’ve heard it too?”

“It’s not like… Ray got discharged in the middle of the night and sauntered back here, is it?”

There’s another loud bang. Nobody moves but both of you are very much awake.

Egon finally speaks.

“I’ll check it.”

“Uh, okay, okay”, you whisper. “What do I do?”

“Stay here and try to sleep. I’ll handle it.”

��…what?”

“Don’t argue. There’s no time. I’ll take care of whatever that is. I’m a professional, listen to me and I’ll make sure you’re safe. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Yes, but the Ghostbusters are a team. Now you’re on your own. I’m not leaving you! What if—”

“No time”, he mutters, putting the proton pack on. “Stay here. You were so tired you almost passed out on the couch. Do I need to remind you that you put my shirt on backwards?”

“My mom says it’s good fortune!”

“I’m serious”, he states and switches the backpack on. “Eldritch horrors are different than regular spirits. They harm both physically and emotionally. Lack of proper rest weakens the cognitive functions and you may be a real, tangible danger to yourself— and to me. Especially if you’re not familiar with their strategy.”

Egon slides into a pair of slippers. It’s not the perfect job attire but it’ll have to do— he stupidly left his combat boots in the locker downstairs. Maybe when he slides down to the garage, he’ll manage to change.

He takes the final look at you because you’re awfully quiet. Exhausted and hopeless, he guesses. He’d appreciate some backup but the boys aren’t here and you’re in no position to fill the role now. When you ignored his precaution the last time (while fully capable and well- rested), you ended up wounded in his lab. What you’re facing here can do much, much more damage.

Egon briefly considers escorting you out of the premises altogether—just in case— but then, how could he ensure your safety if the spirit decides to leave after you?

His chest is heavy when he speaks.

“If anything suspicious happens in this room, call me immediately. Shout, if you have to.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Alright”, he shoots you a look. “Stay here.”

You nod. It’s weak, devoid of conviction and Egon wants to emphasize how crucial it is for you to stay— but another loud bang comes from the reception area and there’s no time to waste.

Egon turns around and scuttles towards the pole. He slides down. Lands with a loud thump, doubled by the flip- flops and takes a slow, cautious look around.

He’s quick to spot the source of the noise: it’s a loose pipe lying on the floor. It might not be currently moving but it sure as heck was just a moment ago— Ray doesn’t leave spare parts scattered around the floor. He has his secret dirty stash for that.

Egon takes a long, wary look around. Nothing’s moving, except for gentle flow of a dirty cloth drying on the heater. He pulls out the PKE meter and glances at the readings. Whatever this thing is, it’s here. It may be invisible but it’s here. Lurking. Leering. Hidden in the shadow, a predator on the hunt. Any moment now.

He doesn’t even manage to slide the device back into the pocket when a slimy tentacle shoots at him.

It’s massive. Heavy and slick. Whatever creature it belongs to, it must be huge and, uh, incredibly unusual. The dissonance is almost incomprehensible: to see a wet, marine limb which acts very much alive here— in the garage of New York’s finest— in a place devoid of water (well, save for a tap).

Egon screams. He drops the PKE meter and reaches for the charged rod. A proton stream lashes outwards with full power but before it catches the giant limb, it’s already gone— slithered into the shadows, shrouded in shade.

A few things to note right away: one, the ghost is huge. Two, it’s unlike any other they’ve seen before. Three, the sheer amount of mucus suggests a healthy dose of Marsh genes. Four, it’s out of sight and apparently good at staying there. Right. All Egon has to do is pretend to be unsuspecting, so that the ghost—

“Yeah, so I’ve done some thinking and I can’t do this.”

He whips his head around. There you are: in his crumpled shirt still inside- out, peeking through the hole in the ceiling. You’re in the middle of putting on your socks.

He can’t with you. He can’t.

“What did I tell you? Don’t come down here!”

“Oops?”

“No”, he yells. “I told you to STAY! Stay! How many times—”

“Sure, and pretend your screaming flows like a nursery rhyme.”

You clutch the pole with both hands, pull yourself close and slide down. Egon curses under his breath. Shite. Shite. Of course you wouldn’t listen. Psychology classes pop up in his mind again— the most powerful instincts— the things people do for fear…

“I’m here now. Poof. Too late”, you say. “Whatever happens is on me.”

He stifles a groan. It’s a lost cause. The stairs are at the opposite end of the garage. Escorting you there would take way too long and expose you to a stealthy attack and— well, he doesn’t suppose forcing you to climb the pole is on the table.

“Alright”, he decides. “Grab the pack.”

You manage to put it on yourself. He helps you to switch it on. You huff, smile and turn to him.

“Which trap?”

“Regular.”

“On it!”

You dash towards Ecto- 1. Just as Egon suspected: the enormous tentacle emerges from the shadow and aims.

Egon shoots. The proton stream reaches the ghost this time. The current wraps around its shape. The ectoplasmic limb wrestles and yanks but he holds it in place: it’s your turn to capture it before it rips the shackle.

“Now!”

You slide the contraption right under the ghost. Set the pedal. Step. Open. Wait.

Intense glow fills the room. Egon navigates the tentacle downwards but for some inexplicable reason the trap doesn’t seem to swallow its prey. It tries— sucks some ectoplasmic residue, hoovers up some of its slime— but the monster doesn’t get pulled in, as if it was… attached to something?

A roar echoes through the garage and everything happens at once: the trap closes, proton stream breaks and the ghost dissipates again.

You’re the first to whisper.

“…Is it…?”

“No”, Egon exhales. “It’s around here somewhere.”

“So… The trap didn’t work? Why?”

“Apparently it’s not just a ghost. It must be a complex being with some sort of material form. We may need to overpower it in a more… traditional sense.”

“Chain? Wires? Chandelier? Forget- me rod? A random hydraulic pipe of oblivion?”

Your flowery language is both a blessing and a curse. That translates into a perfect bait. Keep talking.

“So you’re opting for brute force?” Egon asks and that’s all it takes.

“Uh, I thought you were suggesting. I’d try another approach. If that guy is a marine cephalopod he may have a hard time adjusting to open air. Maybe dragging it out of the drainage will do the trick, right? Instead of streaming it, we could—"

Your mouth is still open when the giant tentacle shoots in your general direction. You let out a loud shriek and manage to evade— albeit barely— and even though Egon assumed using you as a lure would be the practical choice, he, for once, can’t stand the sight of it.

The proton rod won’t help any. Hitting you is a real threat— and it’s way more dangerous for you than the ghost. He’s about to resort to brute force but the monster steps out of the shadows and Egon can’t believe his eyes.

It’s human.

Oh, that makes things significantly easier.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a tiny bottle and charges.

A hit from behind may be cheap but it works every time. Egon swings the uncharged proton rod right into the creature’s head. It squeals, unwraps the tentacles protruding from its sleeve, then snarls and shakes its head. Egon has a few seconds to take in the entire picture: three gargantuan ectoplasmic limbs (a developing ghostly sickness?) have taken over the poor guy’s left arm. He seems dazed: his eyes are foggy, droll seeps through his teeth and for a split second Egon wonders if there’s any spiritual cancerous disease he’s failed to discover.

The hybrid lifts its arms and aims at you again, full force. Before you have the chance to scream, Egon slides right in front of you, pushes you aside and splashes some of the bottle’s contents on the monster’s face.

It howls and retracts.

“…What is that?!” You manage.

“An old trick. Handy when possessed individuals fail to be cooperative.”

Egon spots the dirty cloth still hanging on the heater. It should be dry enough. Easy to soak. Perfect.

He dashes for it, grabs it and presses it against the bottle, pouring a decent amount of the liquid on it. Heavy drops of the potent solution spill around. Tiny wet lines trickle down his gloves. He takes a deep breath, holds it and looks at the monster. It snarls. Then charges.

Egon isn’t a great fighter but he dodges just fine. He slides under the tentacles, turns around and hops on the hybrid’s back. It screeches— then stops— wet, throaty sounds stifled by the rug in Egon’s hand. He clutches the monster’s throat, squeezes it with an elbow and turns to you.

“A common tranquilizer. Learnt it during my coroner years”, he grunts, pressing the pad into its face. “You might want to find something to tie him with.”

You’re awfully quiet, staring at him blankly— but you nod. There’s a spare, long chain in Ray’s stash (nobody knows what he uses it for) so you take it and approach the scuffle with apprehension. The hybrid’s movements slow down but it’s still trying to break out of Egon’s unrelenting clutch.

“Thank you”, he says, composed as ever. “You’re doing great.”

It takes a few more seconds. The monster’s muscles eventually give in and it slides down on the floor. Its arms loosen. Eyes close. Its head hits the garage floor.

For a long moment nobody moves.

“Yo”, you whisper. Egon looks at you, then at the limp body beneath him and takes a step back.

“Sedated. Perfect.”

“What now?”

“Let’s tie it up.”

Egon reaches for the chain you’re holding. He wraps the creatures torso (making it extra tight and unnecessarily confusing around the arms— safety first) and you take care of its legs. The constraint turns out pretty solid and, most importantly, impossible to slip through by the tentacles. Once you make sure it’s sealed, each of you grabs a loose end of the chain and proceed to drag the dead weight across the floor.

It’s not exactly Buckingham Palace level of service anyway— not like you owe anybody standards— but when the monster’s back slams against a concrete pillar, you flinch.

“Oh no!— Oh dear, it hurt him—”

“It’s just tried to kill you. You do understand that, right?”

“Sort of”, you groan. “I really wanted it to warm up to us. We’ve sort of killed our chances at cooperation.”

“Don’t worry. It isn’t capable of drawing conclusions in this state.”

Egon pulls the chain and ties the creature around the pillar in an ungallant knot. It’s not his proudest work but a staple of initiative nonetheless. Links are sealed. Hostage is secured. It’s all under control.

He’s still focused on triple- checking the locks when you speak.

“Egon, why did you…?” You rub your hands together. “You… It was dangerous. Reckless. You don’t do reckless, Egon Spengler. Overcomplicated, yes, way too optimized, yes. But this, whatever you were thinking, was almost careless! You… You could’ve—”

He looks upwards. You seem anxious but you’re alive and well. He doesn’t understand.

“I could’ve what?”

“Well, I mean, you stuck your neck out for me. It could’ve been bad”, you gulp. ‘You could’ve been hurt.”

“I wasn’t though, was I?”

Egon’s at a loss. He watches you closely. You’re both okay and that’s all that matters. It’s not the first time he’s done something stupid out of fear— ah, fear, the bypass of rational thought— the Psychology classes again…

You stay silent for a moment, then sigh.

“I’ll call Peter.”

“Yes. No. Wait.” He frowns, takes off his gloves and approaches you. “Check- up first.”

“…This again? Seriously?!” You huff. “It’s, like, the third time this week! If something happened, I’d tell you immediately. I’m fine, Egon! I’m fine, you should be focused on yourself, you’re the one who went berserk for some reason I can’t wrap my head around—"

No bruises, no scratches. He touches your face, looks you in the eyes.

“It’s a precaution. I’ll make it quick. Tell me if anything hurts.”

His fingers skim over your features— cheeks, nose, forehead, temples. Your voice catches. Breath gets shuddered, eyes go frantic and cheeks are still awfully warm but it’s a natural response. Egon’s expected that much. His thumb runs across your lip, even though it looks untouched and there’s no justifiable reason to examine it closely. He just… can’t resist. Nor does he want to, really. There’s still room for excuses which get half- woven in his head but their seams are loose and each sentence falls apart before it leaves his mouth.

Egon knows he lingers too long. Needs to pull back. He doesn’t understand why his body won’t listen.

The tip of his thumb rests at the corner of your lips, then moves on to another gentle caress. Then again. And again, until you sigh. Warm breath tickles his skin. He tries it once more to check if you allow him— and you do— more than that— you melt into the touch, heat radiating from your skin, breathing deep— receptive, indulgent, responsive.

This is… inebriating.

“…You seem okay”, he concludes. “No injuries?”

“No. You?”

“None”, he says, letting his hands hang loose again. “I’ll run a few tests. Call Venkman, tell him we’ve got a subject. He should come immediately.”

“Okay. But tell me what’s going on.”

“…We’ve just caught an anomaly. As I said.”

“Not that. I see you. I notice things”, you say cautiously but he makes sure his face is as blank as ever. “You’re usually so collected. What happened?”

Egon doesn’t think it needs explanation. It’s obvious. Should be, at least. He frowns and says:

“I don’t want my friends to get hurt.”

“…After Ray?”

He nods.

A pair of soft hands brush against his jaw and in a moment— before he’s able to fully process what’s happening— his face dips down, guided by the delicate touch and you gently place your lips near his chin.

It’s a simple gesture. Gentle touch. A shadow of a kiss, lighter than Dana’s, nothing more than a brush of hot skin but— Lord, help him— he shivers— it’s so much more— it’s everything— it’s overwhelming.

“Ray is fine”, you whisper, looking at him again. “You’ll see him tomorrow, remember? It’s almost over.”

“…Again, please.”

“You’ll see him tomorrow...”

“No. Not this, the…”

It takes you a second but you get it and breathe out a laugh. Brush his jaw again, then wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into a tight hug.

Oh. Oh.

His arms tentatively reach for your back and once they’re there— recognize the texture of his shirt (outlining your shape in a way he declines to register)— and he lets down his guard a bit. Tightens his grasp. Sinks into the moment. He lets his hands really feel you for the first time since the both of you’ve started accepting proximity and it frightens him beyond belief— it’s soft, welcoming, disarming and pure— so his eyes close, stiff muscles let go— anxiety abates— he’s out of breath— but all you do is hold him close, no doubt, no shame. You’re as open and affectionate as ever, a salve for his mind, a missing link. You fit right here. He’s never known a feeling like this, not even with his family.

That’s something new: his fear for your life instigates a soothing response. Highly unusual. He’ll have to write it down for future reference.

“Could we include this into the list of things we do? Under… particular circumstances, of course?”

“Sure. Whenever you need it.”

You stay like that for a moment. It’s quiet and dark. Egon relishes every breath tickling the nape of his neck, every slight fidget against his chest, every movement— and when you finally take a step back, his chest feels almost hollow. As if it’s just tasted peace and had to let go.

“You should also add a point in which you listen to me in case of immediate danger”, he says. “In a bold, red, permanent marker, preferably.”

You smile. It’s playful. Cheeky. Beautiful. Whatever anxiety you’d felt a moment ago, evaporated.

“I did cooperate, doofus! You won’t find a more flexible squire than myself.”

“Flexible tends to mean obedient”, he raises an eyebrow. “When I say you fall back, you do.”

“When you require assistance, I help! That’s literally in my agreement. I signed the paper, you have no say in this, Spengler.”

“Spenglers are a team. And, when faced with danger, have to be unanimous.”

“You’re right!” You give him your finger guns and turn to the reception desk. “See? We’ve just agreed and it’s that easy!”

He smirks.

“Call Venkman.”

“Ai, ai, Sir!”

He watches you pick up the phone and dial Peter’s number. A few beeps later your voice fades into a mumble of funny noises.

When he turns towards the hybrid, he notices another curious thing: the tentacles seem to deflate and seep into a bile of ectoplasmic goo.

He must take a sample immediately. Ray is going to love this.

#ghostbusters #egon spengler x reader #egon spengler #egon spengler x you #fanfiction #egon spengler imagines #self insert #ghostbusters fanfiction #ao3 #harold ramis #self ship #self indulgent #happy easter

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theloveablesociopath · 2 years

Text

Mistress of darkness

Where all my goth bitches at?? Yeahhhhhh baby this is for you. 🦇got to represent my fellow, gothic Eddie simps. (Please tell me what you think!)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x goth! reader

Warnings: swearing, bullying, not much else.

(She/her pronouns used. (I think)

Summery: moving to a new school, you try to find your crowd, feeling lost, when you stumble upon a strange candlelit room.

Description: think 80s goth. Wild, teased, and hair sprayed black hair, the perfectly, imperfect Siouxsie Sioux, eyeliner. And don’t forget the beauty that is fishnets, leather, and studded belts.

Let’s not forget the very queen her self, Elvira. An iconic inspiration for style.

———————————————

You’re not sure if you where all that nervous about this new school. Sure, your style was less then typical, but in your old school their where plenty of other people who shared your love of all things dark and mysterious.

There would defiantly be people here that where the same right?

Boy how you where wrong.

The morning of your first day, your hands where still frantically pushing and pulling at a teasing pick, entangled into your dark hair and puffing it up before snapping it in place.

Hair spray misting through the air in thick clouds.

You stared at yourself in the mirror of your vanity, trying desperately not to panic when you realized one half of your eyeliner was significantly longer then the other, intern making the brows that connected them incredibly uneven.

You sat for another grueling hour, shoving face cleaner and eyeliner in and out of your pours.

Ok. Ok ok. That’s good enough, no one will notice will they? You thought surely everyone’s been there and they’ll understand

You tapped your foot violently on the floor, jittering your legs in anxious muscle spasms.

I hope they like me. Your mind flooded again. What if they think I’m just a wanna be? What if they don’t want me to join their table? Or worse What if…. Oh god… what if they think ultravox is goth?!

So maybe music was a bit important to you, more importantly the very mention of music being placed in the wrong gene categories.

You took a step from your vanity smoothing out your tinkled, fishnet sleeves. You had already gotten dressed, which was always the first thing you did. Specifically to protect the poof of your teased hair, against a flatting shirt collar.

Lastly, you jammed your foot into tall leather boots, lacing up the miles of laces against their zigzagged hooks and tightening the strap right above the knee. Insuring the right jeans you wore where tucked Nicely underneath them.

You stood up, grabbing your old cross body bag adorned with patches of your favorite things, Elvira, Siouxsie Sioux, and the evil dead. shuffling for your keys among the clatter of items they where stuffed within it.

Calm down, it’s go time.

Ripping open the door and cautiously stomping down the staircase to head to school you heard you mother call from the kitchen.

“Have a good first day! Love you!” She yelled happily, her colorful polka dotted apron smeared with flour.

“Thanks mom! Love you!” You yelled back, jolting out the door and down the sidewalk to your car.

You wished you drove a hurst, or an impala or even just any nice sleek looking ride.

Instead, you threw your bag across the sun cracked seats of an old amc pacer. The paint chipped and rusted from the outside, adorned with dents from your ‘not so easy’ driving lesson. And the worst part of it all, was the loud mustard faded yellow that covered the entire thing.

You reached in, jolting the car alive after a ton of rapid ticks and rumbles of a struggling engine.

—————

You swear if your speakers weren’t blown out you would have jammed all the way to school, letting your first day jitters melt into the seats.

Since that obviously wasn’t happening all you could really do was park quietly and open your creaking rusted door.

It’s fine, everything’s fine, and this is gonna be a great day.

As you walked across the parking lot, seeing the bustle of students crowding the pavement, you quickly noticed the eyes on you.

You where used to it, it’s not like stares have ever been surprising, it happened everywhere you went, but today you where having a lot harder time ignoring them.

Especially when their hushed comments were never as quite as they thought they where.

You’ll find your crowd. You told yourself. Theirs always a crowd.

Walking through the doors of school you began looking for your locker, checking a million times that it’s number matched the paper in your hands.

“766, 766” you repeated quietly, eyes trailing the metal numbers amidst the blue.

You suddenly felt yourself slam into someone, realizing in your hunt you had failed to keep your eyes on the bodies walking the opposing direction.

You stumbled in your boots catching your self on the floor as you bag skidded to the side.

“Sorry!” You shouted behind the roar of students. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Oh it’s ok I-“ he began before chuckling loudly. “Wow….Didn’t expect more freaks to roll in this year.” He jutted.

You looked up at him, green letterman jacket hanging on his body like an attention craved rag. You stood up, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Hmmm yeah, haven’t heard that one before.” You rolled your eyes.

“Do us all a favor and get a new hobby, your concern with others style is more desperate then you think.”

He scoffed, laughing with a firm scowl dampening his face.

“Style” he said sarcastically

Before pushing past you, giving a shoulder check that made your bag slump to the ground again.

Of course. Their in ever school.

You went on your way finally finding your locker and quickly fumbling through the combination.

Once you had your books all settled you happily tapped your ‘siouxsie sioux and the banshees’ magazine clipping to the inside.

My queen, may she guide me through the year.

Heading off to class you began to notice quickly you had yet to see a single person like you. Your gut starting to twist. You really missed your old friends, it was a lot easier battling snide comments when you had like minded people beside you.

The day dragged on, bringing more and more insults and back handed compliments.

“I like your costume.” A classmate sarcastically said, her lips practically dripping in malice.

Sure because that was really a compliment…

By the time lunch hit you finally came to the realization that out of all the groups, clubs,and cliques there was not a dark music lover one.

The nerds, the sporty, the plastics and the normals but even through the geeks, not one looked like they’d share your interests.

Don’t be shallow. You thought. Maybe theirs gems among you.

You pumped up your courage, letting your boots clack and clutter heavily as you walked, the chains around your belt dangling and slamming against the metal studs, as you approached a table.

You sat down in an empty seat in a low crowded table, a couple of people listening to their walk man’s and some playing chess. They looked up at you, quirking their brows befor scoffing and getting up to move.

“Wait I-“ you started before realizing it’s useless. You really shouldn’t judge people especially when this is what your met with from those who judge you.

Your not sure why people assumed the way you dressed effected your personality.

Not all nerds where shy, not all cheerleaders where bitchy, and not all goths are depressing.

You mostly thought of yourself as the snid, funny type. Sometimes mean, sometimes sarcastic, but most of the time funny and fun loving.

You sighed loudly at the empty table, pushing your tray Aside as you began to people watch.

One group stood out to you, but after hearing the screaming comments of their leader you got a little nervous to approach them.

Still you did admire that at least a couple people looked like they where outside the realm of the casually dressed.

He looked like a metal head, adorned in denim and leather, chains and patches. A twing of punk and thrasher slewed into his attire.

I’ll buck up the courage… you thought. Hmm maybe tomorrow? I just can’t Walt’s up to them, that didn’t turn out so well last time.

Your courage was smashed a little when the boy glanced at you, a confused and puzzled looked on his face before turning back to his friends and muttered something, laughing lightly.

You really hoped he wasn’t judging you, he really had no room to talk.

When lunch was over you continued with the long drowning day, finally reaching the end.

Ready to head out, you stopped at your locker before noticing your science textbook was no where to be seen.

Fuck. I can’t loose it on the first day. You thought. Iv got to keep my grades up this year.

You pondered for a moment, scanning your brain for places you’d been. Right after science was drama, a class you never wanted to be apart of but was told it looked good on your record. You sighed heading to the other side of the building, hoping the doors where still unlocked so you could grab it and get the hell home.

————————————-

Eddie slammed his fist down on the table, knocking game pieces away in his excitement. Raising his hands in the air.

“The heroes where trapped! Scanning the darkness around them in terror as the floor boards creaked.” He began.

“Undead moaning lurking in the darkness around them.”

He let out a loud guttural howl, as the group watched intently at their dungeon master.

The candles bringing soft light around his theatric form.

He put his hands in the air notching his fingers into claws as he creeped towards the table.

“Before they could run, they saw a figure emerge from the darkness-“

He was cut off, as the door to the room opened, and a dark tall figure walked in.

“MISTRESS OF DARKNESS!” He yelled, motioning to the door frame as the door slammed shut behind you.

“Ahhhh!!!” The group yelled, eyes wide with fear. As Eddie began to laugh wildly. Before quickly gaining his composure, trying to work with the sudden uninvited guest.

You stood there frozen in place hands stopped in front of you with mouth wide.

What the fuck did you just walk into. Oh god where’s your book, should you run? What the hell is this. A room filled with candles and man screaming names at you while laughing? Shit shit shit.

“The mistresses approached the table towering over the heroes as her undead fangs snarled.” He yelled out motioning you to come into the light.

You had no idea what to do, running seemed like an embarrassing option, but so did standing their silently. so you complied, taking a couple of loud echoing steps towards the boys. As they visibly tensed.

The candle light washed over you, revealing your extremely puzzled face.

“I uh- uh..” you stuttered. Say something say anything!

“Hero’s! Nows your chance! Will you banish the mistress to the shadow realm! Or let her suck your soul from your body!” Eddie continued, never breaking character and honestly you where kinda amazed that he just played along with this distribution. But you half wondered what the hell this whole charade of stories was.

Sucking souls from bodies??? What the hell. I mean cool but also why you?

“Banishment!!!” Dustin yelled! Pretending to hold a sword up in his hands as he stood.

“Roll for initiative young barbarian!” Eddie yelled back as Dustin through a d20 on the table.

Seemingly devastated as it bounced onto a 2. He slumped back in his chair as the others groaned.

“Mistress! How will you fight back against the forces of light?!” He asked motioning a hand to you.

“I uh- well I-“ you started.

Pull yourself together. Your fine (y/n). It’s some sort of game. Play along! Who knows maybe you’ll make friends!

“I’ll- uh- suck out his soul from his nimble body!” You awkwardly shouted. Pointing at dustin and raising your hand into a fist.

Eddie stopped for a moment, eyes fixed on you. She’s really playing along? He thought. No one ever plays along. He smirked

“Right! Roll for initiative!” He yelled tossing you a dice from the table.

You awkwardly fumbled with it in your hands, and threw it across the surface, landing on a beautiful 18.

You pumped your fist. Not sure what this means but you knew 18 was higher then 2 so that’s a good sign.

“The mistress extended her arms, grabbing the barbarian as he screamed. ‘Your mine now!’ She screeched pulling the soul from within his body. Delivering the finely 10 points of hit damage.” Eddie yelled

“No!!! Come on man I was so close!” Dustin yelled.

“Your the one who kept bugging the orc in the first room dustin! You have no life points left!” Mike jutted.

“Saving throw Eddie please!” He begged

“Silence, defeated hero! Your eagerness was your downfall!” Eddie finished bowing and looking up to you.

He slapped his hands together laughing.

“That was fun mistress! Didn’t think you’d play along.” He said watching as your still embarrassed form fiddled with the straps on your bag.

“Uh yeah it was kinda neat, I uh, just needed my textbook.” You said sheepishly.

All eyes where fixed on you.

“Ah! Thought it was yours.” Mike spoke up grabbing a book from under the table and handing it to you.

You noticed the bat book mark sticking out of the top and figured that might have given it away.

“Thanks.”

“Your the new girl right? Just moved here?” Dustin asked starring up at you.

“Yeah, yeah I uh, just moved to Hawkins from Indianapolis.” You confirmed scratching your neck nervously.

“Well welcome to the worst town of the state.” Eddie pipped up smirking. “Pretty brave of you to show up dressed like that your first day”

“Uh. Brave? Like that?” Your eye twitched, he may have been fun a second ago but it really ticked you off when people said stuff like that. “If I’m ‘brave’ for wearing,’this’” you motioned to himself “then your brave for playing this game… who cares if it’s what you like. I don’t think it’s all that weird to have a different wardrobe.” You scoffed.

“What’s next your gonna tell me I’m wearing a costume?” You jutted.

He laughed. “Feisty thing aren’t you?”

“Bitchy thing aren’t you?” You shot back, turning to heads towards the door.

He smirked. “Thanks for visiting mistress of the night! I look forward to your next attack!” He yelled across the room.

You put your hand on the door pushing lightly.

“Anytime metal boy.” You scoffed sarcastically. “Look forward to eating your soul!” You yelled back as you walked through the door.

((Let me know if you want a part 2 or a series form this I have some ideas))

#fanfiction #theloveablesociopath #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie munson x goth reader #eddie x reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie stranger things

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jake-g-lockley · 2 years

Text

Uncontrollable: Part 1 (Poe Dameron x fem!reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Part 2

Summary: You are sworn enemies with Poe Dameron, but alcohol likes to tell a different story. Warnings: MINORS DNI. Swearing, alcohol consumption (drink responsibly kids), fem masturbation, heavy smut in next part. Word Count: 2.2 k words

A/N: If you think Part 1 is descriptive, wait till y'all see part two. I seriously have no idea what possessed me to write this but here we are. More moon boys stuff coming soon hehe. (GIF not mine)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your POV

“That was a shit job! Snap, back me up on this.” your voice cuts through the cheers that greeted you as you climb out of your X-Wing, ripping off your vest.

“You’re the one who decided it was best to ignore your commanding officer and do whatever the fuck you wanted to do!” The Commander’s voice echoed around the docking bay and people turned to watch the bickering unfold.

You were not going down without a fight. Not yet today. Never. Not when the argument was with him.

“I said I had everything under control and I was going to blast that last TIE out of the fucking sky, when you decided that it’ll be be best to let your big ass ego take control of you again and stop me!” You yell as you take a step closer to the fuming pilot.

“You could have been killed if I didn’t cover you!”

“So? Why the fuck do you care if I’m dead or alive, Commander?” Your words echoed through the hangar.

For once in your life, the commander was rendered silent. His gaze hardened and he scowled, clenching his jaw, upper lip twitching.

“The both of you need to stop this nonsense at once.” A shiver ran down your spine as you spun around to see the General walking towards you and Poe.

“All this constant bickering for weeks. You both do realize that we’re fighting on the same side, right?” She questioned as you and Poe hung your heads. “This was an overall win and you both should be celebrating, not throwing insults like a bunch of teenagers.”

You hated every single second that he was in the room with you and your sleeping arrangements at base were not helping either. Due to some stupid scheduling issue, he was your bunk mate and you both had to share quarters. You endlessly tried to opt for a transfer after every argument but the transfers were denied every single time.

“The both of you need to loosen up, go have some fun. That is an order.” You grimaced at Leia’s words but nodded.

You really didn’t like disappointing Leia. She was, afterall, the reason why you were here in the first place. She was right, you and him were fighting on the same side no matter how much you despised him. Besides, the overall win was something to definitely celebrate and you needed something to take the edge off the anger you were currently feeling.

Few drinks in and you were a different person, making up dances with Rose, throwing your head back and laughing at anything that you thought was funny. You were relatively tipsy when you leaned onto the table to take another shot, blurily locking eyes with your sworn enemy, who was leaning casually in a seat close to your right.

“Oh, look who's here to spoil my night. Commander Casanova. Thought you’d be fucking some mechanic or tech in some alley somewhere…” you slurred, leaning close to him, your nose inches from the shell of his ear.

“Ah, so you were thinking about me fucking, huh?” he whispered.

“Oh, fuck you.” You lowly laughed in his ear and grabbed the shot, downing it and slamming the glass back onto the table.

“I think you should go slow on the drinks, Y/N.” Finn chastised, patting your forearm.

“Well, I think I shouldn’t, mom.” you say sticking out your tongue and turning to walk back to the dance floor.

You continued your little pattern; dancing, drinking, peeing and repeating, till you were drunk beyond comprehension. Still, that one lingering thought remained in your head.

Poe Dameron.

Fuck, you hated him so much that you spent hours just thinking about how you would absolutely destroy him. All the pranks and ignoring rank didn’t quench your thirst for the hatred you felt. It was like an uncontrollable addiction, hating him. You hated that he was always so optimistic, brave and cocky. You hated the fact that he was such an amazing pilot and commander. You hated that he tried to save your life. You hated the praises that he would often dish out to the squadron. You hated his stupid cute face and fluffy boyish curls.

Cute? Maker, you were definitely losing it.

You stumbled towards your room, thoughts swimming nauseatingly around your head. After a few tries with the keypad, the door flew open and you stumbled into the darkness of your room. You kicked off your boots and jumped into your bed with the last of your strength.

“Ah, so you were thinking about me fucking, huh?” his voice echoed in your head as you shifted in your bed.

Yes, yes you were and still are. You’ve heard tales of his endeavors and a part of you wanted to experience it yourself. The rumors were not enough, you wanted to feel his rough skillful hands running down every inch of your body. You wanted those commanding lips of his to whisper dirty secrets into your ears till you surrendered all of your being to him.

But you also wanted that pilot with such sacrilegious and obscene sin that could even make a sith blush, cower and hide. You wanted to do things to him that were so filthy it made you squirm as you felt the heat pooling in your lower abdomen. Immediately, you bring two of your fingers to your lips and suck them, pulling the wet digits out and sliding them down your pants with your bottom lip between your teeth.

The second they came into contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves, you sigh, his name tumbling out of your mouth. You giggled stupidly at how his name rolled off your tongue with ease, the alcohol making you nearly delirious as you slipped a finger into your wetness for some relief.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Poe’s POV Poe squinted into the darkness, almost positive that he heard his name being called. He listened intently until he heard it again and it was coming from the bottom bunk. His eyes widened at the sound of your voice, and an electrifying shiver coursed through his body as he shot up from his bed. Silently, he peeked over the top bunk to look down at you and saw you writhing in your sleep. He glanced at the clock and slowly slipped out of bed, climbing down the ladder to wake you up from whatever dream you were having. Then, a gut-wrenching moan tore through the silence of the room making him stumble.

His eyes scan over your form and his mouth dropped when his gaze trailed over your right arm that was slotted between your legs. He knelt down beside your bed and stared, not believing what he was seeing. Your eyes were blissfully shut, wet lips parting slightly, looking absolutely divine in the dark. You arched your back, and moaned his name again as the shameful wet sound of your pussy filled his ears. He thickly swallowed as he watched your left hand traveled up your thigh and slipped under your resistance issued shirt to palm your tit.

“Fuck, use my body to do whatever you please, Poe.” you whined and Poe had to grip the edge of the bed tighter to physically stop his hands from moving. He knew that if he started on you, he couldn’t trust himself to stop.

Poe shifted uncomfortably as he felt his own arousal take over his body. For the second time today, you had rendered him absolutely stunned and speechless. Watching you was absolute torture but he didn’t want you to stop. You never called him by his first name, always by his ranking and you saying his name in this suggestive position was absolutely sacred to him. His name sounded like a prayer in your shallow breath and it clawed through him like a painful poison, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

The vulgar sounds around him escalated and he knew you were close. He watched with lust blown eyes as your body shudders and your toes curl under the pressure that had built up in you. Poe bit his bottom lip so hard that he drew blood as you soundlessly mouthed his name again and again.

Fuck.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your POV “Ughh…”

You woke up with a splitting headache and you got up to dash to the refresher to puke as the nausea took over every cell of your body. You stared at the state of your face in the mirror above the sink and decided that it wasn’t your worst hangover look. You shrugged, pulling your toothbrush to brush the icky taste out of your mouth.

You strained, trying to remember the events of last night. The last thing you could remember was the snarky remark that Poe whispered in your ear. You roll your eyes and shake your head, stepping out of the refresher. You glance at Poe’s bunk and he wasn't there, his bed was neatly made as usual. You shrug your yesterday’s clothes off and pull on a fresh pair, throwing the dirty laundry into the basket beside the bed.

You trudged into the cantina with a scowl etched to your face, and slumped onto a bench where Finn handed you a mug of steaming coffee.

“I warned you to slow down, Y/N.” he said, patting your back and fondly ruffling your hair as you grumpily sip the coffee.

“Did I do something stupid yesterday, mother?” you say to Finn, only to hear a scoff from Poe who was sitting beside Finn.

“Not that I know of?” Finn said, narrowing his eyes and glancing at Poe.

Your gaze met Poe’s and a chill ran down your spine. He was staring at you with a ghost of a smirk etched onto his face, his eyes darker than usual. You blink and look away, confused. Soon after you did, Poe got up and left without a word.

“What’s up with Mr. Grumpy Pants?” you question, your eyes following him out of the cantina.

“Don’t ask me, I don’t know.” Finn said, holding his hands up.

You sigh and scroll through your datapad, looking at your schedule for the day. ‘Training with Black Leader’ was on the top of the schedule and you groaned, not wanting to spend the whole morning training with Poe. Still, you gulped down the rest of your coffee, said bye to Finn and made your way to the training facility.

Poe was there, his hands wrapped as he hit the punching bag in front of him, wearing a tank top and cargo pants, his jacket discarded at the corner of the facility. His muscles glistened with sweat as he pounded the bag with immense strength.

“Wanna spar, Commander?” you ask smugly, but he continued to ignore you, administering more punches to the bag.

You shrug and settle down onto the floor to start stretching as you watch him, popping a chewstim into your mouth. Something seems to be bothering him immensely because that punching bag was really getting pummeled left right and center. A wave of pleasure surged through you with the realization that something was making Poe Dameron extremely riled up.

“Today’s session is going to be fun.” You thought as your jaw worked the chewstim.

Poe continued his assault on the punching bag until every single member of the Black Squadron had arrived.

“Alright, everyone take your places.” his voice boomed around the facility.

You got up and shuffled towards Jessika, but you felt a strong hand close around your wrist, pulling you until you were flush against a wall of muscle. You swallow the gasp that threatened to escape you as you turn around to look at Poe, who kept his gaze on the rest of the members.

You continue to hold your steady gaze at him as he belted out instructions that you barely hear from the rush of blood that sounded in your ears. His hand is still gripping your wrist tightly and you were sure he was leaving a bruise on you but you were too shocked to move.

Once he was done instructing the rest, he lowered his lips to your ears.

“Spit that gum out before I force it out of you.” he whispered and you rolled your eyes.

You wrench your wrist out of his grasp and walk to the bin and spat it out before joining Poe in the center of the facility. Without a word, the both of you start sparring, Poe skillfully deflecting your attacks and advancements while simultaneously avoiding your eye contact. You draw back and prowl around Poe, trying to catch his eye.

“What the fuck is up with you today?” you say, before you can stop yourself.

“No talking while sparring.” he simply says and starts administering hits that you blocked.

“No, really, what's got you so riled up, Commander.” you tease again, picking the clearly bleeding scab.

Without subsequent warning, Poe grabs you and flips you over, your body landing onto the floor with a thud, the breath knocked out of you as he knelt beside you. As you take a deep breath and rub your aching chest with your hand, he leaned in to whisper something in your ear.

“I can use your body to do whatever I please.”

You lay there for a while, trying to comprehend what he had just said. Suddenly, to your horror, a memory left your subconscious and hammered its way to the front of your mind.

“Fuck, use my body to do whatever you please, Poe.”

He knows.

He was there.

Oh, you royally fucked up.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Tagging: @ahookedheroespureheart @mintpurplemnm

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