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almightyellie · 1 month

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i'm not in love

in which angus always preferred being alone. at least, he used to.

pairing is angus tully x fem!reader

word count is 3.4k

author says don't look at me <3 not proofread bc it's me

you should watch out for college-aged angus, mostly just two besties who are so in love it makes them stupid

title song is i'm not in love // 10cc

angus tully answers his mother’s biweekly calls diligently. not because either of them truly want to speak to each other—it’s more perfunctory than anything. she calls and asks about school, and he tells her it’s good. then he asks about stanley, and she tells him about stanley’s job, and then she’ll ask angus about his job. he tells her it’s fine, and she offers him money that he’ll accept only if he’s in a particularly foul mood. after three years, they almost have it down to a perfect script.

at least, he thought they did.

“how’s y/n?”

the question catches him so off-guard that his sharp intake of breath makes him choke, but judy waits patiently for an answer. he mentioned you every once in a while. mostly, he likes that you’re an entirely separate part of his life from his mother and stanley. he’ll bring you up if she asks why he isn’t coming home on a holiday, or on the off-chance she asks about his weekend plans. yours is one of the only names he’s ever given her when he talks about school, and one of the only ones that seems to stick around longer than a few months at a time. “she’s…good,” he responds tentatively.

“what are you guys doing tonight?”

he stares at his phone in bemusement. “what is this?”

she sighs, and he can almost see that displeased look on her face. he had it memorized. “when are we going to meet her?”

“why do you want to meet her?” he asks. if he really thinks about it, it makes sense. you two had lived across from one another for three years, and you had fallen together in a way that almost felt predetermined. you are the longest standing person in his life post-high school, and his mother knows this.

he had always preferred being alone. even as a child, he had no interest in playing with the neighborhood kids in the middle of the street. he liked doing things by himself. he liked doing what he wanted without having to inform anyone else. when he had gone to college and found a semi-affordable apartment that he wouldn’t have to share, he had been elated. the cute girl across the hall had just been a plus.

you two had always just worked. he holds everyone at arm's length, but it had never even occurred to him to shut you out. you two end up together most nights, watching movies or doing homework. it happens so easily that he hardly recognizes how strange it is. perpetual wallflower angus tully is attached.

“well, you two have been together for a while. if things are serious, i think it’s best that we meet her.”

angus blinks, shocked, before a nervous laugh bubbles up in his chest. it starts low, but the longer she waits in her own confused silence, the louder and more unruly his laughter becomes. he’s laughing—not because the idea is ridiculous, but because it’s so plausible that it takes him by surprise. he had spent the last two years trying to bury his feelings for you, and he had been so unsuccessful that even his mother had picked up on it.

“angus,” she snaps, and he giggles, even though it isn’t funny, even though his stomach twists and rolls in a way that makes him feel sick.

“i’m sorry,” he gasps, covering his eyes. “just…we—y/n and i aren’t together.”

there’s a long moment of silence where he catches his breath before his mom says, “angus, that’s not funny.”

“well, it is, if you think about it really hard,” he offers. she sighs, exasperated, and angus rubs his eyes. he can’t possibly explain to his mother what about this situation is truly amusing, because really, it isn’t funny. it’s not funny that he’s desperately in love with his best friend, and it’s not funny that she oscillates between entirely oblivious and seemingly aware.

“you’re telling me you’ve been missing family holidays for a girl you aren’t dating?”

he can tell she doesn’t believe him, and he doesn’t bother reminding her that they haven’t had a real family holiday in years. long before he started university, and long before he met you. besides, answering that question honestly is dangerous, and should he not handle this delicately, he’ll find himself on the wrong side of his mother’s wrath.

“uh…”

he’s fumbling, panicking, and it only gets worse when he hears his front door open. “angus?” you call, and his whole body cringes, his head falling to rest on the wall.

“angus,” judy warns.

“yeah,” he blurts, watching you round the corner. you smile, offering only a small wave as you drop your bag onto his kitchen table. “no, mom, obviously not. that would be ridiculous.”

as he feels her anxiety cease, his own skyrockets. he’s focused entirely on you; your back is turned toward him as you open his fridge, searching through the shelves for something to eat. if it were anyone else, he’d be irritated, but he almost loves it when you do it. loves that you feel comfortable enough in his home to make yourself feel at home, that he can take care of you in the smallest way. most nights, when he lies in bed and thinks of you, he finds himself thinking of the ways he could take care of you. the ways he could give you what he never had, the things that had been ripped from him. security. unconditional affection. peace. he’s barely listening when his mother sighs again. “you know, i don’t understand your humor sometimes.”

“i know,” he says. you kick the fridge closed, enough food in your hands to feed both of you. “hey, she actually just got here. can i let you go?”

“not until you answer my question.” her voice is clipped now, and angus winces. some nights she’s a little more forgiving with his distraction, a little more responsive to the things he says that she doesn’t necessarily understand. tonight, he’s more distracted than usual and less decipherable than ever. “when can we meet her?”

angus groans, and you smile over your shoulder. you know better than anyone how much he struggles with his mother. you’ve listened in on many of their phone calls, and patiently listened to him complain about them later. “i don’t know, mom.”

“how about easter?” she asks. angus turns to lean against the wall and watch you, and you lean against the counter, waiting for him to be done. he rolls his eyes, a silent cue that things are taking longer than he’d like. “stanley and i can drive up that saturday and take you guys out for a nice dinner. on us.”

reluctantly, only because he knows that she’ll blow a gasket if they don’t nail down plans on this phone call, and because he wants this to be over, he huffs. he pulls the receiver away slightly and asks, “you want to have dinner with my mom and stanley easter weekend?”

you blink owlishly. “what? why?”

“they want to meet you.”

“why?” you insist. he glares at you impatiently; knowing angus—more, knowing what you know about his mother—an answer is needed now, and explanation must come later. the idea of meeting his mom makes your stomach turn uncomfortably, but there he stands. even with a hard glare, you feel safe with him. you feel the need to do what he asks of you, and you know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t ask if he thought it would be something you couldn’t handle. “uh…i guess, yeah.”

he offers a grateful smile. “easter weekend sounds great, mom.”

they quickly finalize plans before hanging up, and the second the receiver is back on hook, he groans loudly, rubbing his eyes. you wait for him to speak, but he stands with his hands over his eyes, hiding from you. “angus.”

“she thinks you’re my girlfriend,” he blurts.

you really don’t mean to start laughing. “what?”

his lips turn up in a sheepish smile. “i guess they’ve thought we were together this entire time,” he chuckles. “and i panicked! she accused me missing holidays to spend time with you and i didn’t want to get in trouble—”

you clutch your stomach, doubled over in laughter. he doesn’t want to laugh—frankly, he’s a little hurt that you find the idea so laughable, but he had laughed, too. “you caved,” you gasp. “you caved and told a lie because you didn’t want to get in trouble with your mommy.”

“okay.” he rolls his eyes. “whatever. you’re part of this now, too.”

your giggles die down and you turn to take the food out of the microwave. “hey, i could back out. i could break up with you at any time.”

he scoffs, but doesn’t respond. often enough, when you’re doing exactly what you’re doing now, angus’ feelings become overwhelming. watching you move around his kitchen with the kind of natural domesticity makes him feel choked, buried under his overflowing affection.

the harder he fights his feelings, the worse they get. you’re his best friend—it’s not on purpose, either; you aren’t at all the kind of person he ever thought he would fall for. you were bitingly funny, of course, but you fought him constantly. he wouldn’t even say you were particularly nice for the first few months you two knew one another. you’re entirely out of left field, and he can’t even get a read on you half the time—not that he even really wants to. part of him thinks that knowing exactly what you think about him would be truly crushing.

“i guess a free meal could be nice,” you tease, stirring your dinner with a knowing smile.

“yeah, you’re so unused to those,” he bites, pushing himself off the wall. you beam.

it’s surprising, in a way, that you hadn’t met angus’ mom and stepfather already. he’s met your family a thousand times over; they take you both out to dinner every single time they visit you. they had sent him a birthday gift this year, for christ’s sake. but you could probably count the amount of time angus had seen his mother in the last three years on both hands. you were surprised enough that she even remembered your name.

you had spent your entire friendship with angus thinking about his mother. being angry with her. your best friend is caring, in his own stilted, modest way. he’s witty and so smart that it intimidates you, and he’s loyal. it tells you all you need to know that his relationship with his mother isn’t strong.

he bumps you out of the way, and you let him. you watch him open the cupboard for plates to evenly split the leftover pasta, and your chest nearly heaves with confused affection. you see the way he looks at you when he’s not careful. with an unrestrained reverence, with a tenderness that can’t be forced. it had made you uncomfortable, at first. made you feel like you couldn’t be around him anymore. you had tried to pull away—for a day or two.

the reality of the entire situation is that angus tully belongs in your life. you adore him too much to cut him out, and even if you didn’t, it kills you to think of him alone. he’s a lone wolf; it’s amazing enough that you two have connected the way that you have. if angus didn’t have you, he had a few friends from class. maybe two or three guys from work. but nothing as deep, nothing as serendipitous as your friendship.

discomfort with his feelings had grown into a tentative acceptance once you realized he had no plans on acting on them, and after a few months, tentative acceptance had grown into…something else entirely. you aren’t sure exactly what it is. it isn’t like those juvenile, giddy crushes you had harbored in high school. angus doesn’t keep you up at night, nor does he make you lovesick. he puts you at ease. he makes you feel safe. he makes you feel like yourself.

you don’t want to confront the strange sense of peace that angus has offered you without even knowing. without even trying. you don’t want to change your friendship, or misattribute your feelings, so you ignore them. and you ignore the way he looks at you, and how he insists on making your favorite dinners, even though he complains about you eating his leftovers, and how he uses your spare key to lock your door every single time he leaves your apartment without fail.

your knees bump together under the tiny table in his kitchen as you two eat dinner. you listen to him talk about his coworkers, lulled into relaxation by his deep voice; you always loved your dinnertime conversations. mostly, one of you just talked. you would talk about school and work and your classmates and your days; they aren’t even really conversations. it’s just an excuse to talk and an opportunity to listen. he doesn’t mind when you don’t respond, and neither of you care if the other person talks the entire time. it’s time spent together more than anything else. you think about how effortless it feels. how you could do this every night with intention, not under the guise of getting out of your apartment. you think about the dinner with his mom, and how you’ll both put on nice outfits to go out, and how you’ll come home together, and how you’ll dissect every detail of the dinner and the conversations for the entire night, if not for days afterwards.

you notice only a moment too late that you’ve zoned out, and angus kicks your shin gently. “you good?”

with a reassuring smile, you nod. “yeah. i’m just thinking about dinner with your mom.”

he’s bashful when he laughs quietly. “yeah…sorry. i know i kind of screwed you over.” you can tell that he truly does feel bad, but the longer you think about it, the less you dread it. you think you might actually like an excuse to acknowledge the way angus looks at you, for him to not have to hide it.

“i don’t know…i’m kind of excited,” you admit, pushing food around your plate. angus looks at you from under his lashes, taking pause at your tone. you refuse to look at him, and it sends his heart into overdrive; he’s panicked, certainly, and so in love with you that it makes him nauseous. he isn’t entirely sure that he’ll survive a night of you pretending. of it all feeling so real.

he can feel a confession coming, bubbling up in his chest, and he swallows in panic. “she’s—she’ll like you, i think.”

with a slight smile, you push your plate away from you. “i’m not sure i’ll like her.”

which he loves about you, naturally.

he clears his throat to bury the confession and stands; angus grabs both plates and turns his back to you to hide his flushed cheeks. shamelessly, since he can’t see you, you watch him, soothed simply by the way he moves. by how familiar he is. by how you can almost predict every move he makes. the words fall out before you’re even cognizant of them

“just so you know, i don’t mind your mom thinking i’m your girlfriend.”

the way he freezes makes your shoulders tense. you hadn’t meant to say that. it was true, but he didn’t need to know that. angus’ mind screeches to a full stop before it starts running ten times faster than before. what did that mean?

slowly—so slowly that you almost don’t notice—he sets the plates in the sink. you won’t get out of this. you know you won’t, because you know angus. once the door is open, he’ll take the opportunity to push it every single time. “why?” he asks, his voice a carefully constructed tone of ease. he plays it well; his nonchalance is almost perfectly natural. it nearly tricks you.

still kicking yourself, you shrug even though he can’t see you. instead, you start emptying your bag to distract yourself. textbooks and notebooks and pencils clatter against the table. “just…we could sell it, don’t you think?” it’s not even close to what he wants to hear, and you buckle down even though you know you won’t win this one. “we know everything about each other.”

he snorts, and it puts you at ease. not because you’re going to get out of this. you know something dangerous is going to come out of this conversation, but because it’s angus. it’s your best friend. and you know him, and you know the way he treats you is symptomatic of something much larger. it used to scare you, but it doesn’t now. not now that he washes your dishes, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows. you trust him. you know that any vulnerability you share will be returned to you tenfold.

“yeah, right. that just makes it convenient,” he says knowingly, head tilting. he watches you sort through your textbooks, hiding your anxiety while you busy yourself.

part of you hopes that he’ll just drop it. not because you don’t think things will work out, but because you love how things are between the two of you. the almosts, the what-ifs, the wondering is something you so love to savor. it’s still so easy between you two; all of those what-ifs still exist only in your minds, only in the silent space between you that neither of you are willing to acknowledge. there’s plausible deniability. there’s safety.

you smile shakily, glancing up at him. “i guess i mean…that we…work?”

he smiles back, comforting but still audacious. “and by that, you mean…”

with a groan, you fold your arms and bury your face in them. you know this leap can only be beneficial, but you’re struggling to let yourself admit anything. it’s more frustrating than the denial.

angus stares at you, suddenly the emotionally constipated one, and his heart is pounding in his ears. he can feel it beating against his chest; he’s not brave enough to hope. it’s too scary for him to wonder if this is finally it, if you had been as keenly aware as he had assumed you to be.

“just…i think there’s a reason my mom thinks we’re together. just so you know.” you groan louder, unmoved by his words, and he continues, “beyond the fact that we’re constantly together.”

you peek up at him, your chin still pressed against your forearms. he watches you, big brown eyes wide open with vulnerability. he’s waiting. you figure it’s as good of a segue as he’s going to give you. with a deep breath, ignoring the turning and rolling of your stomach, you say, “i feel like…things could be like that between us.”

he breaks into a smile so wide that you have to look away from him. “oh, is that what this is about?” he asks facetiously.

you grunt, irritated. “don’t tease me.”

he laughs, uncrossing his arms. you don’t even want to look at him, humiliated. he hasn’t rejected you—in fact, you know he’s just keeping you on the line to tease you. it irritates you, but he seems giddy, even if he tries to act like he’s unaffected. he can’t keep that goofy smile off his face. it entirely gives him away. “hey,” he says, voice bright. “c’mere.”

“no,” you spit, annoyed. you know that the second you give in, everything will change. for the better, you think, but it will change. you hold on to the wondering for just a moment longer, but you can’t help yourself. he waits patiently at the counter, holding on to the ledge. you like the wondering, but you think you’re ready to find out if it’s as good as it seems it would be.

self-conscious, you cross the room to him. you stand only centimeters apart, and he grins at you, fingers gently stroking the hem of your collar. “you know, right?”

you don’t have to ask what he means. you know. maybe not the depths, but you know. the way he looks at you is enough to let you know. the way he takes care of you tells you what his words haven’t yet. they will. “you can’t hide from me, angus tully.”

he loves that about you, too. he’ll tell you all the specifics later. for now, he kisses you, a long arm around your waist, and you think that this is much better than the what-ifs.

#angus tully #angus tully imagine #angus tully x reader

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thatonelovingwalker · 6 months

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Carl Grimes x GN reader

///TW: none💗///

Summary: you see Carl with Judith and wonder if he would want a child of his own.

Walking along the sidewalk lining your neighborhood, you heard the cooing of a baby. You immediately recognized it as Judith. Carl always walked Judith at this time, and you had just recently started walking with them.

You and Carl have been together for about three months now, and Judith has become really close to you.

Her noises got louder as you rounded the corner, and saw that she was patiently waiting for you in her stroller.

“Judith! Good morning,” you told her, letting her grasp at your hands.

You looked up to Carl and saw him looking at you as if he was seeing you for the first time. As if he saw Christmas lights brightening before him, rapping him in warmth and the feeling of safety.

“Good morning, Carl,” you told him, walking around to give him a peck. He returned it gratefully, taking ahold of your hand.

“Ready?” Was all Carl asked, making you nod.

The three of you started walking, listening to the silence that surrounded you both.

It was quiet for about fifteen minutes, and that was when Judith started to fuss.

“Nap time, Judy?” Carl asked her, circling around to pick her up.

Carl gently cradled Judith in his arms, rocking back and forth on his heels. He was whispering to her, trying to calm her down, and all you could do was watch.

He was so good with kids, especially Judith. Whenever he was with any of the younger members, he treated them as if they were his blood. As if they were his own children. It made you yearn for a normal world. One where it wouldn’t be a life or death decision.

But you knew that if it were to ever happen, whether it’s with you or another, he would be absolutely perfect.

“You’d make a great dad,”

“What?”

Carl turned to you, shock all over his face. He didn’t look upset, but he looked distracted.

And you that was when you realized you said it out loud. You didn’t mean it to slip. It just happened.

Even with his surprised features, he still looked even more fatherly with Judith calming in his arms. His hat and eye patch displayed experience, ones that he had learned from. The gun strapped to his leg showed he was capable. You knew he would be everything you ever needed. Everything any child needed.

“You’d make a great father…” you said a little bit more softly. You stayed where you were.

You saw his breathing pattern change. It was the one thing you could catch before he muttered, “Let me go put Judith down,” before turning away from you.

He left you with a sense of regret. Why did you say that?

You found yourself sitting on the couch, listening to Carl shush Judith to sleep a few rooms down. You had no idea if he knew you were there, but you waited, hoping you didn’t ruin things.

When Carl expressed what happened with his mother, Lori, and how he had to put her down for the sake of Judith, your heart broke.

Maybe mentioning anything to do with a baby was a bad idea.

You no longer heard Carl. His whispers or humming. Just footsteps. Heavy footsteps. You didn’t dare watch him, no matter how much you were dying to.

You felt the couch shift with his weight, and you knew he sat closer to you on purpose.

“You really think so?”

You could barely hear him, but you understood completely what he meant. You turned to face him, and was met with his pleading eyes. He looked so vulnerable in this moment, you just wanted to smother him with cuddles and hold him.

“I do.”

“Well, I think you’d make a great (mother/father), y/n. You’d be amazing,” Carl grasped your hand with one of his heart stopping smiles.

“Doubtful,” you said, trying to be playful. Carl picked up on it.

All he said in return was, “How about we try and see?”

#carl grimes x oc #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x male reader #carl grimes smut #thewalkingdead #the walking dead headcanons #incorrect twd quotes #twd #twd incorrect quotes #imagine

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word-wytch · 5 months

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Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 16

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 16/? 9k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Frustrated by inconclusive endings, Eddie takes a seat behind the wheel.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: general angst, paternal angst, drug mention

Thursday, December 12th 1985

Before the first morning bell, Eddie gave Judy at reception his best impression of Wayne over the phone. He wasn’t totally lying, he was in fact, quite sick. Sick of all the taunting looks from meathead jocks. Sick of the way Ms. O’Donnell cleared her throat every five minutes. Sick of waking up so goddamn early. Sick of wasting his time. So after hanging up the phone, he stuffed a few essentials in his backpack and made for the door.

Like clockwork, Wayne always came home at around 8:10 AM, and though it would be far from the first time he’d skipped school, Eddie would rather not have to explain himself. Besides, he could use a change of scenery. There was no denying winter anymore, the ice he scraped off his windshield made sure to remind him. On a typical hooky day he would drive down to Lover’s Lake and toss open the rear doors, catch a breeze, light a joint, sit back and take in the ripples on the water and the rustling leaves. But that had all frozen over, so unless he intended to burn through his whole tank of gas, he would need to get creative.

That was how he found himself at Benny’s at 7:58 on a Thursday morning, setting up camp in a booth at the back of the restaurant. He ordered his usual — bacon, scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes in addition to white toast. Tossing his fourth emptied sugar packet beside the leaning tower of creamers, he sat back in the sticky, padded seat and took his first deep breath all morning.

The diner was bustling lowly, a handful of regulars perched on silver, spinning stools at the bar. From the frosted window leeching cool air beside him, he watched the funeral procession of headlights down Washington under a mournful sky. Just another day for the upright citizens of Hawkins, Indiana. From his cozy booth, Eddie sipped the top off his very full mug and smiled to himself.

Sprawling his belongings around the piping hot plates, he popped on his headphones, cracked open his monster manual, and got to work. The first hour flew by like his pencil across the graph paper. Between the bacon bits that had leapt from hand to page, a formidable lineup of foes was taking shape. Bottom line; the boys were in for a world of hurt tomorrow. He did his best to resign the grease to the flimsy napkins, but by the time he was finished, syrup tacked the gargoyle and gorgon pages together.

“Anything else I can grab for ya besides the check?” Sheri—according to her name tag—asked with a tired lean as she reached to clear his plates.

Eddie glanced down sheepishly at his freshly topped off mug. “I uh, think I might be staying for lunch.”

Sheri forced a hot pink smile, catching the fork with her decorated finger when it threatened to slide off the plate. “Y’ want me to get a room set up for you too?” she joked with a wink of her spidery lashes. “Just teasin’ sweetie. You just flag me down when you’re ready.”

Switching out his tapes, Eddie shut the cassette player and stared out the window as the men at the bar tossed their napkins and fished out their wallets. Snow was falling in lazy clumps, clinging to his windshield. Somewhere behind the overcast clouds, the sun was rising steadily. It was dismal, a fitting backdrop for the opening track of Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell. Of all the seasons, winter belonged to metal. Like it was made for cruising down a quiet, snow-covered street in the middle of nowhere. Made for drowning out Bing Crosby crooning from the speaker in the corner above him. Tinsel glittered on the small tree perched on a cloud of fake snow beside the cash register. Ornaments on swags swayed to the thump of footsteps passing. Eddie sighed and stared into the changing street lights.

Glancing at his watch he figured you were probably wrapping up the film with second period, knitting your brow and drawing your pen across the papers you were grading. He wondered what you’d think when the bell rang for fourth and you found his seat empty. Would you think he was upset with you? There was a small part of him that hoped so, and another part that hoped you would understand. After all, he was giving you the space you asked for, was he not?

Like a siren, your story—tucked between his notebook and the magazines he’d exhausted twice cover to cover—called to him. Cracking open the plastic spine, he dove headfirst into the typewritten pages.

For the whole narrow path into Rower’s End, Cybelle had sat in the front of the caravan, breathing the briny air unhindered by a barrier. Lazarus admired the brilliant fullness of her smile as she watched the seagulls soar overhead, under the clouds she had only ever seen from above. The sunlight had graced them then, beaming down in golden rays, glinting on the distant waves as they approached the sleepy seaside town.

Eddie could feel the corners of his mouth tug as Lazarus regaled Cybelle with a story of a time when he’d accidentally taken a crab home with him after spending a day at the beach, followed by an explanation of what a crab was. Cybelle seemed delighted with the prospect of seeing one, even more-so when he told her how he’d discovered the little hitchhiker when it pinched his rear in bed that night. Eddie noticed the way Cybelle leaned closer whenever Lazarus told stories, the way her hand came to shield her bare face with a giggle when he mentioned his rear. The way her delicate, copper fingers lingered over the soft skin of his forearm when she checked beneath his bandage. The wound was healing nicely — no sign of infection and not a thorn in sight. She warned that it might scar, but Lazarus did not appear concerned—rather the opposite actually—as if a strange part of him was pleased with the idea of having something to remember her by.

As they dipped over the final hill toward Rower’s End, Lazarus told her another story. A dream, rather, of a little cottage in Shantiglade with a full sized bed, and a garden, and a goose egg omelette big enough for two. A dream that would likely never come to pass. Cybelle seemed equally enchanted by it. Sitting back against the boxy, wooden seat of the caravan, she breathed in the salty air and imagined how good it would feel to do so every day. To experience the feeling of sand between her toes, of the ocean at her ankles, of propping her elbow against their shared kitchen table and gracing Lazarus with a naked smile before trying whatever an omelette was. It was good like this too — bumping along under a clear blue sky as Turnip plodded down the scarcely trodded path, watching the wind caress the wild grass and Lazarus’ even wilder curls, hearing his tales and his laughter.

Around the time he would be slumping into his desk in the back of your classroom, the bell dinged over the door of the restaurant. Eddie cranked the volume on his headset to drown out the chatter of a family of four clambering into the booth in front of him. The little boy had brought a pair of plastic drumsticks with him, beating a rhythm on the steel-rimmed table much to the annoyance of his little sister, who was clutching her book the way Eddie was yours. Dipping his few remaining fries into the smear of ketchup, he wondered why they weren’t in school on a Thursday afternoon. As he focused back on the type-written letters, he figured he should be the last to judge.

Eddie felt for Lazarus, he really did. The way he looked at Cybelle as she emerged from the cave, cradling the ghostfern like a pale, translucent child. The scene was as beautiful as it was somber — waves lapping at the rocky shoreline as the setting sun cast its deep orange hues on both of them. The rocks—slick with algae—had Cybelle stumbling, but Lazarus was quick to offer his arm. She accepted without hesitance, clutching the plant like a bouquet as her deep earthen fingers braced the pale angles of his. He lead her down the cascading stone as if it were a chapel aisle, slow and steady until they reached the flat edge of the water. There—in the golden remains of the day—seagulls dipped and soared over the glittering ocean, clasped hands swayed in the lapping wind, and for a moment, they had everything they came for.

After what seemed like both a small eternity and an aching second, it was Cybelle who broke away, tracing the ridges of his fingers as hers fell, stating out loud what both of them knew — that night was coming soon.

The journey back to Torgaard proved easier than the journey out, at least in terms of natural foes. No fenfinks or villainous vines, but the sky seemed to hang much lower. Dark, stormy clouds loomed overhead, casting its pale grey light over the moss curtains outside of Fenwood, over the verdant forests that shuddered in the gusting wind. There was a tension, a dread looming on the horizon that grew with each passing day. Even Eddie could sense it — the way Cybelle stared out into the swath of shifting green like she was attempting to soak up enough for the rest of her life. The way that Lazarus’ jokes were swallowed the creaking of the caravan. How nights that were once spent laughing over a roaring fire were now spent silently watching its crackling embers.

One day—just a few outside of Torgaard—the sky came crashing down. It sobbed in sheets, heavy enough to soak through Cybelle’s coat, to find the tear in her tent and make a lake of it. Lazarus ushered her inside the wagon, offered her a shirt that fit like a dress, offered to sleep on the floor. Assessing the size of the bed, and then the hard, narrow walking path, it was Cybelle who insisted they share it. She was small enough, or at least that was what she rationalized out loud. Lazarus did not argue. Her logic—unlike her tent—was water-tight. And so she climbed in between the soft linen sheets, tucked herself under the weight of the down blanket, and rested her damp, weary head on a pillow that smelled just like him.

Eddie glanced sheepishly around the restaurant, shielding the binder with his arm as Lazarus climbed in beside her. He hinged on each type-written word, lingering over the ones that stirred a fuzzy feeling. Written with careful attention to the way Lazarus’ chest rose and fell, how stiff their bodies were in hyper-awareness of the nearness to each other. How solid his shoulder felt under Cybelle’s cheek when the corner of pillow no longer sufficed. Slowly, they relaxed into the feeling. Not enough to sleep, but enough for Lazarus to free the arm that she was crushing. Enough to wrap it around her shoulder, to relish in the feeling of her cold nose in the warm crook of his neck.

It was good like this. Better when her fingers draped across the landscape of his pecks, felt his chest rise and fall like waves. Best when they awoke in the morning to the sun steaming in through the small, stained glass window above them. When their giggles shook the wagon. When their eyes met, closer than they’d ever been before. There, in the dim cocoon far outside the turning world, the smile that she had hidden for so long finally grew brave enough to capture his. And by the time they reached the towering stone walls of Torgaard, there was nothing more to hide from one another.

Eddie flipped the page to find only a black, plastic pocket. He rubbed it with his fingers to make sure it wasn’t sticking to another. When it failed to separate, he sat back and fumed. That was it. There was no more. No ending, no closure.

Sheri leaned against the top of the booth seat opposite him, hand on her hip, shifting between her dirty white sneakers with a tired sigh. “Listen sweetie, I’ve got ten minutes left of my shift. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but I’ve gotta cash you out before I leave.”

Eddie glanced at his watch, almost 2:00. “Yeah—yeah, no problem. Sorry for the trouble.”

“’S no trouble, just the way it goes around here. Hope you enjoyed your stay,” she said with a wink as she dropped the check.

After six hours and two meals, Eddie had gotten his fill of watching the world turn through an old, frosted window. His head was spinning enough on its own. With a frustrated huff he peeled his graph paper and manual away from the sticky table before shoving them into his backpack. Slugging it over his shoulder, he grabbed the grease-stained check and made his way to the register. That was when he noticed it — the lonely, half-eaten omelette on the bar.

“Alright that’ll be ten seventy-five,” chimed Sheri.

Tinsel glittered on the tree. Red, metallic bulbs swayed in the echo of his footsteps. Judy Garland caroled on about a merry little Christmas and he wondered if your characters would ever enjoy anything over their shared kitchen table or if that dream would be abandoned for their duties as well.

“Sir?”

Snapping out of his trance, he fished for his wallet and palmed her a twenty. “Keep the change,” he muttered before turning toward the door with a hoist of his backpack.

Her jaw hung open. “Oh my word, are you serious?” she called to his back, but the bell above the door was the only answer she received.

______

Main Street Vinyls was a ghost town on a Thursday afternoon, and Eddie preferred it that way. Aside from Jerry at the counter, it was just him and his noisy thoughts, accompanied by the slow plod of his own heavy boots as they weeped against the carpet. At least in this store he could escape the onslaught of Christmas tunes. Jerry—old hippie that he was—at least had some sense. Sometimes even sense enough to play some halfway decent rock music, but today Eddie would settle for Neil Young over the jingle bell garbage blasting through every speaker in Hawkins.

Glancing down the rows of plastic cassette spines, Eddie perused the M section as he kicked himself for giving away almost ten dollars. There was an album by a new band he’d only read about in magazines called Megadeth. Turning the tape over in his hands, he examined the cover. Everything about it spoke to him — the skull with its mouth chained shut surrounded by knives and candles, the title — Killing Is My Business. Flipping it over to the back, the phrase continued in haunted red letters …and Business Is Good!

The change he gave away in a fit of blind stupidity would have easily afforded it and left him with some to spare. With a bitter sigh, he shoved the tape back in its slot, knowing for a fact that the cash register at Benny’s had eaten the last bill he had in his wallet. Padding slowly down the aisle, he began his calculations.

He had a few regular deals lined up this weekend but would need to dig into his “savings” in the bottom of an old tobacco tin and pay Rick a visit before any of that happened. He might make eighty bucks if he was lucky. Maybe eighty more over the course of the week between the deals at school. Nobody wanted to spend too much time outside this time of year, so the park bench location was always iffy depending on how bad it was. He would resort to other classic meetup spots, like under the bleachers or the back of his van.

If he networked enough he might have some left over after helping Wayne with the bills. Scanning past the Tina Turner and T-Rex tapes, he wondered how much Wayne suspected about his little business. Surely he had to have some suspicion. Gig money, odd jobs, and oil changes for neighbors couldn’t possibly afford the kind of gear he had, or the ink in his skin, or the cash he contributed monthly. Wayne was sharp, and though he was no saint himself, he shuddered to think what he would say if he discovered his nephew was straying down the same path his brother took.

Peering back over his shoulder, he eyed the Megadeth tapes again—only three in stock—lined up like gifts wrapped in cellophane. They were such tiny things. Small enough to hide beneath his palm, to slide into the pocket of his coat with room to spare. Glancing up at the angled surveillance mirror in the corner of the store, he saw Jerry at the counter, humming obliviously as he stuck price tags on a fresh shipment of tapes. Over the tall shelf that separated them, he expected to meet his own eyes, but instead saw another man. A man he hadn’t seen in quite a while.

Eddie remembered finding a G chord for the first time; how big the fretboard felt in his small hand, how awkwardly his fingers had to stretch, how a larger set of hands had helped him find it. He earned a broad smile when the chord rang out, one he would search for again and again with every strum.

Sometimes in the late evenings as he crept past Wayne with a lunchbox full of drugs while he was watching reruns of Bonanza on the couch, Eddie would tell himself that at least he wasn’t stealing cars, or drinking himself half to death, or rotting behind county bars. At least he was still in school, something Warren Munson couldn’t say even at sixteen. At least Eddie could say he was trying.

With a bitter shake of his head, he continued down the aisle, leaving the tapes behind for the record bins that lined the walls. Mindlessly he walked his fingers over the cardboard spines, glazing past titles he’d seen a dozen times. Nothing new. Nothing different. Few things ever were in Hawkins. Every day he’d wake up and slog himself to a different type of prison, sit in a classroom for eight hours and actively feel his brain rotting. He would crumple up his failed tests and shove them in his backpack, endure the stares from kids whose parents cared enough to give them a ride to school, day after day. And every day he would come home and see the twinge of pride on Wayne’s face for the fact that he’d gone at all.

There were a few perks to sticking around, like running his club, and saving lost sheep, and seeing his friends everyday. Like having a swath of potential customers all in one place. It was safe and familiar, like a cage. His little business might be dangerous and criminal but at least it could afford him one thing he valued even more than ink or gear — freedom. Time, for another thing. Flexibility. It sure as hell beat making three dollars an hour flipping burgers or having to answer to some corporate boot-licker telling him what to do. Eddie huffed sharply, wondering what you would think if you knew. You, with your tightly buttoned blouses and endless patience. You, the very last person he wanted to disappoint.

The last look he’d seen on you destroyed him when he thought about it; the pain in your eyes and bitter line your pretty lips became. You were just about the only reason he had left to show up to class anymore, and now that was getting in the way of the one thing that actually had potential in his eyes. Way more potential than a stupid piece of paper that says, congratulations, you’re a real member of society and not a complete disappointment.

You had asked him a question back when you’d first made the arrangement to help him, one that rattled around in his brain ever since. Why did he want to graduate? If his memory served him, he’d given a relatively bullshit answer: to prove all the assholes in this god-forsaken purgatory wrong. It still held a fair amount of truth, but when he glanced up at the surveillance mirror again and saw himself this time, the real answer was abundantly clear. But was proving a point worth the risk of losing you?

The smell of cardboard and cellophane kissed his face as air puffed between each record falling forward. Each a different picture, some repeats of the same. Rock gods wielding wicked weapons, bathed in holy stage lights somewhere in New York or Los Angeles probably. Somewhere important. Sometimes at the Hideout he would close his eyes and imagine he was on one of those stages, but when he would open them as the last note rung out, it was always the same — just Bill and Drunk Sam, maybe a couple of bikers perched at the bar with their backs to him. Empty stools and sticky tables. A weak applause.

Eddie stepped back from the record bin with a heavy sigh and glanced at his watch. He’d killed about thirty minutes in this store, which meant he had at least twenty more before he could return home without triggering Wayne’s suspicious questions. The walls were starting to close in around him — posters like windows into a world far out of reach. Every million dollar strum reverberating through the speakers like a mocking reminder. With a half-hearted wave to Jerry stocking shelves, he left the store. Empty handed.

The drive down Randolph was always dismal, especially in the bleak winter light. Storefronts with yellowing signs that hadn’t changed in twenty years selling mattresses and televisions. A gas station with a rusted awning, dusted with snow. Architecturally speaking, the church was about the most interesting building, but only because it was brick and made up of more than just four flimsy walls. Even that was being generous though. The most exciting thing to happen to Hawkins since the housing development over by Factory Lane thirty years ago was the shopping mall that opened this past summer. Thrilling.

No matter where he drove within a fifty mile radius, it was all the same — a tomb where dreams went to die.

Gripping the steering wheel, he watched the car in front of him make grooves in the dirty slush, hypnotized by the spray off the sides of the tires. It wasn’t until he saw the high school approaching in his peripherals that he even looked up. It always felt good to be on the other side, especially when he wasn’t supposed to be. He could almost see you in there; brushing the chalk off your hands, shifting between your tired feet as you glanced at the clock, gazing out the window with a longing he’d seen in his own reflection — caught sometimes at night in his drivers seat window as he cruised the highway, dreaming of where it could take him.

As the squat fortress faded in his rearview mirror, he pictured you five years from now. Ten. Twenty. Wasting away in front of that chalkboard. Rattling on about stories written by dead people while your own collected dust inside a closet. While your talent withered like the dead, crumpled leaves under the snow; buried and forgotten.

With a hard right onto Prospect, he set out on the final stretch towards home. Sometimes he liked to imagine what might happen if he just kept going, just drove into the sunset and only stopped for gas. He had a vague idea from the movies and the maps that swayed in the wake of Ms. O’Donnell’s lumbering footsteps. Sometimes in the height of his boredom he would lose himself in them, imagine he was at a diner in the desert on his way to a gig with an actual sound system. Because somewhere out there—beyond the flat horizon—there were mountains, and canyons, and cities where names couldn’t follow.

______

“How does it end?” Eddie asked you on Friday between the fourth and fifth period bells. You glanced up from the stack of papers on your desk, cocking your head with narrowing eyes. “Your story,” he clarified.

“Oh.” Blinking, you sat back to ponder. “You know, I don’t think I ever fully decided. Cybelle is in a difficult position. The whole reason she set out on this adventure was to save her brother. I imagine she would want to fulfill her quest, but if she returned to Myrne, it may be difficult to leave again. Plus, she may receive some sort of punishment for leaving in the first place. I had written the laws to be quite strict, if I recall. And then if she chose not to return, her mother would lose two children. No matter what, she loses.”

Eddie furrowed his brow, shifting between his boots with a pained sigh. “I would hardly call a life with Lazarus losing. She seems happy with him.”

“Right, well, of course that would be ideal, but…” you tsked, “it’s complicated, and honestly that’s partially why I abandoned it. I really wrote myself into a corner. Well, that and student teaching started to eat up my time. Then it was finals, and moving, and then after that I met…” you trailed off with a bitter shake of your head. “Anyway, I guess life got in the way. It has a way of doing that, I’ve noticed.”

Eddie looked at you, really looked. You, in your cable knit sweater with pen on your hand and sandbags under your eyes, casting them down over your work with the same amount of hope he’d seen from players rolling threes with even fewer hit points to spare. He racked his brain for something he could offer—a dramatic death speech or a new character sheet—but you weren’t playing and he wasn’t prepared. Any words of comfort forming on the tip of his tongue were swallowed by the ringing bell, and he exited your classroom feeling the same as when he entered; unsatisfied.

______

It was starting to close in around you — the colored lights and ornaments, the mall Santas and fake green swags draping from shop windows. It was the first Christmas you’d truly spent in Hawkins since you graduated college, outside of day trips for visits. Surprisingly little had changed, the main thing being the fact that there even was a mall for Santa to post up in. Duplication must have been one of his many powers because he was still at Sears too, at least he was on Saturday when you dragged yourself out of the oppressive quiet of your apartment and into the bustling chaos.

You had no idea what to get your relatives for Christmas. You never really did, but this year it seemed insurmountable. This year you had no one to bounce ideas off of, and the constant mental chatter left little to no room for inspiration. As you scanned the shelves of cookware and appliquéd dish towels with snow men and reindeers, nothing really seemed to jump out at you.

What did jump out at you—or rather, jumped out at his sister—was a little boy across the aisle hiding in a circular rack of women’s bath robes. Pressing apart the terrycloth like curtains, he would retreat into his makeshift cave to the complete oblivion of his mother, who seemed more preoccupied with the price tags on a set of lingerie than with the whereabouts of her children.

A fantasy tugged at the corners of your mind, more sinfully indulgent than the one you had in class last week involving your desk and Eddie’s tongue. This time the set was the same as the scene before you, only the little boy had a mess of dark curls and Eddie was diving in after him. Not to scold him, but to play. You could almost see those fraying knee holes widening from contact with the carpet. Almost hear the giggles and the shushes and the click of his rings against the metal pole in the center of the rack for balance. You could almost turn around and see them popping out at you, feel the laughter ripple up through your very full belly and into the corners of your eyes as you feigned surprise to both of their delight. You could almost feel the glares from the other shoppers, the regular people eager to get on with their Saturday in peace, same as any other. It wouldn’t matter though, not in your little world.

The real mother in the real world did eventually turn around, grabbing the boy by the wrist and demanding he stay by the cart. Turning a dish towel over in your palms, you lowered your eyes to the machine-embroidered stitching of a corn cob pipe and a button nose as the fantasy disintegrated. You left the store shortly after, your cart just as empty as when you’d arrived.

On Monday it was hard to look him in the eyes. It was easier to meet Diane’s. At least this week you could hold a conversation without crumbling like Ms. Click’s half-eaten fruitcake up for grabs in the teachers lounge. But the coffee was bitter on your tongue, like a lie you were telling yourself.

In accordance with your wishes, there had been no rap of knuckles on your door frame after school, no screeching of chair legs dragged across the tile, only the dull thud of folders sliding into your bag, the surprising click of a magnet under the flap.

On Wednesday you left behind footprints in the parking lot before it had even half cleared, only to be swallowed by the emptiness of your apartment. You filled the space with what you could manage — an early dinner, and an early bedtime. Sleep seemed to be the only thing that quelled the battering ram thoughts, the scales tipping back and forth so much it made you queasy. You would lie there and dream of swirling smoke and plush lips, of arthritic fingers punching numbers on an office phone as you sat and accepted your fate. You would toss and turn, back and forth until your sheets became a tangle, and when you faced the mirror Thursday morning you barely recognized the person staring back.

When the final bell rang on Friday, the hallways cleared out like someone had yelled fire. A mass exodus of students and staff, flowing into the parking lot like a tidal wave outside your classroom window. You watched them as snow fell in clumps, as bright colored backpacks disappeared into the back of sedans, as cars peeled out like a parade into the street.

Assessing the paper mountain range framing your desk, you made an educated guess at how you would be spending your two week break. In hindsight, it might have helped to make the due date for the senior creative writing project last Friday instead, but deep down you knew you would have hardly made a dent by now.

When Ms. Click popped her head in to wish you a merry Christmas on her way down the hall, she seemed surprised to find your hand still moving across paper, not swaddled in mittens like hers. You brushed it off with something casual, the type of thing any regular person would say before the holidays. That it was too much to take home. That getting work finished now would leave more time with your family. You omitted the more personal details like how empty your apartment felt and the small, naked tree your mother brought over last weekend. This seemed to placate her, and with a cheery wave she left you in the silence of your classroom with only the ruffling of paper for company.

It was eery how quiet it was, but it afforded you a small hill of graded papers in the last hour, double what you would typically accomplish in front of the television. Thumbing through what remained of that stack, you counted each staple. Five, six, seven… you stopped when a certain name jumped out in MLA format.

Eddie Munson American Literature — 4th Period 20 December 1985

No title.

Papers fluttered to the desk as they fell from your hands, leaving only his. You held it gingerly between your fingers, as if it was alive. As if it could feel you, or rather, you could feel him through every type-written letter, through the thumb-sized grease stain in the top righthand corner. You could almost hear him too, shifting into a deep, dramatic narration.

Mount Myrne loomed on the horizon like a dark omen. Towering over the bustling docks of Torgaard, it disappeared beneath the ominous clouds with a formidable presence. Merchants scattered about, hauling their wares in heavy crates and barrels onto the many zeppelins.

This was where Lazarus first met Cybelle. In his mind’s eye he could almost see her stumbling about in her clean silk boots and glimmering gold coat. But her appearance today told a different tale. Her boots were caked with mud, her coat was splattered with muck and tattered by claws, her mask hung crooked on her face. Those large eyes that once glimmered with hope and wonder now stared off into the distance with oppressive sadness at the looming mountain.

This was where he was supposed to leave her. This was what they had agreed upon many moons ago. Cybelle just stood there, shifting back and forth between her tired feet as she dug her thumbs under the straps of her heavy knapsack that now held the rare and precious ghostfern. She finally had what she came for. Any moment now she would be moving those muddy boots toward the docks and use what little coin she had to barter a one-way trip back home.

That was the plan anyway..

Cybelle was frozen though. Fearfully, woefully, bitterly, she gazed upon her gold gleaming home in the sky with a sadness that was only dwarfed by Lazarus looking down at her. He looked at her beautiful face like it was the last time he was ever going to get the chance to. He memorized it in his mind as he shuffled his own dirty boots against the cobblestone. He didn’t have eyes for anything else. Not the zeppelins, nor the merchants, nor the mountain. Only her. After a moment that felt like an eon, Cybelle took a step forward.

“Wait.” said Lazarus. Cybelle turned around with surprise but also a hint of relief. “You don’t have to do this.”

Cybelle looked up at him with a mournful frown. “Of course I do, my brother will die if I stay here.”

Lazarus shook his head bitterly. “No, he will die if the ghostfern stays here.” he said.

Cybelle sighed as she looked out across the docks, “But how is it going to get there if I do not deliver it? No one is allowed within the city walls if they are not from Myrne.”

Lazarus furrowed his brow as he watched the merchants at work, hauling their wares aboard the large, formidable aircrafts. Suddenly he had an idea. “There are docks in Myrne, correct? And Myrnish merchants who take goods into the city?”

The gears were starting to turn in Cybelle’s head. “Yes, there are.”

“Well then, can we send the plant with like, a note or something? Some instructions and directions for the merchant to take where it needs to go?”

Cybelle thought for a moment. “I do know a few of the merchants by name. Arturo and I grew up together. He was my neighbor for a long time. He would know where it needs to go, and my mother would know what to do with it.” The brightness in Cybelle’s eyes dimmed suddenly as she had another thought. “But… I would never seen them again. My family.”

“Never say never, Cybelle.” Lazarus said. “Do you know that for a fact?”

Cybelle frowned heavily, “The laws in Myrne are very strict.”

“What if in the letter you told your family to meet you on the docks some other time? Perhaps in another moon or two once your brother has recovered?” Lazarus offered.

Cybelle sighed bitterly, “Only merchants are allowed on the docks. It is strictly prohibited. I was only able to come here because I snuck inside a crate. It was a miracle that they didn’t notice me.”

Lazarus kicked a stray pebble and huffed. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I cannot tell you what to do, Cybelle. Only you can make that choice. But what I can do, really the only thing I can do, is tell you how I feel.”

All of a sudden there was a knot in his stomach. Because if he was going to say anything he knew that this would be his last chance..

“All my life I’ve dreamed about that cottage by the sea with the garden, and the bed, and the omlet. When I saw that pendant you were wearing I knew that it would be my only shot at ever getting what I wanted. Magic tricks are….. not exactly lucrative. And actually, if I’m going to be totally honest here, I figure you should know the truth about me. The whole truth.” Lazarus sighed, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat at the mention of the truth. He was going to be honest though. Maybe for once in his whole life. “This is difficult for me to say, but I owe it to you if nothing else. I’m a thief, Cybelle.”

Lazarus winced at his own words and Cybelle’s fallen expression, but he bravely continued..

“I confess that for a moment when I first saw you I thought about stealing that pendant, but once I heard your story and saw so much of my own I simply couldn’t. There is a goodness in you that I admire, how selfless and pure your cause is. Over the course of the last few moons I have had the privilege of spending with you, I have come to discover how beautiful the woman beneath the mask truly is. How kind, and curious, and patient you are. I have been all over this land. Traveled far and wide, through forests and over mountains. I have swam in lakes and oceans and gazed out over countless valleys. But never has the world looked quite so hopeful than when I saw it through your eyes. It made me believe that if you could see the beauty there, if you could see the goodness in me, then perhaps I can as well.”

It was startling — the tear that leapt over your lash line. Violently enough to hit the page, to blur the Os in goodness.

“If you choose to stay I promise you that I will never steal another coin or pocket watch. It may leave me poor for the rest of my days but if they’re spent with you, then I would be the richest man of all. It is all that I can offer you. My honesty, and a promise that I will show you more beaches, more mountains, more of the world than you could ever imagine. And since I intend to keep my promise, here is my honesty: I love you. Regardless of what you decide.”

With a trembling hand, you turned the page only to discover there was nothing on the back. Sitting back in your seat with a ragged sigh, you stared out into your empty classroom. Your nose stung, fluorescents flaring in your tear-blurred vision. Separating the pages with your thumb, you flipped back and read it again. The last paragraph. The last two sentences. Those three type-written words. Over and over, wedging in the cracks of your armor as your sniffles echoed off the tile.

The sun was dipping below the treeline, flooding the near-empty parking lot with a wash of somber pink. The snowfall had ceased, settled into the footprints and tire tracks. Glancing up at the clock and back down at the papers, you tried to imagine lifting another, scanning over sentences and writing in the margins like you hadn’t been completely upended by the one that trembled in your grasp. You couldn’t.

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you donned your coat, as you shuffled overstuffed folders into your satchel and slung its weight over your shoulder. You swiped at them with your scratchy wool sleeve, flicking off the lights and shutting the door.

The soft pink had cooled to twilight blue when your boots met the blanket of snow, leaving tracks in the clean, fresh powder. Your breath trailed behind you in heavy clouds. It was quiet here too, barely a scattering of cars in the parking lot. Not even the wind disturbed the limbs of the orderly saplings between the curb and sidewalk, dusted with a glittering powder.

Your hands found your keys, and the key found the hole, and soon you were sliding into your frigid leather seat, tossing the weight of your satchel on the passenger’s side with a dejected thump. You sat there a moment with only your breath for company before flicking your wrist at the ignition.

Nothing.

Stomping on the break, you lurched forward with conviction this time, as if you could convince it you were serious. All it awarded you was a weak, persistent click. It’s fine, you told yourself through gritted teeth as you lunged again, snapping your wrist with a startling anger, like the seal had been cracked on a two liter pop bottle that had rolled around in the trunk for a week and a half. Still, nothing but a pathetic click. A split second thought crossed your mind—that the ferocity of your stomp might actually damage the car—but the logic was quickly snuffed out by your rage. The hard plastic key bit into your numb fingers. Over and over — stomping, twisting, cursing. Cursing yourself most of all for being stupid enough to let this continue for months. You were paying for it now.

The tears were already waiting, primed behind your eyeballs, hardly dried on your cheeks when you left out the back door. They spilled over again, cooling as they dripped past your lashes, down the slope of your nose. One more time, you begged. Just one more time and I’ll be good, I swear. But the white Chevy Nova sat unmoved, offering only a vacant whine where there should have been a roar. You tossed back in your seat and huffed, chest heaving, filling the cramped space with the furious steam of your breath.

Snowflakes glittered in the floodlights, shining like flares through the blur of your tears. It might have been beautiful on any other evening — one where the engine was warm, and your mind was clear, and your heart didn’t sink like a pit in your chest. It was hard to notice anything outside your bitter sobs, most especially the shadow that appeared in the window beside you. The rap of rings on the glass had you jumping, whipping your head to face the set of eyes you’d been avoiding most of all.

“Need some help?” Eddie offered, bracing his knees in a crouch, eyes brimming with concern.

Your stomach twisted with relief, then embarrassment, then a million other things rolled into one, sick knot. Wiping the evidence from your cheeks with a futile swipe of your sleeve, you cranked down the window with your left hand. You must have looked like an absolute basket case, jerking your arm in tight circles as the barrier lowered with the urgency of a tortoise. When where was enough space for him, Eddie braced against the top of your door and ducked his head inside.

“Hey.” The warm sigh of his greeting kissed your cheek, thawing the sting of the cold.

“Hey,” you mimicked, sounding just about as stable as you felt when it came out. “W-what are you doing here so late?”

“Hellfire,” he stated simply. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”

Despite how true it was, it still felt pathetic when the answer left your lips. “Just… trying not to take so much work home with me.” You said it as casually as you could muster, but your voice betrayed you. Your cheeks were still cooling from the remnants of your tears, framing the heat from your dripping nose.

Eddie suddenly looked very serious, splintering your armor with his softness. “You ok?”

You gestured dejectedly at nothing, offering a hollow laugh. “No.”

Eddie filled the cabin with his sigh, eyes narrowing like he wanted to lunge through the window. Instead he just thumbed at the rubber and tipped his head closer, creaking your chest plate with the weight of his gaze. “You know, I could hear you clear across the parking lot,” he joked softly. “The car—I mean. Mostly. You leave your lights on or something?”

You shook your head. “It’s been doing this for months, ever since it started getting cold. I should have taken it to get checked out, but it usually starts after a couple tries.”

“Sounds like it might be the battery, or maybe the starter. I won’t know unless I try and jump it. I’ll swing around—if—if that’s ok.”

The wind ushered a curl toward his lips, and you clenched your hand to subdue it. “Yeah, it’s ok,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

With a nod, Eddie ducked out of the window and pivoted swiftly on his heels. From your side view mirror, you watched him make tracks in the blue snow with his heavy boots, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced left and right, the ghost of his breath trailing closely behind. The seat creaked as you sat back and blinked like the cursor on a computer monitor; processing. One glance in your rearview mirror told you how disheveled you looked. Even in the twilight there was no masking the puffiness around your eyes, the mascara bleeding toward your cheeks. You swiped at them again, this time with a napkin from your glove box.

With a yank of the frigid handle, Eddie slid across the plaid and pleather padding into the drivers seat of his van. He froze for a second, glancing in his rearview mirror toward your small white sedan. Butterflies tore through his stomach, churning like a tornado as he flicked the ignition. Out of all his ridiculous fantasies, he hadn’t entertained this one. Not exactly anyway. One where you were the damsel in distress. One where he got to be the hero.

The parking lot was vacant enough to drive across the lines. Ploughing through the naked patches where cars had spent the afternoon, he rumbled up beside you. Your stomach did a summersault when he stepped out, plodding around to the front of your car with jumper cables slung under his arm.

“Can you pop the hood for me?” he asked.

The summersault rippled south through your abdomen. Reaching down under the console, your fingers found the leaver and obeyed. You felt kind of useless, just sitting there while he propped the hood onto the stand, shielding him from vision. Before you could form another thought, your hand was moving on its own, finding the plastic leaver of your door and opening it to the cold evening air.

Eddie gave a shy look from behind his curtain of curls before stepping back with a nod. “Well, good news, there’s no monsters,” he joked.

A smile cracked across your face, so genuine it almost felt foreign. You tucked your hands into your pockets, stepping closer to assess the engine like you knew what you were looking at. Your aura prickled with proximity, like his heat could thaw you even from where you stood. Eddie’s glance was soft and quick before procuring a small flashlight from his inner coat pocket. He held it in his teeth, flipping up the red and black plastic covers on the battery terminals.

“I have hands too, you know,” you said with a smirk.

With a playful side-eye, he clamped the appropriate cables onto the terminals. Removing the silver torch from his mouth, he made room for his retort. “Mmhm, best keep ‘em warm. It’s uh, kinda chilly out.”

You shook your head as a laugh escaped your nostrils in a plume. Sauntering over to his van like a dark knight, Eddie leaned in the door to pop his own hood. Your boots made tentative tracks in the snow, drawn like a magnet as he hoisted the metal. From the light pinched in his teeth you could see the expanse of the massive engine, the shadow of his furrowed brow as he unscrewed plastic knobs. What you saw more than anything though—like a filter laid over the scene—were three type-written letters. The hands that typed them fumbled with the cables, squeezed around the thick, jaw-like clamps. When they bit right where he wanted, they released; tendons flexing, knuckles pinking from the freezing air. Reflexively, he wiped them on the chest of his black hoodie peeking out from his open coat.

It might have just been the cold, but even in the twilight—in the absence of the flashlight he was tucking into his pocket—you could have sworn his cheeks flushed when he caught you staring. “Alright, um, go ahead and start your car. I’ll do the same.”

Following the tether that joined the two vehicles, you did as he told you. Nothing came of it though, just more incessant clicking. Exasperated, you tossed back in your seat before slumping out of the car once more.

“Shit, it must be the starter. Probably cracked, that’s my guess anyway by the sound of it,” Eddie explained as he stepped around to face your engine again. Clicking his flashlight, he peered into the compartment. “See, if you follow the positive terminal line all the way down, that’s where the starter will be. Only problem is it’s tricky to get to without a lift.”

You followed his grease-stained finger down the dirt-dusted tangle of tubes, drawing nearer under the subtle guise of interest in your engine. You stopped just inches from his solid leather frame, close enough to brush him with your elbow. “You seem to know your way around a car.”

He huffed, shaking his head as he muttered. “Wish I didn’t.” But before you could comment, he was shutting the hood. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck.”

Your defeated sigh rose toward the clouds as you glanced at the squat school building. The lights were off. Judy’s car was absent from the lot, as were all but a handful, including the two of yours. Glancing at your watch under the floodlights, the big hand tipped past the golden dot where a five should be.

Eddie stepped closer, filling the gap with a heavy exhale before meeting your eyes. “You know I could, um—” he scratched the back of his neck, words evaporating quicker than his breath. What could he do? What could he really do about any of this? For most of his life he’d been a leaf on the wind, scuttling across the pavement toward the gutter, struggling to steer himself away. But you were stranded, and if there was anything he was good for, it was a ride. “I could—I could take you back to your place. If you’re ok with that, I mean. We could—fuck—I mean you could call from there a-and I could—”

There were chinks in your armor, cracking with each bumbling word. You looked at him, really looked. Eddie Munson, with grease-stained hands and eyes that pierced like arrows in their pleading. Straight through to the softest part of you, the place between your ribs that cries I want. And oh, how desperately you wanted. Wanted to soothe his worried lips in yours again, to feel his pounding chest again, to be thawed by his heat again. But you just stood there, frozen.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his open coat, he shifted on the balls of his feet as he searched for more words in the snow. “Look, I know you said you wanted space, a-and it probably seems like—shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing with a sharp sigh. “I just want to help you. Will you just let me help you? Please?”

Your chest plate clattered to the concrete, gauntlets falling in a heap beside your greaves. There was no white flag to wave. No sword to relinquish, or shield to discard. Your surrender was nothing but a soft “okay,” barely heard above the howling wind.

______

A/N: After over a year and 100k words, the smut chapter is finally upon us! Thank you for coming with me on this very long journey and sticking it out. I have no idea how long this next one is going to take me to write, but I can promise you that when it’s finished you will experience every moment in exquisite, delicious, poetic detail.

You might have noticed that I’ve pulled a few small details like character names and places from Flight of Icarus, but I will not be retconning any of Eddie’s backstory.

Also random, tumblr decided to make that one paragraph bold once I changed it to chat font with no ability to unbold it, but that wasn't intended. It kind of worked though so I'm not mad.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me #dssctm

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aurasplanet · 18 days

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GRIMES’ KID carl grimes x fem!reader

warnings — age gap (not explicitly mentioned, i imagined 4 years; carl is 18 reader is 22), carl has a thing for you being older, dry humping, mocking, riding, bad ending probably

carl met you when you were brought back to alexandria, battered and bruised and shaking like a leaf from presumably trauma. his father, daryl, and rosita had gone scavenging and found you, and after some questions and your worrying state they brought you back.

he was drawn to you immediately. you looked around his age, but when he found out you were a little older it made him more… interested? he was intrigued by how you held yourself. your normal behavior a great contrast to how shaken up you were when he first saw you.

he liked how similar you held yourself compared to him, cold, independent, confident even if it was a facade. he liked how when you met him you just shook his hand, looked into his eye with kindness in yours. one of the first people to not look too long or overreact and interrogate him about the bandage.

it was the little things that made carl’s brain short circuit. tying your shirt up when it got too hot, exposing the skin of your belly. offering to care for judith, unknowing to how carl’s mind ran wild about how you would do as a mother. maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but this deep rooted crush he had has developed over the two years you’ve been here. despite never acting on it.

but you act so nonchalant around him. he’s starting to understand how glenn and maggie fell together like puzzle pieces so quickly, but you don’t seem to spare him a glance anymore. it drives him insane.

as of now the group is huddled together, brainstorming their next scavenging trip to satisfy negan. you’re standing right in front of him, clad in cargo shorts and a white top tied in the front. you stood with your hand over your eyes, blocking yourself from the blazing sun as much as you could.

it’s the little things.

you feel eyes on you and turn around, laughing shortly with no surprise that carl was behind you. “hey kid,” you walk up to carl, flicking his hat with a smile. he’s always lurking in the background when the group is having discussions. he knows his father will either be too scared to let him join, or too wary to include his ideas.

he hums in response, squinting his eye to see you clearer. “hi.”

you shift your weight on your hip, “it’s a little hot out to be wearing a flannel and jeans, huh?”

carl shrugs and lifts his hat, ruffling his hair a bit before putting it back on. “not much choice.” him and those short answers, making it hard for you when all you want to do is listen to his pretty, raspy voice.

you huff and start walking towards his house, a slight smirk setting on your lips when you hear him shuffling behind you “you’re not going to help?”

“they’re sending your dad and a couple of others, not me.” you wait for him to speak again, ask you something else maybe. “they want me to watch after judith though.”

“i got it.”

it’s not that he doesn’t want you there, quite the opposite. it just irks him that even the smallest task of watching his own sister was being given to someone else.

you look back at him amusedly. “okay cowboy, i see you’re mister independent now?” he rolls his eye at the nickname, you gave it to him when you first met him. the hat you always saw him in resembled a cowboy’s hat. and when he kept getting antsy, correcting you defensively, it stuck as a way to pick on him a bit.

he grumbles, “i’ve been independent, you guys just refuse to listen to me.” you giggle and open the front door of his house, pouting at him mockingly. you take judy away from olivia with a smile and a thank you.

“you poor thing.” you bounce judith on your hip, hearing carl scoff behind you as he closes the door. you heard olivia say something about judith’s nap time so you head up to her room to put her down.

no surprise carl followed you.

“on a serious note,” you put judith down for bed, smiling at her sweetly. “i’m sure they’ll come around eventually. you’re a grimes for gods sake.”

“yeah, and that’s all they see me as.” he grumbles under his breath. you give him a look that says ‘i heard that’ and lead him out of judy’s room. “don’t act like you don’t either. i’m just rick’s son to you.”

you cross your arms and turn to face him, leaning against the door of his bedroom. “really, kid?”

he nods, licking his lips before continuing. “i’m just like some errand boy with a messed up face. i have to sneak out to execute my ideas and get my ass chewed out for it.” you knew he was talking about the time he attacked negan’s men, the memory making your face screw up. you were terrified of what negan could and would do to carl.

“one, stop saying you have a messed up face. two, maybe try to persuade people into listening to you more. i can help. when you go off and do things like that it makes you seem like you’re still a reckless kid.”

“i’m not a kid.” carl snarls, getting closer to you. his eye flicks from your eyes to your lips. you don’t miss it, you silently gasp and put your hands on his chest to prevent him from coming closer.

“slow your roll, kid.” the nickname rolls off your tongue out of habit, making carl even more upset.

he sighs annoyedly, “seriously?” he raises his hand up over yours slowly. he gave you time to pull away and smirks when you don’t. “slow my roll, huh?” you roll your eyes and push at his chest again, albeit softer this time.

“i think…” your hand still in his, he guides it up to his hair. you blink your eyes away from him. “i think you do that on purpose.” his head dips down to look into your eyes that are hellbent on avoiding him.

“do what on purpose?” your voice is breathless, he’s winning.

he smiles and tilts your chin up with his finger, “call me ‘kid’, mess with me, ignore me. you’re trying to ignore that you want me.” you scoff but your eyes still stay trained behind him. “say it.”

you look up at him now, breathing out heavily. “i want you.” it’s a mumble under your breath, barely audible.

“what was that, darlin’?” you purse your lips at the new pet-name.

“you heard me, grimes.”

he laughs breathlessly, inching his face closer to yours. “yeah, i did. i wanna hear you say it again.” he’s doing this so easily, turning you into putty in his hands. he’s always been the grimes kid you picked on, having fun toying around with him. he’s gone and turned it around on you so quickly it makes your head spin.

“i want you, carl.” he growls when you say his name, pushing his lips against yours harshly. his imagination is vivid, no doubt. but all of the begging he had you do for him in his head didn’t come close to the pretty, honey-like sound of your real voice admitting you want him.

it didn’t compare to how soft your lips felt against his, how perfect your skin felt on his fingertips. he pushes himself against you, chest to chest and deepens the kiss. you let out a small whine, using your free hand to grip his shirt.

he chuckles, “i bet this just has you seething, huh? you’re always so cocky, i wonder how people would react to you acting all pathetic for someone younger than you.” your hand in his hair tugs causing him to groan.

his lips go to your jawline, sucking and biting and kissing at the skin. he’s careful to not leave marks, saving those for the places only he could see. his hand goes behind you to open the door, pushing you inside and shutting it with his foot. he lays you down on his bed and hovers over you.

he bites his lips while he takes you in. you’re breathing heavy, your chest rising and falling quickly. he sees the sheer shine of sweat on your skin, how plump your lips are from your kiss, how pretty your skin looks with the little light seeping from the window.

he pushes your shirt up and kisses along your abdomen, leading up to your chest and taking it off completely. his hand goes to your back, lifting you off the mattress slightly to rid you of your bra. he sighs with satisfaction when he finally sees your tits for himself.

his fingers lazily roll your nipples, the small action causing you to whimper and buck your hips. “such a needy thing, aren’t you?” he was going to prove to you he was no longer a kid, one way or another. he was going to prove to you that he could make you feel good.

“you know, i like when you try to boss me around. because now i know i can put you in your place so easily,” his laugh in your ear is menacing. he peels your shorts off and groans at the wet patch on your panties.

he grinds against your clit and you gasp, his jeans causing friction that feels so good. the embarrassment of you being nearly fully naked while he’s still dressed adding onto the fire in your belly. he huffs in your ear every time he moves his hips, his hands holding yours in place against the mattress.

“do it.” your voice rasps out, your lust blown eyes boring into his.

he cocks his brow, “do what, darlin’?”

you bite your lip and resist rolling your eyes back from the pleasure. “put me in my place.” he laughs humorlessly, grinding against you a little harder and ripping a moan from you.

“this not enough for you?”

your coy smile returns, “tryin’ to say you can’t do better than that?” he growls and flips you over,

“if you wanna be so cocky, ride me.” carl tilts his head, placing his hands on your hips. you huff and shoot him a dirty look. “you asked for this.”

you unzip his jeans, tugging them down his legs. your impatience gets the best of you leaving you to abandon them at his mid-thighs. he laughs at your desperation, helping you pull your panties to the side and guide yourself onto his cock.

you whine at the intrusion, going down slowly. he sucks in a breath through his teeth, throwing his head back. his hat falls off as a result and with a smirk he picks it up and sets it on your head. your glossy eyes look at him curiously, “you look perfect.”

you look down shyly, trailing your hand up his shirt to reveal his slim figure. you breathe out shakily as you force the rest of him inside of you, sitting still for a bit to adjust and get used to feeling him inside of you.

all the whole carl is looking at you like a goddess, half lidded eyes raking along your body. your hands are unsteady on his chest, trying your best to steady yourself and bounce on him properly. he can’t help but huff out a laugh and hold your hips. “let me, darlin’.”

“i got it.”

you squeal when he bounces your hips for you, your head falling to his neck. he wraps a hand around your throat and pushes you back into place. “i wanna watch you, watch you fall apart. watch your desperate face.” his mouth goes to your chest, sucking harsher than before.

he lets go of your throat and puts both hands on your hips again, doing all the work while you moan sweetly on top of him. he can’t take his eyes off of you, finally getting you to himself the way he wanted. not to mention how hot you look in his hat.

your arms wrap around his neck and you lean down to kiss him. it’s a tad softer this time, carl wants to savor this as long as he can. his arms go around your waist, leaving you to grind on him instead. the kiss is messy, mostly heavily breathing into each others mouths trying to stay as close as possible.

“fuck, i’m close. y’feel so good around me, darlin’.” you whine at his words, god he finds you so cute. even when you’re a mess on his dick.

you mumble against his lips, “me too.”

he leans back, watching your face while you struggle to keep your pace. “cum with me, pretty?” you nod eagerly, muttering a weak ‘please’.

“good girl.”

he flips you over, thrusting into you fast and messily. his lips lock with yours and his right hand cups your chest. he pulls out with a groan and brings your hand up to wrap around his cock. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast causing whimpers to fall from your lips. his brows furrow and his mouth falls agape while he watches your pretty hand finish him off.

he sighs as he lays next to you, pulling you into his side. “how’s that for kid.”

you shrug, “eh, i did most of the work.” he looks down and squints at you,

“do i have to show you again?”

#carl grimes x reader #carl grimes smut #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes x you #twd x reader #twd smut #carl grimes fanfiction

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mikeepoo · 11 months

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Judy, a purebred pointer, was the mascot of several ships in the Pacific, and was captured by the Japanese in 1942 and taken to a prison camp. There she met Aircraftsman Frank Williams, who shared his small portion of rice with her. Judy raised morale in the POW camp, and also barked when poisonous snakes, crocodiles or even tigers approached the prisoners. When the prisoners were shipped back to Singapore, she was smuggled out in a rice sack, never whimpering or betraying her presence to the guards. The next day, that ship was torpedoed. Williams pushed Judy out of a porthole in an attempt to save her life, even though there was a 15-foot drop to the sea. He made his own escape from the ship, but was then recaptured and sent to a new POW camp. He didn't know if Judy had survived, but soon he began hearing stories about a dog helping drowning men reach pieces of debris after the shipwreck. And when Williams arrived at the new camp, he said: "I couldn’t believe my eyes! As I walked through the gate, a scraggly dog hit me square between the shoulders and knocked me over. I’d never been so glad to see the old girl!" They spent a year together at that camp in Sumatra. "Judy saved my life in so many ways," said Williams. "But the greatest of all was giving me a reason to live. All I had to do was look into those weary, bloodshot eyes and ask myself: 'What would happen to her if I died?' I had to keep going." Once hostilities ceased, Judy was then smuggled aboard a troopship heading back to Liverpool. In England, she was awarded the Dickin Medal (the "Victoria Cross" for animals) in May 1946. Her citation reads: "For magnificent courage and endurance in Japanese prison camps, which helped to maintain morale among her fellow prisoners, and also for saving many lives through her intelligence and watchfulness". At the same time, Frank Williams was awarded the PDSA's White Cross of St. Giles for his devotion to Judy. Frank and Judy spent a year after the war visiting the relatives of English POWs who had not survived, and Frank said that Judy "always provided a comforting presence to the families." When Judy finally died at the age of 13, Frank spent two months building a granite and marble memorial in her memory, which included a plaque describing her life story.

Purloined in it’s entirety from GH85Carrera

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bahrtofane · 2 months

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you visit jude and decide to take him through the night to show him a little something, and he shows you one in return

bff!jude x reader

word count - 900+

watch it - pure fluff + teasing and silly judi

-----

windows down driving through a warm madrid night with jude in your passenger. just happy you let him tag along. its your second day in the city, your first seeing him in months. you’ve been itching to. but he doesn’t need to know. his ego will only inflate even more. what will you do with him then? he's already a hand full.

he wanted to greet you at the airport (and bring flowers. friends bring flowers to airports right? right...)

he thinks you'd kill him if he did either.

he missed you, though he doesn’t yet know how to say it yet. worse, he thinks he just might love you.

friendship with you makes him want to tear his hair out. why does he want to kiss you. why does his heart ache at every single good bye. and more importantly why are you one of the very select few that hes allowed to call or face time him at any time

he needs to get it together. especially when you look so star studded like this, driving with one hand, lights of the city flickering on your face, drumming your fingers against the wheel while you tease him

he treasures you. he doesn’t know why you keep going out of your way to see him. he wants to ask. one day, some day, not today.

he chooses to stick his head out the window instead , ignoring the looks he just knows he's getting from the cars around him. you only giggle at his antics, turning the music up.

you hum to the music that blasts from the speakers, not a care in the world, weaving through the streets maybe a little too carelessly but you cant help it. not when his eyes gleam so.

he sticks his head back inside, shimmying into his seat properly, but he hasn’t had enough of the night breeze. hand hanging out of the window, arms outstretched, reaching up up up. you think he could reach the stars like this.

who are you kidding. he's a star himself.

he turns to you, smile wide, burst of laughter falling from his lips, "you drive like a mad man."

you shrug, "you’re having fun aren’t you?"

he mimics you, raising his shoulders dramatically, "am i?"

you shake your head, looking over your shoulder as you change lanes. he laughs, mumbling something about you needing extra classes. and who has their license in the first place, you or him?

never mind that, you want to show him something. you saw it driving to your hotel.

you come off the highway, slowing down as you go up a ramp, back into city roads. you watch as he looks out the window wide eyed. jude, always eager to experience everything. do you make the list?

you hope so.

you drive through turns and loops with one hand, the other outstretched trying to catch the wind.

"copy cat." he mutters.

you narrow your eyes at him, "and who can drive then?"

he quiets at this, huffing in his seat.

you reach the side of a building, parking your car. jude is still pretending to sulk when you step out, heading over to his side.

you lean down, resting a hand on the door, "come on you big baby, something i wanna show you."

he perks up at this, "a surprise?"

you snort, "something like that."

he hops out, closing the door being him. you don’t go very far, leaning on the drivers side of your car, pointing to the side of a building. he looks up, gasping.

its a billboard of him, spanning practically the whole side of the structure. there he stands in his iconic stance. text reading "made in birmingham" on the bottom.

"ive never seen this one before..." he trails off.

"pretty cool one. its huge."

he hums, "makes me look extra cool."

you scoff, "yeah you need it."

"hey!' he yells, launching forward as you run from him.

down the street while you giggle, only the moon and street lights to guide your path. he hurls empty insult while you try not to think too deeply about the implications of it all. he catches up in an instant. of course he does. grabbing your arm and dragging you back to your car while you groan.

you try to throw a fit, wriggling against his grip the best you can but man is the guy strong. turning to face you, brow raised. he turns a little to fast, till your pressed almost right up against each other. faces so close you could just lean in to-

kiss!

his lips press against yours. warm and sweet. soft and gentle.

he pulls away just as fast, apologies tumbling from the same lips so fast he cant hear you saying its okay.

so you kiss him instead. wrapping a hand around his. you can feel him relax under you, tensions seeping from his frame where he stands.

grounded.

when you part. you think your face is genuinely in flames. oh how youve dreamed of doing just that a million times over.

he laughs , the idiot laughs. clutching onto your hands like a life line, "ive been waiting ages to do that." he sighs.

"me too." you confess, shy. looking away, your gaze ends up back at billboard jude.

he wrinkles his nose, "id rather kiss you more somewhere where he isn’t spying."

you gasp, "are you jealous of yourself?" dragging the two of you back to your car.

he shrugs, ducking back inside and buckling up, "im just saying he doesn’t need to be seeing my business."

you roll your eyes, turning your car on and back to driving, "you’re so dramatic."

"but you’re having fun aren’t you?" he teases.

you ignore this. speeding through streets with all the windows down while you let him choose the music again.

you have a soft spot so what? so does he.

#jude x you #jude bellingham imagine #jude x reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham one shot #bahr footy #footy fic #footballer fic #football fanfic #jude x y/n #jude bellingham headcanons #jude bellingham x y/n

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eddiesxangel · 3 months

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Me and You? Together? | Eddie Munson x Best friend Reader

Eddie Munson + You = BFFLS that’s all you’ll ever be… unless?

Cw: Angst? Small fluff, Queer!Eddie, reader uses she/her pronouns, open ending? One mention of the upside down (ikr who am I?)

wc:1.7k

I think the story needs more pages, yes I've been in love with her for ages 🎶

"Oh, you two are just the cutest couple in here." the older waitress with the retro yellow diner dress and apron with a name tag that read Judy, fawned over you and Eddie. However, you were quick to correct her.

"Oh no, no, just best friends," you lightheartedly giggle.

This stung Eddie. Friends. Best Friends. Two decades worth of friendship, and it haunts Eddie. That is all you'll ever be... Best Friends.

Not once had you shown an ounce of interest in being anything more, but Eddie, on the other hand, fell in love with you in stages throughout his life.

When you were three years old, you moved to the trailer park where Eddie and his family lived. Being the only two kids, you were immediately drawn to one another. Eddie remembers that summer, the scorching summer sun beat down mercilessly on the trailer park as you both ran around in your underwear, laughing and shrieking, under the cool spray of the garden hose.

When you were both five, you had a "wedding" and promised one another vows. Eddie always remembered his promise to be your best friend and to always be your best friend. He told you he loved you, and you told him you loved him and sealed it with a small kiss and a slew of giggles. Your parents gushed about how adorable it was and how they couldn't wait for the real thing. Too bad Eddie's parents never would make it to the real thing.

As you both got a little older, around ten years old, you huddled together in your sleeping bags, whispering secrets and sharing stories that only best friends could tell. The sound of your laughter would fill the air, mingling with the chirping of the crickets and the rustling of the leaves. Your makeshift tent made out of bed sheets and sticks would only last so long as a barrier before you got scared of bats and earwigs, but Eddie promised to never let anything hurt you. He held your hand until you fell asleep.

When you and Eddie were twelve, and he struggled with his parents, you lent him your unwavering support and helped him weather the storm. You were his rock, his confidant, his best friend.

Eddie's world had begun to feel unfamiliar and uncertain during that period. Puberty had started to alter his body and yours, for that matter. Eddie saw the changes happening within you and within himself... He noticed how you got more attention from boys as your chest started blossoming and how he also longed for that attention. An ugly feeling would bloom in Eddie's gut and he hated it when the boys would stare at you or talk to you.

But you would never stray too far. Even with your first boyfriend, Eddie didn't understand why he hated the guy so much. He was a nice boy and never picked on Eddie like the others, but for the life of him, Eddie hated his guts. Especially when he would watch him hold your hand or kiss you on the cheek. He wanted that with you, but he also wanted to be you? He was so confused. He, too, wanted to hold your boyfriend’s hand and have him kiss him on the cheek, and that scared him.

Both your emotions lead to changes in the dynamics of your friendship, such as sleepovers. Previously, a fun and carefree activity had become different since it was now mandatory to sleep in separate rooms, a rule both your parents and Eddie's Uncle Wayne agreed upon. Yet, through the difficult times of teenage angst, you both powered through and came out stronger than ever.

When all the shit happened with the upsidedown a little over two years ago, you were at his bedside every day until the visiting hours were over, and the hospital had to physically kick you out; you would be back the second they started up again the next day. That was the last straw for Eddie. He could no longer deny his feelings for you anymore. He was in love with his best friend.

"Oh well, that's too bad; if you ever change your mind, invite me to the wedding, okay?" She smiles and takes your orders to the kitchen.

When the waitress left, Eddie saw his window of opportunity.

"Hey, uh, what if I took you out?" Eddie fiddles with the paper straw wrapper.

"We are out, Stupid." You laugh.

"No, no, I mean, can I take you for a drink?" Eddie was never this anxious around you, and you noticed. Like something in the air had shifted.

"Like a drink?" you raise your brows.

"Uh... yeah." You had never seen Eddie so nervous with you before. Where was this coming from?

"Oh God, I'll have to think... We're friends, Eddie, I don't know? It-it doesn't feel right." This had caught you so off guard.

"It's cool... no, yeah,- I-I was just messin'," he waves off, and your heart alleviates.

"God Eddie! You really had me there." you laugh and Eddie's heart sinks, and you can see him slouch back into the booth. His body language completely shifted.

Fuck, how he hated this; you were the only one who ever made him feel right. You were it for him.

No matter how hard he tried, his mind would always wander back to the same vision of a future with you. He saw the two of you building a beautiful life together in his dreams. He imagined the joy of raising children with you, cooking together in the kitchen, and sharing parenting responsibilities. He could picture himself changing their diapers while you watched with a warm smile.

Visions of you going to the Winter Fair, which was not the most exciting event; he envisioned you, him and your hypothetical child going there every year, enjoying the festivities and watching the colourful lights glow in your eyes. These thoughts filled him with happiness, and he couldn't wait for them to become a reality.

Unfortunately, you have shot down any possibility of being more than friends with Eddie, not to hurt him but because you only see him as a friend. Never once had it ever crossed your mind to see Eddie as anything more. Honestly, you questioned his sexuality over the years.

One memory, in particular, flashed in your brain as you pondered on the possibility of Eddie being serious or just taking the piss?

"Eddie, what are you doing?" You walked into your bedroom to see Eddie standing in the middle of your room, facing your full-length mirror.

"Oh, me? I liked your dress and wanted to see what it would look like on me? Kinda badass, no? Some may even say... metal?"

You can't help but laugh.

“Ed’s, you can’t even do it up; you’re going to rip it!”

“You’re being a hater… Imagine! Me on stage shredding to Ozzy in this?" He gestures to your floral church dress, which he’s paired with his black Converse all-stars. He’s always been flamboyant.

You can't help but roll your eyes. Your mom just bought you this dress.

“What, Sunshine?” He smirks.

“Ed’s, are you?-Is there something you want to tell me?” You bite your lip, not wanting him to freak out.

“You know me, sunshine! I’m just me,” he twirled and showed off his boxers.

“Okay, but if you ever wanna tell me anything, I’ll be here for you.”

“I know.” He smiled.

Sometimes, you wondered about Eddie... He never fully came out to you, and you never pressured him to do so because you loved him regardless. You wouldn’t ever have a chance with him; he’s your platonic soul mate. Sure, he’s handsome if you like that bad boy-leather-metalhead thing, but who’s to say you were even his type? You were a girl.

When Eddie asked you out just now, you had no idea how to take it? He’s him, and you are you… you’ve been attached at the hip forever, but never did you think you’d cross the threshold? Did he want to cross it? Did you want to cross it?

He was so nervous as he asked you. His hands wouldn’t stop fiddling, and he fumbled his words. His breath got all gaspy, like when he was trying to brush off something that bothered him. Maybe he was being serious?

“Ed’s?”

“Yea?” You saw a glimmer of hope behind his eyes.

“Don’t you like… boys? I’ve never seen you-“

“It’s okay- lots of people think I’m gay, but it’s cool, right? We’re friends! Why would it not be?”

“No, no, of course, but you’ve-you’ve never been with a girl or at least that I know of? So I never thought… Really? Me and you? Together?”

“No, you wouldn’t have thought.” He bit back bitterly. “I know, I’m queer; you know I’ve always been different.”

“Ed’s, I’m sorry I just- I never thought of you like that because I’m a girl…”

“Ask me, Sunshine.”

“Ask you what?”

“You know.”

“Do you like girls?” You spit out.

“No, sunshine, I like you.”

“But you-"

“I know how I am!” He raised his voice. He never raised his voice. Not at you. “I don’t like conformity and social norms, and sure, I like men, and sure, I like to dress up in your clothes and like to put on your makeup, but fuck, I especially like it because that stuff belongs to you, I do it because I love you.” There he said it, finally he felt like the 100lb weight had been lifted off of his chest.

“Ed’s-“

“No! I love you, and I do it because I like it and to be close to you because you’re my whole world, sunshine, and if I can’t have you, I don’t know what I will do.” He reached out for your hand across the table, and you let him take it. Your fingers intertwine.

It was quiet for a moment. You needed to process. Things between you won’t be the same after this.

“Talk to me, Sunshine?”

“I just never thought this was an option between us, Eddie. I need time.

“I’ll wait for you; I’ve waited this long.”

You only stay in silence for a moment before Judy comes back around.

“Okay, kiddos, 2 burgers and fries, enjoy.” The waitress smiles and places your meal in front of you.

“Excuse me, Judy?” you call out.

“Yes, darling?” She turns back with a smile

“Can we see the drink menu?” You chide

“Coming right up”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x best friend reader #queer!eddie munson #queer!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson concept #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction #Spotify

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 4 months

Note

Rick/reader/Daryl are a throuple and the Alexandria residents don’t know how to react.

.⋆｡Her Poor Cat｡⋆.

Daryl x plus size reader x Rick

Obviously the Alexandrians were pretty vanilla

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and smut, bit of a crack fic, humour, fluff

WC: 900

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The welcome party was an interesting touch to the new-comers. It was so weirdly reminiscent of the old world with the nice clothes and good food and alcohol but at the same time, many in the room carried that haunted look in their eyes from the hell just outside the walls. But the food was fresh and the company was pleasant enough.

Carl had scrambled off a couple minutes ago, presumably to try and sneak some whiskey behind his father’s back, leaving you alone with a sleepy Judith perched on your wide hip. Her chunky hand tightly clutched at your shirt as her big blue eyes fluttered.

“Mama.” She muttered, nuzzling further into your hold. You gently cupped the back of her head and began to sway softly.

“We’ll leave soon, just need to find your dads and make sure they don’t get into any trouble.” Your eyes skipped over the crowd but you were quickly stopped by someone coming up beside you.

“It’s so good to see healthy children during these times.” Deanna seemed less focused on you and more on the now half-asleep child in your arms, which you were incredibly grateful for considering that your poker face wasn’t as good as it used to be and she legitimately freaked you out.

Judith grumbled as you hitched her higher on your hip. “Judy is an easy baby, pretty much eats anything that gets put in front of her.” You chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You and Rick must be very proud of your kids.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, it’s not-“

A strong arm was suddenly wrapped around your thick waist and you were tugged back into their hard stomach. The scent of cigarettes and motor oil filled your senses as Daryl’s lips brushed against your earlobe. You watched as Deanna went pale, obviously coming to her own conclusion about your relationship with the archer.

“I-I didn’t realise, given how affectionate you are with the kids, I thought Rick was your partner.” You could feel Daryl’s broad chest rumble with discontent.

“So what if he is?” The noise from the party faded away to a faint whisper as all eyes turned to you. Internally, you groaned, vowing to get some sort of revenge on your boyfriend.

“I’m sorry?” Deanna seemed genuinely confused but you knew that whatever was about to come out of Daryl’s mouth would not serve to lessen that feeling.

With your free hand, you dug your fingers into his hip, urging him to shut the hell up but like always, Daryl refused to listen. “So what if we’re both fucking her?”

And there it was. Your body sagged with embarrassment as heat raced up your neck, blooming across your cheeks. “You fucking asshole.” Your group all seemed to be holding back their laughter as the Alexandrians were suddenly incredibly uncomfortable. You heard Carl groan loudly from somewhere behind you. “Not again.”

“Both of them?” Spencer materialised beside his mother, jaw practically on the floor. “At the same time?”

Just as Daryl’s mouth opened once more to very rudely answer the mayor’s son, Rick’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. His grip was light enough to appear friendly but the way his fingers curled into his collarbone kept the other man silent. “What Daryl meant to say is that we are all in a relationship together.”

You then made the mistake of making eye contact with Maggie and Carol who both seemed to be on the edge of suffocation as they desperately tried to stop giggling. You glared at the women and got back a rather rude gesture from Carol that restarted their laughter anew.

“I think I need to get Judy to bed.” You tried to pull away from Daryl’s grip but the stubborn man he was, he just held you tighter.

“How does that work?” The question came from a woman towards the back. You could practically feel Rick’s smirk as he cleared his throat but very quickly, another woman decided to answer for him.

“Obviously they take turns.” A murmur of agreement filled the room followed by- “Oh her poor vagina.” This makes Glenn snort into his drink.

With a horrified look on her face, Deanna spoke again. “This is highly inappropriate.” Yet no one seemed to hear her because someone else piped up.

“I can’t believe that she isn’t pregnant all the time.”

“I think that’s enough of that! Thank you all for the wonderful party, but we really should be going now.” Your voice boomed, starling Judith awake but that was the least of your concerns at the moment. Daryl went easily enough as your fingers clamped down on his wrist and you pulled him along, although there was a prideful smile on his lips.

But Rick had other ideas. “It’s not like we don’t try every chance we get.” Faster than you thought you were capable of, you dropped Daryl’s hand and your arm darted out, grabbing Rick’s ear with a force that made him visibly flinch.

“I said that’s enough.” You snarled and tugged him towards the front door, Daryl trailing close behind you. “Goodnight.” The door slammed shut behind you, leaving behind a room full of stunned Alexandrians and your friends who were all laughing loudly.

“Well, I guess that cleared that up.” Deanna murmured and took a long pull of her drink.

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lilmissnatcat24 · 5 months

Text

to me, the real tragedy of river ward is that he never once tries to fix you. all of the other LIs see v as a person who's death is coming, and they try their very best to stop that. panam is willing to put her entire clan at risk just for the chance that v could get the relic separated in mikoshi. judy will always ask v about the relic and what can be done, she's willing to sacrifice just about anything when she knows she's just a bd editor and in reality there's really nothing she can do. kerry doesn't formally talk about it (just like kerry doesn't formally talk about ANYTHING), but the way he talks to v like their just going to be this consistent presence in his life and that now that he's in a better place he can spend more time with v-- which is really his way of saying that the two of them together can just ignore all of their problems when they're together.

but not river. he never once offers to help about the biochip apart from offering to talk about it. because what could he do? disgraced former detective turned private investigator, he has no friends left on the force, he only just got his family back and even that's fragile. river is the only one out of all of them who processes and understands that v is dying and there's nothing he can do about it.

but even with that, he doesn't run. he gives you plenty of options after you commit to him where you can back out and call it quits. but he is never the one to pull that plug because despite just about everything, he can't stop himself from loving v. and sure, at best it will only last a few months. but those few months will be beautiful because v's in his life, he loves v and cherishes v and even if v dies soon that's not going to stop him. just because the romance is short and isn't meant to last forever, it doesn't mean that it isn't there. and when v's time comes, river understand that at the very least he could be a bright spot in their life when everything else was falling to shit.

#river ward #cyberpunk 2077 #uh oh im falling down the rabbit hole this is my official sign that i need to start writing v/river fanfic #because v/river has me in such a brainrot it's not even funny #i love my cyberpunk himbo #v/river

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strangeshoepatrolbandit · 1 year

Text

Sunshine follows with Sunfall

BabyDaddy!Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: Jason and You have had a past relationship, resulting in your daughter. After jason goes MIA for a whole year, he finally returns to Gotham. Will the two of you rekindle your relationship, or will he end up leaving again?

Warnings: Jason is an absent father, doubts.

@keira324 Not only inspired this but also helped me fill in some plot holes.

Series Masterlist

~☆~

"Jason, would you please take your kid this weekend. Jude misses you."

"You know I cant."

"Jason please."

"It's dangerous."

That was the last conversation you had with Jason before he went no contact. A phone call where you asked him to be in his daughter's life. Your daughters life.

You had made countless calls to Roy, trying to see if he had any contact with Jason. Alas, he told you no.

Jason's family had been all over when you told them, Bruce even bought you an apartment that was closer to the Manor since you wouldn't move in with them. He always tried to be helpful. They all did, but Judith isn't their child. She's yours. They shouldn't have to take care of her where Jason was lacking.

When you told him you were pregnant, he had promised to always be there. But promises are just words.

Around the time of your due date, he had been doubting if this was a good idea. He was doubting if having your daughter was a good idea. After Judith was brought home, you and Jason started having fights, fights that ultimately led him to move out. He was still present in her life after that. When she was around three, his visits became spotty. You knew about his work as Red Hood, so you understood.

When he missed her birthday party and then didn't show up on her actual birthday, was when you went ballistic. You called him up and screamed your throat raw.

Judith never once complained. Well, at first, she gave out the occasional, "Where's daddy?" "Can we see daddy?" "I miss daddy." And you would have to try and explain as to why she couldn't see him. Even though you yourself didn't understand.

But she was usually quiet about it, never once questioning his actions. She loved her father, no matter if he didn't love her.

"Momma." Judith loudly whispered, trying to wake you up.

"Mmm, yes, sweetheart?" You groaned, furrowing your head into your pillow.

"Breakfast!" She excitedly asked of you, climbing up onto you.

"What d'you want?" You croaked, rubbing at your eyes.

"Pancake!"

"Alright.."

Judith let out a squeal as you picked her up and carried her into the kitchen, setting her down at the breakfast bar. You reached into your cabinets and pulled out the needed supplies, then grabbed for the pancake mix and began making the batter.

A knock on the door caused you to stop mixing. Both you and Judith sent a look over to where the front door was.

"Stay right there." You told her, walking over to the door and looking out of the peephole. Dick's face is what greeted you, his dark hair falling in his face, causing him to push it away.

"Dick?" You opened the door. The older man just gave you a big smile and a hug. "Hello, Y/N!"

"Hey..."

"Can I come in?"

"Of course, I'm making breakfast."

You moved to the side so that he could walk in. Immediately, he walked into your kitchen, sneaking up behind Judith and putting his hands over her eyes.

"Guess who.." He sang out.

"Uncle Dick!" She yelled.

"Good job, Judy Jayne!" He chuckled, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the back of her head. "What are we having?"

"Panc-"

"Pancakes!" Judith yelled, interrupting you. "Pink ones!"

"Since when did we choose pink?" You asked, going back to stirring the batter.

"They always have to be pink," Dick defended "and have glitter on them.

"Ohh, momma do we have glitter?" Judith asked.

"We should have some left over." You responded, talking about the edible glitter that she had on her birthday cake last year.

"Yay!" Dick and Judith smiled together.

"Will you be joining us Dick?" You asked, putting food dye in the batter.

Judith stared up at the man with a wide smile, begging him to say yes. He cast a sorry look down at her, "I can't, I've got to get to work."

"Aww." Judith pouted. The both of you knew that she would be over it in two seconds.

"So why stop by?" You questioned, setting down the raspberries that were in your hand and looking at Dick.

"Well...we need to talk."

Wordlessly, you walked back out of the kitchen, Dick following right behind you.

"Whats up?"

Dick sent you an anxious look before hesitantly speaking, "Um, Jason's back in Gotham..."

You stared up at him, eyes wide for a few seconds before your face returned to expressionless.

"Very well then." You spoke. "Who cares?"

~☆~

Taglist: @dakotali

I know a lot of people spell it "Mama," but I spell it "Momma," which is kind of weird cause nobody else I know does.

Updates will be slow.

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geemyfirstluvstory · 6 months

Text

hey boy, listen…

“my first love story…my angel…and my girls…my sunshine. hey, hey, lets go!”

fem reader. matching halloween costumes with bllk characters. bllk x reader. fluff. characters (separate): michael kaiser, oliver aiku, bachira meguru, hiori yo, chigiri hyoma, kunigami rensuke, itoshi sae+rin, isagi yoichi, shidou ryuusei, nagi seishiro, mikage reo

michael kaiser - joker x harley quinn

• this man is certified bonkers so of course he’s the joker and as his loyal worshipper you’re harley quinn

• perhaps a prophecy of the status of your relationship perhaps you just look stylish (ITS THE SECOND ONE PLEASE PICK THE SECOND ONE)

• such a softie for you but would never admit it, you chose the costume and he made sure to get the finest ones money could buy though the pictures you took…he’d rather not see himself dressed as a clown criminal mastermind.

oliver aiku - nick & judy (zootopia)

• this was his idea, y’know damn well this man is a party animal so you just have to trust he’s not cheating

• so he decides to make you feel better, he’ll bring you along and do matching costumes. • i just know this man likes putting on animal ears and kids movies thats why y’all are nick and judy

bachira meguru - thing 1 & 2

• remember how he got called a weirdo as a kid? he’s definitely a weirdo. eats toothpaste, drinks milk from the carton, milk before cereal. a total goof ball

• he loves children’s books and even as at his big age of 17 he still makes you read them to him and pretends he’s a kid going to bed (IN A WHOLESOME WAY)

• so when the halloween party came up he wanted to go as his favourite book characters, thing 1 & 2. and of course you agreed

hiori yo - kuromi and my melody

• of course he’s my melody and you’re kuromi. this was his idea so he gets first dibs

• being the gamer he is he enjoys playing with you, you two are always the cringe couple in the lobby with matching usernames and avatars and he does all the carrying but he also enjoys playing those silly little retro girls games like ‘hamham heartbreak’ and the old cardcaptor sakura games.

• in conclusion he’s a total nerd thats a total sucker for the female gaze

chigiri hyoma - team rocket

• this man is a total princess and every year you guys dress as a cartoon couple only to do the same costume the next year but switch the roles so one year he might be james and the next jesse

• this year he’s james, he even did a temporary dye on his hair for accuracy but of course no cutting.

• he loves doing hair with you and for this year’s costume you were the one washing and dyeing his hair

kunigami rensuke - raven and beast boy

• you like cartoons, he likes superheroes, you both need a cute matching costume, easy compromise. you both came up with this together while brainstorming

• this man is a lovesick loser so beast boy was very easy to pull off and the most perfect costume for the two of you. the only real inaccuracy is that he’s pretty big

• homemade costumes for the win, of course you’ll buy bits and pieces but overall a homely look because rensuke will do anything to bond with you

itoshi sae - light and misa

• sae canonically likes chibi maruko san, who’s to say he isn’t a big weeb? in fact this was his idea. he’s really convincing when it comes to halloween

• he’s a lot like light, cold, calculating, smart so it suited him and besides since light dresses similarly it only fit and since you’re so hopelessly in love with him, it was destiny

• sae isn’t the type to work with his hands but he also didn’t like the quality of pre made costumes. living in europe gave him refined taste so you two went on a designer shopping spree for individual pieces to make your costumes.

itoshi rin - coraline’s parents

• you’re probably a total wuss, even if you’re not, rin still can consume more horror, gore, and other gross things than anyone. accumulating in him wanting to do a matching costume with you only if it was some horror character.

• you agreed and settled on coraline since it’d be fun and easy, to match you dressed as coraline’s parents, specifically the other parents with the button eyes

• your favourite part was doing his hair and makeup, rin is like a cat taking a bath you really had to pin him to his office chair or on the bed to do his makeup properly, and yeah theres plenty of kisses

isagi yoichi - alice and the cheshire cat

• he’s so bland, (im kidding pls dont come for me) but he loves you so, so he’ll sacrifice the main character spot for you just this once. you’re alice and he’s the cat, of course this was completely your idea

• yoichi doesn’t care too much for this kind of thing, he originally intended to spend halloween cuddling and watching movies with you, perhaps invite some friends over or have some fun without them if you know what i mean….

• but he enjoyed being your cute kitty for a night, you dragged him out and about to take pictures and being blue lock’s hero there was no short of attention

shidou ryusei - cleo denile and deuce

• ryusei is very eccentric, kind of weird, in a hot way not in a cute way like meguru. and as you made him watch boo york with you he took one look at cleo and was like “yeah” so in away it was your idea but not really

• you’re his princess and he’s the douche looking boyfriend, i’m not sure about you but it most definitely suits him.

• as you guys went out and about this halloween you know he’s already thinking about next year, perhaps raven queen and derick charming. maybe barbie and ken?

nagi seishiro - veggie tales

• let me tell you i’ve actually done this costume irl, seishiro is a lazy fellow he doesn’t like putting in much effort but he’s a cutie patootie and he does adore his pookie

• matching costumes was your idea, to dress as the cucumbers from veggie tales however was his idea as all he had to do was buy the costumes and look cute

• fan reactions and his friends; they found it so stupid it was hilarious, compared to all the other celebrity couples costumes you two chose….children’s cartoons.

mikage reo - the adam’s parents

• he’s rich so it’s gotta be classy, you two were going to some gala held by his family company, the mikage corporation, cute and classy lets go

• reo really isn’t one for movies so this was your idea, he’s a total simp for you, absolutely floored all the time with no exception. kissing you up and grovelling at your feet like his morticia adams

• in the end your costume really did suit the occasion made for the best pictures. you guys are now pinterest king and queen every halloween

___

School’s been kicking my ass so i had to do this quickly, anyway what are you guys dressing up as this year?

#michael kaiser x reader #oliver aiku x reader #bachira meguru x reader #hiori x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #kunigami rensuke x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi rin #isagi yoichi #shidou ryuusei #nagi seishiro #mikage reo

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rollingsins · 1 year

Text

all hers, part ix

summary: You don’t mean to take it out on Tara. It’s just she’s there, constantly. Usually, it makes your heart swell. Today, it annoys you.

warnings: (+18), ghostface!tara, mention of murder, drug abuse, angst, hurt/comfort.

word count: 6.4k

a/n: this one is a bit of a behemoth, pretty angsty so prepare yourselves - reader dealing with the fallout of the last chapter. as always, thanks for all the love and don’t be afraid to hit the ask box and tell me what you want to see next! :)

The days following Wes’ death pass by in a blur.

Tara gets a frantic call from his mother the next day, asking if she’s seen him. Chad calls next, followed by Mindy. His friends want to band together, go out to all his favorite places and look for him.

You want to stay home and curl up into a ball.

That’s not an option.

“We can’t act suspicious.” Tara tells you, with all the experience of a seasoned killer, “We have to be worried for him, but not too much. You have to believe he can still come home.”

The entire ordeal is exhausting.

You spend Saturday traipsing around the back of Chad’s car, Tara’s hand clutched tightly in your own. You try not to say too much, your heart beats loud out of your chest everytime someone directs a question at you.

Tara is brilliant. Just the right amount of concern. She dials Wes’ phone multiple times throughout the day, like he’ll pick up, tell her not to worry. She insists Chad drive to Wes’ old house a few towns over. Leads the group with feigned hopefulness.

It’s a little unnerving just how good she is at it.

You do alright in front of Tara’s friends. Quiet, clutching at her like if you let go you’d spiral. But that wasn’t unusual behavior for you. Tara kisses your forehead on the drive back, tugs you into her side, reassuring hand rubbing circles on your back.

But it’s later that night, when Wes’ mom makes a surprise house call that your façade crumbles.

You’re in the kitchen when you see her. Your heart shoots up into your throat, the plate you’re holding almost clatters to the ground. She’s in her squad car, Sheriff’s hat firmly tilted onto her head.

“Tara.” You murmur in a panic. She’s by your side at once, linking her arms around your waist to hold you tight. You feel her tense as she catches sight of the woman at the door.

“Let me do the talking, baby.” Tara says. She presses her lips to the side of your head.

And just as the doorbell rings, she slides over to open the door.

“Mrs Hicks.” You hear her say, “Please, come in.”

Together, they wander into the kitchen. You nod slightly, in greeting. Your palms are clammy, you wipe them against your pants and hope she doesn’t notice.

“It’s Sheriff Hicks, today Tara.” Judy says. Her voice is a little shaky. Red-rimmed are her eyes. It breaks your heart.

“I’m here on official business.”

“We haven’t seen him.” Tara says, her low, apologetic, “We’ve been out looking for him all day. The diner, the cinema. We even drove over to Millwood, thought he might have gone back there. Right, babe?”

Tara looks at you. Eyes soft, kind, encouraging. You nod, swiftly.

“No sign of him.” Is your croaky response. “I’m really sorry, Sheriff.”

Judy swallows. Her shoulders are tense, defeated. “Thank you, girls. But that isn’t what I’m here about.”

Tara tilts her head. Your heart skips a beat.

“Some of the other officers thought maybe he-” Judy swallows, “Maybe he might have run away. Perhaps he met a girl. But I know my son. He wouldn’t just up and leave, not like that. Not without saying goodbye. He’s a good boy.”

Her voice quivers. You curl your fingernails into your palm so hard it might bleed.

“You’re his friends. You know him… differently than I do.” She says, “He tells you things he doesn’t tell me. Was there a girl? A boy? Anyone?”

Tara’s eyes lock with yours.

“I don’t think so,” She says, slow. Like she’s trying to think on the spot, “He never told me - us, about any girls. Or boys. Besides, you're right. He wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. That isn’t him.”

Judy nods fervently, as if her theory has been confirmed.

“What about…” Judy swallows, like the words are hard to get out, “Enemies. People that didn’t like him. People that may have wanted to hurt him.”

“Everyone likes Wes.” You say. Your mouth is dry, your words slightly shaky. Judy and Tara both look over to you, “He doesn’t have enemies. He’s a sweet guy.”

“I don’t think anyone would want to hurt him.” Tara interjects quickly, trying to get Judy’s eyes off you. “You don’t think… you don’t think it’s Ghostface, do you?”

Silence hangs throughout the room.

Your eyes flit to Judy, study her expression. Pale-faced, she blinks back at Tara.

“It’s not Ghostface’s MO.” She says, finally, “Ghostface is flashier. He leaves bodies, crime scenes. He wants them to be found. He doesn’t hide his crimes.”

Tara breathes a sigh of relief, “Good. Then we’ll keep looking. Maybe he got overwhelmed, with school and finals coming up. Maybe he just - I don’t know, freaked out.”

Judy stares, “Has he expressed concern about school to you?”

Tara nods, “Yeah. Of course, we’re all worried about finals. And the SAT, coming up. And with college prep, essays, sometimes I want to run away and forget it all too.”

She jots something down in her notes. You crane your head slightly, trying to see. A scribble of words, nothing you can make out.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Your heart thumps. You’d talked about this, you weren’t to say Wes had come to the house that day, that’d been a no brainer.

“Thursday at lunch.” Tara says, smoothly, not missing a beat, “He wasn’t in school Friday.”

“And how was he?”

“Quiet.” Tara says, truthfully, “We didn’t really speak much. Sometimes he gets like that, you know, in his own head about stuff.”

Judy nods, as if she’s familiar.

“And you didn’t see him after that? Not in the hallway, not between classes?”

Tara shakes her head. “We didn’t, right baby?”

You nod. “I didn’t see him after lunch.”

Judy’s gaze is piercing. You briefly wonder if she can see right through you. You’re not a good liar, not like Tara. If Judy came any closer, she’d see you were sweating buckets.

Judy looks away, scribbles down something else on her notepad. Then she looks up, a little resigned.

“Thanks for your time girls.”

“I’m sorry we couldn't be more helpful,” Says Tara. You chew your lip, watch as Tara takes Judy by surprise in a warm hug.

“He’ll show up. I promise.”

You’re shaking when she leaves.

Tara takes you in her arms, holds you close.

“You did good, baby.” She murmurs, “She believed us. Everything’s okay.”

Everything is not in fact, okay.

Sunday is spent in turmoil. You’re agonizing. Long showers, hoping the steam will clear the fog in your head. Sleepless nights, tossing and turning, imagining Wes’ body floating up to the surface. Imagining the look on his mother’s face as she came upon her baby boy, blue and lifeless.

Tara’s trying to help, you can see it. She cooks you your favorite meals, runs you hot bubble baths, even sits through Grease just to make you happy. But nothing works.

You can’t forget what you did.

And if you were honest, seeing her face just reminded you of the sick and depraved things you’d done for her.

It’s Monday. You’re running on maybe eight hours sleep over three nights. You feel sick, you’re pale. Dark circles under your eyes. You need sleep. More than anything, you need a reprieve from her. She’s gorgeous, doting, wonderful. You don’t want her to be right now. You don’t deserve her to be after what you’ve done.

You’re spiraling in your own guilt.

Instead, you contemplate spending the night apart.

It might be good for you, to sleep in your own bed. Not worry about waking her up with your constant tossing and turning. It would allow you the time you needed to sort out the hellish landscape of your thoughts. It might let you finally get some sleep.

You send Tara a text after English.

Going to stay at my place tonight, just need a night by myself. Love you, see you tomorrow xx

She doesn’t reply, which you expected. Tara hates when you do things like this, veer off her perfectly crafted routine. More than anything, she hates being apart from you. You’d expect she would sulk for a couple of days, maybe try and call you later, convince you to come home with her.

What you didn’t expect is being woken at half-past eleven by the loud thump of Tara climbing into your bedroom window.

You look over at her, groggy. Sleep in your eyes.

“What are you doing?” Is your confused, sleepy question.

It’s dark, but you can still see the cast of vague annoyance on her face from the streetlights.

“What are you doing? Why are you here? Come home.”

“I’m just…” You can’t describe it. The thought of being curled up in bed with her while Wes lies at the bottom of the river makes you feel sick to your stomach. You don’t deserve it. You deserve to be here alone, toiling in your own guilt. “I just want one night to myself, is that so much to ask?”

“Why?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” You snap. You’d finally gotten to sleep after hours of trying. It was good sleep too, dreamless. Wes nowhere in sight. A heavy, sinking feeling blooms through your chest as you realize it will take you another two hours to get back to sleep, “We don’t have to do everything together. You’ll survive one night without me.”

Hurt flashes through her pretty features. She stands, hands limp at her side. It isn’t often she doesn’t know what to do. Usually she’d take control. Press you up against the mattress and fuck you into doing what she wanted. You half dare her to try. She must see in your eyes you’re not in the mood because she doesn’t come an inch closer, just stands at the base of the bed staring over at you.

“Is this about Wes? You’re mad at me because of… his death.”

The memory coils hot and fast within you.

The knife. The blood. The body.

You swallow it down.

“I’m not mad at you, Tara. I just want one night in my own bed.”

She stares at you a moment longer. Then slips off her jacket.

“Fine.” She says, reaches down to pull off her shoes. You sit up, reaction immediate.

“No, babe.” You tell her firmly, “You can’t stay here with me. You need to go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You can’t be serious.” Disbelief on her face. You haven’t spent a night apart in months.

“I’m serious, Tara. Please, go home. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

She looks so small in the moonlight. The look on her face crushes you. You almost take it back, you want to reach out and take her in your arms. No. This is the best you’d slept in nights. And she was a big girl, she’ll survive one night without you.

She doesn’t say a word as she climbs back out the window.

You don’t sleep well. The ghost of Wes hangs over you heavy, taunting. Frustrated, you kick off your blankets, try another position. Your back. Your stomach. Your side. Everytime you close your eyes, he’s there.

When you wake, it feels like you’ve barely slept at all.

Tara’s waiting for you by the curb when you head out. She’s in the driver's seat, her hair is a little ruffled. She’s still in the same clothes she wore yesterday. Your stomach sinks.

“Did you sleep in your car?”

Tara looks up at you with tired eyes, wide, vulnerable.

“I wanted to be close to you.” Her voice is soft.

You sigh. Climb into the passenger seat. You reach over and take her face in your hands, stroke her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed at your touch.

“You look exhausted.” You say, brushing your fingers over the circles under her eyes.

“I didn’t sleep much.” She admits. “Are you mad at me?”

You lean over and press a lingering kiss to her lips.

“No. I’m sorry. I just needed the night to… process.”

“Process what?”

“You know what.”

She’s quiet for a moment.

“And have you? Processed?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Oh.” Is all she says. Then. “Are you coming home tonight?”

“Is that all you care about? Having me in your bed?”

Irritation swells in your chest. It’s easy for her. You know she doesn’t care about the people she’s killed. You know she doesn't feel remorse. You’d had to make her swear black and blue not to do it again. It isn’t the same for you.

Wes is eating you alive.

“Of course not.” She says. She blinks over at you, choosing her words carefully. “I just want to be there for you.”

You sink back into your own seat. The lack of sleep has you feeling nauseous again. Irritated. Irritated with her.

“Then give me space when I ask for space.”

She stares at you for a long moment.

“Okay.”

You’re in a foul mood by the time school lets out.

You don’t mean to take it out on Tara. It’s just she’s there. Constantly. She knows your schedule by heart so she’s always there to walk you to your next class. She’s there at lunch, she’s there during History and Math, she’s there waiting for you by your locker when it’s time to go home.

Usually, it makes your heart swell.

Today, it annoys you.

“How are you feeling?” Is what she says on the walk back to the car.

Horrible, you want to say, like I want to crawl out of my own skin.

Instead, you give a noncommittal shrug.

“Okay.”

She surveys you. Reaches over to open your door for you, the way she always does. The guilt, the sleep deprivation take over.

“I can open my own door Tara, I’m not an invalid.” You snap. Brush her out of the way. You don’t bother looking back. By the time she’s in her own seat you’ve nestled yourself against the side of the car door, as far from her as possible.

“Drive me home.” You say. She looks over at you, a little hopeful.

“To our home?”

“To my home. I need another night.”

You can see the gears churning in her head. Her hands grip tighter on the wheel. You half expect her to tell you no, take you back to her house. If she tries, you’ll walk home. You’re not in the mood. Instead, she shifts the gear into drive.

“Okay.” She says, voice small, resigned.

You don’t kiss her goodbye.

You spend the night tossing and turning again. The moment you close your eyes all you can see is Wes. The look on his face when he’d realized. The feeling of the knife in your hands, cool, almost weightless as you’d driven it through his skin. Judy’s face, red, tear-stained, when she’d all but begged you for answers.

This bed is cold, unfamiliar. You miss your girlfriend. You miss the smell of her skin, the weight of her arm curling tight around your waist. Guilt churns deep in your stomach. Guilt for Wes, mostly, but for her too. What kind of girlfriend were you? All alone in a bed perfectly good for two while you know she’s outside, trying to get comfortable in the driver’s seat of her car because she can’t stand to be a minute without you.

You stare up at the ceiling, contemplating. With a sigh, you lift yourself out of bed and move to the window.

You can see her car from here. She’s in the driver’s seat, reclined slightly, as she settles down for the night.

Your heart twists, painfully. You don’t want to do this, push her away. But you have been. You’re punishing her for something you did. You chew your lip for a moment, then nudge your window open, climbing out onto the roof.

She doesn’t see you approach. Her eyes are closed. She looks so uncomfortable trying to lean against the side of the headrest. You shiver at the cool air of the night, tap gently on her window as not to startle her.

She blinks up at you a moment. Hesitant as she rolls down her window, like you’re about to snap at her again.

Instead, you pull the driver's door open.

“Come inside.” You murmur.

She pauses. Surveys the look on your face.

“I thought you needed space.”

“I need you to get a good night’s sleep. You’re not going to get it sleeping out here.”

She’s silent for a moment. Then nods, climbing out of the driver’s seat.

She’s unsure, hesitant. So unlike Tara. You take her hand, lead her back up to the roof to climb inside your bedroom window.

You climb into bed, open your arms for her.

“Come here.”

She doesn’t give you a moment to change your mind. She slips off her jacket and her jeans and nestles herself into you instantly. She feels so good against you, warm skin, her lips grazing your collarbone as she tangles her legs with yours.

You press a kiss to the top of her head. Breathe her in. You missed her so much, more than you care to admit. It’s kind of pathetic.

“I’m sorry.” You say, thread your fingers through her hair, “I didn’t mean to snap at you today. It wasn’t fair.”

She doesn’t say anything. Grips your hips so tightly it might bruise.

“You don’t have to push me away.” She says after a long moment. “I know it’s hurting you. You can talk to me.”

“I know, babe.” You say, press a tender kiss to her forehead. “Go to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

She’s exhausted, you can tell by the way she falls asleep against you in minutes. Soft, tiny sounds of her breathing even, her mouth falling open slightly. You kiss her forehead once more, try to focus on the press of her against you rather than the thoughts running wild through your head.

Wes. Wes. Wes.

Wes in English class, smiling softly at you as you ask to borrow a pen. Wes at one of Amber’s parties, choking on smoke the first time he’d tried one of Mindy’s special blunts. Wes at the bottom of the river, dead, his life stolen from him. By you.

Not even Tara can save you from your own thoughts.

When she wakes, bleary-eyed and smiling, perfectly rested, you’re running on less than two hours sleep.

“You didn’t sleep well.” She says, sounding a little crest-fallen as she touches your face.

“It’s okay.” You murmur. Kiss her palm. “Come on, we’re going to be late for school.”

You spend the day on auto-pilot. Listen to your teachers blare on, not taking in a word.

The other students gossip between lessons. They wonder where Wes is. Everytime you hear his name the back of your eyes burn.

By lunch, you’re pale. Nauseous. You push your food around your plate, not having the stomach to eat it. Is this what it’s going to be like for the rest of your life? Sleepless nights, hellish days? You’re so caught in your own thoughts you barely register Tara slinking into the seat next to you.

She’s pushing a small packet of blue pills onto your lunch tray.

“What are these?” You ask, a little confused.

“Xanax. I got them from Chad. It’s supposed to help you relax.” Tara says, voice soft, “I thought they might help you sleep.”

She rubs your back. Your neck prickles uncomfortably.

‘I don’t want them.”

Tara watches you for a moment.

“Baby. You need to sleep. Look at you; you’re exhausted.”

“I don’t want pills, Tara. Get rid of them.”

She looks like she wants to argue. But then Liv is dropping down into the seat across from you. She’s tearful. Like it just hit her that Wes was gone. Tara takes the pills reluctantly, slips them into the pocket of her jacket.

Your ears burn with each of Liv’s wails. Tara’s hand doesn’t leave your back.

You drive home in silence. You’d agreed to go home with her tonight. It’s pointless, trying to sleep alone. Wes follows you no matter whose bed you’re in. At least one of you should get a good night’s rest. Tara cooks for you, all but settles herself in your lap as you eat. The press of her body on your skin feels wrong.

“Let’s watch Mamma Mia.” She suggests out of nowhere the moment the food is gone.

You look over at her.

“You hate Mamma Mia.”

“I don’t hate it.” She brushes off, standing to clear your plate, “Besides, you love it. It might make you feel better.”

You’re too tired to argue. You let her put on the movie, wrap a blanket around both of your bodies. You barely look at the screen. Wes is back, this time he’s older. He has a wife, two children. He leans down, kisses her. Then he looks right at you.

Don’t you see, he says, sparkling blue eyes filled with pain, don’t you see what you took from me?

When the movie’s over, Tara’s nudging you into bed. She tangles herself in you, as usual. Your stony silence doesn’t deter her. Then she’s pressing a hot kiss to your chest and sinking down your body.

“What are you doing?” You murmur. Her hands rub against your thighs, comfortingly.

She presses her lips to your stomach.

“Loving you.”

She feels so good, bare against you. Her lips make you shiver. You close your eyes, try to enjoy the press of her skin. She dips down a little lower, tugs your underwear down just slightly, so she can kiss the top of your pubic bone. You sink back into the mattress, try to keep your focus on her.

Her lips. Her eyes. Her body. You imagine her naked, fingers thrusting into you. Kissing her, feeling her weight on you.

And then Wes jumps back to your mind.

I’m dead, The ghost of Wes taunts, his lips curled in a snarl, and you’re having sex?

You flinch just as her lips graze your inner thigh. You clutch at her shoulders, freezing her in place.

“Stop.”

She looks up at you.

“Stop? What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? You would laugh if you didn’t want to cry. Instead you sit up, try and pull yourself away from her.

“I’m not in the mood, Tara.” The words feel strange coming from your lips. You’re always in the mood for this. For her.

“It might help you relax.” She’s gripping your hips, tight, not letting you run from her. She presses another kiss to your hip. “Let me help you, baby.”

“You can’t help me, Tara.” You say, agony in your voice, “You can’t make this better. I killed someone. Giving me pills and making me watch Mamma Mia is not going to fix that. Going down on me is not going to change the fact that Wes is dead. And it’s my fault.”

She stares up at you for a long moment.

“It’s my fault.” Tara says, quietly, “Not yours. You were protecting me. If you want someone to blame, blame me.”

“You didn’t make me pick up that knife. I could have- I could have let him go. I could have just taken you and we could have run.”

“And then what?” Her gaze is piercing, “Run where? Hole up in some cabin in the woods? They’d have found us in a week.”

You slump back into the pillow.

“I don’t know.”

She crawls back up to you, tugs up into her body.

You shiver at her touch, but this time it’s not in a good way. Her skin burns you. You shuffle out of her grip, tug the blankets tight around yourself. She stares. Annoyance blooms across her face.

“Can you stop pushing me away?”

“Can you stop smothering me?” You growl back. You’ve had enough. You just want her to leave you alone. You want to crawl under the covers and weep. You want to punish yourself for what you’ve done. You don’t want her soft kisses, you don’t want her telling you it’ll all be okay. You’re grieving. In taking Wes’ life, you’d also taken a part of your own.

And she just couldn’t understand.

“Me trying to take care of you is smothering you, now?” She can’t mask the hurt in her voice. It makes you ache.

“Stop, Tara, please.” You all but beg, “I don’t want to talk and I don’t want to fuck you. I just want to be left alone.”

She’s silent. You feel the tears in your eyes spill over as she turns away from you, slumping to the otherside of the bed. She switches off the lamp beside the bed without a word, encasing the both of you in darkness.

You should feel bad. You don’t want to hurt her. Instead, you feel relief. Enough for you to fall asleep, body tilted as far from Tara as possible, cheeks still wet with tears. Wes’ grip lessens on you for only a moment.

And then he terrorizes you in your dreams.

Your Dad calls you in the morning, right after your shower.

Tara hasn’t spoken a word to you this morning, no doubt afraid you’ll snap at her again. Instead, she left your breakfast on the nightstand without her usual morning kiss.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He says, “I heard about what happened with your friend Wes. Are you okay?”

Your lip trembles.

No, you want to say, I killed him and then used your suitcase to toss his body into the river. And it’s tearing me apart.

Instead you let out a shaky sigh.

“I’m alright.”

A lie even he can see through. He pauses.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the week off school?” He says, not unkindly, “Why don’t we go up to the cabin. You and me and mom. Just the three of us.”

His pointed way of ensuring Tara isn’t invited. You bite your lip. The cabin does sound tempting. Isolated, empty. No classmates drumming on about Wes. No Judy. No Tara.

“Okay.” You say, “The cabin sounds good.”

“I’ll pick you up after school.” Your Dad says. “Then you can come home and pack a bag.”

When you wander downstairs, dressed for school, Tara’s waiting for you at the kitchen table. She looks up at you, hesitant.

“Did you sleep okay?” She asks.

“Not really.”

“Oh.” She looks down at her cereal, like she doesn’t know what to say. You sink down into the seat opposite her. Cross your arms.

“I’m sorry that I snapped at you last night.” You say. “Again.”

“It’s okay.” She says, voice soft.

It’s not okay. You hate this. You hate when she hurts.

You shake your head, “I don’t want us to… I don’t like it when I hurt you. Which is why I…” You trail off. Look away.

Her gaze is piercing.

“Why you, what?”

“Why I’m leaving tonight. Up to the cabin with my parents.”

She stares.

“For how long?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. A week, maybe? Two if I’m lucky.”

Silence. She stares across at you, eyes flitting between yours, like she’s trying to read your mind.

“Is this- are you breaking up with me?” Her shoulders are tight. Voice small. She looks as though she might cry. You reach across the table, grip her hand.

“No. Of course not, never.”

It doesn’t reassure her. She looks back at you, searchingly.

“I just think we need some time apart.” You continue, “So I can process properly. All I’m doing right now is hurting you and I don’t want that. It’ll be good for us, some space. For both of us.”

“I don’t want space from you.” Tara says, her eyebrows knit, “I don’t care if you snap at me. Or if you yell at me or blame me. I just want to be with you.”

You reach for her, stroke her cheek with your free hand.

“I want to be with you too. But not like this, baby. I don’t want to yell at you and I don’t want to blame you. I love you.”

“Then stay.” She pleads. Her eyes glassy, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes, “If you loved me you wouldn’t leave me.”

“I do love you. That’s why I’m going.” You murmur and watch as the tears spill down her cheeks.

You reach for her, pull her into your arms, “Please don’t cry, babe.”

She sniffles into your chest. You clutch her tight, close your eyes. You don’t want to leave her, not like this. You know how she gets when you’re away from her. But if you stay, you’ll only end up hurting her more. Snapping at her more. And she doesn’t deserve that.

“It’s only a week.” You tell her. Press a gentle kiss to her forehead, “And then I’ll be right back here with you, where I belong.”

It’s not only a week.

You reach the cabin by sunset, settle in for a long night of playing cards with your parents, helping your Dad cook hotdogs on the grill. The cabin air is cooler, fresh. The smell of pine trees and firewood encases you. You don’t think once about Wes all evening.

When you settle down to sleep that night, you’re gone the moment your head hits the pillow.

The days pass in a blur. Wes is still there, haunting you, but it’s like his voice has softened. It’s getting easier to tune him out.

You message Tara every night before you go to bed, tell her you love her and you’re thinking about her.

She never replies. She got like this when she was mad at you. Stony and silent.

You don’t dwell. You know the moment you’re back in her arms all will be forgiven.

You think long and hard about what Tara had said that night, right before you left. If you’d let him go.

And then what? Hole up in some cabin in the woods? They’d have found us in a week.

She was right. What kind of life would that be? For you, sure, but also for her. She’d never see Sam again. Never see her friends. She’s smart, far too smart to spend the rest of her life chopping logs for the fireplace and living in fear one day she’d be caught. She deserves to go to Brown, or Yale, or one of the other plethora of colleges throwing themselves at her. She deserves to be free, happy.

You want her to be happy.

And you don’t want to punish her, not anymore.

Sleep is a funny thing, you muse one day as you’re sitting on a deck chair by the lake. Everything had seemed so bad when you couldn’t get it. Like the world was ending, like your life was ending.

Now, well-rested, with ten days of dreamless nights under your belt, you see things clearer.

Your heart still aches for Wes. But he’s gone. Tara, your Tara, is still here. You want to get back to her. Tell her how much you love her. Tell her you’ll stand by her side no matter what. Tell her you’re done pushing her away.

The drive back to Woodsboro is cathartic.

Your heartbeat doesn’t drum at the sign of the town sign. You don’t scour the streets, seeing Wes in every face. You’re calm. Collected.

And then your Dad drops you at Tara’s house and everything crumbles.

“Babe?” You say as you draw your key through the front door, “I’m home.”

The house is still, silent.

It’s Friday night, usually the house is filled with laughter. The blare of a horror movie. The smell of Tara’s cooking filling the kitchen.

Instead it’s quiet. It smells stale. Empty takeout boxes litter the kitchen bench.

You pad through the house, trying to find her.

“Tara? Where are you, baby?”

She isn’t in the kitchen, nor the den. She’s not in her bedroom either. The curtains are drawn, the bed is unmade and empty. Beer bottles, old joints littered across the floor.

You frown, starting to get concerned.

“Darling? Are you home?”

You reach into your pocket, dial her number. It rings out, to no answer. But through the walls you hear the faint drum of her phone buzzing against the tile of the bathroom floor.

You open the door, and your heart drops in your throat.

Tara’s in the bath, naked, water up to her chest.

Her eyes are closed, empty bottle of whiskey in one hand.

You race to her, drop down to your knees.

“Tara. Baby, wake up.”

She makes a faint sound, and relief floods through your body. The bath water is freezing, like she’s been in here for hours. You don’t care, plunge your hands in to try and support her quivering body. Her eyes droop open, only slightly.

“YN?” She says, barely audible. You pull her close. Water spills down your front as you take her in your arms.

And then you spot the pills littered across the floor.

“Did you take these?” You ask, panic flooding through you. There were ten when she’d handed you them that day in the cafeteria. Now, you can only see three or four. You lean down, try and look into her eyes. They’re drowsy, unfocused. You pry the whiskey bottle out of her hand. “Did you mix it with this?”

She’s too far gone to respond. You muster every ounce of strength you have to pull her out of the bath. She’s heavier than usual, floppy. She slumps down onto the tile as you reach for a towel to wrap around her shivering body.

“Oh, Tara, baby.” You hold her close, try to stop the swell of tears that floods through you, “It’s going to be okay, honey, I’m going to call an ambulance.”

The minutes pass in a blur. You sob down the line to 911, almost scream at them to come as fast as they can.

Then, you hold her tight. Hold her as the responders help pull her onto a stretcher. Hold her through the agonizingly long ride to the hospital.

They pump her stomach, put her in a private room.

When she wakes, bleary-eyed and confused, you still haven’t let go.

“Hi, beautiful.” You murmur, press your hand to her cheek. She looks so small in the hospital bed, tubes in her nose, band around her wrist.

“You’re here.” She says, faintly. Like she can’t believe it.

You grip her hand, lean down to kiss it.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You shuffle your chair a little closer, press a kiss to her forehead.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again.” You say, resting your nose against her cheek, “I’m serious, baby, if you had died…”

You trail off, not wanting to finish the thought.

“What were you doing? Pills and whiskey? You know what happens when you mix them.”

She knew it very well. There’d been an incident with her mom, a few summers back. When she’d told you about it she swore she’d never touch the stuff.

“I don’t know.” She says, a little heavy, “I couldn’t stand not being with you. I just wanted to make it stop for a few hours.”

“Oh, baby.” You squeeze her tight.

Before you can say anything else, the door is opening.

It’s Chad, Liv on his arm. He looks stricken as he looks down and sees Tara lying in her hospital bed.

“Oh shit.” He says. “Are you okay?”

“Does she look okay?” You challenge, “What the hell were you thinking, Chad? Why did you give her those pills?”

Fury courses thick and fast through your veins. You’d hit him, as hard as you could if you weren’t so concerned with staying close to Tara.

“I’m sorry.” He says, eyes mournful, “I didn’t know she was going to- I didn’t know she was going to take all of them.”

“What kind of an excuse is that?”

Tara squeezes your hand.

“It’s not his fault, babe.”

“You shush.” You tell her, press another heavy kiss to the top of her head, “I’m still mad at you.”

“We’ll give you a minute.” Liv says, eyeing the two of you, “Right, Chad?”

He nods. Looks between you, mournful.

“I’ll be outside. I’m really sorry, Tara.”

You wait until they shut the door, then clamber up into the bed with her. Take her in your arms.

She looks up at you.

“You’re still mad? About Wes?”

“No, baby.” You lean down, press your lips to hers for the first time in days. Feel her sigh against you. Then nudge your nose against hers.

“I’m sorry about last week. I’m sorry about the way I left. I just needed to get away.”

She looks at you, quiet trepidation in her eyes.

“I thought you might not come back.” She admits.

“I will always come back to you.” You promise. Kiss her once more. Her eyebrows knit tight.

“You say that like you’re leaving again.” She says, accusation in her voice. Her hands grip tight at the front of your shirt, like she’ll pull you down into her if you try.

You shake your head, pull her into your neck.

“I’m not, I promise.” You say, “And I want you to promise me you’ll never do this again. Not ever.”

She curls her body into yours. Relaxes slightly against you.

“Tara.”

“I promise.” She says, finally. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Go to sleep, baby-girl.” You tell her, rub her hand over her back, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“But Chad and Liv-”

“Chad’s about to get his ass whooped and I don’t want you awake for it.” You say, only half-kidding. You can see him peering into the window from the hall.

“Don’t.” She mumbles. She’s tired, eyes drooping against your chest, “You’ll ruin your pretty hands.”

And then she drifts off against you. You hold her tight, rub her head soothingly. The room falls quiet. Wes is there, faintly in the back of your mind. He’s screaming.

you don’t deserve to be happy, He cries. Bangs his hands against the steel box of your brain he lives in, she doesn’t deserve to be happy.

You shut him out, and instead focus on the steady sound of Tara’s breathing.

Next part

#scream #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega #all hers #mine #fanfiction #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter imagines #tara carpenter x fem reader

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sweet-fading-summer-love · 2 months

Text

Hollywood History

Made with the pairing intent of Reader x Elvis Presley, and Reader x Marlon Brando

Summary - As a new actor from the South steps onto Hollywood's acting scene, his presence sends the Hollywood veterans into a bit of a stir.

Warnings - Smoking, swearing, drinking, some undermining of Elvis' acting ability by certain characters. Not many warnings truthfully, just a little blurb that I never got around to finishing the ending of.

Author's Note: Oh this little piece, and its other bits stashed away, I've held dear to me, but it will only ever be an idea that I can't quite articulate at the moment, so here's a short bit from it. As I dusted this off I feel all those fuzzy feelings coming back, so for now I'll call it the intro piece to this little two-parter.

The party was going great. Though it wasn't quite all that much like a party. Many studio heads had come together to have a giant dinner, bringing their best actors along with them to showcase the worth of their studio to make an appearance of themselves.

You sat at one of the many round tables with actor friends, some of whom were from your studio. There was Marilyn Monroe, Dean Martin, Marlon Brando, Rita Hayworth, Gregory Peck, and now and then Judy Garland popped by the table to talk to you and Marlon about the minutiae of how a few of the big wigs were getting along.

Sometime in the conversation, greased-up black hair that belonged to a very nervous man across the room caught Rita's eye, making her smile mischievously as she brought up a rather controversial topic to the table.

"Say, what do you think of the new guy, Y'know the one from the South, Eric Presley something or other…"

You corrected in good spirits over the rim of your champagne glass before taking a sip,

"Elvis Presley, dear"

"Ah yes, that Elvis Presley"

A few friends at the round table grimaced and made faces of an unsure, disapproving nature. The man was a hot topic among you and your Hollywood friends, after all, it seemed he was trying to take the movie business by storm after having conquered the music business, along with dozens of hearts of silly school girls who'd be better off focusing on their studies.

Your date, Marlon, blew out the corner of his mouth after taking a long thoughtful huff, keeping the smoke from going into your vicinity as a gentleman should. Then after staring at an empty corner of the table for a while, he shrugged as he leaned forward to put the cigarette out in the ashtray. After sitting back on his chair his hand that rested atop your thigh slid back a little with his movement, not that you'd complain too much.

"Frankly, uh" he started, "The guy's a phony, I-I mean he's riding on the tail of his music, it's a fucking mockery of actors. When he makes a movie where he doesn't sing, then, eh, maybe I'll think differently. But that's another ten years coming at least."

"Well," Marilyn's breathy voice made itself known, leading all eyes to land on her as she tilted her head to Dean, who seemed a tad uncomfortable at the statement. Dean had started with music just like the Presley kid, and eventually branched out to acting as well.

Marlon laughed incredulously at how his words had been taken into offense by his longtime friend. He brought his hands up to gesture his well-meaning as he explained, "It's different with people like you Dean, Sinatra too, there's a big difference. Elvis Presley is, well uh, let me not spoil our mood eh?"

His voice had risen in pitch as it always did whenever he was about to break into a laugh. Everyone laughed a small laugh at what he was implying and continued with their smoking and drinking. But being the devil's advocate, you said something just to stir the pot.

"He seems to be a good fit for dramatic roles, those last two films were-"

Marlon cut you off,

"-were his last two movies if there's a God."

As everyone laughed including yourself at the jest, Marilyn leaned forward and lightly swatted at Marlon's chest before ordering with a commanding yet soft voice,

"Oh you dog, let her finish, let her finish"

You sent her an appreciative smile as she sent you a wink. After the laughs subsided all eyes were on you as you finished your statement, "All I'm saying is his last two films show promise as a dramatic actor"

Everyone took what you said with a grain of salt, even Marlon nodded with thought. His hand slid along your thigh as he turned his body entirely to you while in his chair.

"Well Honey, uh you see the thing is, anyone can act. I mean everyone's an actor, every day, so I don't doubt his skills as an actor, he could be a great actor I don't know, but he's got no essence. He's got uh, too many idiosyncrasies that pull away from the actual film, the actual character. I mean, really he could never pull off sending an adage through his films, or-"

"And you think you could?"

You stared at Marlon stone-faced after cutting him off. Everyone's faces fell flat, including Marlon's as he was taken aback by the uncharacteristic action, but after a few moments, he smiled and let out a noise of amusement as he realized what you were doing, "Honey, I already have"

You smiled as it seemed he caught on to your little devil's advocate act, following your smile the rest of your friends around the table also caught on and began to laugh while internally letting out a breath.

You often were placating and adaptable, but when it came to someone who you shared a connection with, someone like Marlon, you often let a bit of internal venom slip through the cracks. And with Marlon being the way he is, the combination of you and him led to a tumultuous on-and-off relationship often covered by magazine tabloids. For a moment everyone worried that the next coverage of your relationship would be from an argument over something as silly as a boy from the South, trying to make a name for himself in the film industry.

In the end, you two always found each other again. But there was often a bit of straying here and there…

And who knew that the amateur actor, the boy from the South, would be the one to lead you astray?

#elvis presley fic #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x reader #elvis x oc #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #marlon brando #marlon brando x reader #marlon brando x oc #marlon brando x y/n #elvis fic #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fandom #elvis presley

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creedslove · 10 months

Text

DESERVE IT - CHAPTER 17

Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Things go a lot better than Javier had predicted in Washington, but it's time to leave Colombia behind and go home, at the same time you can't leave Colombia, which makes you take a risky decision

Warnings: angst, sad!Javi, incorrect narcos plot, mentions of masturbation, smut (phone sex hihihi), dirty talk, sad!reader, an old character returns, fluff

A/N: I'm not gonna say much as I'm very tired because I just finished this chapter and I wrote A LOT today, but I loved this chapter, I feel I wrote my heart into this chapter and I hope you besties enjoy it as much as I did

• PART ONE TO SIXTEEN ON MY MASTERLIST

5.6k words

"¡Por fin, cayó!"

Javier's heart sank when he heard these words through the TV. It was his fourth or fifth scotch, he had already lost track of it, as there was nothing else to do in that place other than get drunk and worry about what the future held for him. His meeting with the board would be in two days, and Javi had received no other instruction besides a warning not to leave town. He didn't know if he would have to get himself a lawyer, maybe he should have already done it, the interview with Judy Moncada hit like a bomb and the media was pressing the American government which pressed the DEA and it became a vicious circle. It actually came in handy as the investigations around Escobar's location tightened and as far as Javi had heard, they were very close to catching him. He looked around the shady bar he was in and saw a few beautiful women having their drinks. If it were at any other moment of his life, he would approach some of them with his charm and woo them to bed.

But that was before you.

Now, even if he tried picking up a girl on purpose, he wouldn't be able to do it, you had put him under a spell, you were the only one who crossed his mind at all times of the day, your face was the last thing he saw before falling asleep and the first thing to appear when he woke up. His heart raced to think of you, the moments you two spent together, the way you'd smile at him, kiss his lips, how your laughter was his favorite sound in the world - second favorite, as the first one had to be your moans - and the way your face lit up when he proposed to you, how you'd said yes without even thinking and when he officially got on his knees and gave you the ring, you teared up and said yes once again, because that would always be your answer to him.

He also deeply missed your body, he had memorized your curves, your freckles and your weak spots. Night after night he fucked his own fist thinking of you, it wasn't enough, it didn't compare to actually having you there, it offered him such a bittersweet relief because once the bliss of his orgasm faded, he turned to an empty spot in his bed. It lacked your warmth, your smell, your body. He missed holding you, he missed how you'd run your fingers through his hair, how you'd sit on his lap to have breakfast. Even if he wrote to you, called you, heard your voice, it wasn't the same. He could spend hours on the phone talking to you, and it wouldn't be enough, as soon as you hung up the emptiness he felt returned at full intensity.

Javier had never felt like that for any woman, but he felt that for you, he was sure he was under your spell, but he never wanted to break free from it.

However, at that moment Javier's heart was broken; he couldn't believe that after so many years of dedication and hard work he'd missed the capture and killing of the most wanted man in the world. After so much he'd given to the government and to Colombia, he had been forced to watch it from afar, as his entire career was going to be decided by a bunch of suited men who never raised their asses of their comfortable cushioned chairs and taken a look at what the real world of drugs was like.

Javi finished his liquor and paid for it, placing his jacket back on and heading towards the end. He wanted to call you, he wanted to hear your voice and make sure you were alright. That night was just one of those nights where the pang in his chest was too intense, he missed you to the point it felt like his skin burned. Truth to be told, he didn't want to call you over the phone, he wanted to have you there, with him, sharing a bed, sleeping together, kissing and fucking. He craved your presence and your body, but for that moment, a telephone call would be the closest he would get from you. However, he would call you from his hotel room, he wanted privacy to talk to you, he needed the comfort of a bed, a pillow under his head so he could pretend things were okay again. Where he'd close his eyes while you spoke with your sweet, gentle voice and he could pretend you were just a room away from him, taking long in the bathroom for instance, before you would appear wearing nothing but his shirt just for him.

At that moment, there was another call Javier had to make, so he searched his pickets to find some coins he could use in the phone booth. He needed to get a hold of Steve in order to know everything about Pablo's death. He'd seen it through the tv but it was obvious it wasn't the same as witnessing history writing itself. You could offer him some juicy details in a few weeks, once you worked on your reports to send it over to the government, then you'd be organizing your own report, based on the cops' reports and accounts who took part in the mission, just as the necropsy reports too.

All in all, you would have a ton shit of work and you would have to compile probably thousands of pages, to the point Messina would probably have to send over a team of people to help you. Peña knew how stressed you were, about the whole Pablo Escobar and about his own situation as well. He hated that he caused you to stress over what was probably going to happen to him, and if he could, he would abduct you from that chaotic life and take you to his ranch, so you two could get married and live your life in peace. He got lost in his thoughts that were all about you and nearly forgot what he was doing when Steve's voice was heard on the other side of the line.

After Javi had the confirmation he would have to go to Washington, he'd had a conversation with Steve and the two of them apologized to each other and went back to being friends, under the condition imposed by Javier: Murphy would have to take care of you while Javi was gone.

He skipped the usual greetings and went straight for the account of what happened the day they caught Escobar, not sparing any details; he told Javier everything that happened that day until they took the infamous photograph of Escobar's dead body.

The burning feeling of jealousy and envy took over Javi's body even if he fought them as hard as he could, he couldn't believe himself when he felt that, he should be happy, his friend managed to catch Colombia's boogeyman and they probably made things a little bit better to the world, and yet there he was, standing inside of a phone booth sulking like a teenage girl because he couldn't be a part of it. It was pathetic and he felt ridiculous, but he also felt he deserved to be there, he'd given so much of himself to that, and he deserved to have shot Escobar at least once.

"So, how's Y/N doing?" Javi asked after Steve finished narrating his part of the story, after all, you were still the most important thing that lingered on his mind the entire time, he heard Steve's sigh and felt his heart clench.

"You know… she's doing alright, she's strong, she's been working a lot, Connie talks to her everyday and well, she misses you and she's worried, but she knows the two of you need to be patient" he told his friend "and for her sake, I also hope you are keeping your dick in your pants, Javi"

Javier laughed as he could hear the smirk in his friend's voice and ran his thumb over his eyebrow "fuck you Murphy" he said before hanging up.

Javi lit up a cigarette - because he avoided smoking them around you, as he didn't want you to breathe his smoke, but now he was away from you he felt miserable and he figured he deserved at least a puff - and walked back to his hotel.

He was gonna lie in his bed, call you and give zero fucks about how expensive long-distance calls were and pretend he didn't hear your voice breaking while you tried to hold your tears at the same time you pretended you didn't cry whenever you talked about him and the uncertainty of your future together.

•••

Javier licked his lips as he tensely walked through the hallway. He didn't know what was going to happen to him, but he knew it wasn't good. Just two days before, he had called Steve wanting to know everything about Pablo Escobar's death. It'd been a few days since the task force formed by the DEA, CIA and the Colombian police managed to take down the most wanted man in the world.

Even if Javier still felt bitter about it, he was also relieved to see each time he grabbed a newspaper or he tuned into the news channel, the DEA scandal about a long term agent associating with a death squad was replaced by the joy and glory of the US government of having ended the kingdom of terror of Escobar. As he placed his fingers between his tie and his neck, pulling them a little in order to create some space and subdue the feeling of being suffocated, that's all he tried keeping in mind as nervousness flooded through him. He was about to have his life decided, he could be fired, go to jail, go back as if nothing had happened, and the fact he had absolutely no clue which turn his life would take was nerve-wracking.

He was told to get inside the conference room by a very rude secretary and rolled his eyes. She had no idea who she was talking to, he was Javier Peña, former charmer of secretaries. If he hadn't been tamed by a gorgeous girl back in Colombia he would make sure to lean towards her desk and work his charms on her until she was giggling and blushing only to invite her for a few drinks and after fucking her, leave her in bed. Javier was a gentleman and he didn't think doing that to women was alright, but under those circumstances he figured an entitled bitch like that deserved it. He chuckled to himself at the realization you were the only one he would love to invite for some drinks, take to bed but instead of leaving in the morning, he'd make sure to hold you tight the whole night, so he'd wake up with you. It ached to think of the distance between the two of you, so he just sat down and gulped, tense to know what was going to happen.

He nervously tapped his fingers on the table as a group of suited men walked into the room and took the chairs in front of him.

With no introductions or whatsoever, one of the men grabbed a file and read out loud the report about Pablo Escobar's death. It highlighted all the positive enforcement the american government received and how positive it was for their image, Javier breathed heavily and shifted uncomfortably on his seat, staring at the man and having absolutely no clue why he was blabbering about that at all.

"Do I need a lawyer?" He asked and saw as the other members of the board laughed softly.

"Agent Peña, a lawyer is not required for the occasion. You see, morale was hanging low once Miami Herald published that controversial interview, causing us a series of inconveniences, hence why you've been called here. However, as your team managed to catch Escobar, things changed, and we are all willing to forget about your… incident, let's put it that way, with Los Pepes" anyone could see the relief in Javier, as his shoulders immediately relaxed and the tension slowly floated away, he knew it was too soon to celebrate but thing we're going way better than he anticipated.

"Still… after a long conversation with our Ambassador in Colombia, we came to the conclusion you need to take some time off from the dangers of your job, so you are going to be permanently removed from the DEA.."

"Am I being forced to retire or are you trying to kick me out?" Javi asked confused and slightly angry, he didn't like the insinuations they were making. What were they thinking? That he wasn't good enough for his job anymore or that he was getting too old?

"Excuse me, agent Peña…" another member of the board interrupted and glanced at his colleague and then back at him "you shouldn't see this as retirement, it is just a paid leave, a privilege really, and it has the duration of a year, after that you can choose if you'd like to go back to the field, or if you'd prefer to get a desk job, and if you take a liking on the easy life you can officially retire. Don't make a fuss out of it, agent… It is already much better than what would happen if Escobar hadn't been caught. You could be heading to jail instead of getting permanent paid vacation… it's just a small thank you as we all know that off the record, your association with that group was what really enabled our men to catch Escobar"

Before Javier could say anything about it, the men got up and exited the room, leaving him there dumbfounded and too shocked to say the least.

•••

"So technically you are on paid vacation for a whole year?" You asked as you held the phone against your ear and took off your shoes, getting comfortable in bed and watching your reflection in the mirror as you lay comfortably against the mattress. You had been staying in Javi's apartment ever since he had to leave; it just felt like the most logical decision as your own place never really felt like home and by staying at Javi's you felt somewhat closer to him.

"Yeah, that's what it seems like, I still don't know if they'll take my badge and gun, but I guess I won't be using them very much… but enough talking about that, it's good enough I'm not going to jail" he smiled sadly as he tried picturing you on the other side of the line, his body aching for yours at the same time you felt emotional, Javi had already told you everything that happened with details at least twice and you still asked questions just to double check it, even if it was an annoying habit you couldn't help but do it again and again just to make sure it was real and not just a sweet dream, your spent weeks fearing having your fiance taken to jail and now you were so relieved to know he would get paid to stay home. Of course Javier's pride was probably hurt and he felt bad about being removed from the job he dedicated himself to for the past years of his life, but after everything that went on with the hunt of Escobar and Judy Moncada's interview you were more than thankful he was actually being paid not to work. Not only that, but you knew it would do Javi good to be able to step away from the stress, the rush, the violence and the constant danger. You weren't an agent and you didn't work in the field and you felt you were often emotionally exhausted, so you couldn't even imagine how tired Javi must've felt.

"And I'm guessing you can't come back to Colombia… So are you going home?"

"Yeah, the board strongly advised me to avoid Colombia for now, and well, I'm going to Laredo, gonna see pa, check the things on the ranch… and I was hoping you could come? Maybe meet me there?" He suggested and your heart clenched, as you could picture perfectly the puppy look in his eyes as he asked you. You wanted to say yes, you wanted to scream yes to him, you wanted to tell him you would pack your things and fly in the first flight to Texas you could find and then later Steve and Connie could ship the rest of your things.

You wanted to tell him to wait for you at night because you would wear his favorite lingerie and that you could even get married if he wanted to, but instead, you sighed sadly as you felt your eyes watering and you tried your best so your voice wouldn't break and it wouldn't make Javi feel worse than he did before.

"I-I can't. I really want to, I can't wait Javi, sometimes I even dream of being in Laredo with you, even if I haven't been there, but I dream of us, of the family we'll build… but Messina told me it will take us from three to six months to finish the Escobar case paperwork" you said sadly knowing your heart would shatter if you heard the disappointment in his voice.

"It's alright" he said and there it was, the disappointment in his voice. He wasn't sad or angry with you, of course, but it felt like everything and everyone was against the two of you. For once, there was nothing Javier wanted more than to settle down with you and yet, it seemed everyone betted against it. "We will figure something else… I just miss you, cariño and I wish I could be there with you… or even better, I wish you could be here with me" he licked his lips and told you about how he had booked a flight for the next day so he could go back to his hometown and you smiled, trying to entertain yourself and not think of how unfair it was that you and Javi were kept apart like that. You sighed sadly but then you had an idea that could cheer the two of you up, you bit your lips, giggling softly.

"Javi?" You purred onto the phone knowing it certainly would draw his attention "what are you wearing?" You chuckled

"What?" He asked confused at first but getting what you meant almost instantly "what are you trying to do, princesa? ¿Quieres portarte como una puta?"

"Si Javi, siempre para tí" you replied chuckling "well, if you are gonna take too long, then I'll start… I'm wearing your shit, that blue one, you know? I got off shower a while ago and I just put the shirt on… with nothing underneath it"

"Fuck cariño, you are such a tease… you are trying to get into my pants, princesa?" He loved how you chuckled, he could picture your beautiful face, your body and the expectation of his touch.

"You haven't answered me yet, Peña" he could even picture your small frown as you called him by his last name. Javi laughed softly

"Well, I am wearing my jeans and that's all… why? What do you want now, Y/N?"

"Um… I like that Javi… you're holding the phone with your left hand, aren't you? Well, then where is your right hand placed?" Javier stroked his eyebrow with the tip of his thumb as he heard your voice

"It's on my forehead, why?"

"Because I want you to run your hand down your chest, Javi… down your stomach too, and get to your zipper, just as if it was my hand instead of yours, get it?"

Javi felt a spike of lust at your words. You often didn't give him orders, it was usually Javi who took the lead, but for some reason that side of you pleased him, and he gladly obeyed, getting to his zipper and gently tugging the button of his jeans.

"Done cariño… it doesn't compare to your hand, the real deal is way better, but I'm willing to know what else you want"

"Go ahead Javi, mi amor, open your fly… free your cock, I miss it so much" you said "I miss it how big and thick you are Javi, how you would stretch me real good, I miss you cumming inside of me, your hot cum deep inside my womb, how I would convulse and milk you dry, I miss you, te extraño tanto, amor" you whispered "are you hard, Javi?" you earned a grunt as a response "of course you are, you're always hard for me, aren't you Javi? I fucking love it"

"Always hard for you, baby, you're the only one who owns this cock" Javi's submission warmed your core and it made your pussy clench at the thought of him.

"Good Javi, me encanta saber eso" you purred, as he loved when you spoke Spanish to him "now, I want you to rub your thumb over your tip, okay? I bet it's already wet with your pre cum, isn't it?"

"Sí, mi amor" he purred back at you and did as you told him, groaning in pleasure as his tip was so sensitive.

"Good Javi… now I want you to wrap your hand around your cock and rub yourself up and down okay? Can you touch yourself for me, Javi?" He whispered a small yes as he wrapped his hand around himself and fucked his fist for you. He thought of you, your lips, your cunt, your ass, all of it for him, all the times you brought him pleasure and couldn't hold back any longer, he came, making a mess on his hand, his stomach and a little bit on his sheet.

You were so glad to have made him feel good and you two ended the call by exchanging love words. Despite the distance, nothing had changed and you two were going strong, because your love was strong.

•••

Another week had passed and things hadn't changed much for you. For Javi, on the other hand, things had changed a lot. He'd returned to Laredo and made sure to tell you every single part of his adventure, because it was an adventure to him. After being away from home for so many years, he came back as some kind of bizarre local superstar. Everyone he knew - and people he didn't know - stopped him to congratulate him on the services for the country, at the same time old girlfriends stared, glanced, frowned, whispered about him and some even threw their charms.

But your absolutely favorite situation that embarrassed Javier Peña to death: whenever an older woman came over to him and tried setting him up with a daughter, a niece or any other girl he had absolutely no intention of meeting. You always burst out laughing when Javi told you about these occasions, enjoying your amusement at how embarrassing those situations were for him. You would give anything to be there with him, to see how warm people from Laredo were when they saw your boyfriend and it made you proud to see he got the acknowledgement he deserved after working so hard.

You were happy Javi was enjoying his time, apparently his relationship with his dad had improved some, he got to take care of his horses and you couldn't hold back your hormones at the mere thought of Javier as a cowboy. You could bet he looked every bit sexy like that and you often daydreamed about it.

Because daydreaming about Javier was the only thing that made you happy, your job was a real torture, if you weren't happy before while you still had Javi by your side, now there wasn't even what to say about it. And when you got home it was worse, because you were welcomed by loneliness. And then in the morning, you would wake up and start it all over again.

Even when you got dressed, you didn't find joy in anything as everything reminded you of Javi. The clothes you picked, the nail polish you wore, your engagement ring. It was a sweet reminder of your Javi, but also a bitter reminder he was home.

You went to the office feeling bad like you usually did, you just had no will to do anything else, and you often wondered what the fuck you were still doing there.

You were sat at your desk, stress already cooking up your brain as you could feel your headache forming, when someone stood next to you, but you were too distracted to notice.

"Y/N?" You raised your head, shocked to hear that voice addressing you after so long

"Manu?" You said looking at the man, who's smiled at you just like he did when you first met "c-can I help you with anything? I haven't finished the reports yet, but I can assist you"

Manu shook his head and pulled a chair, sitting close to you and taking your hand, watching your engagement ring "I'm not here to talk about that, I'm here to talk about you and Javier… listen, I know shit went down between us and there was a time not too long ago I wanted to kill him and probably you too for hurting me" he sighed "but the anger I felt faded… and well, rumor has it Javier Peña proposed to you and judging by the size of this gem, I can tell Colleen was spreading the true story" Manu laughed at the sight of you gritting your teeth to hear about Colleen.

"But Javier isn't here anymore and I can see that you're sadder and sadder, and I don't like seeing you like that, Y/N… I know I shouldn't even care about you anymore, but I still do, and I know your heart belongs to someone else, but I also hate to see your light fading, you aren't happy here, and I also know you've been wanting to quit for a while…" for once this part of the gossip came from Steve, not Colleen, and you really didn't get why Murphy could be such a gossip girl sometimes "so, I just want you to know that I think you should do it, you should quit, hop on a plane and go after your happiness, because that's what I would do… of course I would like your happiness to be here with me, but I know it's Javier… it has always been him and there's no way I can compete with that" Manu offered you a sad smile and knew it was probably the last time he was seeing you, as he was sure you wouldn't be away from Javier for too long.

You felt so touched by Manu's attitude, you didn't expect that from him at all, among all the people, he was the one who had all the reasons in the world to hate you and be glad to see you that upset, and yet, he offered you nothing but kindness to the point it made you feel ashamed and guilty for being such a shitty girlfriend to him, he definitely deserved it better, but as he had said himself, you couldn't be the one to give it to him. Once again you apologized to him for all the heartache you caused, knowing it would probably not gonna be enough, but it made your heart soothed if he knew you at least meant those words.

You leaned in and hugged him, wishing him well because you also had the feeling that would be the last time you'd see him.

The rest of the day wasn't much more than a blur to you: you ran late to your meeting at the embassy because of the chaotic traffic and Messina wasn't pleased about it. She'd been acting like a major bitch, which was odd as most represent of the government were nothing but smiles ever since Escobar was dead, and yet, she acted towards everybody like she could scold them like a fifth grade teacher over absolutely anything. It angered you and it was also one of the no Peña related reasons why you were so unmotivated about your job, and the fact that Manu's words wouldn't leave your mind and you couldn't quite focus on anything other than staring down at your engagement ring and fantasize about leaving everything behind didn't make things anything easy.

"I'm sorry Y/N… did I say something funny?" Messina raised her eyebrow as she angrily addressed to you, snapping you out of your fantasies and making everyone in the room stare

"What?" You replied to her, having no clue what she was actually talking about.

"I wanted to know if you thought I had said something funny while we were revisiting the case because while everybody focused on the reports you were just smiling at yourself, it seems you don't care about your job"

You stared at her for a while as you didn't say anything, letting her words sink and looking around the room, watching as the other people looked at you, everybody looking stressed and miserable while sweating uncomfortably because of the heat and you realized you didn't actually have to put up with that because you didn't actually care about that job and most importantly because you were just a flight away from being happy.

"You're right, I don't care about this job at all, I don't care what page of the report you guys are, I don't care if there's a typo or if you didn't like the final result, in fact, I would like to quit and never come back here" he said throwing your papers onto her desk and walking out the room, feeling the sweet taste of freedom.

The rest of the day went a lot smooth than you thought. You just went back home, packed all your essentials in one big bag and then knocked on Steve's and Connie's door, to let them know you were flying to Texas. They were shocked at first and even thought you were joking, but when they realized you were dead serious, they made sure to assure you they'd take care of your stuff and send them over to you whenever you or Javi needed. Connie hugged you tight and made you promise you would visit, and you just giggled and told her they were already invited to the wedding.

The couple drove you to the airport and after giving you their goodbyes, you boarded on the plane, so happy to know in just a few hours you'd see Javi.

You flew overnight and got to Laredo in the morning, so excited to see Javi. It had been a surprise and if you had told Steve he shouldn't tell Javi where you were going, you didn't want to spoil things.

When you first got to Laredo, you realized you didn't know where Javi's ranch was but you were so exhausted you couldn't even think straight. You realized you needed to sleep through your jetlag and calm down from all the emotional rollercoaster you went through. Not to mention the physical part that made your entire body sore.

You found a small motel just a couple of blocks from the airport and decided to book a room for the day, - because you didn't plan to sleep there through the night - but much to your horror, the moment you placed your head against the pillow you simply passed out and only woke up in the evening.

You were so disoriented you had forgotten for a split second where you were, but you jumped off the bed and went to the bathroom, showering and getting rid of all the sweat and tiredness and changing into one of Javi's favorite summer dresses.

Then, you went to the reception and asked where the Peña ranch was, to which the young woman smiled and explained you the location.

"Forgive me, but I don't think Don Chucho and Javier are there now, tonight's Danny's wedding and pretty much the whole Laredo is gonna be there… I'm going there now myself as my shift has just ended" you nodded at her and remembered that Javi had indeed mentioned something about a wedding that week "but if you'd like, you could come with me? I'll give you a ride"

•••

Javi had just talked to Lorraine and apologized to her again. It had been just a habit he got into over the past decade as guilt still consumed him every time he saw her. It didn't matter how many times she assured him she had forgiven her, he still felt guilty.

He felt guilty because he knew you went through a very similar situation and he could kill the guy who made you go throught that, because he couldn't even imagine someone hurting you like that.

When Lorraine talked about her family, Javi couldn't help but imagine his own, the one he would have with you in the future. He sighed as he got distracted from thinking of a beautiful little girl that looked like you as you had another bread in the oven and wore a golden ring around your finger and went back to his seat. Javi was good to go, but his dad was still eating and he didn't want to rush him.

He distractedly scanned the room and didn't notice when you came from behind, approaching him quietly and placing your delicate hands on his shoulders

"Would you like to dance, Javi?" You asked him, as he turned around feeling slightly mortified watching you stand there, just like he dreamed of for the last couple of weeks.

_____

A/N: I hope you liked it besties, let me know what you think! ❤️

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nickfowlerrr · 1 year

Text

series masterlist

part two • part three • part four • part five

happy golden days of yore • 1

pairing: dark!bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. 18+ ONLY. future parts will contain noncon smut. 40s misogyny? pet names. masturbation. i’m just gonna say, reader is detrimentally non confrontational 🫣.

words: 2.8k

notes: this is completely self indulgent lol. i couldn’t focus on any of my three ongoing series so here’s a new one 🙃. good news is, you won’t have to wait for updates on this because it’s all written (sans the last scene i’m wrapping up as i type this). i hope you guys enjoy this and i promise i’ll get back to my wips in another week or so. 🖤

The jazz of Duke Pearson’s, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, was floating through the chill air all around you as you finished folding your laundry in the living room of your late grandfather’s cabin. You let out an unbidden shiver despite the efforts of the fire glowing just across the room to warm you. It was still too cold. Out here it was always too cold.

You grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around yourself, reveling in the feel of the soft, comforting material along your skin. The smell of cookies baking wafted through the air, the scent of the small pine tree you’d picked out and set up accompanying it. You admired the twinkling of the lights you’d strung up as the next song on your playlist began. The crooning of Judy Garland as she sang the same song you’d just been listening to was relaxing.

It seemed funny that the same song would play one right after the other while you were on shuffle, but fitting nonetheless. You would have yourself a merry little christmas this year. You were sure of it. Not bogged down by obligations to anyone other than yourself. No parties to attend, no friends or family to buy gifts for. It may seem sad to some, but you had been waiting for December all year. And you didn’t mind the solitude. In fact, you longed for it. As you finally sat down and tried to make yourself comfortable on the couch, you swore you heard a noise sounding from the kitchen.

You furrowed your brow and turned your head just slightly in the direction of the noise. Your speaker was playing music loudly, but there was no way that sound would have been part of the song. You were frozen as you sat there, not moving an inch, completely focused on listening for the noise again.

There was nothing.

You were sure you were going crazy. There was no way someone would be all the way out here, especially in this weather. And no way someone would have gotten in the cabin without you realizing it, either. No way.

Just as you were giving up on listening for more noise, opting to let it go and accept that it was just you hearing things, the errant beeping of the oven sounded, startling you.

You slowly moved to get up, not sure why you were feeling so trepidatious. This thought of you walking into the kitchen, only to be ambushed by some unknown stranger suddenly flitted through your mind and you shook your head at the thought. It was nothing, there would be no one, and you were not going to let your cookies burn over this.

You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself and as you approached the threshold of the doorway, the oven suddenly stopped beeping. That didn’t really register, though. Not until you saw the man standing at the stove.

Dark, chin length hair framed his face. Light stubble lined his jaw. He was tall, his presence all together intimidating. Dressed in all black, a form fitting long sleeve shirt and black cargo pants, combat boots still laced on his feet. He didn’t look at you immediately, and you both just stood there a moment, staring as “And The Angels Sing” began and the music filled the silence between you and the stranger. You took notice of what you could only assume was his jacket thrown haphazardly on the table, what appeared to be the end of a gun lying beneath it, and a set of keys strown on the table while the patio door just beyond was still locked. When your eyes flitted back to the man, you found bright blue ones staring right back at you. Piercing. Another shiver ran through you, but this one wasn’t from the cold.

He looked perturbed, as if you were the one invading his space. Like your presence was a nuisance to him.

You took the slightest step back, still no noise escaping you. Your eyes never leaving him. And the second you moved, he did, too. He turned and faced you head on. You startled at his swift, sudden movement and froze again while you took in his physique. He was well built, broad chest and shoulders, huge arms - muscles straining under the thermal material of his shirt, strong, thick legs. He was straight out of a movie screen.

If you had seen him in public, you were sure you’d go out of your way to keep off his radar. But you weren't in public, you were in your cabin. And you certainly were on his radar.

You hadn’t realized you had been holding your breath until he took another step in your direction. You sucked a breath in and matched him as you retreated back into the living room, dropping the blanket as you did.

“Who are you? What do you want?” you eked out. “How did you get in here?”

He eyed you up and down, his gaze lingering on the emphasized curve of your hips before it fell briefly on your cleavage. You were dressed in a form fitting scoop neck tank top that you were going to put a sweater on top of before you got distracted by the laundry, and a pair of sweats that hugged your waist. It wasn’t like it was an overly revealing outfit in the slightest, but with the way he looked at you, however fleeting, you felt exposed before him. Vulnerable.

“I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart,” he finally said. You were confused to say the least.

“Excuse me?” you said incredulously. “You’re the stranger inexplicably in my grandfather’s - my - cabin, not the other way around.”

“Grandfather?” he questioned before a flash of understanding passed his eyes. “Oh. John’s your grandfather? He know you’re up here?”

“Was my grandfather,” you corrected, clearly confused as to what was going on. “He passed about a year ago. Left me this place in his will…” you spoke softly, eyes still watching the stranger’s every move. He looked genuinely surprised at the information as you gave it. “You knew him, I take it?”

He nodded, clicking his tongue lightly.

“I’m Bucky. His tenant. I live here,” he informed you.

Suddenly everything clicked. Your grandpa had mentioned in passing once or twice renting the cabin out, but you never realized he actually did. You were surprised when you got there last week to find it in such good shape, but there wasn’t any obvious indication that someone was living there. The master bedroom was locked and you hadn’t been able to find a key to open it anywhere, so you just set up in the spare, making a note to call a locksmith out after the holidays. You assumed it was probably just filled with a bunch of your grandfather’s stuff. The entire downstairs was void of any personal items, the only food in the fridge and cabinets were nonperishables and the freezer was solely stocked with frozen meat. You had brought your own groceries and household supplies, you had pretty much taken over this poor man’s living space.

“Oh my god,” you said, mortified. “Oh my god. That makes so much sense. I am so sorry - I had no idea. He never explicitly mentioned it, and all I was told was that the place was in my name now and they gave me the keys, I didn’t- God, I am so sorry,” you babbled on.

“Look I get it, you didn’t know. No harm, no foul,”

“Cool,” you breathed. “Uhm.. I don’t know how to go about this..”

“I’ve paid John once a year for the past five years to stay out here. It’s a good arrangement for me. Under the table. No one to bother me. I’d like to keep doing so with you if that’s alright? He usually came by at the beginning of January for the cash. I pay for the year, but I’m not always here too often with my line of work.”

“Oh. Uhm, okay.. How much do you pay?”

“60k.”

“A year?” you asked, absolutely shocked. 60k was more than you made in two years, let alone once in a single payment. You could literally quit your job if you wanted to with that kind of money annually.

“I like my solitude,” he said shortly.

“Right, I - uh. I’m really sorry about this, again. I - I don’t have a problem with, ya know, this..arrangement. As cryptic as this is, if my grandfather trusted you, I trust you. I wasn’t really planning on coming out here all that much, anyway,” you lied. In reality you had plans to start coming out here at least once a month in the new year. But why bother him with that information? “I just needed a break for the holidays. Uhm did you have any other contact with him aside from the payments? Should I give you my number or like email or something before I go? It shouldn’t take me super long to get all my stuff together,” you rushed, wanting to leave as soon as you could. You had completely intruded on this poor man’s home and more than that, he was a man who paid handsomely to be left alone. That in and of itself was setting off a bit of a red flag in your mind. He definitely did not want you here and if you let your suspicious thoughts start turning, it seemed like something up with him.

He gave a light, half hearted laugh.

“I barely made it up here, you plan on driving out in that right now?” he said, head motioning in the direction of the window, the snow still swirling around outside.

“Oh, I just, I figured-”

“I’m not gonna throw you out in the middle of a storm,” he scoffed.

“You really don’t hav-”

“Look, there’s no way you’re making it past the drive even if you tried, anyway,”

You felt embarrassed and looked down at your feet, biting your cheek, not sure what to do or say now.

“How long were you planning on staying before I showed up?”

“Through the new year,” you answered honestly. “But don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair as soon as the storm passes.”

“Stop assuming things, sweetheart,” he said harshly. With his tone, you felt like you were being reprimanded. Your change in demeanor must have been apparent because he softened after considering you a moment. “I never said you had to leave. You can stay as long as you wanted, I don’t mind. Chances are I’ll be leaving for work again sooner than I’d like.”

Before you had the chance to respond the smell of burning cookies permeated the air.

“Oh shit!” you gasped as you rushed past him back to the kitchen.

He followed behind you and watched as you pulled the oven door open and your face fell at the way too darkened cookies. He came up behind you and gently pushed you out of the way, reaching for the baking sheet with his still gloved hand.

“Wait, it’s hot!” you tried to warn him. You gawked at him as he nonchalantly set the tray of cookies down on the stove. He slipped his gloves off, revealing one metal hand as he looked over to you.

“Not much of a problem for me,” he responded, clenching and unclenching his fist before he grabbed the back of his neck, seeming to try and stretch a tight spot before he let go. “I didn’t get your name, doll,” he said expectantly. You hid your slight surprise at the new pet name and gave him your name. He repeated it aloud, and the way it fell off his tongue had you squirming but you weren’t sure why.. If it was good or bad.

“I’m gonna go upstairs, shower, change and all that. I’ll be back down later to make food,”

“Yeah, of course,” you said, letting him get a few steps away before you spoke again, wanting to make things less awkward if you could. “Uhm, I was planning on making food anyway, I could make enough for two?” you offered. You were only now noticing the dirt on his clothes and the light bruising marring around his face. He was moving a bit stiffly now, too. You felt bad for him. Here he was coming home after being gone for work, obviously worn and tired, only to be met with some stranger taking over his place. You weren’t sure what line of work he was in exactly, but just taking in the state of him, and especially considering the kind of money he must make to afford 60k just to rent this cabin annually, you figured it must be pretty important.

“If you don’t mind, that’d be great, actually.”

“Sure, yeah, I mean, it’s the least I can do,” you said, offering him an awkward smile.

You watched as he grabbed his things off the table he had thrown them on, and you were proven correct about the item beneath his jacket as he put the gun in the waistband of his pants. It wasn’t the most comforting sight, but it was clearly a part of his work uniform - if that’s what it was he was wearing - so you didn’t want to stress about it. Your grandfather had plenty of guns around himself, always had, so it wasn’t all together too upsetting.

“You have any allergies?” you called to him as he made his way through the living room to the stairs.

You swore you heard him chuckle before he responded.

“No,” he called back as he ascended the stairs.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

For a moment, it was like a dream. He felt anything but threatened as he walked inside to the smell of cookies baking and classic Christmas music playing in the kitchen. A pretty girl on her knees doing laundry, soon cozying up under a blanket before the fire. That same girl who, after unplanned introductions, was now making him a homemade dinner while he showered and tried to relax after the three month long mission he'd been away on. As the warm water was running down his back, the pressure of the stream beating on his sore muscles, he couldn't help but let his mind wander back to her as she waited downstairs. She seemed so kind, a trait that seemed more and more rare in the people he came across, not that he could say much. But she was lovely. She was beautiful and womanly and she had an air of innocence about her he couldn’t let go of. He tried to shake it but the thoughts of her, who she might be, how he imagined her to be soon turned to thoughts of how it’d feel to have her soft hands on his skin, rubbing out the tension where he needed her to. Doing everything she could to relax him herself. Provide him with a much needed release with just her light touch. He hadn't planned on doing it, but soon enough he was lost in the pleasure of his fist pumping his thick, hard length, images of the girl he’d only just met running through his mind. The soft shape of her body, the ampleness of her breasts, the curve of her waist and hips. He couldn’t stop his thoughts as he imagined clear as day the sight of you bouncing on his cock, your breasts in his face, his rough hands gripping your wide, fleshy hips as he helped you take all of his thick cock inside your warm, tight cunt, guiding you up and down his girthy shaft, an undeniable look of ecstasy on your pretty face. He could just imagine the dulcet moans and whimpers he could get falling from your lips before he’d have you screaming his name, crying and begging him for more.

It wasn’t long before he came hard all over himself, barely restrained growls and grunts sounding deep from his throat as his cum spurting down his cock while he stroked himself, the milky substance all over his hand as he teased himself a little longer, not wanting the fantasy to end so soon. He cursed when he couldn’t take any more and with a shiver, stopped to catch his breath for a second before he finished up. As he toweled off and began to get dressed, he could smell the new cookies you were baking from upstairs and couldn't believe you were real. How lucky he had to be to come home to someone who appeared to be literally out of his wildest dream. He didn’t know how this all worked out, but he knew he wasn’t planning on letting you slip away anytime soon. How could he?

#dark!bucky barnes x curvy!reader #dark!bucky x curvy!reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x plus size!reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x plus size!reader #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky x reader #dark bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #soft!dark bucky x reader

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