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munson-blurbs · 11 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: Thanksgiving brings back memories of happier times, and all you want is to recreate the past. But when those plans go awry, Eddie--and Harris, of course--are there to help you look forward to the future.

Warnings: mentions of Eddie's parents, brief familial conflict, Reader's grandma has dementia, most of this chapter is fluffy tbh

WC: 6.8k

Chapter 8/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Thanksgiving, 1975

The sound of the kitchen timer beeping draws nine-year-old Eddie Munson’s attention from the television set. The local news network had been replaying the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a loop. It was now the third time that Eddie had watched Santa Claus make his way into Herald Square in a comically oversized sleigh, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The colorful balloons that hovered over the crowd, the marching bands playing in perfect unison, the feeling of excitement in the air—it was palpable all the way from his new home in Hawkins, Indiana.

“Dinner’s ready,” Wayne announces, grabbing the worn mitt off of the counter and pulling two TV dinners from the oven. “‘S not much, but at least we got turkey and mashed potatoes,” he bashfully adds.

Eddie nods, trying to walk without taking his eyes off of the screen.

Wayne’s bushy brows pinch together as he watches his nephew. “You always get this into the parade?” he asks.

“Never seen it before,” Eddie says softly. His parents had had a TV for a couple of years until they’d pawned it, but he doesn’t recall ever watching a parade. “Pretty cool.”

“We can keep it on while we eat, if ya want,” Wayne tells him, smiling when he sees the boy’s face light up. He places the plastic trays on the snack table and heads back to grab forks. “Ya got a favorite balloon? I’m partial to Snoopy, if y’ask me.”

Eddie nods, still transfixed on the TV. “Yeah, Snoopy’s good. I like him.” He takes the utensil from Wayne’s outstretched hand, absentmindedly dipping it in the congealed mashed potatoes. He pauses for a beat before bringing it to his lips. “Do I have to go back?”

“Hm?” Wayne mumbles, too focused on his own food to fully hear him.

“Do I have to go back with them when they get out?” Eddie repeats, keeping his voice low and training his gaze on the floor. “‘Cause I like it better here. With you. ‘S nice and quiet.”

There’s a lurch in Wayne’s chest at Eddie’s request. “Technically, I only have ya till your folks are sprung,” he admits, scratching a nail against the table, “but I can talk to a lawyer or somethin’ about keeping you here longer. Only if you want,” he adds.

“I wanna stay here,” Eddie confirms, spearing a pale turkey slice and popping it in his mouth without any attempt to cut it. “If it’s okay with you. I can sleep on the cot an’ you can take your bed back.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Room’s yours, Ed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t wanna promise you that the courts will agree to it, but I’m gonna try my damndest to keep you safe.” And it’s true. He’ll work double overtime at the plant if it’ll cover legal fees. When the social worker dropped Eddie off last week, Wayne had no idea how either of them would adjust. But aside from a few growing pains—like having to shave his nephew’s head when they’d discovered he’d had lice—things seemed to be alright.

“I, um, I wrote something at school yesterday,” Eddie pipes up, traipsing to his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. In his sloppy, boyish handwriting is written:

I am thankful for my Uncle Wayne because he takes care of me. He’s really nice and he works hard and he doesn’t mind that I listen to loud music. He also lets me feed my dinner scraps to the stray dogs in his trailer park. My Uncle Wayne is the best. I hope he’s thankful for me, too.

Wayne feels his throat constrict, and he clears it before Eddie can catch on. “‘Course I’m thankful for ya, Ed,” he manages. He reaches out to put his hand on his nephew’s back, flinching when the boy jerks away nervously. Eddie’s reflex to defend himself rather than embrace touch stirs up a reserved anger Wayne didn’t know he had, and he wills himself to simmer down before his nephew can sense it, lest he think he’s angry at him.

He slowly brings his hand to the couch cushion, careful not to make too much noise. We’ll get there, he thinks as the parade starts up for a fourth time. We’ll get there.

Thanksgiving, 1978

Ten years old is a strange age.

Too old to play with the little kids, but too young to hang around the teenagers or adults. You’re just kind of…there, like a piece of furniture that everyone absently walks around. This hiss of beer cans opening is barely audible over the men shouting at the football game on TV. You don’t know who’s playing, and you don’t really care, but it’s the only place you feel like you’ll be out of the way. Taking a seat on the floor, you remain there generally unnoticed until one of your uncles calls out your name.

“Couldja get me a refill?” Uncle Tim slurs, shaking his empty can of Bud Light to emphasize his request. Before you can respond, he throws a, “thanks, kid” and goes back to yelling at the football players.

It’s not like they can hear you through the screen, you snidely think, but you keep your comment to yourself as you pad into the kitchen. A collection of spices tickles your nose, the mixture of cloves and garlic and thyme and rosemary warming the room. You rummage through the refrigerator until you feel someone bump up against you.

“What are you doing in there?” Your aunt asks, disapproval carving her already sharp features. Her gaze drops to the can in your hand. “Seriously? Trying to sneak beer right in front of us?” she scoffs.

Grandma quickly becomes aware of the commotion, and she wipes her hand on her sunny yellow apron as she assesses the situation. “Everything okay?” Her soft eyes are concerned, not accusing, and you feel your anxiety slowly dissipating.

“I caught her trying to steal some beer,” your aunt reports proudly, as though she’s caught some serial offender, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Not even a teenager yet and already getting into this kind of trouble.” She shakes her head with a tsk.

“No, I wasn’t,” you insist, setting your jaw in defiance. “Uncle Tim asked me to get some more for him. That’s all.”

“Tim!” Grandma calls out, tone thick with irritation. “Get over here!”

Uncle Tim trudges out to the kitchen, head already hung low in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he’s about to receive. He may be a grown man, but his mother can easily put him in his place.

Grandma folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you having your niece fetch your drinks like a barmaid? Your legs broken or something?”

“No,” he mumbles, taking the beer from your hand and haphazardly tossing a “sorry” in your direction before returning to the game.

“C’mere,” Grandma beckons you, crooking her finger to join her at the counter. She’s got a bowl of Granny Smith apples, half of them peeled, their green skins piling on the cutting board in front of her. She hands you the peeler, picking up a sharp knife and cutting a peeled apple lengthwise and cubing each slice. “Help me out. It goes a lot faster when there’s two of us. And it’ll keep you out of trouble,” she adds with a wink.

You grab an unpeeled apple from the pile and drag the tool down its curve, repeating the motion until the inner fruit is exposed before starting on the next one. You and Grandma work in tandem; you peel and she chops in a comfortable silence. As you’re finishing up the last of the bunch, she leans over and whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the best helper I’ve ever had.” She starts placing the cubed pieces into a pot, shaking the cinnamon container over it until she takes a satisfied step back, no measuring spoon required. “Mix it together for me?”

You nod eagerly and pluck the wooden spoon from the canister behind the sink, dunking it into the pot and stirring until the apples are fully coated in cinnamon. “That good?” you ask, giving another stir for good measure.

“Perfect.” Grandma smiles, covering the mixture with water and setting it on an empty burner, twisting the knob until the coil turns red. “Once it softens up, you can mash it. Give these old arms a break,” she teases gently.

“You’re not old!” you protest, and she smacks a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, kiddo,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your scalp. “To the moon and back.”

You wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze her tight. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”

Thanksgiving, 1996

“Daddy, look! It’s Santa!” Harris points at the TV excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch. He kicks his feet and squeals. “He’s gonna come to our house, right? An’ bring me presents?”

Eddie chuckles as he spreads mayonnaise on white bread, layering thin turkey slices on top. Three sandwiches for three Munsons. “I dunno, Har-Bear; have you been good this year?”

Harris scrunches up his face in contemplation. “Um, I think so,” he answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”

“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie calls out as his uncle walks out of the bathroom. “Has Harris been good this year? I feel like he’s been a bit…mischievous.”

Wayne shakes his head. “My angel of a grandson? He’s never caused mischief a day in his little life!” He sits down next to Harris, letting out a small grunt as his bottom hits the sofa cushion.

“Yeah! I never cause mischief a day in my little life!” Harris echoes confidently. He turns to his grandfather. “Grampa, what is Santa gonna bring you for Christmas?”

“A toupée,” Eddie says from the tiny kitchen, piling their plates with potato chips. Normally, he’d make sure there was a fruit or vegetable on there, but it’s a holiday.

Wayne has to hold his tongue in front of the impressionable young boy, though he shoots Eddie an inconspicuous middle finger when he’s setting the plates on the coffee table.

The three Munsons tuck into their sandwiches and crunch on the chips. This is how Thanksgiving has been since Eddie moved back with Harris: watching the parade followed by an early lunch so Wayne could pick up a shift at the plant. He always insisted on it, saying that the holiday pay helps offset the cost of Christmas presents. It was quiet, but nice, and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything else.

“Y’know,” Wayne says to Harris with a mouthful of sandwich, “the first time your Daddy watched the parade was with me. And now, we got to watch it with you.” He bumps his arm against Harris’s, making the boy giggle.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muses, chomping on a potato chip thoughtfully as the memories flood back in. “Forgot about that. Is Snoopy still your favorite, Old Man?”

Wayne considers this. “Hmm. Who’s our favorite balloon this year, Har?”

“Clifford!” Harris answers without missing a beat, kicking his little legs in excitement. Eddie should’ve known; the boy was damn near obsessed with dogs.

Once we can afford a house with a yard, I’m getting you that puppy, Har-Bear, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare make the promise aloud.

“Then that’s mine, too.” Wayne brushes the crumbs off of his lap, calloused hands scratching the worn denim of his jeans. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “I wonder what Ms. Sweetheart’s favorite balloon is.” He acts like he’s speaking to Harris, but Eddie knows it was aimed at him.

Harris claps his hands together gleefully. “I know! Let’s call her!” He turns to Eddie with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes the man has ever seen, lower lip jutted out exaggeratedly in the most precious pout. “Please, Daddy? Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Once you finish up lunch, we can call her.” Harris opens his mouth to protest that he wants to call right now, but Eddie cuts him off before he can start. “Ah ah; no whining, or we won’t call.”

Harris harrumphs but ultimately complies, taking another bite of his food. Wayne gives Eddie a small thumbs-up, and he preens slightly at the acknowledgment of his parenting win. They didn’t happen very often, and they rarely happened when someone was around to witness them. He takes a long gulp of water; as soon as he does, his son lifts his own cup to his lips and takes a sip. Another reminder that he’s watching, even subconsciously, wanting to be just like his dad.

For a split second, Eddie allows himself to believe that that might not be a bad thing.

“‘M done!” Harris chirps; sure enough, his plate is clean, save for the bread crusts. He squirms a bit in his seat, a gesture that Eddie has come to learn means only one thing.

“Go pee while I find her number,” Eddie tells him, purposely omitting the fact that he’s already committed those seven digits to memory. In case of an emergency, he thinks, and I don’t have the slip of paper on me.

Wayne can sense that his nephew isn’t being completely truthful; as soon as Harris closes the bathroom door behind him, he starts in with a shit-eating grin.

“Y’don’t need to find her number, do ya?”

Eddie flicks off an imaginary speck of dust on his shirts. “Knock it off, Wayne.” But he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, further affirming his uncle’s point.

“Look, Ed,” Wayne exhales, adopting a more serious tone. “You clearly like this girl. I mean, all Harris did was say her name and you smiled–don’t give me that look,” he chastises lightly when Eddie rolls his eyes. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but all that seems to be in the past now, right?”

“Guess so,” Eddie mumbles. “But not hating me doesn’t mean she’s into me. Maybe she’s only being nice to me because of Harris.”

The older Munson pauses, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks; his reflex when he’s deep in thought. “One date,” he challenges, holding up his forefinger to emphasize his point. “Ask her on one date, and see where it goes.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, the nerves already churning in his stomach. You’d just found this good rhythm together, and he was going to risk messing it up. Again. “I’ll ask her. But on one condition.”

“Whas’ that?”

“Don’t say anything to Harris.” He crosses his arms over his chest when Wayne chuckles. “‘M serious, Wayne. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. For Chrissakes, I gave her a tape and the kid had us getting married.”

“Fair enough,” Wayne agrees, clamping his mouth shut when he sees the little boy enter the room. “You wash your hands?”

“Yep!”

“With soap?” he presses, narrowing his eyes.

Harris heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes! Can we call now?”

Both Wayne and Harris keep their eyes glued to Eddie as he punches in the numbers. When it starts ringing, he holds out the receiver to his son. “Say hi and your name when she picks up,” he reminds him, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself before asking you on a date. He takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing on his lower lip so forcefully that he swears it might bleed.

You got this, Munson. The worst she can say is no.

But that’s not quite true, is it? The worst you can do is laugh in his face, leaving him a rejected mess. Scratch that–the worst you could do is accept the date, have him fall head over heels in love with you, then leave him in the dust to pick up the pieces while you move on with someone better.

Maybe you won’t pick up the phone. Maybe he’ll have more time to–

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!”

It was a small thing. Miniscule, even. Just your meager attempt at reclaiming part of the past that had been lost to time and disease. A simple family recipe, apples boiled and mashed into a sauce that you’d hoped even vaguely resembled the way Grandma made it. A tiny cut on your fingertip serves as a battle wound from peeling, the sweet aroma of cinnamon still lingering in the kitchen.

You try to convince yourself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just applesauce. But the thought falls flat as you stare into the trash can. You can still see all of your work literally tossed away through the tears that blur your vision.

You’d left the room for two minutes, two goddamn minutes, and when you came back, the plastic pink bowl that held the applesauce was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn you left it on the counter, but maybe you’d already put it away? A quick scan of the refrigerator gave you nothing but a chill. Where the hell did it go? Were you losing your mind?

A rogue apple peel had fallen to the floor, and you scooped it up, flustered at how you could have misplaced an entire bowl of applesauce. Sure, it wasn’t as much as when you and Grandma made it for the whole family, but it was still a decent amount. Your foot presses the pedal that lifts the bin’s lid, and that’s when you see it.

“Grandma?” you choke out, looking over to where she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t respond, and you raise your voice a bit to grab her attention. “Grandma, why did you throw out the applesauce?”

Her empty gaze briefly flits over to where you’re standing, not even registering the burgeoning frustration and sadness coursing through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” she says flatly, scratching at the side of her nose with a jagged nail. Before dementia, her nails were always painted bright hues of red or blue; now, it was difficult enough to get her to leave the house for essential doctor’s appointments. You weren’t going to put up a fight trying to get her to the salon.

You know you should just close the lid and walk away instead of torturing yourself by continuing to look, but your feet are glued to the linoleum floor. A cold drop of something lands on your toes, and that’s when you realize that you’re crying. Crying over goddamn applesauce.

All you wanted was some semblance of normalcy, something reminiscent of life before Grandma got sick and your family still felt whole. But what you got was a thickening realization that you can’t relive the past, no matter how hard you try.

The ringing phone startles you from your wallowing. You have half a mind to ignore it, but you know that Grandma will just grumble about how she hates the sound of it, so you pick up the receiver and answer with a shaky, “H-Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!” A little voice chirps through the other end. You can hear Eddie mumbling something, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. “Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your favorite balloon?” There’s more hushed speaking from Eddie, and Harris huffs out, “Daddy, stop! I know what to say!”

“My favorite balloon from the parade?” you ask, biting back a giggle.

“Mhm! I like Clifford,” he tells you.

You’d kept the parade on in the background, catching glimpses of it every now and again. Shit, what balloons did you see? “Clifford’s a good one,” you agree, “but I think the Rocky and Bullwinkle one was my favorite.”

Harris laughs so loudly that you have to pull the phone from your ear. “The squirrel and the moose?” he guffaws. “Ms. Sweetheart, that’s so silly!” You’re about to ask him how his holiday is going when he says, “Hold on, my daddy wants to talk to you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of talking to Eddie, and you wipe the tears from your wet cheeks as though he’ll be able to see them through the phone.

“Hey, Happy Thanksgiving!” he says. Something resembling trepidation tinges his tone, though you’re not sure why. Could he still be anxious to approach you after he confided in you at the parent-teacher conference? After he’d watched you panic when Grandma locked herself in her room?

You swallow, trying to choke down the sadness rising within you. “Yeah, y-you, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice breaks on the last word, and you hope Eddie doesn’t catch it.

But of course he does.

“You okay?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re crying.”

“‘M fine. Just, um, chopping onions,” you lie, hoping you’ve done a convincing job.

“For the…applesauce you’re making?” Eddie sees right through you; you’d forgotten that you’d told him and Harris about your plan during your weekly post-tutoring dinner last night. “Not gonna lie, that sounds even nastier than olives on pizza.”

You manage a laugh, but it’s disfigured by the catch in your throat. “The applesauce was a bust, unfortunately,” you admit. “I left the kitchen for a second and Grandma chucked it in the trash.”

“All of it?” he asks incredulously, letting out a deep exhale when you confirm that she did, in fact, throw out the entire bowl. “Jesus H. I’m so sorry. Is that what’s got you upset?”

“Mhm. I know it’s stupid, ‘s just applesauce, but–”

“‘S not stupid,” Eddie interrupts softly, and you twist the phone cord around your pointer finger with the sudden drop of his tone. “I know you were really looking forward to it.” He pauses, and you wonder for a moment if the line’s gone dead before he says, “We’re coming over. Me and Harris. Be there in twenty; fifteen, if I don’t have to argue with him about wearing a jacket.”

Before you can protest, he really does hang up. You look down at the baggy sweats and college t-shirt you’re wearing; you weren’t expecting any guests today, let alone the Munson boys. You should probably throw on some actual pants, and a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt, either.

You find a pair of jeans that aren’t buried under a mountain of laundry and tug them over your thighs before quickly swiping some makeup on your face. It’s enough to mask your exhaustion while still looking natural.

It dawns on you that you’re not quite sure why you suddenly care so much about your appearance. Harris couldn’t care less, and Eddie…well, even if Eddie did care, why would that matter to you? He’s your tutee’s parent; a new friend at most. On more than one occasion, you’ve answered the door to Jess with a wicked case of bedhead. Why does Eddie Munson of all people make you feel the need to look halfway decent?

When the buzzer sounds, you nearly jump out of your own skin. “It’s us,” Eddie says into the speaker; the smoothness of his voice has your stomach in knots. “And we come bearing gifts. Well, one gift, I guess.”

“Fuck off,” Grandma mumbles from the couch, cranking up the TV volume to an ungodly loud level. One of the Law & Order detectives says–no, screams–something about a murder, and you quickly reach for the remote and click the power button.

“We have company,” you tell her, and she just grunts in response. Hopefully her mood will change in the minute it will take Eddie and Harris to get to your apartment. You can hear them down the hallway, so you open the door just as they’re about to knock.

Eddie takes a step back in surprise. “You psychic or somethin’?” he laughs, looking down at his son and giving him a small nudge. “Go ahead, you can give it to her.”

Your gaze drops to the curly-haired boy standing by his father’s side. He’s holding a brightly colored package of off-brand Oreos, which he brings closer to his chest, pressing it tightly against his zippered sweatshirt. “It’s s’posed to be a surprise,” he reminds Eddie, wide-eyed with genuine concern.

“Only until we got here,” Eddie says gently, soft brown eyes encouraging Harris to hand you the cookies. He brings his attention back to you. “I know it’s not the same as making applesauce with your grandma, but I’ve never been sad eating an Oreo. An oatmeal raisin cookie, maybe. But not an Oreo.”

Now it’s your turn to smile. “You may be onto something here, Munson.” You take the package from Harris and guide the two of them to the kitchen, calling out to Grandma as you pass by. “Grandma, Eddie and Harris are here, and they brought cookies, if you wanna join us.” Her non-response is familiar at this point; the sting is much easier to brush off than it was a few short months ago. But you still feel it.

Even though Grandma isn’t at the table, Harris still climbs onto his dad’s lap. “Daddy, can I have one?” he asks, resting his dimpled chin on his palms as he glances upwards.

“Gotta ask Ms. Sweetheart,” Eddie shrugs, tickling Harris’s ribs and loudly whispering, “and ask her if your poor, hungry dad can have one, too. She can’t say no to you.”

You open the package and shake your head at his antics, sliding out the flimsy tray and offering it to them. “Of course you can have one, Harris,” you say, tone saccharine sweet. His chubby fingers darting out and snatching up a cookie before you even finish your sentence. “But I don’t know about your dad. Do you think he should get one?”

“C’mon, Har,” Eddie urges him, “us men gotta stick together. All for one and one for all, right?” He flexes his bicep; it’s an attempt to emphasize the manliness that supposedly bonds him and Harris, but the gesture has your breath catching in your throat. You sputter and cough embarrassingly, excusing yourself to pour a glass of water.

“Anyone else want?” you manage once you can speak again, holding up the ceramic pitcher.

Eddie nods, lifting Harris from his lap and placing him on the nearest empty chair. “Here, let me help you.” He stands up and calls out over his shoulder, “Grandma, how about some water?”

You’re about to tell him not to worry about it, but to your surprise, she nods. “Ya.”

“So, four waters,” Eddie reports, taking the pitcher and refilling your glass.

You grab another just like it from the cabinet before taking two blue disposable ones, plopping a bendy straw in each. “Grandma, um, she needs stuff that isn’t breakable,” you explain lamely. “And the other plastic one is for Harris.”

Eddie grins. “Thought it was for me. Y’know, always making a mess.”

“Ah, but only of your life,” you tease. “You’re pretty good with basic human functions.” Your face burns at what you’ve potentially implied, but Eddie isn’t fazed.

“Y’know what? I’m gonna take my cookies back!” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest in mock-indignance. A piece of curly hair sticks to his lower lip with his sudden movement, and you brush it away with your thumb before you can stop yourself.

The crinkling of the fake-Oreo package draws both of your gazes, with Eddie poised to tell Harris that he’s only allowed one more. But to your surprise—and perhaps Eddie’s, too—Harris isn’t the one rifling through the tray. Grandma’s taken a seat next to the boy, handing him a cookie before taking her own. She just nibbles on it in silence, but it’s the most present she’s been in days.

“Y’like Oreos, Grandma?” Eddie asks, pouring water into the two plastic glasses and carrying one in each ringed hand. He places them on the table, and Grandma brings the straw to her lips as she nods again. He pauses for a moment, lips tucked into his mouth as he ponders something. “What kind of music does she listen to?” he asks you.

“She has a record collection over in the living room,” you tell him, pointing to the low bookshelf near the door, “but we haven’t played any in awhile. She’s kinda…weird with noises.”

He considers this, walking over to the records and thumbing through them until he finds one that he recognizes. “Could I put this one on?” He holds up the battered copy of Frank Sinatra’s It Might As Well Be Swing. “I’ll take it off if she gets upset. I just wanna try something.” He carefully slides the record from its sleeve, lifting the player’s needle and placing it on the space for the first track.

There’s a soft static as the record starts to spin, and Ol’ Blue Eyes croons:

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a-Jupiter and Mars

Eddie joins in with the next part. His voice still carries its signature rasp, but it’s noticeably smoother, warmer than the night he’d dedicated the Def Leppard song to you.

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

His eyes remain trained on the record player, but you swear you can feel the lyrics drifting towards you. The melody wraps around you like a hug, and you momentarily lose yourself in a musical embrace.

Another voice, low and timid, chimes in. You have to stifle a gasp when you realize that it’s Grandma, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles–the most joy she’s shown in a long while–as she half-sings the words.

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and before you can exhale the third syllable, the world shifts back to normal. Grandma goes back to mindlessly munching on her cookie as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. You turn to Eddie. “What was that?”

He shrugs, suddenly feeling shy. “I read somewhere that music can, like, bring back some memories. Not permanently or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

You can’t stop yourself from flinging your arms around Eddie’s neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. He pauses before he returns the gesture, pulling you tightly into him. One hand is on the small of your back; the other gently rests on the back of your head, allowing you to rest your forehead on his chest. Your tears flow freely, leaving tiny wet spots on his shirt. He doesn’t let go until you start to pull back.

“Thank you,” you whisper; when he pinches his brows in confusion, you elaborate. “You gave me back a little piece of who she was before…” you trail off, swiping at your cheeks messily. “Just…thank you.”

Eddie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes are practically glued to your lips; this time, when his fingers brush against your palm, he hooks his pinky with yours. “‘Course,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure how long the two of you remain linked like this, joined hands swaying ever-so-slightly as Fly Me to the Moon fades out to I Wish You Love. It’s somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, because time seemingly slows to a halt.

You might stay with pinkies hooked forever if Harris doesn’t bolt from his chair, hugging your waist and looking up at you with concern.

“Ms. Sweetheart?” he asks. His wide, misty eyes indicate that he’s absorbed some of the emotion in the room, though he may not even be aware of this. “Why are you sad?” His chubby fingers grab onto the fabric of your pants.

You choke out a tearful laugh as you crouch down to meet him at his level. “I’m not sad…well, I’m sad and happy at the same time,” you try to explain, shaking your head when you realize you’re only adding to his puzzlement. “Grown-up feelings are weird sometimes, Har. But your hugs definitely help.”

With that, he squeezes you tighter, and you glance at Eddie with a full heart. He takes a step forward, scooping up Harris. You worry that you’ve crossed a line, that you’ve shown too much of your vulnerability to a four-year-old, but your fears are subdued when Eddie extends one arm and brings you back to both him and his son. Something brushes against your scalp, and you realize that he’s pressing a light kiss to the top of your head.

Harris squirms, and when Eddie puts him down, he runs over to the TV set. “Can I watch something?” It’s clear that the moment has passed, and Eddie throws you an apologetic shrug as he waits for your response.

“Sure,” you say, trying to pepper cheerfulness into your voice. It’s easier now that the wave of loneliness has passed, taking with it some of the mourning you’d clung to earlier today. You click on the TV and flip through channels until a familiar cartoon appears on the screen. “I think we’re just in time to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!” you exclaim, and Harris mirrors your enthusiasm by flinging himself onto the couch, making his dad cringe.

“Careful, little dude,” Eddie says, clicking off the record player and gently placing the vinyl back in its sleeve. “You just got that cast off a few days ago. Don’t need you to break another bone.” Certainly don’t need another hospital bill, he thinks bitterly. He takes the spot next to Harris, silently begging you to join them.

You turn to the kitchen table and put a hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “You wanna watch Charlie Brown with us?” But she rejects your invitation with a simple shake of her head, mumbling something about being tired and padding into her room.

You take the empty space to Harris’s left so that the boy is sandwiched between you and his father. He’s a small kid, but it seems like there’s an entire ocean separating you and Eddie.

“Why’s Lucy so mean?” Harris asks no one in particular. “She’s always yelling. Like Ms. Marion.” You have to stifle a giggle at that observation, and when you allow yourself a glance, you see that Eddie’s doing the same.

The first half of the movie is filled with Harris’s constant commentary; he speaks more than all of the cartoon characters combined. But he tires out eventually, though in typical four-year-old fashion, he denies his sleepiness even as he’s yawning. He fights it pretty well, you’ve got to give him credit where it’s due, but eventually, the exhaustion takes over and he lays his head on your arm. His curls tickle your elbow, and you gingerly reposition him so he’s tucked up against your side.

“You can move him over, if you get uncomfortable or somethin’. Kid sleeps like a rock. Except, y’know, when I need him to sleep.” Eddie snickers as Harris lets out the softest, tiniest snore.

You return the laughter and shake your head. “Nah, I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling at the ruddy cheek pressed against you. “Don’t tell my other students, but Harris is the cutest kid ever.”

Eddie shrugs, but you can tell that the compliment tickles him. “Well, it makes sense, since his dad is a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Charlie and Lucy. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that; if you play it off as a joke, you risk hurting his feelings. If you tell him the truth–

“D’you like coffee?”

His sudden, seemingly arbitrary question snaps you from your indecision. “I teach four-year-olds,” you reply lightheartedly, hoping he can’t sense your mind continuing to linger on his stud comment. “I practically have coffee running through my veins. What about you?”

“I have a four-year-old, so, same.” He clears his throat, seemingly double-checking that his son is still sound asleep. His leg is bouncing up and down, and he nearly has to press on his knee to get it to stop. “Um, Harris is going to a birthday party next Saturday morning if you wanted to get some with me? Get some coffee, I mean.” He silently chastises himself, wondering if he’d ever been suave around women or if it had just been the unearned confidence of a young man in his early twenties convincing him that he had.

“Like...like a date?” Fuck, do you sound too eager? “Because if you feel like you owe me a date after…after our night at the bar, you don’t have to. I forgave you after you gave me those M&Ms, remember?”

“Yeah…wait, no. Hold on.” Eddie holds up his pointer finger as he collects his thoughts. He could deny that it’s a date altogether and throw out some bullshit lie about it just being something between friends. But he promised Wayne, promised himself that he’d give this a shot. “Yes, I’m asking you on a date. No, it’s not because I feel like I owe you one–although I definitely do,” he adds with a goofy grin that sends flutters to your stomach. “It’s because, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how happy you make me–and Harris, too–and how I get kinda nervous around you, which makes no sense because you’re, like, the nicest fuckin’ person ever. Oh my God, why can’t I stop talking?”

“Eddie.” The way you say his name is like a song he could replay forever. “I’d really like to get coffee with you. I just need to see if someone can watch Grandma…maybe Jess,” you surmise, biting back the fact that you’ll have to withhold your date’s name, lest she subject you to a lecture about sleeping with the enemy.

Eddie nods, swiping the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and smiling. “I can pick you up at noon? If Jess can watch Grandma, of course.”

“Noon works.” You want to kiss him right then and there; if Harris wasn’t nestled in the middle of you both, you might not hold back. “I can let you know on Wednesday when we have dinner together.”

Eddie’s not sure he can wait that long for an answer. What if you’re just buying time to get out of it? What if you’re only being nice to him because you’re afraid that he’ll get angry again and reignite the bitter feud you’d been locked in just a month ago? He swallows the insecurities, gaze flickering to your eyes.

And maybe it’s because you can sense his unease and self-doubt, or maybe it’s because you genuinely want to–Eddie doesn’t know for sure–but he feels you lace your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on his thigh. He shifts his grasp to weave them tighter together, learning back into the couch and allowing his body to relax. His shoulders let go of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding on to, and a contented sigh slips from his lips.

It’s you, him, and Harris. Sitting on the sofa and watching a holiday movie. An unconventional little family, but a family all the same. Eddie swears that he could stay like this forever, a thought that almost has him bursting out in laughter. The same man who had concocted an elaborate method to keep women around without actually committing to them was now reveling in domestic bliss.

When the movie ends and Harris begins to rouse, Eddie begrudgingly stands with an exaggerated groan. “These old bones, y’know,” he laments with a mischievous click of his tongue. “Everything starts fallin’ apart when you turn thirty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, lifting Harris onto his hip and rubbing his back to help him fall back to sleep. “I know.” He grabs his keys from the shelf near the door as you walk them out. And before he can wimp out, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, stubble scratching against your skin. His hands are trembling when he pulls away.

“You’re the best,” he repeats the same statement he’d made on parent-teacher conference night. It’s even more true now than it was then. “We’ll see you on Wednesday for pizza?” And an answer, hopefully a ‘yes.’ “Wednesday,” you echo, still processing the fact that, for the second time today, Eddie Munson’s lips have been on you.

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

@breezybeesposts @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @81rain @dylanmunson @oscarisaacwhore @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking

@bibieddiesgf @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @daydreaminglisa @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights

@rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff @meadow20 @theweasleyskettle @lost-in-the-stars03 @elizabethmidnight2017 @aysheashea

@chamomileh0ney @dream-a-little-nightmare @emma77645 @kurdtbean @sheneedsrocknroll92 @tlclick73 @lolly-in-a-strange-land @dylanmunson @bakugouswh0r3

@strangerthingsstories5255 @adaydreamaway08 @itsalltaken @harmfulb1tch @mimischaos @averagemisfit03 @steddiegarbage @vigilanteshit @ellendemeyer152 @sierrahhh @hiscrimsonangel @mrsjellymunson @idkatee

@quentinswife @eddiesguitarskills @momowhoo @jasminelafleur @mmunson86 @mcueveryday

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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swirlingthings · 6 months

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so… i accidentally wrote an entire scene based off an idea i posted on here about a month ago. it brought itself into existence honestly, i’m still not sure how it happened. never written anything like this before. it’s called ‘alien thing’. see if you can work it out before aziraphale does. enjoy :)

And perhaps, after a while, the team at the Saddlescombe and Poynings Observer newspaper office would be alarmed to discover that the crossword they had devised for today’s edition had mysteriously been replaced by one that nobody recalled sending to the printing press, or indeed seeing before at all. And in a cottage not too far away, Aziraphale would settle down into the sofa with the paper like he always did at this time of the afternoon; his slice of cake (Victoria Sponge today - “you can’t go wrong with a classic like that”, he’d told Crowley in the supermarket), his mug of tea and an HB pencil ready for him on the side table. And Crowley, on the sofa next to him holding a small book which had been miracled into existence the moment Aziraphale had gotten up to fetch the newspaper, would be so intent on doing everything possible to not look in the angel’s direction that he’d stare too hard at the potted plant across the room and cause it to wilt.

“How odd.” Aziraphale says, ruffling the page slightly as if he were testing to see if moving it would somehow change the way it was printed.

“What?” Crowley says, calmly. He was incredibly calm when he said this, calmly.

“This crossword.” Aziraphale replies, brow furrowing. “I think… look, look at this.”

Aziraphale shuffles across to the middle of the sofa, holding his arm out in front of Crowley so that he could see the newspaper clearly.

“Look. Here.” Aziraphale points with his pencil. “5 Down, six letters: ‘Luminescent dust between star systems’. I think it’s NEBULA.”

“Sounds plausible.” says Crowley, his eyes not moving away from the paper.

“Well, that’s not all. NEBULA gives us the ‘B’ for 12 Across, eight letters: ‘Parisian fortress’, which must be BASTILLE.” The pencil moves down and waves around a clue, then shoots back up again. “And the ‘E’ from that gives us SERPENT for 10 Down! Isn’t that funny?” Aziraphale says brightly. He looks up and beams at Crowley, who is still staring directly at the paper.

“Why’s that funny?”

“Well…” says the angel, his smile turning peaceful. “I don’t know. It just made me think of you, I suppose. What with your being a serpent in Eden, and rescuing me from the Bastille. And the nebulas, from Before…” Aziraphale laughs softly and settles back on his side of the sofa. “I don’t know. I’m being silly. I just thought it was funny.” he says, running a hand through his hair and picking up his mug.

And perhaps the minutes would pass, and Aziraphale would think between sips of tea and scribbles of pencil that there really was something rather odd about this crossword, wasn’t there? 17 Down, eight letters: ‘Machine run by rotating vanes’. WINDMILL. That was the name of the theatre in Soho where he had performed his magic show. Crowley had almost shot him. They’d had wine afterwards, in the bookshop. 2 Across, seven letters: ‘Remarkable and unbelievable occurrence’. That had to be MIRACLE. 21 Across, five letters: ‘Japanese vinegared rice dish’. SUSHI. His favourite.

And Crowley would sit excruciatingly still, in absolute silence, and make no attempt to actually read the book he was holding open in his lap. He would be far too busy trying to look cool.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale looks up at him, after a while, another smile creeping across his face. “26 Across is INEFFABLE.”

“Oh? You stuck?” Crowley says, stretching out his legs and keeping his gaze fixed on a page of the book. Wait… was he holding it upside down?

“What?”

“Well, if it’s ineffable you can’t describe it in words, can you? So you don’t have the answer?” Crowley slithers down the sofa cushion and holds the book in front of his face. He’s a very busy demon with important things to be busy with. “Finding the word’s the whole point of a crossword. You must be stuck.”

“No, I mean the answer is INEFFABLE, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s smile spreads wider. “You know full well what I mean!” he said, nudging him sharply with his feet. Another “Oh?” emanates from somewhere behind the book, which Aziraphale grabs and puts to one side.

“What on Earth have you done?” he laughs, his eyes first on Crowley then returning to the paper. “14 Down: ‘A small settlement without a church’... HAMLET! Oh Crowley, the play!” he says, jotting it down with the pencil.

Crowley smiles too. “How are you doing on the letters?”

“Yes, it’s six letters, HAMLET.”

“No, I mean the letters in bold. In the boxes. For the final bit.”

Aziraphale looks back at the paper, and notices that around a few of the letters he had already pencilled in, the margins of the boxes were heavier than the rest.

“It’s a puzzle thing. What’s it called… an anagram.” Crowley continues, leaning over on one arm and turning to face him. “Look at the letters in bold and it makes something else.”

Aziraphale gasps excitedly, and starts to note down the emphasised letters in a patch of empty space towards the bottom of the page. The ‘A’ from BASTILLE, the ‘E’ from SERPENT, the ‘L’ from NEBULA…

“Crowley…” he says smugly, and proudly folds the paper to his chest to indicate he is finished with it. “Is it AZIRAPHALE?”

“Don’t just guess. Work it out.” Crowley says gently. Aziraphale’s pencil resumes its scratching against the paper. He wonders how he ever lived in his flat in Mayfair, void of this softness and this warmth and this angel. They’ve been in the cottage now for a good few years. It’s all the things he loved about Aziraphale’s bookshop, with the added bonus of never worrying if he’s overstayed his welcome. It’s theirs, together, completely. He’s forgotten he was ever holding a book, let alone supposed to be busy doing something else, like trying to look cool.

“Oh, no, there’s the N from WINDMILL.” Aziraphale mutters, leaning forward to write on the paper which is now resting neatly on his knees. “Unless… I was wrong about that one?”

“Don’t look at me, I’m saying nothing.”

“No, I’m not wrong. Hold on.”

Crowley sits up a bit more, putting his elbow on the back of the sofa cushion and leaning the side of his head against his hand. He listened to Aziraphale continuing on - “I’ve got ALIEN. Hmm, wait…” - while he curled up his legs underneath himself. His nerves had eased slightly (Aziraphale’s smile had that effect on him) but had not dissipated.

“INHALE? No, no, there’s two ‘I’s. Oh, I’m still missing some!” Aziraphale says. There was another comfortable pause while he scanned the remaining clues.

“Right. 6 Across must be… PEAR. I love pears. That one doesn’t get us any further with the anagram, though.” Aziraphale says, looking over at Crowley as if he were learning this for the first time and might be disappointed by the news. As if he hadn’t snuck downstairs in the middle of the night on three separate occasions last week to draft every detail in a notebook which promptly ceased to exist once he’d finalised his plan. He’d sent off the miracle at one in the morning.

“16 Across, ten letters: ‘Destruction of civilisation’. Well, that’s rather dramatic.” Aziraphale looks up, a tad disapprovingly. “APOCALYPSE? No, that doesn’t fit with HALO - the penultimate letter must... oh, ARMAGEDDON! Of course. Wonderful! That gives us a second ‘N’.” he says triumphantly.

“Aren’t you clever.” Crowley says, which earns him another sharp nudge in the thigh.

“And then we have the ‘G’ from GARDEN, which gives us… the ‘T’, from BENTLEY. Is it definitely not ALIEN, then? I’ve got ALIEN THING.”

“No, angel, it’s not ALIEN THING. Stop guessing. You’re still missing some, look at it carefully.”

There’s another patch of silence. Crowley shifts uncomfortably on the cushion, unfurling his legs and stretching them out over the edge of the sofa again. He scratches the back of his head and resumes staring at the now fully wilted plant opposite him. His nerves are back. Not long to go now. Aziraphale’s clever, really clever, and he does one of these things every aftern-

As if on cue, the angel suddenly sits bolt upright.

The silence hangs in the air. Questions like ‘Why did I think this was a good idea?’ and ‘How am I going to pretend this never happened?’ start to creep into Crowley’s brain. His face feels hot.

“Oh, Crowley…” Aziraphale says, with almost palpable softness. Crowley dares to glance over: Aziraphale’s holding the paper with both hands and looking down at it, eyes beginning to water.

“Crowley…” he says again, frantically scanning every inch of the paper. He wants to be sure he’s right before he says anything. Crowley knows he will be, and briefly considers whether he could get away with stopping time, but it’s too late for that now.

“It’s NIGHTINGALES.”

Aziraphale looks up at him.

“Is it?” Crowley says, in a tone which he hoped sounded like he actually was learning this for the first time.

“Oh Crowley!”

He suddenly finds himself pressed against various layers of linen and wool.

“You sweetheart!” Aziraphale squeals, as he pulls him up from the sofa cushion and into the hug.

Crowley’s growl is muffled slightly by Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’m not sweet, I-” Whatever he tried to say next would surely be drowned out by Aziraphale’s laughter anyway, so he lets it go.

“You’re so clever.” Azirpahale says, settling himself directly beside Crowley and reaching for the paper, which he had flung to the floor when he’d moved. He looks over it again. “It must have taken forever, to work out all of that.”

“Nah. It was nothing, angel.”

Aziraphale smiles at the paper. “Well, I am thoroughly impressed. I…” He turns to look Crowley in the eyes. “I should have worked it out sooner than that. I didn’t… I didn’t realise that’s what you were trying to say. That that was the point of it, I mean.”

“Don’t worry. I knew you’d get them all.”

“That was very romantic of you, you know. To do all of that and have it be about us.”

“Shut up.”

“Well, it was.” Aziraphale smugly folds the paper in half. “I love you too.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Make my day.”

He gets a kiss on the cheek for that.

“Gosh, I expect the rest of my tea has gone a bit cold now.” Aziraphale says, without any trace of complaint. He wiggles back over to his side of the sofa and has a forkful of cake. “Well, that was exciting. I didn’t know they let people submit their own crosswords.”

There was a pause.

“Crowley.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“Oh Crowley no, that’s awful. You should have asked for their permission.”

“Don’t worry.” He smiles at Aziraphale. “They won’t notice.”

the end :))

#good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #good omens story #well… it’s a fic really isn’t it #good omens fic

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invisibleicewands · 2 months

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Bringing revolution to Port Talbot - by Michael Sheen

On a recent February morning, I woke up to find I was wrong. Not a particularly uncommon experience in itself, but unusual to discover that on this occasion I was being publicly accused of it by the Secretary of State for Business and Trade. “Michael Sheen has said that ‘the people of Port Talbot have been let down’,” Kemi Badenoch wrote in the Daily Mail. “But he is wrong.”

It was a big day. I spent all of last year directing a three-part drama series for the BBC called The Way, which was to air that night. It begins in my hometown of Port Talbot, where a strike at the local steelworks becomes the spark that ignites a violent descent into national chaos. Clearly, Ms Badenoch had been given a sneak peek of the series before forming quite a strong opinion on it. But no: reading her article, Ms Badenoch admits that she hadn’t watched it at all. Why let a total lack of information prevent a full-throated denouncement, eh? Presumably, she also assumes that we managed to write, film and edit the entire series after Tata Steel announced the imminent loss of some 2,500 jobs at the steelworks mere weeks ago.

While the winds of change have only been blowing in one direction for many years, the events in our story were dreamed up some years ago and act as a fictional catalyst for all that follows. Surely even Tory ministers understand there is no VIP fast lane for making a TV series. This isn’t a PPE contract, after all…

Nothing to see here

After that episode aired, it occurred to me that such shenanigans in the right-wing press could have been about a couple of things. Since the ITV drama about the Post Office scandal, Mr Bates vs The Post Office, caused public outrage, I imagine the government has a new fear of the impact a TV show can have. A pre-emptive strike against a series it perceives to be criticising its actions around the steel industry must have seemed a useful tactic. And, having seen Breathtaking – based on Rachel Clarke’s memoir of how the Covid crisis unfolded in the NHS, which aired on ITV the same night as The Way – I wonder if her piece was an attempt to distract attention away from more dangerous territory.

It gave Ms Badenoch a chance to trot out her line about how the people of Port Talbot should be grateful for all that the government is doing to save the steel industry, not moaning about the impact job losses will have on their community. But the people of Port Talbot have been let down, no matter what Ms Badenoch wants us to think. Not by any single entity, but by years of neglect. That she immediately assumed my comments referred to her and her government tells its own story. In the words of a much older drama than mine: the lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Then and Nye

“This crisis is a privateering racket with your friends lining their pockets!” No, not an accusation against Boris Johnson, but something I currently say to Winston Churchill every night. We opened a new play called Nye at the National Theatre this week. I play Aneurin (“Nye”) Bevan, who attacks the prime minister for turning a wartime crisis into a money-making scheme for him and his cronies. It’s one of many moments in the play that seem to speak to past and present at the same time.

The entanglement of “now” and “then” is heightened by the fact that I am wearing pyjamas. Nye is lying unconscious in his hospital bed at the end of his life, and we follow him through a dream of his past. He wanders from childhood memories of overcoming his stutter in Tredegar library to his meteoric rise through local politics, to becoming the youngest member of Clement Attlee’s pioneering postwar cabinet. And, of course, as minister for health, his tumultuous birthing of the NHS on 5 July 1948. It’s an extraordinary, surprising and moving experience telling this story on stage each night. That shared space between actors and audience, where all is felt but unseen, crackles with electricity.

Once more, with feeling

It seems that exploring the motives of politicians, the uses and abuses of political power, and the quest for justice that saw the creation of the NHS taps into deep wells of emotion. Like the pockets of gas that miners feared within the coal seam, their release brings risk and reward. At a recent show, we had three instances of people needing to be helped out of the theatre, the final one forcing us to pause the show moments from its end. Thankfully, it was nothing more serious than someone fainting. But emotions are running high.

I’m more than happy to invite Ms Badenoch to a performance. But I realise, of course, there’s no guarantee she would make it to the end.

#Michael Sheen #The Way #Port Talbot #politics #Nye #the man knows how to write

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nomiqbomi · 1 year

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Updated designs for Fophid and Lepignito commissioned by my friend @plus-sizedscribe! Plus a new middle form, Impodster, and 4 distinct formes that Lepignito can take, based on the environment it evolves in.

More info under the tab!

Fophid are timid creatures with many predators. Their carapace has evolved to blend in perfectly with an arboreal environment. When provoked, it wields the branch-like appendage on its abdomen like a lance. It has no venom, it's quite sharp!

Impodster attaches itself firmly to tree limbs, disguising itself as a small branch. Once it has done this, it is impossible to detach until it evolves. (It would be much easier to take the entire branch with it!) It does not budge, even after being discovered. Individuals who have camouflaged themselves poorly can often be found with leaves full of holes, made by bird Pokemon that attempted to carry them away.

When Impodster evolves into Lepignito, it takes on a perfect likeness of its immediate environment. Four unique patternings, based the biomes it occurs in naturally, have been officially recorded; however, it is believed that new patterns could be created by evolving the pokemon in a unique environment.

Even when their immediate environment does not match the markings on their wings, they somehow still manage to obscure themselves from view. Many theories have been pose as to how they are able to do this, but none have been proven, as this behavior is quite difficult to observe.

It prefers to sit motionlessly and evade detection, but when provoked, it uses its stealth to confound opponents and catch them unawares. Once the opponent has become disoriented, it flies off into the shadows, never to be seen again.

---

The line is based on the Peppered Moth, which are a famous example of natural selection that has actually been observed and recorded in real-time. The moth originally evolved to camouflage against lightly-colored trees, but a melanic mutation became more genetically favorable during the industrial revolution, when the trees became blackened with soot. After environmental standards were introduced, the white variant became common again. Today both variations can be found, and they are often mistaken for different species!

Plussized-Scribe helped conceptually with the variations/typing, with his own rom-hack in mind. I may add more variations for my own fan project.

I had originally designed Fophid to camouflage with the forest floor, but during my redesign I found out that the peppered caterpillar camouflages itself as a tree branch. I thought that was neat, to I went with that angle instead.

I also added a middle form to make it a better counterpart for the Pareyeva line who use the opposite form of self defense!

Edit: @plus-sizedscribe wrote some really great Pokedex entries for his hack that he allowed me to share here as well:

"Unlike Sewaddle, the leafy bits Fophid sport are not fashion statements, but specialized organs for camouflage. In autumn, their bodies release chemicals to redden the organs and match the foliage.

The base of the headcrest pulls double duty as a third mandible. Thus, Fophid can chew better while also maintaining camouflage, as the shaking of the crest resembles a leaf trembling in the breeze."

"Having secured themselves on a sturdy tree trunk, Impodster steadfastly await evolution. Very little can dislodge these Pokémon, which are nearly helpless if they happen to end up on the ground.

Impodster with poor camouflage are often found with leaves full of holes. These are made by naïve bird Pokémon attempting to carry them away, only to realize they picked almost the worst prey they could."

"Some people claim to have fallen for a person who always wore a long coat, only for their lover to turn out to be a Lepignito. The veracity of these bizarre anecdotes is suspect, to say the least.

Lepignito live in trees whose bark match their wing patterns. They boast different patterns to blend in with the available types of trees in the regions they inhabit. At least 25 different varieties are known."

#would people like it if i made more comprehensive posts like this of fakemon I've already finished and posted?#I think some consistency would be nice #Pokemon #fakemon #bug type #moth #caterpillar #cocoon #character design #monster design #artists on tumblr #photoshop #digital art #writing #insects #pokemon chartreuse #no offense but ash forme is kind of mothman

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latoyalestrange · 1 year

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a court of thorns and roses

s. sallow x f!reader

summary: while on a mission to retrieve a textbook for you, sebastian comes across something incredible. he didn't want to embarrass you, so he waited until the right moment to use this piece of information against you.

words: 900ish

warnings: my first kinda-smut in literal years. i hope i did good job. pain kink!reader?? kinda?? just read it u'll like it. established relationship, aged up seb and mc, slytherin!reader, i stg if i see a minor interacting i will block u. also if u know me personally dni i beg of u. not edited!

"in my desk, upper right drawer." should be easy enough right?

except, when he finally arrived at your dorm, your potions book was, in fact, not in the upper right drawer. so, he frantically checked the other three drawers, on top of the desk, on your bookshelf, under your bed...huh.

he glanced around the room, looking for another sensible place to check. his eyes fell on your bed, unmade and inviting. just to make sure, he thought.

upon pulling back the emerald duvet, he instantly recognized the green potions text. sat on top of it, however, was an unfamiliar, smaller red book with gold lettering on the front. he took the book in his hands and opened it, skimming to the middle to read a random page. his eyes widened with curiosity as he grinned from ear to ear.

"erotica, hm?" he quickly thought to retrieve the objective and put the other text back in its place. ominis would be waiting with you, and he would almost rather catch you in the act than confront you.

hours later, you found yourself inviting sebastian to study in your dorm, on account that your roommate, imelda, was at a sleepover in another dorm. you were lounging on your bed while he sat at your desk, hunched over a roll of parchment with his inked quill in hand. the gentle glow of the cluster of candles on your desk danced across his features, making him appear more and more delicious with every hour that it darkened outside. once nothing could be seen outside of your stained window, your eyes couldn't avoid the crimson leather cover that was burning into your peripheral vision with every moment that passed. you carefully closed your dramatically large textbook and tossed it to the side, replacing it with your desired literature.

soon enough, you found yourself engulfed in your fantasy, the romantic light coming from the tiny flames around your room helping you along. your active imagination allowed you to form the words into pictures, then pictures to feelings. you wanted-- no, needed-- to be worshiped in a way you never had before. you needed to feel special. you'd only done things similar to this the one time with sebastian and he was so fucking sweet and gentle and caring. you were curious ever since that day. after your...research, you had discovered a new feeling, a better one.

but how could you possibly bring it up to sebastian? he was so confident, he seemed so experienced, and he was really good at teasing you. wanting to avoid that for as long as you could until you mustered up to courage, you hid it from him. that was, until now.

"looks interesting." his tone seemed casual, unknowing. you had to stop yourself from throwing the book across the room in attempt to avoid detection.

"mhm." your lip found its way in between your teeth as you averted your gaze.

he furrowed his brow, standing to his feet rather quickly to place his hand on your jaw, lifting your eyes to stare into his.

"no mumbling." you couldn't find an answer, so he took it further. he snapped the book closed and tossed it to the side, never breaking eye contact. he pinned crawled back onto the bed, trapping you beneath his strong frame. he lifted one hand to slip under the hem of your skirt, the other holding him up. he slowly entered your undergarments and slithered his way further, further...

"i knew it. are you going to tell me what's making you so wet for that book or do i have to read it myself?" he was so close, you could feel his breath ghosting your earlobe.

"could you be a little less...forgiving this time?" you asked innocently under him. you looked so defenseless, needy, and perfect.

"i think i know what you mean, my love. just tell me if it hurts, okay?" you nodded at his caring, yet hungry eyes. he lowered himself, peppering kisses on your skin as he slowing exposed it. as if he were claiming his territory, he left red and purple marks every few inches or so before reaching your center. he sent you into a whimpering mess skillfully quick, which had you begging for him already. he couldn't help it, he was so fucking eager for you too. he unraveled his belt with ease before teasing your entrance.

"please, sebastian--" he didn't need to hear more. he was already sinking into you and bottoming out, filling you completely. he growled, feeling you form to his shape. you wrapped your arms around him to brace yourself as he started rocking his hips into you at an unrelenting pace. you called out his name, which quickly turned into a whine. he listened to every sound you body made, every movement. soon enough, he wasn't holding back and had you pinned down by your throat as he pounded into you with an unfamiliar force. your moans turned into cries of pleasure. he had unlocked a whole entire world for you.

you were feeling spent, used, but god did you love it. upon hearing a new sound that bordered both pain and pleasure, he was quick to stop his rhythm to check on you.

"do you want more gentle?" his eyes were undoubtably guilty and concerned. he pressing his calloused hand to your now flushed cheek.

"no," you breathed out. he chuckled and smirked, repositioning himself at your entrance.

"be careful what you wish for."

#sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow imagine #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow fluff #hogwarts legacy sebastian #harry potter hogwarts game #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts oc #hogwarts legacy #harry potter cu #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #sebblurb

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urf1lterr · 1 year

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lovesick | pedro pascal [3]

"and on this night and in this light i think im falling, im falling for you."

next chapter: [4] previous chapter: [2] series masterlist

summary: in which a 1975-obsessed film student accidentally falls in love with an older man she can't have.

pairing: actor!pedro x intern!reader

genre: acting world!au, big age-gap!, strangers to friends- maybe lovers?? au | angst, mature, awkward, love- eventually

word count: 5.7k

status: in progress

author's note: in my head i have a certain way this story ends- but thats farrrr from this chapter. i couldn't stop laughing while writing this. i might have to rethink my ending bc i don't wanna make this series looooong. not edited.

Brutal banging on your bedroom door was not how you imagined to be awakened, especially when you were barely endearing maybe four hours of sleep.

Jolting up, you could feel your shoulders begin to ache as your severely tangled hair got stuck on the insides of your shirt. The shades in your room being shut, you had no sunlight whatsoever so you weren't sure what time it was.

Not like you needed to be anywhere important on a Wednesday- not until later anyway. Wednesday's were your arranged day off from school so you made sure to plan something productive to not feel more useless as you already were.

Typically, you were scheduled to work on these days- but we all know how that ended.

Thinking about your unemployment status aggravated you. The same day you were told you were going to be cut was actually your last despite being scheduled for the rest of that remaining week.

Oh how you wish you could say you didn't show up because of your stubbornness.

But frankly you had covid.

Not only did that job fire you, but they gave you a thoughtful farewell gift of a deadly virus to remember them goodbye.

Guess they took their storyline a little too seriously.

However, you did receive a few texts from your old coworkers wishing you well. At first, you wondered if Finn disclosed your personal medical information after you contacted him, but Jules admitted to doing so, swearing she only told Joon with the likelihood someone overheard and the rest was history.

Sadly, you barely talked to Pedro and Bella anymore.

The duo did reach out once they discovered you were sick and Bella would occasionally send you tiktoks at the most randomly times. But again, occasionally.

Pedro, on the other hand, never got back in touch after his 'feel better' text.

You weren't exactly distraught over it, it wasn't like you two made it your mission as friends to go out every day. But the thing was, you still did that when you worked together. Barely seeing him for a few seconds on some days in the past still meant you got to see him, but now you don't.

And strangely you miss him.

You always heard your coworkers discuss how considerate and down to Earth he was whenever they managed to work with him and you agreed. All the stories of him being one of the rarest, mindful human beings were true.

He was always the one spamming you with texts, but the only messages you received now were from your roommate, Joon, or the deals sent by your favorite food places.

But you weren't going to think too much of it. He's an adult, his days are always scheduled with new projects. You can't blame him for not making time for you.

Two weeks later here you were, using your extra free time to your advantage to stay up past midnight watching shows like Hell's Kitchen while eating ramen noodles.

The only con was you had the tendency to wake up late all the time.

Yanking the warm covers off your body, you slowly slip out of bed trying not to hit your desk by how poor your vision was at the moment. Opening your door, you give daggers to the other person behind it. "Is there a reason why you felt attempting to break my door was necessary?"

Jules sheepishly smiled, lightly rubbing the door in remorse before continuing. "I just wanted to remind you about our study date!"

"That's at 11."

"It's 10:32," she replied, pulling her phone out and showing you.

Gasping, you shut the door in her face before searching for clothes to wear. How could you possibly sleep in?

Actually, it was quite easy with American Horror Story having amazing plot twists. You decided to switch up your late night shows every now and then to spice things up.

But you were certain you turned on your alarm the night before. You must have slept through them. Damn, you were turning into Jules.

Quickly running to the bathroom to take a quick shower, you managed to finish the rest of your routine with ten minutes left to spare. You were certainly glad you could always count on the city's nonstop traffic as an excuse for your late arrivals.

Once you were able to catch a cab, which was a tremendous struggle considering your hand signals weren't clear enough to apprehend, Jules and you made it to a coffee shop a few streets away.

Being your designated place to study, you had to introduce Joon to it. He was practically the fifth member of the group, the third one being one of Jules' friend you frequently talked to and the fourth being the one you shared with Joon.

The best part about this cafe would have to be that it was two stories. You guess you could say you used the upstairs room conveniently when it came to debating, definitely not being afraid to raise your voice when your friends believed disagreeing with your opinions was acceptable.

"I didn't know a triple meant three shots of espresso," Joon pulled a disgusted face as Jules and you arrived to your familiar large booth. Sliding right next to him, you saw the coffee he was drinking was extremely dark. "I thought it meant three shots of creamer."

"For a guy who is phenomenally smart, you are phenomenally stupid," you heard your shared friend, Yoongi, comment after looking up from his notes.

The next hour consisted of the five of you centralizing your attention on your individual work before you decided you wanted to buy a coffee as your energy slowly drained away.

Walking down the stairs and placing a swift order, you stood to the side of the counter waiting as they prepared it. Scrolling through your phone to pass the short time, you felt someone near you.

"Hey, covid girl!" you heard a man exclaim, causing you to rush and shush him before the customers begin giving you the eye. "Long time no see."

"Don't expose me like that! I'm negative," you flush, tapping your fingers on your face to cool it down.

"Don't expose me," he clarifies, taking two steps back. "You're the one who's sick."

"Was," you groan, not standing for his teasing this morning. "Stop messing me with me, Nick. I am just a tired, broke college student who can't take anymore mocking in their life."

Nick chuckles, not denying that may be the case. He understands how you're feeling, he was once a student and knows how stressful it can be. Honestly, he can only imagine how tough it is now compared to when he last attended.

Inflation was no joke.

"I take it you're studying?" he eyes the large black frames on your head and the thick headphones around your neck. You only nod, making him laugh. "Very studious I see, it's a shame they let you go even after I told them not to. You could've done our taxes."

Pulling a forced smile, you just raise your right shoulder slightly not really wanting to talk about it much.

"Good thing I am very understanding," you joke.

"Hell, I wouldn't be," he curses, shaking his head briskly. "The least they could've done was offer another position while we left the country."

"When are you guys leaving anyway?'"

He looks up at the ceiling, trying hard to remember the exact date before clapping his hands. "The 3rd of next month."

"Three weeks from now? Are you ready for the cold and the snow?" you laugh as he shakes his head.

"Dealt with it growing up, don't wanna do it again," he groans before a barista calls out his name for his coffee. He excuses himself for a minute, grabbing the coffee along with a few napkins before walking back to you. "Have to get back to filming, they only gave me a half an hour break before we change scenes. Good look in university, kiddo. If you ever need anything you always have my number."

With that, he retreated back outside but not before sending you one final wave. You loathed the fact you missed them, but you had to get over it.

Grabbing your coffee once your name was called, you walked back up the stairs to find your friends staring at their own laptops as if they were going to breakdown in tears any second.

"When I tell you I would rather give up one of kidneys than learn about screenwriting," Jules weeps, pulling her hair in distress. "I just wanna tell people what to do, not write stories."

And that's how your whole study session went, one of you having your own malfunctions for the next few hours before the five of you agreed to end it.

"I am going to get a refill, meet you by the door?" Jules asked as you packed up your school belongings. You nodded, allowing her to walk downstairs with her friend as you stayed behind with the two other boys.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Joon called out as the three of you were making your way down the stairs. "I'll be out in a jiffy."

With that, Yoongi and you were stuck around a large crowd of customers trying to get their coffees in this 5 o'clock chilly evening. And one thing about these customers, they loved to push.

"If one more person hits my arm a brawl will unfold," Yoongi proclaims, making sure to raise his voice a bit to make his point come across. Which did nothing as he was granted another push in his arm in return.

Moving you head towards the exit, you made it clear to Yoongi that you two were better off just waiting outside unless you wanted to continue being compressed by total strangers whose been god knows where.

Feeling Yoongi's loss of touch from your shoulder, you sensed a group of friends rudely crossing between you both in order to make it to the front of the shop.

It amazed you how people had no manners in public places.

"Ah!" you shriek, feeling somebody aimlessly hit your body hard, knocking the wind out of you as you fell on your side.

That was until arms wrapped tightly under your upper arms, barely being able to stop your whole body from touching the ground as you felt you legs lay across the cold floor.

With the strong pair of arms effectively pulling you up, it caused you to slam your body against their unknown chest as the mob of customers didn't seem to die down any time soon.

Trying to find some stability, your eyes widened as your peripheral vision was met with a broad chest that you were too scared to figure discover who it belonged to.

This could either end with you meeting the love of you life or encountering a complete weirdo.

Moving your gaze upwards, you were met with familiar brown eyes that creased slightly as a gentle smile was released.

Okay, the second option was indeed your answer.

"Pedro? You fucking scared me!" you pushed him away, slapping his chest as he whined in response, clutching it in pain. "I was going to grab my pepper spray!"

"I see you're still satan," he glared as you crossed your arms. "No 'thank you for saving my severely mentally mad life from the mass of people who could've stamped over me'?"

Expressing an infuriated expression as he scared you, you begin to walk away from him but he quickly pulls you back into his arms and stares down at you. "Why are you leaving?"

"My friends are outside," you declare as he peers over the crowd to see who you were talking about.

He glances back down at you before pushing you straight by your waist, causing you to trust his guidance as he directed you backwards until you were against one of the walls to avoid being crushed again.

"Wait, my friends-"

"You wear glasses?" he slightly grasps the frames propped on your face, generating a strike from you. "What a dweeb you are."

"Isn't this a question you can ask through text?" you remark, causing him to purse his lips at how mediocre you were being.

"Oh come on, kid! I haven't seen you in weeks, it's my right to ask questions," he defends, giving you a staggering look as you sighed.

"And my glasses were the first thing that came to mind? Very clever."

"Would you rather me ask why we say 'cool' when it's not really cold?"

Studying his face in pure boredom, you set out to march past him but he pushes your shoulders back again, forcing you to stay put. "Sorry! Just trying to lighten the mood."

Scanning past him, you tried to locate your friends but to no luck they were absent. Glancing back up at him, you take a deep breath. "I really have to go before they leave me stranded a-."

"I can take you home," he instantly speaks up. "I know where you live remember."

Laughing, you disagree with his proposal. You arrived with Jules, you were leaving with her. But you were curious as to why he hasn't left you alone. It surely couldn't be just to chat about corny jokes-

Actually, you've had many of those conversions in the past.

"Is there a reason why you aren't letting me escape?" you blurt out, making him tilt his head suspiciously, trying to figure out what you were speculating.

His body language became edgy as he motioned his palm out in front of you. "I just so happened to drop by for some coffee and ended up being tackled by you," he confessed, making you scoff. "We haven't talked for some time, I wanted to check up and see how you were doing."

"I am as happy as a clam," you let out a radiant smile, making him squint his eyes and direct them to the side.

"English, please?" he pleaded.

"It means I am very happy," you respond, standing up straighter as he questioned you longer with his eyes as if he didn't believe a single word you were saying. "Everybody knows that expression."

"They really don't," he denies, giving you an awkward smile by your strange dialogue. "Anywho, I've been wanting to talk to you."

"Then why didn't you call?" you accidentally spit out, shutting your mouth as you grasped how bitter it came out.

He caught onto the sound of your tone, registering how unhappy you must've been for abandoning you friendship after strongly bonding for two months.

But he couldn't let you believe he did it on purpose, he had a reason. One that he was finally going to disclose after fighting battles until it was finally approved. "I was preoccupied with something else, I really am sorry," he apologized. "But I was going to reach out today."

Uncomfortably shrugging, you don't put too much thought into it. You didn't want him to assume you were upset, but you had a feeling he could sense it by how tense you were becoming.

"For what?"

He looked around before averting his eyes back to your own, grinning widely. "So I think there's a chance you'd be able to get your internship back."

Standing up straighter, you stared at him dumbfounded. What the hell was he talking about?

"How? They already terminated our useless contracts," you argue. "Why hassle making another one."

"Work for me," he ignores your sour tone, getting straight to the point.

This was why he didn't have time to communicate. Too busy trying to find ways to convince his own boss to keep you, it led to him being in a bad mood after failing each attempt.

He couldn't talk to you knowing his plan went wrong.

After the constant begging, whines, and even going out of his way to format a ridiculous petition as to why you should stay, which centers all interns because he didn't want to throw himself under the bus for you- the main producer eventually gave in.

"You want me to work for you here when you're leaving the country in a few weeks?" you narrow your eyes, confused as to how that was going to work out in the end.

"I was going to sneak you into my suitcase."

"What in the world are you rambling about?" you exhaled sharply.

Pedro grinned brightly as he held onto your shoulders again, "Come with us to Canada."

"No," you quickly answer, not even processing fully but you knew it could never happen.

There was no possible way you could ever go through with this. For one, you can't even leave the country. You parents were so strict they'll probably smuggle drugs in your luggage so you'll be gunned down and locked into the country.

Second, well there really isn't another reason- your parents were enough.

"Oh come on," he whined. "It'll be great! You'll gain so much experience like you've been wanting. Plus, you'd do more hands-on work with the film crew. Think of it as a student exchange program."

"That's literally not what a student exchange program is."

"Stop rejecting the idea. You go to school here, yeah? I assume you're taking classes online because you basically lived at the studio," he implied and you slowly nodded. "We can adjust your schedule to where you'd have time to work and focus on school."

Silently looking to the table nearby, you began digesting what he was going on about. It wasn't a bad idea, but it wasn't an easy one either. "My parents would never let me."

"Give me their number and I'll convince them," he persuades and you sway you head. You wanted to laugh in his face if he really believed he could make your parents agree.

"No," you fight back, watching him exhale loudly by how restrained you were being. "I k-"

"What would Matt Healy do?"

Immediately shutting your mouth, you freeze as he catches you off guard. He did not come to play and knew you well enough to use your weaknesses against you.

He knows Matt Healy would easily agree- that man was literally the devil's spawn.

And god, you just knew Matt would be disappointed in you if you didn't go.

Curse you and your infatuation over this short English man.

Luckily, your thoughts disappeared as you felt a tap on your arm. Looking up, you see Yoongi breathing heavily as Pedro eyes him, unsure if you knew him.

"There you are, I've been looking for you everywhere! My god the lecture your friend gave me about losing you-" he groaned, shivering. "-I was certain she was gonna file a police report."

Slowly averting his eyes to the older man beside you, Yoongi's face fills with curiosity. "Hey, aren't you that one guy from that Netflix show..." he stops, looking up as he tried hard remembering the name. "Narcos!"

Pedro's eyes shoot open as he tries to innocently stretch his body, purposely blocking your view of him, "No." Secretly waving his palm across his neck, he sends Yoongi daggers to keep quiet. Stiffly turning to you, he becomes flustered. "But don't watch that show."

Raising a brow, you decide to drop the random topic and focus your attention back to your friend until you heard another person shriek. The three of you searching to where it came from, you find Namjoon stumble between people, trying his hardest not to fall face first on the floor.

"A jiffy later and I'm back," Joon winks once he's released from the mass.

Pedro scrunches his face. "Jiffy?"

Joon breaks out into smiles once he notices who was with Yoongi and you. "Oh my gosh! What are you doing here? Did you miss us that much?"

"I don't think it was you he missed," Yoongi muttered, making Pedro send him a questionable glance and Joon tilt his head, not sure what he meant.

Wanting to leave this now weirder conversation, you step forward and grab onto Yoongi's shoulder. "Let's go, I wanna breathe." Turning your attention back to Pedro, he swiftly moved his eyes from your hand to your own. "Text me if you need anything else."

"Only you," he sends you a cheeky smile making you blush by how nice he was being. Yoongi glanced at the two of you, dazed as what you two were implying.

Staring at him, you waited for him to say his farewells first so everybody could leave already. Waiting for one, you never received anything but his quiet stance and gaze stuck on you.

It felt strange not feeling the strength to walk away- not even the strength but the need to go anymore as you couldn't take your eyes off him. It also wasn't only you as he couldn't help but bear comfort from the sight of you.

It felt like the both of you were interacting to each other in your minds.

"Are you having a staring contest?" Joon questioned, making your your consciousness come back to life as you looked back at him. Pedro's gaze weakened, but they were still on you as yours was unfortunately long forgotten.

"No," you laughed, now gripping onto Yoongi harder. "But seriously, let's get out of here. See you whenever, Pedro."

Watching as you stayed close to your guy friends in hopes of being secured through the populated room, he sighed to himself. He was sure your friends might confess their own intuitions to you and perceive him as a creep.

The sad part was he knew why your particular friend would have his suspicions. He never knew his age would have that much of an effect, but he never hung out with people that young before unless it was for a project.

Shaking these thoughts away from his head, he chuckled to himself. He shouldn't care about what other people thought, the two of you never engaged in anything but friendly encounters.

He just despised his gut feeling as if he was doing something wrong. People are making him feel this way, that was guaranteed.

But he feels awful how he keeps trying to find ways to see you, too embarrassed to think about the things he done just to see you for not even a minute.

He's just never had a friend like you before. It was nice.

"I can't believe he's offering us a job like that!" Jules exclaimed as Joon and you nodded. Yoongi lived in the opposite direction so he made his departure a few minutes ago as well as her friend. "I can't go."

Widening your eyes, you stared at her. "What? Why?"

She laughs before pointing at herself. "You think I'll be able to properly manage school and work in another country? I barely did that these last two months- I'll just be partying it up at hockey games eating gravy with fries."

"You mean poutine," Joon corrected.

"Same thing," she rolled her eyes. "All I'm saying is, being home made me realize how much I love sleeping. I would rather give that up when I graduate and actually have a real adult job."

She did have a point, she really enjoyed her naps.

"I'll consider it," Joon spoke up, putting his hands inside his hoodie as the three of you continued walking. "Doesn't sound too bad, it'll look good on resumes."

Smiling, you nodded. You weren't sure why you even dared to be happy about this when you were the one wanting nothing to do with the idea not even a half an hour ago.

You just knew your lord was giving you a disapproving glare from the clouds.

Within the next 20 minutes, Joon went his separate way home as Jules and you arrived in front of your shared apartment. Rushing to the bathroom, your roommate excused herself for the next hour for her 'needed' relaxation.

In other words, a bubble bath.

Turning on the tv, you sat down on the couch swiping through boring news channels until you decided to switch to Netflix. You still had to make time for Evan Peters before the night ended.

Clicking on the current season you were on, Freak Show, you began thinking about how massive Evan Peter's hands were. How can his girlfriends survive.

The thought freaked you out, this really was a freak show.

Soon, the next episode began featuring Twisty the clown more and you were terrified by how huge he was. He could crush you with a flick of his fingers.

Knocks on your door alarmed you, making you slightly jump and look towards the bathroom. Your roommate's music was softly playing in the background meaning she probably couldn't hear the blows on the door.

Slowly standing up, you grab the bat you keep near the door, in case someone tries viciously murdering you in your doorway, and go on your tiptoes to see what kind of stranger needed to pay a visit in the middle of the night.

Well, it wasn't even 7 o'clock in the evening yet but you get the point.

Gasping at the sight presented through your little peep hole, you promptly unlock the handles before extending the large door wide. "And why exactly are you here? Miss me that much?" you tease.

Not receiving an answer, you scoff. "Are you really giving me the silent treatment? You're hurting my feelings."

When he didn't react to that either, you felt your face drop. Slowly striding towards him, you notice his head was low as he stared at his shoes. Placing your right palm softly on his left shoulder, you felt him glance up.

Did something happen during your short time apart? Was he in trouble?

Knowing it was really you in front of him, Pedro lunged his body onto yours before you could stop and think about what was happening. Colliding his lips upon yours, you felt your thoughts drift away as he steadily moved forward and made his way inside your warm apartment.

Stopping to swiftly shut the door, you had no time to take in a full breathe before his mouth found yours again. Clutching the back of his head, probably pulling his hair out, you groan as his nails claw your exposed waist, your shirt slowly inching up more and more as the seconds went up. Slipping his tongue inside you, you felt the way his nose hit yours as dominance took over.

He wanted to control all of you.

It wasn't until your legs began wobbling from the long standing when his hands lost your waist, instantly making contact with the back of your thighs, squeezing them, soon allowing them to suffocate his sides. Following his lead, you pull your lips back before diving them to the corner of his jaw as he groaned, walking to god knows where.

You figured out where once you shrieked as your back made contact with your couch, his palms widening your legs in a hurry before situating himself on top of you. Surprisingly, the difference of weight wasn't an issue as he clinged harder against you, moving his hand behind your neck to pull it down, making sure to make you feel the pain of the slight hair tugging.

"What are y-" you softly choke, voice coming out in whimpers as he ignored you. Latching his lips to the top of your chin, he stuck his tongue out, dragging it gradually down your neck as your back arched, needing to feel closer to him if that was even possible. Your wish was his command as he hastily pressed himself against you, making you groan in surprise.

Making his way lower, he passes your neck down to your chest while his hands found their to your collarbone, smoothly rubbing the area up and down before clutching onto it harshly as he continue down his path. Something about the way his soft fingertips applying pressure near your neck as his lips kept kissing the rest of your body had you in wonders. You couldn't believe this was happening.

It wasn't until you felt his mouth near your exposed waist that made you completely lose it. You had long forgotten that Jules was in the room next door when you gasped, feeling his teeth swipe against your skin. "Shhh," he whispered against your lips as a way to silence you. "Don't want to let your friend know I'm here now, do we?"

You could only stammer shaky sounds as he planted a few more deep kisses, slowly pulling away and feeling the wetness of both your mouths descend down. He gave you one last dark gaze before returning his mouth on yours, loving the feeling of the dampness between your faces.

His mouth opening wider, he began intensively tasting you, swiping his tongue around your lips as you tried to keep up with his eagerness. Not giving you much time to catch his pace, you could feel how wet he was making you.

No, he was literally drowning your face.

Pulling back, you squint your eyes and take a few seconds to adjust to the poor lighting in your living room. You were met with dark, green eyes.

Lady Gaga.

Shrieking, you grab the black, green-eyed demon on top of you and throw her off, causing her to let out a loud hiss with the immediate sounds of footsteps following afterwards.

"Lady Gaga!" you hear Jules squeal in her pink robe, wrapping the nauseating cat in her arms before turning to you, giving you a look of rage. "Did you throw her?!"

"She licked me!"

Jules scoffed harshly before hurling a nearby pillow at you, allowing it to hit your face in full force before stomping back to her door and violently slamming it shut.

You fucking hated that cat.

Laying back against the couch, you rubbed your red face in humiliation. Not only did you have an intense dream about Pedro but you're pretty sure you just had a full on make-out session with a cat.

Groaning, you couldn't believe what was happening to you. Why would you dream about him-

No- why would you have one doing not so child friendly activities?!

You just know you'll never be able to face him with a straight face, too embarrassed to even be near him now without thinking about this moment.

It wasn't even like you thought about him in that way- you didn't.

Maybe your time of the month was approaching or you were in desperate need of a date because there's no way any normal human being would fantasize over some older man that way.

Okay, maybe it was possible.

But that was definitely not you...even though you just did. Although, you did see the comparison between him and Lady Gaga.

They looked kind of alike- right? Same whiskers.

One thing that was certain was you were never going to tell anybody about this. If people believed for one second you had feelings for him, which you don't, you'll never hear the end of it.

He was not your type nor close to your age. It would never happen.

Sighing, you close your eyes and silently send out a prayer to not engage in another session with the demonic cat. Maybe sleep will make you think clearly once awoken and abolish all these wild concepts floating through your head.

But once you were actually awoken, your mind still wasn't clear- or maybe it was because the pounding on your door ultimately pulled you from your slumber.

Stretching your arms, you scratch the top of your head as you try to open your eyes but it was no use, you were way too tired to fully engage with anybody right now.

Completely avoiding looking through the peep hole, which was a red flag on your part, you swing the door open to find a man who looked like Pedro standing on the other side of it.

Groaning aloud, you slap yourself as he takes this by surprised, not sure why you just did that.

How are you having another dream about him? Was this the bad luck needed after scoring tickets to your favorite band? Is this some kind of sick revenge someone has against you?

Pointing at Lady Gaga, who was dressed up as Pedro, you rudely spit out the words needed to be said. "You are just a cat. Nothing happened between us."

With that, you step back inside, ignoring Lady Gaga's attempts of trying to gain your attention by waving their arms in front of you. Making your way to your room, you see Jules walk out of hers.

"Who was that at the door?" she questions, hearing another round of knocks appear.

You tiredly wave your hand in nonsense, denying that thought. "It was Lady Gaga, go back to bed."

Jules sends you a bewildered look as you enter your bedroom and face-plant on your cozy bed, allowing sleep to reel you back in. Turning her head, she looks at Lady Gaga who was sitting casually by her bedroom door.

"She is turning fucking nuts," she whispers to herself before swiftly opening the door to reveal a very confused Pedro. "What's up?"

Pedro's concerned face takes over his actions as he jumps to his eager questions. "Is y/n okay? She thought I was a cat."

Jules shrugs, rubbing her eyes with her palm. "Who knows, I think she's getting over her coffee hangover."

Pedro carefully nods, still skeptical as to what happened to you. What did you mean nothing happened between you two? Did something happen that he wasn't aware of?

Were you hiding something from him?

Gracelessly gesturing his leave, Pedro walked quickly down the hall as Jules stood there for a moment too tired to comprehend why he paid the apartment a visit this early in the morning. The sun was barely out, why did he come?

After shutting the door and taking a seat on the couch, she laid back and stared at the ceiling. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but for some reason a strange intellect emerged out of nowhere.

She shrugged it off, instantaneously knocking out, too exhausted to conquer her suspicions.

taglist: @thesapphirequeen @floralsightings @wrathofcats

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #tlou #tlou joel #pascalispunk #joel miller x reader #the last of us #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal fluff #pedropascaledit #fanfiction

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whitedarkmoonflower · 11 months

Text

Saved

Part 1 – Sihtric x reader

Authors note: while rewatching the Season 2 of TLK and going wild with exploring my newly acquired skill of taking and editing screenshots I became obsessed with the idea of writing my own version of how Sihtric met Uhtred. Please bear with me as I'm working on learning to concentrate on the essentials and leave out unnecessary details, but I also believe that small details can make the characters more vivid.

Summary: reader is Uhtred’s sister and a skilled healer. She travels with her brother’s men and after the unsuccessful attempt on Uhtred’s life gets curious about the young prisoner, the sole Dane from the group of assailants that is left alive.

Warnings: violence and mention of blood

Word Count: 1,129

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Sihtric found you sitting in your favourite spot near the lake, beneath the shade of the ancient oak tree whose sprawling branches provided protection from the scorching sun. He hesitated for a moment, gathering his courage, before taking a seat beside you. In your presence, he still retained an endearing shyness, as if uncertain of how to navigate the depths of his feelings. Sihtric stole glances in your direction, admiring your strength and beauty. His mind raced with the desire to strike up a conversation, but he couldn't find the right words. Finally, he mustered the courage to speak.

"I just wanted to thank you for saving me," Sihtric said, his expression serious as he turned to you.

"Saving you? What did I save you from?" you asked, puzzled.

"From feeling miserable, unwanted, and like I didn't belong anywhere," Sihtric replied, glancing into your eyes for a moment before lowering his gaze, his fingers fidgeting with the Thor's hammer amulet hanging around his neck. Nervousness radiated from him, mingled with a charming blend of insecurity and shyness that made a smile curl on your lips.

"You had every reason to hate me for attempting to kill your brother, but you never did. Instead you showed me kindness that I never truly deserved," Sihtric continued.

He had changed so much since the day you first met. You could still recall that evening as vividly as if it were yesterday, when Kjartan's men had tried to take Uhtred's life. They might have succeeded if not for Halig, who noticed the suspicious absence of the newly arrived Danes and urged the others to search for them. You had been on the verge of sleep after a long and busy day. Being a healer in a warrior's camp meant there was always an abundance of injuries to tend to, even without a battle. Men would hurt themselves during sword training, get kicked by horses, or foolishly engage in fights over trivial matters. Today, you had to fix a dislocated shoulder all because of an argument about the best whore at the White Goose tavern in Lundene. The shouts and clash of swords roused you from your slumber, causing you to hastily dress and rush out of your tent. Expecting yet another drunken brawl, you sought to find Uhtred and put an end to it. However, by the time you arrived, the fighting was already over. You approached the gathering of men, only to discover five lifeless Danes being dragged away from the lawn behind the stables.

"Uhtred!" you called out, fear lacing your voice as you saw him leaning against a stable pillar, breathing heavily. "Are you hurt?"

"All is fine. Don't worry, little sis. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for our Danish guests, but don't fret, they won't be needing your attention," Uhtred grinned, attempting to lighten the atmosphere as he noticed your concerned expression.

"Let me check on you," you insisted, pulling him closer to the torchlight so you could assess his injuries. At first glance, there were some bruises and a swollen eye, but no apparent serious damage. His movements lacked any signs of pain or hesitation, indicating that he likely didn't have any broken ribs. Still, you were reluctant to let him go, but Uhtred firmly took hold of your hands, kissing your palms, and with a determined voice, called out to the men dealing with the corpses behind you: "Secure the prisoner. I'll need answers from him later."

"I'm fine, sis. Truly, I am. Please don't worry," he reassured you, turning to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead. Apart from Ragnar, Uhtred's Danish brother, the two of you were all that remained of your family, and the bond between you had always been remarkably strong. You loved this proud, stubborn, and courageous young man, and he cared deeply for you.

Reluctantly, you turned your head to catch a glimpse of the young, bruised Dane, his hands awkwardly tied before him as Clapa dragged him away. The Dane was in a pitiful state, with fresh cuts and scrapes covering his arms, a split eyebrow, and a bleeding lip and nose. Anxiety radiated from his tense body. In a fleeting moment, his eyes met yours, and you detected a flicker of despair within them. It struck you how young and handsome he appeared, despite his current circumstances.

Uhtred's men returned to their respective fireplaces, the evening just beginning. You knew all too well that this minor incident wouldn't deter them from their usual activities of drinking, gambling, and arguing about the “best whores”, as they did almost every night. You had no desire to be part of that. Tomorrow, there would be more dislocated shoulders and broken fingers to tend to, and since Uhtred seemed fine you eagerly longed to return to your tent and go back to sleep.

As you made your way past an empty wagon, you noticed Clapa and Halig engaged in what seemed like an argument. Initially, you hesitated to involve yourself, suspecting it was another petty quarrel you didn't want to be dragged into. However, as you attempted to quietly pass by, your eyes caught sight of the silhouette seated by the wagon. It was the young prisoner, the sole Dane who had survived today's assault on Uhtred's life. His gaze, as he was being dragged away from the small battlefield by Clapa, his hands bound and his face smeared with blood, lingered in your memory. An unexplainable feeling stirred within you, prompting a change of heart, and you headed straight for Clapa and Halig.

“What are you two arguing about? Aren't you supposed to be guarding the prisoner?" you asked with frustration evident in your voice.

"We are, lady!" Clapa replied defensively. "Uhtred ordered us to decapitate the corpses, but Halig lacks the courage to do it."

“That's not true, lady!" Halig interjected hastily. "I just needed a drink first. You can't deny a man a drink, especially one who's tasked with severing heads from still-warm bodies. Besides, it's better to do it later when the blood has thickened. And there's no need for two men to guard a securely tied-up prisoner”

"Alright, enough quarrelling, lads. Halig, go and fetch your drink, and Clapa, get yourself an axe or do you plan on using your eating knife? I'll keep an eye on the prisoner," you ordered firmly. As Uhtred's sister and a skilled healer, you were accustomed to giving orders, and his men knew better than to argue with you. Both departed without hesitation, not bothering to question your decision, although it must have seemed peculiar to them that you wished to remain alone with the prisoner. Turning your gaze towards him, you approached cautiously, maintaining a safe distance just in case.

“Are you hurt?" you inquired, observing the Dane who sat beside the wagon, his back resting against the wheel. He raised his head, confusion, and distress evident in his eyes. He didn't respond just shook his head.

“Your lip and nose have been bleeding quite profusely. Wait here, I'll fetch my bag," you said with a chuckle. "How foolish of me, as if he had much choice in the matter," you thought to yourself while making your way to your tent to retrieve your medical supplies. You always kept a bag prepared, stocked with clean rags, salves, potions, and other necessities, ensuring you wouldn't waste time searching when urgently needed.

Returning with your bag and a piece of bread in hand, you offered it to the prisoner, but he made no move to accept. Leaning his head back against the wagon wheel, he closed his eyes. Shrugging your shoulders, you placed the bread back in your bag and instead took out some clean rags and a leather flask filled with water. The Dane opened his eyes, watching your every move. Kneeling before him, you dampened the rags and reached out your hand to cleanse his face. Startled, he instinctively flinched and jerked his head back, accidentally striking it against the wheel, eliciting a groan of pain.

"Hey, stay still. I only want to clean your face," you said, perplexed by his sudden reaction. His whole body tensed as you gently touched his forehead and continued to clean his bruised cheekbones.

"The brow will require stitches," you informed him.

“Why are you doing this?" the Dane spoke, his voice husky but soft. "I am a dead man. Why would you bother stitching my brow if your husband will later torture me for information and then kill me anyway.”

Tilting your head to the side, you continued to wipe away the blood from his face, now focusing on his busted lip and chin.

“I don't have a husband. I have a brother whom you sought to kill tonight," you said, finished with cleaning his face you observed his features intently. "And if there's one thing I know for certain about my brother, it's that he has never tortured anyone, nor will he ever," you couldn't help but think about how handsome this young man was and you felt a pang of sympathy for his unfortunate circumstances. He believed his fate was sealed and had resigned himself to it. His gaze remained fixed on the ground, as if he dared not meet your eyes.

“I didn't want to kill him. I just did not have much choice about it," the Dane's voice remained calm, resolute, and tinged with sincerity. "I only wish Lord Uhtred would grant me the honour of dying as a warrior, sword in hand. And I would willingly share everything I know with him.”

“Not that I fear the pain," he hastily added, "I simply owe no allegiance to Kjartan.”

Unexplainably, you found yourself believing this man. Every word he spoke carried weight, and you suddenly felt deeply sorry for him.

“You are very kind to me, lady," the Dane continued, his voice filled with a sense of shame for being here, for being a part of what had happened. "I don't deserve your attention, but I am immensely grateful for it."

"What's your name?" you found yourself asking, driven by an inexplicable curiosity. It was as if fate had brought this unfortunate young warrior across your path, and a growing resolve began to take shape within you. You did not want to let him to the fate he thought inevitable.

“I am called Sihtric, lady,” the Dane answered with no hesitation. “Would you like to live?" you suddenly asked, as a seemingly absurd idea took hold in your mind.

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #arnas fedaravicius #the last kingdom #tlk #sihtric x reader #tlk fics #Sihtric fics #sihtric x you #violence

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captain-mj · 1 year

Note

I have an idea.

Werewolf 141, except Soap who is a Wulver. This does not get discovered until Soap starts leaving fish on Ghosts desk.

Listen... Listen... Wulvers are one of my favorite creatures (ignore that I have a ridiculous amount) and I fucking love this. Also wrote this super sleep deprived and I did not edit so good luck y'all

Ghost stared at the fish on his desk for a stupid amount of time.

Was this a prank? It was a weird prank. Maybe if he was a cat shifter, it would make sense, but this was... odd. He didn't even get the joke.

Slowly, he knocked the fish into the trashcan.

Alright, just gonna... ignore that.

He grabbed the paperwork and went back to work as normal.

The next time, Price was with him. They both just stared at the fish.

"Why is there a fresh caught carp on your desk?"

"I don't know." Ghost was now angry. It was annoying, gross and made the room smell awful. He didn't fucking like fish normally, why the fuck would he want it RAW and WET on his desk. "Do you want it?"

Price grabbed it immediately. "Yeah. I'll give it to the cooks or something... Who did you piss off?"

"A dead man." Ghost growled. Whoever was doing this was going to keep a chunk taken out of them. Maybe lose a leg too. He staked out in his office for a while but caught nothing.

Ghost didn't bring it up to anyone else just yet. The culprit might get skittish and stop.

Instead, Ghost shifted and sat under his desk one day. He was a large wolf, but he had made sure he could fit under his desk when he got it. At the time, it had been for if he wanted to take a break from paperwork, not hide out in an attempt to catch a criminal. His insomnia would keep him up forever anyway.

When he woke up to a fish, now placed right in front of his nose, he almost went ballistic.

The nerve.

The audacity.

How had they managed to not wake him up? He woke up at everything! A FNG sneezed on the other side of the base and he woke up!!

Soap noticed something was wrong. "You alright, Lt?"

"I'm fucking fine." He snapped, narrowing his eyes at Soap.

Soap winced. "Aye..." Ghost shoved down the feeling he got from that. He didn't have time to feel bad!

"Have you seen anyone acting weird lately?"

"How so sir?"

"Coming in with wet hands. Going near where my office is. Lingering."

Soap looked confused. "No. I can't say I have. What's going on?"

"Nothing." Ghost grabbed his tea and escaped into his new room. Luckily, there's no fish to deal with. His room is clear. Thank goodness.

His office... His safe space... No longer safe...

Okay, a touch dramatic there. Ghost drank his tea and told himself that he needed to focus on work, not his tiny mystery.

He woke up again. Head down on his desk. Tea cold. Was there a fucking gas leak? Since when did he sleep so much?

Soap was there.

With a trout.

"You motherfucker." Ghost threw himself over the desk, watching Soap jump back and start sprinting down the halls. He chased after him. Soap tried to shift to get away, but that was ineffective. Ghost slammed into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground before he got his arm around his throat.

"I don't care if you look like a mutt, I'll still kick your ass. Now shift back and explain yourself."

Soap did not shift back, instead wiggling to try to get away. Ghost tightened his grip until Soap stopped fighting him. He slowly shifted back, clearly embarrased.

"Hey, Lt. Fancy seeing you here."

"Why? Just why?"

"So... ya see... I am not a werewolf."

"You turned into a wolf, did you fucking not?"

"Actually.... I am a wulver."

"A wulver?"

"I uh... bring people fish."

"Why me?? Why did you bring me fish??" Ghost sounded accusatory.

Soap stuttered.

"Don't wulvers do that for people who are poor? Or can't feed themselves?"

Soap looked panicked.

"Fuck you."

"I'm sorry!" Soap yelped. "I don't know. i just wanted to... do something for you."

Ghost glared but dropped him. "Don't do it again."

Soap shakily gave him a thumbs up.

"I like mugs. Give me those next time."

"Yes, sir."

#cod #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #soap call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #simon riley

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ardafanonarch · 3 months

Note

Does canon indicate who is older: Elros or Elrond?

Birth Order of Elrond and Elros and Elrond

Good question. My instinct on this was no, canon does not indicate who is older, and indeed further research turned up nothing definitive. (If anyone has evidence to the contrary, please share it!) However, I uncovered a decent hint that Tolkien imagined Elros the elder.

[ETA: Please see this reblog for a revised answer that confirms the Elros theory!]

The fact that they are twins at all is not even in the published Silmarillion or The Lord of the Rings, which introduce them thus:

Bright Eärendil was then lord of the people that dwelt nigh to Sirion’s mouths; and he took to wife Elwing the fair, and she bore to him Elrond and Elros, who are called the Half-elven. The Silmarillion, ‘Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath’ The sons of Eärendil were Elros and Elrond, the Peredhil or Half-elven. The Lord of the Rings, Appendix A

Here, the order in which their names appear does not help us as we get both options.

It’s important to note here that Elros did not even exist from the conception of the mythology of Middle-earth. Elrond son of ‘Eärendel’ does not appear in any of the Lost Tales, but he does show up in the 1926 Sketch of the Mythology, the ‘Earliest’ Silmarillion (one day I’ll make post summarising all these texts, but in the meantime Table 2 at the end of this bio has a lot of them!). Elros does not join him until the next version of the Silmarillion,* the 1930 Quenta Noldorinwa. Here he is added in revisions to the text. In those revisions, his name comes first (‘Elros and Elrond’).

(*When I do not italicise Silmarillion, I am referring to the whole corpus of drafts. Italicised means the published book edited by Christopher Tolkien.)

The same sort of revision is made to Annal 325 of The Later Annals of Beleriand (referred to as AB 2 and written between 1930 and 1937). Christopher Tolkien notes that his father pencilled a note to change the original passage (which only mentions Elrond) to:

The Peringiul, the Half-elven, were born to Elwing wife of Eärendel, while Eärendel was at sea, the twin brethren Elrond and Elros. The History of Middle-earth Vol. 5: The Lost Road, The Later Annals of Beleriand, Commentary on Annal 325.

Important! Christopher then notes, “The order was then inverted to ‘Elros and Elrond’.”

Note that the 1930 Quenta Noldorinwa is the main source for most of the last chapter of the published Silmarillion because Tolkien did not return to a full narrative of this section of the Silmarillion again. However, they are mentioned in the briefly sketched Tale of Years (1951-52), where it is again stated that they were twins and again they appear as ‘Elros and Elrond’.

[Added entry:] 528 [> 532] Elros and Elrond twin sons of Earendil born.* The History of Middle-earth Vol. 11: The War of the Jewels, Tale of Years, Text ‘C’

*[> 532] means this entry was revised to 532, the date you will find in the timeline on Tolkien Gateway (which defaults to the ‘most recent’ revision). Note that The Tale of Years (the published portion of which only covers the 6th century of the First Age) is actually four consecutive drafts: dates are revised and the entries become increasingly detailed, but each draft ends earlier than the last (e.g. Text A goes to FA 600, Text D ends at FA 527). Most of the timelines you find online attempt to consolidate all four drafts — but worth bearing in mind that Tolkien never finalised these dates.

Finally: upon investigating the source text for that one instance, from the published Silmarillion, of Elrond appearing before Elros, I discovered that this was actually an editorial decision. Tolkien himself, as far as I could find, always listed Elros before Elrond.

Now, this is not, as I said, definitive evidence that Elros tumbled out of the womb first. But I’d say it suggests that Elros was the elder, since I can think of no other reason to consistently list them in this order (it’s not alphabetical, for example). And this, indeed, seems to be the fandom’s general consensus.

But, strictly based on canon, you are free to put them in either order. In fact, if you are someone who only takes the published Silmarillion as canon, you don’t even have to make them twins.

#elrond #elros #lotr appendices #the sketch of the mythology #quenta noldorinwa #the tale of years #history of middle-earth #anon

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luna-andra · 8 months

Text

Late Night Hotline | Sub!Konig x Reader | Part 2

Summary: Konig finds himself getting off to his Lieutenant's voice over the phone, and he can't get enough of her as he goes back for more.

C/W: 18+ MDNI, SMUT HEAVY, cunnilingus, fingering, collared sub, willing sub, praises, degradation, multiple orgasms, over stimulation, orgasm denial

Word Count: ~4k

A/N: I threw out the first attempt of me writing this part so I'm so sorry it took longer than I anticipated. I'm so much happier with this final edit, and I hope you are too! Gotta keep y'all fed <3

Enjoy~

Part 1

It didn’t matter what inflection or tone her voice carried; he could hear another version of her in the recesses of his mind. Moaning his name, whispering things that bounced back and forth from sweet praises to filthy degradation. It was at the most inconvenient moments, when she was presenting her reports during the current briefing, for example. When she was focused and neutral, paying no mind to how he undressed her with his eyes. If anything, she was better behaved than he was. At least from what he could see on the outside.

Then he discovered what went on behind her practiced persona. More like what she premeditated to transpire. His phone vibrated in his pocket, alerting him to a text message from Tempest.

Enjoying the view while you sit back there, trying to conceal your raging hard-on?

His eyes snapped back up, wide as saucers. They shifted cautiously, checking to make sure no one had seen him. Everyone else was too focused on Tempest, some of them looking too hard at her. It would warrant a cold glare from Konig if he wasn’t shocked by her message. Did she set them to send before the meeting started? He recalled her tapping away on the screen, the phone sitting in her lap while she waited for everyone to file in. And right now, she was still deep in her report, her phone tucked away in her back pocket of her ACU bottoms. Her face didn’t give away a hint of awareness that Konig received the first message. A deadly poker face, it almost scared him as much as it kept him aroused.

Another vibration from his phone. He shifted nervously, preparing him for what was gonna pop up on the screen.

Wonder if you could sit still after seeing this…

A second message popped up shortly after, a file downloading. Scheiße…

The file was an image, her blackout silhouette posing in a doorway. Emanating a deep red glow of her surroundings. There was no way she was wearing any clothes in that boudoir-style picture. Konig could see the peaks and valleys of her entire figure. The pose did miracles for her silhouette, accentuating her perfection. She was leaning against the threshold with her back bowed, a lone foot providing support against the same surface, and a hand brushing back her wild, undone hair.

He had to shove the phone back in his pocket immediately. His lower lip was going to be a victim to the sharp bite of his teeth, definitely bruised and on the brink of breaking skin. It was all he could do to hold back any and every reaction those photos roiled within him. It was also the first time Tempest had ever sent risqué photos to him.

That little minx… she had him struggling to adjust without drawing attention to himself. Fuck, the seam of his pants was ready to tear against the strain of his cock beneath. He was aware that even soft he had a noticeable outline in some of his pants. And unfortunately for him, he chose the wrong pair today. He just hoped that his leak didn’t stain past his boxers.

“You alright?” A whisper came from Horangi. “You looked pissed.”

Konig glanced at him with a side eye, thankful that he’s unable to see anything else but the intensity in his azure eyes. “Ja, fine.” His answer contrasted the short, gruff tone in his voice. Horangi gave him one last questioning glance before he dropped it.

Tempest must have heard the two of them conversing. Her sharp eyes flicked to the back of the room, immediately locking onto Konig. It interrupted nothing she was presenting, just a fleeting moment of attention that made his cock twitch. If he didn’t get himself under control, he was gonna go insane.

“What of the weapons cache that was confiscated from the warehouse?” Ghost’s interruption jerked Konig back to reality like a cold splash of water.

Tempest shifted her stance to the other leg. Konig swore the room dropped a few degrees in between the pause she took to answer. “Accounted for, Lieutenant. It was my next topic of discussion.”

“Could’ve brought it up sooner, eh?”

The twitch in her eyebrow disagreed with him strongly, maliciously. Their stand-offish aggression towards each other started not even ten minutes after Task Force 141 arrived to conduct a joint effort mission. Ironically enough, it was Tempest that conducted the eleventh-hour meeting with KorTac to announce their temporary stay. Konig recalled her words being:

For the next month, Task Force 141 will be roaming on our base. I will only say this once, no fighting. 141 will be treated as respected guests, these halls will be their home while they are here. No fighting. No. Fucking. Fighting!

141 arrived, Ghost and Tempest were immediately on rocky terms when he made the choice to disregard her presence and careful welcome.

For the sake of maintaining professionalism and taking the high ground, Tempest took the retort, a relieving surprise for everyone else in the briefing room, letting it roll off her tense shoulder. “You’re right, Ghost.”

It was like everyone released the breath they were holding simultaneously. The volatile hostility had distracted Konig from his uncomfortable situation. He eased back into his chair, listening to Tempest close out the report. Konig had a big issue with Ghost. If there was an opportunity to put him in his place, Konig would seize it like a prisoner of war. The unhinged, sadistic part of him that comes out on the field whispers ways it could be done, leaving him for the wolves to feed on Ghost’s incapacitated body as he brings Tempest a trophy, that stupid skull mask, as a gesture of his devotion. He was stable enough to control his bloodlust, but there just may be a moment when they cross paths, and only one might come back alive.

Once dismissal was given by Konig, everyone filed out of the briefing room. He lingered behind to wait for Tempest to gather her paperwork, shuffling it into the leather portfolio. She wiped her face with one hand, an attempt to diffuse the anger Ghost had stirred up.

“I’m gonna snap, Colonel.” Tempest gritted between her teeth. “He’s insufferable.”

Konig leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “You kept it together, schatzi. I thought you were going to bite his head off right then and there.” The feeling was mutual.

Tempest scoffed, a smirk growing on her face. “And what message would that send to everyone else after saying ‘no fighting’?” She tucked the portfolio under her arm and faced Konig. Rather than making room for Tempest to walk pass, Konig straightened up, his chin dipping to look at her more directly. He could see the shift in her eyes from irritation to confusion.

“Speaking of messages, you want to explain yourself?” Konig was asking as her Colonel, at least his voice reflected that. In reality, he was a few more heartbeats away from folding to her all over again.

Clarity cleared up the puzzling glint in her gaze, and her voice lowered to a level that made his legs turn to lead. “You really want to talk about that right here, right now? We can talk about how I can have you so fucking strung out, leaving you pent up without release for a whole fucking week, huh?”

To anyone passing by the briefing room, Tempest looked like a subordinate expressing her grievances that could be connected to Ghost’s temperament and lack of respect. Not a single trace of the debauchery she was making out of Konig. Her resolve was crafted - no, stronger than carbon fiber, her words sinking deep into his bloodstream like venom.

Her eyebrows raised after a pause passed when she didn’t get an answer from him. “At a loss for words, Colonel?” The added bite to his rank could rip through his jugular. “I left something on your desk. Maybe when you see it we can discuss this further.” The faintest smirk passed her mouth, and she stormed her way past Konig to leave the room.

Konig let out the breath that was caught in his throat since she started talking. His fist slammed on the nearby table when his pants became uncomfortably tight again.

----

The door clicked behind him as the sight of a black gift box greeted him, sitting perfectly on top of scattered files and loose papers across his desk. It was wider in dimension than its height, no larger than what could be a personal box of chocolates. After rounding the desk, Konig took a seat in his leather chair. He lifted the lid and set it aside, revealing a second box, but this one had a soft, velvet surface. Jewelry? No.

His deft fingers opened the top, its hinges giving some resistance. Inside sat a sleek, black collar with a metal ring adorned front and center, sitting on a bed of dark, red satin. Mein Gott… Konig’s eyes bugged, his fingers whispered against the high-quality leather. In the center of the collar was nestled a small card with scripted words, reading “If it goes on, there’s no turning back ♥” Konig was well aware of what this meant for him. Put the collar on, and he was hers.

He already declared himself to be hers after the second time, the sober time they had phone sex, but this would be the physical affirmation that would seal the deal. If it weren’t for the fact that he wore the makeshift sniper hood, concealing both face and neck, he wouldn’t have even bothered taking the collar out of its pretty display case. She must have taken that into consideration when she picked it out. It was extremely arousing, the idea of having this dirty little secret with a physical memento. Going completely undetected. They could be amongst all of KorTac, and only two people would be aware of the collar’s presence.

The metal ring made a soft clink against its hardware as he pulled it from the satin bed, and he lifted the hood enough to bring the collar around his neck. Why did it fit so perfectly? How did she get the dimensions down so well? It fit snug, pressed flush against the column of his throat. It would take some time getting used to, he’s never worn something of the sort. The fabric of the sniper hood fell over it, and Konig tucked away the box in one of the drawers of his desk. The inner lining of the leather was soft and when it rubbed against him, he let out a soft sigh. I’m hers…

“I’ll take it you got my gift.”

Konig’s attention shot up to his unexpected visitor across the room, he didn’t even hear the sound of the door opening and closing. Tempest. He went mouse silent. Her small boots thumped against the floor as she stepped forward to the front of his desk, leaning into it. Her face was still serious like the last time she saw her a few hours ago. Without answering, he flipped up one side of his hood to reveal the hardware hugging his neck. There was a glimmer in her dark eyes, like a furnace was turned on and was stoked with every piece of coal you could find.

She finally smiled, wide and proud of his decision. “It looks so nice around that pretty neck…” her fingers traced along the edge of the cheap oak desk, and she made her way around. Konig’s chair swiveled to face her when she stopped in front of him, his heart already racing, and his breath labored. She knows exactly what that lethal inflection does to him, using it like the weapon that will be his demise. With Konig seated, he was at eye-level with Tempest, giving her access to use a hand to trail up his chest. The ghost of her touch had his body shuddering, he was ready to let out a throaty whine. He’s been so fucking touch-starved, it was enough to bring to life the entire network of his nerve endings. Her hand reached beneath Konig’s hood, looping a finger through the metal ring. “Perfect for me to just…” she gave a hard tug, and his body jerked towards her. Tempest leaned in, giving herself leverage on the armrest with her other hand. Her lips pressed close to his burning ear. “You like being my pet so much that you’ll wear that pretty little collar?”

Words disintegrated on his tongue, but when all he managed to do was nod, her demanding grip on his face pulled him out of his stupor. “Yes, my liebling.” He was crumbling to her will faster now that this was all happening face-to-face rather than over the phone. Her touch was flames licking at his stubbled jaw. Konig took a second to close his eyes shut only to look back at her with his baby blue stare.

“Look at those sweet puppy dog eyes.” Tempest cooed sardonically. “Already this hard just from my hand holding your face?” Her eyes darted down to look at the front of his pants at the tent he was pitching. She added to the stimulation with her thumb brushing over his stubble. “I’m gonna put that strong jaw to use.” Tempest released her hold on him and scooted in the space between Konig’s desk and chair. He paid close attention to her movements, following her again with a squeak of his chair turning.

Konig couldn’t pry his eyes away from Tempest if he wanted to. He watched her hoist herself up onto the edge of the desk, wiggling her hips to make herself comfortable in the space free of paperwork clutter. Apprehension and panic made his heart race when he noticed Tempest reaching to undo her belt, connecting the pieces of what she alluded to. “Right here?” A quick glance at the door to his office signified that she locked the door when she first came in. Still, the possibility of someone coming looking for Konig had him on edge. But wholly fuck, it was erotic.

“You wanted to talk about my messages so badly earlier, and I’m gonna give you a chance to tell me what went through your head.” The fly of her pants was already down, and her lithe fingers slipped into the waistband of her pants to sit there.

Tempest was interrupted by Konig reaching down for her foot. “Here, engel.” He lifted one foot to rest on his knee, unlacing her boots with care to slip it off and set it to the side. His massive hands did the same as the other while Konig peeked up to her face, gauging her reaction. Konig thirsted for the slightest bit of delight from his domme. Her onyx eyes burned into him like a cigarette bud singing his skin, impatiently waiting for him to get on with it.

“I couldn’t chance another second of looking at that body of yours,” Konig muttered. “I didn’t want to know what it was like to come without touching myself.”

Hearing this brought her cruel pleasure, twisting that wicked smile wider. “It might just happen for you, sir.” Her hands began to shove off her bottoms, underwear and all. Konig assisted her, the act itself feeling extremely intimate. He did it mostly to avoid making direct eye contact with the thing he desired most right now. To avoid jeopardizing his chances of having any release from all of this. Tempest closed her legs off by crossing one over the other. “Keep talking.”

Konig bit down on his lip as he could see a tuft of groomed hair at the apex of her thighs. “My thoughts paled in comparison to seeing the real deal,” his German accent thickened as he went on. “Could see the outline of your nipples… the shape of your bare ass.” All thoughts ceased when her legs parted, the display of her glistening pussy left him open-mouthed. Paled in fucking comparison was the understatement of the year. His hips bucked once in his chair, hands gripping on the armrests so hard the leather groaned in his strong hold. Someone would have to stab his eyes out to make him look away from that beauty-

“Eyes up here.”

He let out a pained whine, willing himself to make eye contact with her. Fuck, he could already smell her from where he sat, it brought him to the brink of drooling like a wild animal. “Let me taste you, mein hase. Please, I need to have you.”

“Already this needy, after all the waiting you’ve done. Going the past couple of weeks with nothing but my voice and those looks you give me in the weight room? Don’t look at me like that, I know you look.” Tempest readied two of her fingers with a swipe in her mouth, not like she fucking needed it. Her greedy pussy swallowed up both digits as her strokes moved in and out of her at a languid speed. Her neck rolled back as she let out a soft sigh, the small part in her lips going very noticed by Konig as he coded every look, every sound and scent into his very soul.

“I do, I have watched you.” Konig confessed. “I’ll make you feel good, liebe. Please, I need you.” It was taking everything to not lunge at her and claim that pretty cunt with his tongue, his fingers, anything she desired.

Her fingers left her pussy neglected, poor thing. Konig caught the sheen of her arousal coating her fingers, webbing between her fingers when she spread them just enough. Instead of offering it up to him, she sucked on her own fingers, eyes rolling back in her skull. This was pure torture at this point. His cock was strangled in his pants, and he wasn’t about to touch himself when he was so close to having what he needed. Her fingers left her mouth with a gentle smack as she shifted her hips a little more forward. “Finish the job.”

Tempest couldn’t finish her command without Konig lurching forward like a starved predator. He lifted his hood just enough for his mouth to latch onto his target while his rough, calloused hands reached underneath her to cup her perfect ass. The tug had a sharp gasp coming from her when he pulled Tempest closer to him, her hips hanging off the ledge with the assist of Konig holding her in place. One of her legs fell limp to the side, so he pulled a hand away from her just to toss that lazy leg over his shoulder, giving her better leverage.

His growl was primal, almost demonic. Vibrating against her sex. Konig swiped his tongue from the bottom of her entrance, all the way up just below her clit. Tempest choked back a moan, clenching it tight in her throat to keep it from echoing in the room. The sound coming from Konig was a warning for her to give him every cry and moan, he wanted to hear it all the same way she ordered him so many times before. When she tilted her head down to meet his feral stare, the half-lidded, eyebrow furrowed expression she gave him had the cum shooting up his shaft dangerously quick.

Konig had to close his eyes and breathe to calm himself down as his tongue continued exploring her divine taste. He was drunk on it all, the taste, the way her body twitched and squirmed at every flick of his tongue, the privilege of pleasing his domme, the look she had just given him. What he would give to make her stay like this, splayed out on his desk for him to take.

After teasing her with a few laps up and down her slit, he moved on to circle his tongue on the neglected bundle of nerves, rolling it between his lips with a nibble. It made her squeal, something Konig had never heard from her. “Fuck, wait…” now she was the babbling mess at his mercy. “Too good~” Her small hand gripped onto the back of his head, scrunching up the fabric of his mask.

He wasn’t stopping now, not after the teasing she has been doing to him all this time. Konig wanted her trembling, quaking on his tongue. To show her what she’s been holding out on, make her regret it. To melt any and all thoughts floating around in that pretty head, his name being the only thing she will remember. “Too much for you to handle, pretty baby?”

“Shut up, almost there.” Tempest mewled as her hips started rutting into his assault on her clit. Konig didn’t need a warning of her impending climax, he could hear it in the crescendo of her moans. His hair was now tangled beneath the stranglehold she had on him. The sound of his name falling from her lips endlessly was a whole entire music score dedicated just to him. He kept the pace strong and steady, fueled by the need to make her come undone.

And that came sooner than anticipated. Her thighs squeezed the sides of his head as she writhed and bucked against his face. She tried scooting away from him, but it gave him the angle to pin her hips down, freeing his hands to add to the mix. Cries and screams pierced the air, a cacophony of stuttering breaths and whimpers of overstimulation. His tongue may have eased up on its ministrations, but he kissed the overworked nerve, open mouthed and lazily. “Mein perle…” Konig whispered against her sex, as if speaking to her pussy rather than her. A single digit lined up with the entrance of her weeping cunt, she was more than ready to take his thick fingers. “One more, liebling. Give me one more.”

“Ohh…” Tempest’s back arched off the desk as Konig offered her his finger, her walls greedily sucking him in as she continued to pulsate from her first orgasm. “Konig...!” Oh, how he loved hearing her squeal his name.

“You can take it, for me.” It wasn’t an order; it was a plea to let him break her apart one more time. He wanted to be the only thing on her mind as she fell asleep tonight, his name falling from those perfect lips in the dead of her slumber. Because he sure as hell was going to be dreaming of the way her face contorts and twists in blissful agony as she begs for him to ease up on her swollen pussy.

She was already tensing up for another, Konig could feel it in the way her body responded to his finger curling against that spot. “That’s it, come for me.”

Tempest did just that, convulsing and sobbing through each shockwave that racked her body. Konig pulled his mouth and finger away, knowing she was sensitive as hell from what he just put her through. He slid a hand behind her lower back and neck, lifting her from the desk and onto his lap to straddle him. She continued to tremble through the high, her hot breath against his neck as her arms found their way around his torso.

Konig wanted to stay like this with her, forgetting everything else that happened outside his office. It didn’t matter. None of it. He rubbed her back as she started to settle down. “How was that schatz?”

A pleased hum was her response before she sat up to move his mask away to reveal his lips. “Need to taste.” She leaned in for a forceful kiss, her tongue slipping past his lips, groaning at the perfect mixture of his saliva and her arousal. As if she couldn’t get any hotter.

#call of duty #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig x reader #konig call of duty #sub konig #domme reader #cod mw2 #mw2 #konig fanfiction

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naughtyneganjdm · 4 months

Text

Naughty or Nice - Chapter 10

Summary: After a confrontation, Negan finally erupts on Hershel for the way he is with his daughters. Y/N opens up to Negan about what she discovered with Beau.

Characters: Negan, the reader (OC), Beau, Maggie, Hershel, etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51464518/chapters/133666453

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, smut, etc.

Notes: I'm working really hard to get this story done. I've written a lot of it and have most of it done, just have to edit it and put it up. Thanks to those that take the time to comment. You guys really make my day.

A soft rustling sound filled the air drawing Negan to lift his head up from the pillows. Amongst the darkness, he saw nothing. That was one thing about being in the attic, it sure did get dark at night. Faint footsteps were heard and it made him smile. Getting more comfortable in the bed, Negan pretended to be sleeping. After he left Y/N and Beau, Negan just came upstairs and let things cool down which took a while. With how long Y/N was being in returning to him, he was starting to think that she had forgotten about him, but with the bottom of the bed dipping he was happy that it seemed otherwise. A soft tug of the sheets was felt before they were being thrown up so she could crawl under them up the bed.

“What in the world are you doing?” Negan snickered feeling the warmth of hands caressing up and over his thighs toward his hips. Sucking on his bottom lip, Negan hummed and dropped his head back into the pillows. Huffing out, he felt fingers hooking into the waistband of his pajamas tugging on them along with his boxer briefs. “Oh, I see.”

Lifting his hips, Negan helped get the material down to the bottom of his waist and he swallowed down hard. It did only seem fair that since Y/N left him with a set of blue balls that she would come back and make up for it. An amused breath fell from his throat when he felt the warmth of breath over his manhood. The only thing he could see in the darkness was the movement under the blankets when faint kisses were being pressed over his hip, “Are you making up for earlier? You’ll have to do a good job because the blue balls are pretty bad.”

Hooking his arms behind his head, Negan stretched out his body and felt delicate fingers wrapping around the base of his cock giving his body small strokes. They were soft at first, working to get him hard and he hummed out. Pretty quickly the jerking motions got a little more aggressive and it made Negan grunt. This was a different choice of pace.

Closing his eyes, he felt the warmth of a mouth surrounding his semi erect cock and let out a long exhale. It was an attempt to get him fully hard and he knew that. It was vastly different than earlier, but the movements continued until she pulled her mouth away to stroke her fingers over his saliva covered length that was now rigid in her grasp.

“Come on,” Negan hissed, arching his hips upward toward her caress. This felt like another round of torturing him after what happened earlier. “If you want me coming down your throat, you have to do a whole lot better than that.”

Wincing, Negan felt the lips wrapping back around his body and he let out an uncomfortable breath with how rough she was being. Lowering his hand, he placed it over her head over the blankets and lifted his head up. Trying to fix the pace of her movements, Negan found himself frustrated with how much it actually hurt in comparison to felt good, “Listen, I know I said I wanted to come down your throat and you want payback for earlier, but you don’t have to suck the flesh off the damn thing.”

Getting up on his elbows, Negan grunted reaching over to turn on the light that was beside the bed. Flicking it on, he pulled back the sheets and let out a shocked gasp when it revealed that it was Maggie beneath the sheets. Immediately he reached to pull her from his body and pulled himself up on the bed to press his back against the headboard.

“Maggie!” Negan’s voice came out angry with confusion flooding into her green eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Was it that bad?” she was surprised to see Negan reacting that way to her trying to give him a blowjob. Swiftly, Negan tugged his pants back up over his hips and huffed. “I know it’s been a while since I’ve given you a blowjob, but I just thought I would come up here since it’s been a while and I thought we could use some personal time.”

“Rough would be an understatement when it came to the blowjob,” Negan reached down to wrap his fingers around his erection to give it a squeeze. Overwhelmed, he lowered his head and cussed out to himself knowing that he thought it was Y/N sneaking into his room to finish the job that she started earlier. “What were you doing?”

“Well, I was planning on coming in here to get you hard and thought about riding you as a surprise, but then you started talking about wanting to come down my throat,” she reminded him, getting comfortable on her knees and frowning at the way that Negan was acting. “It was probably because it was dark. You know that I like seeing what I’m doing. I can do better.”

“No,” Negan shook his head, scrambling with her hands when she reached for his pants again in attempts to go back to what she was doing. An offended expression flooded Maggie’s features and he immediately shook his head. “Stop it.”

“First you talk about wanting to come down my throat and now you are being prude,” Maggie pointed out with a huff watching Negan folding his arms out in front of his chest. There was still a prominent tent in his pajama pants and she didn’t understand why he was doing this. “Your dick is hard right now and you’re turning me down.”

“Maggie, not to be an asshole, but that wasn’t really the best blowjob you’ve given,” Negan admitted, reaching for a pillow to cover his lap and he shook his head. It irritated him that she was able to give him an erection because if he would have known it was her to begin with, Negan would have never wanted that to happen. “Being truthful, that shit kind of hurt and you’ve never done it like that before.”

“I told you it was because it was dark,” she repeated in a frustrated tone trying to caress over Negan’s thighs. “If my mouth isn’t good enough, just use me. I know it will feel better inside of me,” she crawled in over Negan placing her hands in over his shoulders. “I know you like it there. You always have.”

“What is with the sudden urge to climb my dick?” Negan inquired, his eyebrows furrowing when she tried pulling the pillow from his lap. They were struggling with the pillow and Maggie let out a frustrated huff. “Why do you need it inside of you right now?”

“Why are you fighting this so hard?” she shoved his chest further back against the headboard. A grunt fell from his throat when she managed to pull the pillow away to toss it aside. God, Negan wished he was anywhere but here right now. “You are fucking hard, let’s fix that.”

“I don’t have a condom,” Negan blurt out, his hands swatting at hers when she tried to reach for his pants again. Swatting his hands back had him returning the gesture and soon they looked like ridiculous children. “Enough Maggie!”

“Pull out before you come,” she suggested throwing her hands up and his laugh followed. “Why do you sound like that?”

“How often have you told people that?” Negan frowned, tipping his head to the side. It took her a minute, but then suddenly she seemed offended. “I didn’t…I don’t mean it like that.”

“I’ve been dating you for six months Negan. I’m not some slut that has been sleeping around,” Maggie snapped at him, hitting him in the chest. Wincing out, Negan reached for the pillow again to cover himself back up since she was so eager to get on that part of him. “Even if you did come in me, I’m on the pill you know. I don’t think it’s much of a problem if I wanted you to do that.”

“You want me to come inside of you now?” Negan wondered, his eyebrows arching up when she huffed out. That was never something they had talked about before. They were always pretty careful about things and now she was just throwing caution to the wind. “Why?”

“Why not?” she lowered herself down in over his thighs, bracing her weight on his legs. Still she was caressing at his body and he knew that she was still trying to tempt him into giving her what she wanted.

“Because,” Negan huffed out with a heat flooding his face. This was just getting more awkward the longer that it went on. Dragging his hand down over his face, he wished that this would just end, but Maggie kept going.

“Because why?” she pushed back and he let out a hesitant laugh feeling uneasy about this whole conversation.

“Because you could get pregnant!” Negan reasoned with her, his face scrunching up when he thought about everything.

“And getting pregnant with me would be a bad thing?” Maggie frowned and it made Negan stammer to find words, but he just stared out at her flustered. Well that was new. Never in their time being together did they talk about wanting to have children. In fact, it was her just focusing on wanting to be married that she was stressing most often. “Would getting me pregnant be a bad thing? Is Lucille the only person good enough to have your babies?”

“I am so confused right now,” Negan noticed that she seemed to be overly emotional about the idea of him not having unprotected sex with her. “Do you want my babies? Is that why you came in here? Because you want me to get you pregnant?”

“Not really,” she was honest and it made Negan laugh which only seemed to make her even more furious. But he couldn’t help being amused with this whole thing that was going on. Having her getting mad at him over something she didn’t even want seemed crazy to him.

“Then why are we having this discussion? You know how much I come and I have strong swimmers,” Negan suggested noticing the way she looked down toward his lap. It made him drop his head down before slowly lifting his head up to meet her fierce green eyes. “What?”

“You told me yourself that you hate condoms,” she reminded him and Negan’s face twisted. Sure, that was something he may have said, but he still wore them with her. He knew better. “How often did you wear condoms when you were with Lucille?”

“Never,” Negan replied back with a simple shrug. That was a silly question though. They were married and they had been together most of their lives. “But Lucille was my wife and she wanted to have my babies.”

“I’ve been with you six months, why do you have a hard time with the idea of not wearing condoms with me? We haven’t even had sex in a very long time,” Maggie reminded him with a frown and Negan reached out to caress in over the sides of her shoulders.

“It’s complicated,” Negan muttered, sucking at his bottom lip as she shifted further up over him. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of condoms because it doesn’t feel as good. Have you ever put on a really tight glove? That’s kind of what it feels like. But the good thing about condoms is it desensitizes things a bit and it makes you last longer.”

“You last long enough Negan,” Maggie huffed and Negan groaned out, dropping his head back against the headboard. “We know you can last for quite some time.”

“Not all the time,” Negan countered, lowering his head with his eyebrows bouncing up. “Sometimes I come immediately. I’m a guy. That shit happens.”

“In the time I’ve been with you, I’ve never seen that happen,” she reminded him feeling angrier the more they spoke to one another. Negan frowned and slumped forward while she continued to go off on him. “Sure, we’ve had some shorter experiences, but that’s because they’ve had to be. Sometimes, in my head I’m begging for you to come when I’m giving you a blowjob, my jaw can’t always take it.”

“Fair enough,” Negan stammered, his eyes narrowing and that’s all he said.

“Then just fuck me Negan,” she slid her hands further in over the center of his pants only to have Negan grab a tight hold of her wrists to lift them up.

“Maggie, I appreciate that you want me to give you a creampie, but I’m really not interested right now,” Negan stressed wishing she would just take no for an answer.

“Why not?” she frowned, reaching for the bottom of her shirt to pull it up over her body revealing her bare breasts that were underneath. It had Negan’s face flushing over and he lowered his head. Reaching out, she curled her finger in underneath his jaw forcing him to look at her.

“Sex is messy Maggie. We’re in your father’s home. He already hates me. How am I going to explain that I need to wash my sheets in the morning?” Negan rambled on trying to find every reason in the book to prove why they shouldn’t. Maggie was doing everything possible to get him to sleep with her and he was doing everything he could to avoid it.

“What is going on with you Negan?” Maggie brushed her fingers through his hair, looking down. “You love my breasts and you’re not even reacting.”

“It’s complicated,” Negan stressed when she reached for his face to cup it in her hands.

“It’s not that complicated. You’re hard, I’m wet…” she reached for the pillow to place it beside him on the bed. Crawling in over him had him huffing out when she started rocking her hips over his groin. “If you don’t want to be in control, I’ll take my pants off and I will ride you until you come. Wouldn’t you like that? Being balls deep inside of me? Draining you of your release?”

“Maggie,” Negan hissed, grabbing her hips in attempt to stop her movements over him. “We’re at your family’s home. Your father has threatened me multiple times. My children are right under us…”

“And you were okay with me sucking you dry moments ago,” she prompted him letting out a huff when Negan carefully moved her from over him. Negan stood up from the bed and reached for her shirt to hand it over to her. “Do you not find me beautiful anymore?”

“Of course I find you beautiful Maggie,” Negan shot her a glare, throwing his hand up in the air. Moving over toward another part of the attic, he sat down in a seat and shook his head. “There are just things that have happened, things that I know…”

“What do you know?” Maggie seemed nervous, her green eyes searching his features as if she was trying to read something from him. Getting her shirt back on, Maggie slid back onto Negan’s bed and rest her back against the wall.

“A lot,” Negan exhaled talking about his emotions and more so how he felt toward Y/N.

“How did you find out?” she whispered, her head lowering down and suddenly they both went silent. Tipping his head to the side, Negan bit down on his bottom lip with his thick eyebrows furrowing. “I’m sorry Negan. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“What are we talking about right now?” Negan inquired, his jawline flexing when he noticed the shift in the conversation. “Maggie?”

“I thought…” she lifted her head, pulling herself further to the edge of Negan’s bed. “What are we talking about right now, Negan?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Negan stressed with another raspy laugh. “You are confusing the fuck outta me with this back and forth. What’s really going on right now?”

Both of them were silent. Standing up from the chair, Negan moved before the bed and snapped his fingers to get her to look up at him, “I think the two of us need to talk.”

“I agree,” she whispered, her green eyes narrowing out at him when she nervously brushed her hair back behind her ear. “I need to talk to you about something. Something important.”

“As do I,” Negan lowered down onto the bed, his thick eyebrows bouncing up when Maggie slid in closer to him. “Do you want to go first?”

“No, not really,” Maggie hesitantly laughed, noticing the way that Negan was staring out at her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Negan pushed for her to go on only to hear the sound of the door opening at the bottom of the stairs. Slow steps were heard up the stairs and when they got to the top, Negan was met with the glare of Hershel. “Hershel. Hey there.”

“Hey there?” Hershel made his way into the attic, moving over toward the chair that was across from Negan and Maggie who were in the bed together. “What’s the one thing I asked of you Negan?”

“You’ve asked a lot,” Negan looked to Maggie whose face was flushed over with embarrassment. “What are we talking about?”

“I asked for you to stay in your separate rooms,” Hershel reminded Negan who let out an amused laugh and shook his head. “Do you find my rules funny?”

“A little bit. As we’re both adults and she’s far from being underage,” Negan declared with a shake of his head. “I respect your rules Hershel, but Maggie has been my girlfriend for six months.”

“Yes, but what goes on under my roof? Now that’s different,” Hershel snapped at Negan, lifting his finger to point it at Negan. With tension in the air, Negan felt his neck flexing. “How long has Maggie been up here?”

“I don’t know. Like, fifteen minutes,” Negan suggested looking to Maggie for some kind of answer, but she didn’t have something to come back with.

“That’s enough time for something bad to happen. Is it not?” Hershel looked between them and it made Negan snort. An amused rumble fell from Negan’s throat and he rolled his eyes. “Did the two of you have sex under my roof?”

“First of all, I need more than fifteen minutes,” Negan answered Hershel with a shake of his head. Yeah, he was being arrogant right now, but Hershel was pissing him off and he was letting loose. “Even on my worst day, you need time for foreplay. Get things started. You can’t play a game of hide the hotdog without preparing the bun. You know what I mean Hershel?”

“Negan!” Maggie blurt out embarrassed that Negan was saying what he was in front of her father. “What the hell?”

“Oh come on Maggie. This is ridiculous. Sure, if I was really eager, I could fuck you in fifteen minutes, but what the hell does it matter?” Negan inquired hearing Hershel’s breathing getting uneven and angrier the more he listened to Negan go off. “It’s not like the two of us haven’t had sex before. And we both know I’m not the first guy that you slept with.”

“Maggie, why don’t you go to your room?” Hershel stood up from the seat that he was in, pointing toward the stairs. Maggie remained still on Negan’s bed, unsure of her next move. “I asked you to do something young lady, I suggest you listen.”

“No, Maggie. You do what you want,” Negan looked to her, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat. “Because no one has the right to tell you what you can and cannot do in life. If you want to go to your bedroom, go. If you want to stay, stay. Because unlike your father, I will not be a man that tells a woman what she can and cannot do in life.”

“Negan, I don’t mind going to my room,” Maggie realized that tensions were growing between Negan and her father. “If it makes my father feel more comfortable…”

“If that’s what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay here,” Negan’s expression softened and he nodded his head. Standing up from the bed, Maggie stopped when she got to the top of the stairs and sighed when she looked back at Negan. “I understand.”

“Daddy. Why don’t you just come down with me,” Maggie held her hand out to Hershel, but his glare was still locked on Negan. “It’s not worth the fight.”

“Go to your room Maggie,” Hershel ordered, his tone angry when he refused to look at her. Negan shot Maggie an amused expression, his head dropping forward when he stroked his fingers over the back of his neck. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Yeah,” Maggie frowned realizing that things were just going to get worse between Negan and her father. It was two Alpha males butting heads and Negan started something more with her father which wasn’t going to end well. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” both men responded, waiting until Maggie left the room and Negan stood before Hershel waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t Negan looked around the attic and threw his hands up in the air.

“What would you have done if when you came up here I was balls deep inside of your daughter Hershel?” Negan spoke up, making sure to sound cocky and arrogant in the way he was talking to the man before him. “That sure as hell would have been awkward, wouldn’t it have been?”

“Boy, you’ve got a lot of nerve,” Hershel finally spoke, his jaw clenching. That wasn’t exactly the first response that Negan was expecting, but it fit for Hershel Greene. “You come into my house and you be disrespectful of me and my wishes.”

“Me? It was your daughter sneaking into my room Hershel,” Negan threw his hand up in the air showing that they were standing in the attic. “I’m not the one that snuck into your daughter’s room. I am wondering something though, does this rule only apply to Maggie? Because I don’t see you up Glenn’s ass about going into Y/N’s room. Which he did do the other day in front of you. Are you showing favorites again Hershel?”

“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” Hershel questioned, stepping forward toward Negan who stood his ground. Bringing his hand up, Negan pressed his fingers over the center of his chest and made an overdramatic expression.

“I don’t think I’m smart Hershel. I know I’m smart,” Negan corrected Hershel with a shake of his head. “I have done my best to be respectful of you and to keep my head down, but I can’t put up with this shit anymore. Do you know what else I am? I am a better father than you.”

“Oh yeah?” Hershel’s eyebrow arched, his arms folding out in front of his chest when Negan stood before him upset.

“Yeah. Because unlike you, I don’t have favorites. Both of my children know that they are loved because I’m there for them. No matter how much they upset me. No matter how many mistakes they make. My children go to bed at night knowing that I love them,” Negan claimed with a firm nod of his head, his chest aching the further he spoke. Right now Negan just wanted to explode on Hershel. Too many times since being here Hershel had pissed him off and he bit his tongue for way too long. “My son and my daughter both know that the way you treat Y/N is wrong. And you know you’re wrong too, but you keep doing it. Why?”

“My life…it’s none of your business,” Hershel declared with a scoff, stepping in closer to Negan to close the distance. Both of them were getting loud at this point and neither seemed to care. “What I do and do not do with my children has nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah, because you’re doing such a good job Hershel,” Negan snarled, the lines in his forehead growing. “Telling your daughters what they can and cannot do is really something else. You’re teaching them that they have to obey to a man. Do everything a man tells them to or else they are wrong. That’s not something I want my daughter to learn. In this world you need to teach your daughters to stand up for themselves. To know they are equals when it comes to men.”

“I don’t need you lecturing me,” Hershel replied back, moving forward to shove into Negan who found amusement in it. “My daughter doesn’t belong with a man like you. Maggie deserves better.”

“It’s kind of funny to hear you say something like that,” Negan tipped his head from side to side. “I actually agree with you. I do think Maggie belongs with someone else, but then again, that’s not really your business. See, your daughter, she can be with whoever she wants. She can have sex with whoever she wants. Just like you Hersh. So why don’t you stop acting like Maggie is twelve years old and realize that she is a grown woman that is capable of making her own decisions. Maybe put some of that effort into Y/N and make up for the years of abuse you put her through.”

“I did not abuse my daughter. I never laid a hand on her,” Hershel was seething with the things that Negan was saying. “How dare you accuse me of that.”

“Mental abuse is just as bad Hersh,” Negan chastised Hershel with a tip of his head, clicking his tongue at the top of his mouth. “You have done nothing but treat her bad her whole life. You made her hate herself. You made her miserable. And yet here you stand still thinking you are a good father. That beautiful woman with a huge heart believes that she is the problem. That she is some kind of mistake because you got your rocks off with a woman that wasn’t married to you. Maybe to Maggie you’re a good father. Hell, maybe even Beth too. But with Y/N? You dropped the ball and you’re a terrible father. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I don’t want you here,” Hershel yelled at Negan who simply smiled and let out a tense breath. “You need to get out of my home.”

“Hersh, I can’t wait to get the fuck out of your home with your ass backward point of views,” Negan pointed his finger at Hershel, his whole body tensing up when they were both screaming at each other. “Because you know what? I love your daughter. With everything that I am. And when I leave this place, I’m going to make sure that she never fucking questions it. I’m going to provide for her everything that she has ever needed or wanted. She’ll never question if she is loved because I’m going to let her know every fucking day that she is loved. That she belongs. That she is perfect just the way she fucking is. And if she wants to do something? She’ll be allowed to because I’m fucking lucky that she is in my life.”

Hershel’s breathing got heavier the more that Negan rambled off, “Because the day that I realized I loved your daughter, everything fucking made sense again. She’s beautiful. She’s smart and she makes me happy. And I will never let her feel the way that you make her feel.”

“Hey,” Annette’s voice was heard when they both turned their heads to see that Annette was standing at the bottom of the stairs with Beau and Y/N who had obviously heard them fighting. “I think it’s time the two of you separate. Now.”

“This is my home and I’m not going anywhere,” Hershel asserted himself only for Annette to start making her way up the stairs.

“Well this is my home too Hershel and you are going to listen to me right now,” Annette demanded of her husband, reaching out to grab a hold of his jawline. “I say that Negan goes to bed and so do you. We will talk in the morning about things, but right now that man’s daughter is sleeping. And his son just witnessed the two of you butting heads. So you are going to get your ass downstairs or I swear Hershel you will see a wrath in me you’ve never seen before.”

The expression over Hershel’s face was shocked when he turned his attention from Negan to Annette. With a nod, Hershel’s body loosened up and he nodded his head, “Yes dear.”

“Thank you,” Annette pointed toward the stairs where Hershel slowly made his way down. Once he reached the bottom both Y/N and Beau stepped aside to let him through. When he left, they both made their way upstairs with Annette standing before Negan. Annette made sure that they were alone before turning to Negan. “I liked everything I just heard from your mouth. You’re doing exactly as I would expect someone who loves my daughter to respond to things. As far as I’m concerned, you have my permission to be with Y/N. You’re exactly the kind of man that she needs in this world. Never change that. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Negan nodded his head realizing that they must have heard his rant that he went off on in front of Hershel. “Thank you.”

“Now get some sleep,” Annette stressed, giving Beau’s shoulder a squeeze before pressing a kiss against Y/N’s temple. “We all need it.”

“Wow,” Beau muttered once Annette left and closed the door at the bottom of the stairs behind her. “That was amazing dad. I can’t believe you stood up to him like that.”

Setting the things down that Beau had given her on the chair, Y/N moved across the room to wrap her arms around Negan’s shoulders. Pulling him down, her lips collided with his and Negan picked her up, pulling her in closer to his chest. In that kiss he felt everything he needed to know that he was head over heels in love with Y/N. The passion in the kiss alone let him know that they belonged together. After hearing what Negan said to her father, he could tell that she was filled with so much emotion and he clung tightly to her.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips pressing her forehead to his when Negan finally let her down to her feet. “So much.”

“I love you too,” Negan slurred hearing Beau clear his throat to remind them that he was there. “I’m sorry son.”

“No, I like seeing this,” Beau explained waving his hand about in the air. “After the night I think we’ve all had, it’s good to see the love that is shared between the two of you,” Beau took a minute to think about things before stepping forward to place his hands over both Negan and Y/N’s shoulder. “I’m going to head to bed. Are the two of you okay?”

“I’m good,” Negan confirmed, but Beau looked to Y/N specifically.

“I’ll be fine,” she promised Beau who stepped forward to give both of them a big hug. “Goodnight you two.”

“Goodnight, buddy,” Negan pressed a kiss against Beau’s temple watching his son make his way down the stairs. Once he was gone, Negan turned his attention to Y/N who looked sad. “Hey, I’m sorry if you heard that I just…”

“What I heard from you was one of the better parts of my night,” Y/N assured him, placing her finger over his lips to silence him. Pressing a kiss against her finger, Negan sighed and pulled her in close to him so that he could cuddle into her. “You are the best thing to happen to me. You know that?”

“I feel the same way about you,” Negan slurred, squeezing her tightly like he would never let go. When Y/N pulled back, she grabbed a hold of his hand and led him toward the bed. Laying down with her, Negan allowed her to crawl in over him and rest her head against the center of his chest. Stroking his fingers over her shoulders, he could sense that something was seriously wrong. “What’s going on?”

“Can we talk about it in the morning?” she begged of him and Negan immediately nodded feeling an ache at the center of his chest. “How did you and my father start fighting anyways?”

“It’s complicated,” Negan was honest, clearing his throat when he cuddled his chin in over the top of her head. “Maggie was in here talking to me and then things got heated between me and your father. Which reminds me…”

“Yeah?” she lifted her head to stare into his hazel eyes. It made Negan feel guilty when he thought about what Maggie had started to do when she came up here.

“Your sister came up here and when she did…” Negan began, noticing the way that her eyes looked miserable. Suddenly he felt like everything that just happened no longer mattered compared to whatever was going on with Y/N right now. “What happened Y/N? I can tell that you aren’t okay. Talk to me.”

“Are you sure you are capable of me talking to you after all the stress you’ve put up with?” she made sure that he was okay and he gave her a small nod, a smirk tugging at his lips when he led her to kiss him.

“I want to be here for you no matter what Y/N. Through everything. You need to know that,” Negan whispered, stroking his fingers over the side of her face. “I don’t care how much stress I’ve gone through in a day. I don’t care how tired I am. I love you and I’m always going to be here for you to talk to. To help you through whatever you are upset about.”

“Your son found something earlier,” she pressed up and away from Negan, pulling herself into a seated position on the bed. Lifting up, Negan moved in beside her and cuddled in closer, wrapping his arm around her while she spoke. “Growing up, my father always made me believe I was a mistake. That my mother was someone that he slept with once. It was a poor judgement call on his end and he never heard anything from her again. That I just showed up on his doorstep after my mother died during childbirth. And that’s why I thought he always hated me. I was the baby he had that he never wanted.”

“Okay?” Negan’s brow arched in curiosity, sliding to the edge of the bed when she went for the book that she had sat down at the other side of the room that Beau had found. Holding it out to Negan, he gave her a strange look and then accepted it. “What is this?”

“It’s something your son found up here hidden in the floorboards,” she explained to Negan pointing toward the area that Beau said he had found it. “Apparently there is money in there too, but he left it.”

“Should have taken the money,” Negan teased her with a wink, but when she didn’t laugh, he realized that this was serious. Running his fingers over the binding of the booklet that she gave him, Negan frowned and lifted it closer to observe it. Reaching for his glasses, he put them on and let out a long sigh. “It looks like someone tried to burn this.”

“I’m guessing it was my father,” she informed Negan, sitting down beside him on the bed when he slowly opened the front cover. “I think he wanted to burn every memory of her, but he couldn’t.”

“What does that…?” Negan’s words came to a halt when he flipped through the pages. Further and further in she noticed the more confused he seemed to get seeing the photos. Lifting his head, Negan looked over her features and then back at her mothers. “I don’t get it.”

“He lied to me,” she pointed toward the photo that Negan stopped on where it was the photo of her mother holding her while Hershel and Maggie were in the photo. “Why would he lie to me about all of that Negan?”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Negan’s nose wrinkled, flipping through the pages again. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. If my dad was genuinely happy when my mother was pregnant with me,” she stopped Negan on the page where Hershel had his hand over her mother’s pregnant belly where he genuinely looked happy. “Why all the lies? Why the abuse? If you look toward the end of the booklet, she was wearing an engagement ring. They were engaged. So why did he treat me like the biggest mistake he ever made if he loved my mother? Why lie to me and create some kind of story to make me feel like he hated me for the one mistake that he made. My mother was still alive Negan. Until I was a toddler. She didn’t die in childbirth. I don’t understand.”

“You need to talk to him,” Negan closed up the booklet and set it on the nightstand that was beside the bed. “Go talk to him now.”

“And say what Negan? Beau found this hidden in your hideaway spot? Why the hell did you treat me the way you did all these years?” she threw her hands up in the air with Negan debating that question.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what you say,” Negan extended his hand out to hers, hooking their fingers together. “You’ve had to put up with this your whole life. I know you’re scared of him, but you shouldn’t have to be. And he should have never treated you the way he did. It was wrong. No parent should ever have the kind of control that man has over all of you. The way he treats you is terrible and it’s time he got called out on his bullshit.”

“I don’t think I have the power to do it tonight,” she confessed with a broken sound. There was pain in her eyes and he hated that. Lifting his hand, he swept his thumb in over her jawline before leaning in to give her a faint kiss. “This is a lot on me Negan. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her photo. I guess it makes sense why he hates me since I look just like her Negan.”

“But he looked happy in those photos,” Negan implied taking a quick glance back at the booklet she had shared with him. “If that was the case and he hated her, those photos wouldn’t exist. The story your father tells is obviously a fucking lie.”

“I don’t understand why someone would do what he has done,” she reached up to wipe at her face when she started crying. It was an uncontrollable thing. Something that she hated and wished wasn’t happening, but it was. “I have felt unloved my whole life. That I was something that was never supposed to happen. An error that the world made. Something that didn’t belong or fit in. And those photos…that shows something different Negan. My father was horrible my whole life. He made me feel terrible about myself. He made me hate who I was. He treated me like I was a mistake, some kind of monster that never belonged in this family. How that man made me feel had me contemplating killing myself when I was younger because I hated myself that much. He separated me from my siblings. Taught them that I was wrong, that there was something wrong with me. And he confirmed his feelings the other night Negan. If I had a family, I would never do that to my children. I would let them know they were loved. I would give them everything. I always thought I was too broken to have children, so I stayed away from it. But I’m not broken. I’m full of love and I know what’s wrong. I would know what I would do with my children because it would be the complete opposite of my father. Beau has showed me through you and everything that he says about his mother what real love is supposed to be like.”

“What are you saying?” Negan breathed out, his fingers curling around the back of her neck frowning to see that she was crying like she was. “I agree with you, your father made the mistake. Not you. You were perfect. You always were.”

“I’m saying that…I think I want a baby. I want a family,” she declared, her eyes gazing over at him when his eyebrows bounced up. Considering the conversation he just had with Maggie, this was something that surprised Negan. “I was scared of a family this whole time, but it’s something that I want. I want to have that family I always dreamt of, but I’m never going to find it here. The only way I will is if I make a family on my own. Where I can be everything with my children that my father never was with me.”

“You want a baby?” Negan thought about her comment and he shrugged his shoulders. In the eyes of some people, he may be an asshole for saying this, but it really hit him deep the further he thought about things. With Maggie, Negan didn’t want that family. But the idea of a family with Y/N? Well that struck something different inside of him. “Then let’s make a baby. You and I.”

“Negan, I just meant in general,” she responded with a sigh, stroking her thumb over the back of Negan’s hand. “You have Beau and Erin. The last thing you need right now is another baby on the way.”

“Why is that the last thing that I need? I love being a dad,” Negan explained, using his free hand to place it in over the center of his chest. “There is nothing more that I love than being a father. You see that I love my children. Nothing is more important to me. So if you want a baby, I’m the best guy to have a baby with. Stop taking your birth control and let’s make a baby.”

“We aren’t even officially together Negan,” she pointed out turning toward Negan when he lifted his hands to cup her face tenderly in them. “I’m still engaged to Glenn.”

“And you’re engaged to me. We are officially together, we just haven’t told everyone else yet. It doesn’t have to be known by others for it to be official,” Negan asserted, tipping his head forward to nuzzle his nose in against hers. “When we get home, I’ll get you a ring, we’ll get married on New Years and we’ll be happy. Our little family. Together. My kids love you. I love you. And I think it’s exactly what you need in your life.”

“Don’t you think it’s us rushing into things if we do that?” she wondered and Negan laughed, shrugging his shoulders when he thought about it. “You’re really okay with having a baby with me?”

“Why not? I know I’m in love with you. I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So why not?” Negan pushed, stroking his thumb down over the side of her face before curling his fingers around her neck. “I love you. I love being a father. So let’s just do it.”

“What if I’m being emotional and this isn’t what I really want?” she breathed out noticing the way that his thick eyebrows bounced up. “Now I’m just talking myself in circles. I know what it is that I want.”

“Then do what you want,” Negan suggested, his hazel eyes watching her closely when she stood up. His lips parted when he saw her reaching for the bottom of her shirt. A long exhale fell from his parted lips when she dropped the material on the ground. Clearing his throat, Negan watched as she unhooked the material of her bra and dropped it next to her shirt. Stepping forward, she reached for Negan’s shirt and tugged it up his long torso. Lifting his arms up for her, he let her pull his shirt from his body and drop it with hers. With heavy eyelids, he watched her closely when she pushed into the material of her pants and got them down her body along with her panties. “You are sure this is what you want?”

“It is,” she stroked her fingers through his thick hair having his dimples become more prominent when he tipped his head back to stare up at her. Pushing at his pajama pants, Negan managed to lift his hips and get the material down his body before kicking out of them while he sat at the edge of the bed. Carefully moving in over him, she adjusted his glasses over his face and hovered her lips in over his. “Are you sure this is what you want though? You did want to come down my throat earlier…”

“But why waste perfectly good baby making sperm?” Negan snorted nuzzling his nose in against hers, his fingers digging into her hips while she dug her fingers into his shoulders. Faintly, her nails bit at his flesh while he stared up at her with all the desire and want in the world. “We want a baby growing inside of your belly, not my sperm just floating around in there.”

“It sounds so bad when you say it like that,” she laughed, burying her head against the side of his neck feeling his palm finding its way between her thighs to caress over her sensitive flesh to get her ready for everything. “Are you sure Beau and Erin would be okay with something like a baby?”

“Beau and Erin just want me happy,” Negan whispered, his lips hovering in over hers when she carefully reached between the two of them to caress her palm in over the warmth of his flesh. Once he was ready, she balanced her hips in over him and took her time bringing them together. Tipping his head back, Negan kept his stare locked with hers when she took her time moving her hips over him. Each movement was slow, dragging things out while he dragged his hands up the length of her back to keep her comfortable. “Being with you and them is what makes me the happiest.”

“I love you,” she whispered, stroking her fingers through the curls of his dark hair at the bottom of his neck and he gave her a big smile.

“And I love you,” he dragged out his words, bringing their lips together in a tender sweep of a kiss. While she took her time rolling her hips over his, it gave him time to touch her. Comfort her. Have them connect in all the right ways while she was over him. “I just want you happy Y/N. I want to bring all the happiness in the world to you that I can.”

“You do,” she promised him, her words vibrating against his lips when her movements grew stronger over him. Bringing his hands to her hips, Negan did his best to help aid in her movements over him burying his nose against the side of her neck while she hooked her arms around his shoulders. “Negan.”

“It kills me that you’ve gone so long without knowing how amazing you really are,” Negan tipped his head back, staring up at her with awe and adoration in his eyes. Their breathing grew labored, his soft moans falling from his parted lips. “You’re better than he will ever be Y/N. You don’t need to prove that to anyone. It’s there in everything you do. I love you. And I will always protect you and be here for you from here on out. Do you understand?”

“I do,” she tugged at his hair, drawing his head to tip back when she started moving harder over him, drawing him deeper and deeper within her with every movement she made. Negan’s face twisted with pleasure, his jaw lowering when he looked down to watch her taking his body repeatedly in fluid movements. “Look at me.”

“Fuck,” Negan hissed out, his body tensing up while she caressed over the planes of his back. “You feel so good.”

Pressing her forehead to his, she added more strength to her downward thrusts and heard his moans filling the air, “You’re not being quiet.”

“I don’t care,” he slurred, his lips finding hers having her purring out against his flesh with the way he was kissing her. Over and over again, she rode him enjoying the way it felt with him inside of her. There was something in the way that Negan looked at her that drove her crazy with desire. “I don’t want to hide us anymore. We shouldn’t have to hide that we love one another. Not from anyone. I love you. And I want the whole world to know it.”

“I want that too,” she whispered, nibbling at his bottom lip when his arm curled around her waist working to move her a certain way over him that had them both breathless. Tossing his head back, Negan bit back on a moan, but it escaped anyways when he felt her nipping at the side of his neck. “Negan.”

“Are you serious about the baby thing?” Negan confirmed with her feeling her fingers dragging across his bottom lip. Taking her finger into his mouth, he sucked faintly at it before pulling his head back. “Is it something you really want?”

“I do,” she admitted, swallowing down hard when Negan pulled her in closer to him drawing himself further into her. It had her back arching, her fingers digging into his skin when he reached back to grab one of his pillows. Setting it at the middle of the bed, Negan stood, lowering her down over the center of the bed. Adjusting her body, he laid her so her hips were laying right over the pillow. Getting comfortable over her, Negan laid his body in over hers. “What is this?”

“You don’t want to hear the science of it while we’re doing this, so just lay back and enjoy,” Negan snickered feeling her arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him close. Entering her again, Negan rolled his hips, allowing his groin to rub up against her clitoris with every move he made. It had her lifting her head up to meet his lips in attempts to silence her cries. The friction was incredible and he knew that it would be a good position for her while he made love to her. It felt good for both of them. The motions of his hips were slow and rhythmic, taking his time to have things build up for them. There was a constant pressure on her clitoris from the base of his cock rubbing up against it and it had her clinging tightly to him. “Look at me.”

“Negan,” she tried so hard to stay quiet while Negan kept up with his steady movements. It was crazy how sexy she found him still wearing his glasses throughout this whole thing. “You have no idea how much the glasses fucking work for me.”

“I’m glad you like them because I use them all the time, I can’t fucking see,” Negan snickered, lowering down to bring their lips together again in a drawn out, passionate kiss that had both of them panting when they pulled away. The way her body was clinging to his, Negan knew that she was close to an orgasm and he moaned out himself. “Fuck.”

It was easy to embrace the closeness of the position because it kept them connected. They were eager to be with one another and share this personal moment to make it special. The intimacy was something they both lacked in their other relationships so making love like this made them both feel more alive than they had in a very long time.

“Negan,” she brought him to her, hooking her fingers into his hair while he continued with his steady thrusts that had her whimpering into his mouth. Clinging tightly to Negan, she felt a rush flooding into her head and it ached, but in the best of ways. With her warmth contracting and relaxing around him, she could feel his body start to shake over hers. Clinging tightly to him, she heard his moans faint in her ear and they turned somewhat louder when she felt his length throbbing inside of her.

Her name fell from his lips when she felt the warmth of his release filling her. Instead of stopping, he kept up with the movements making sure to continue through his orgasm. It had her clinging to him when he finally laid in over her with both of them tremoring from the moment they just shared together.

“I love you so fucking much,” Negan slurred, pressing a kiss against her jawline while he laid comfortably over her. Adjusting ever so slightly, Negan made sure that he could lay over her without hurting her while he stroked his fingers over the side of her face. “I can’t wait until we leave here and we can be together. We’ll make the family that you always wanted. And you will be loved. So fucking loved.”

“You make me believe that’s all possible,” she whispered stealing a kiss from his perfect lips before getting comfortable beneath him, stroking her fingers at his scalp. “I could say I love you a thousand times and I don’t think it would ever be enough to let you know how much I love you.”

“I love you more,” Negan snickered, rubbing his nose in against hers and it had her laughing.

“I love that you can make me smile even in my worst moments,” she declared, stroking her fingers across his bottom lip. Kissing at the pads of her fingers Negan hummed and nodded his head. She had said this to him earlier, but she really meant it. “That’s one of the best things about you. No matter how bad I feel, you can always make me smile.”

“Good,” he whispered with a weak smile, his tired eyes gazing upon hers. “I hope I can always do that for you because I want to be that light in your life. Forever.”

“You’re serious about getting married on New Years?” she confirmed with him and it made him smile. With a confident nod, he sighed and felt her lifting up to kiss him again. “Really?”

“Really, really,” Negan snickered, peppering loving kisses over her lips. “I know I want to start in the new year with you. So why not do it the way we should and get married? We’ll just do it with us, the kids and someone that we both know. Maybe Simon?”

“Simon?” she repeated with a tip of her head. “He hates me.”

“He won’t when he knows that you’re my wife,” he snorted, nuzzling his nose in against hers again. “Because I’ll knock him on his ass if he gives you shit. Just like I’ve wanted to do since I’ve gotten here with your father.”

“It was really hot seeing you lay into him,” she informed him with a tiny laugh, stroking her fingers down the lengths of his back. “It’s not often that I see people put him in his place.”

“Well, people should be doing it more often,” Negan stated with a half-smile, capturing her lips in another kiss. Moving his hips every so lightly had her whimpering out and she lifted her head.

“We should have sex like that more often. It was really nice. It felt good,” she conceded, her fingers sliding down low enough to squeeze over his small bottom.

“It did,” he agreed with her, nibbling at her bottom lip and giving a sheepish smile. “Plus, this position is better with keeping the sperm inside of you instead of wasting all of it with you on top. You orgasming couldn’t hurt either helping it get to where it needs to go. We keep this up and by next year, we’ll be married and have a baby on the way.”

“It’s scary sounding, yet actually sounds nice,” she suggested palming down in over the side of his face staring upon him with all the love that she could. “With you it feels like I’ve found my perfect storybook ending.”

“You have,” Negan promised, giving her a weak and tired smile. “Come the day after Christmas, I’ll make sure that all your dreams come true. And we will live happily ever after.”

----

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