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carolmunson · 10 months

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caught like a fool without a line. (older!modern!eddie)

part five of who knows how many. orange colored sky setlist.

summary: we've been seeing eddie for a month and the fear starts to settle in. with eddie's past and present making things difficult and your own insecurities brewing, things come to a bit of a head one night when you're out at a bar. featuring older!robin and our favorite guy older!steve from @loveshotzz series 'all i really want is you'.

tw: age gappy (reader and eddie are 12 years apart, but reader is late late 20s/early 30s and eddie and late late 30s/early 40s throughout this story so it's not like so bad). drunk!reader, alcohol consumption, discussions of eddie's promiscuous past (i know some people don't like when eddie is a slut), implied that reader wears eddie's clothes to bed but not that reader is small. gifs by: @keerysbrandnewbg and @eddiemunsonsource

songspiration: open | rhye and feelings | lauv

You swirled the big ice cube in the tumbler with an unenthusiastic flair, making the orangey red liquid in the glass nearly spill. “And I don’t get it, we had a really nice first date and then made out again the next week and talked all the time and now he’s barely texting me back,” you complain, the tart grapefruit of your friend’s new take on an Aperol Spritz floods your mouth at your next sip.

“Maybe he’s just busy,” your friend Charlie suggests from behind the bar, “He’s older, you said, right? He might just not be on his phone as much. Do you like the drink? Is it too bitter?”

“It’s bitter but not in a bad way, in a good citrussy way,” you nod, “And yeah he might not be on his phone as much but then why just sort of suddenly drop off and barely respond? Like, look at this.” You take out your phone, laying it on the bar and scrolling through a plethora of blue texts with some sprinkles of gray in between, “I look so pathetic.” “I think you just really like him,” she shrugs, smirking, “And I think that’s good, you haven’t been this excited about someone for a little bit.” “Yeah, but every time I’m excited about someone it bites me in the ass,” you lean on the palm of your hand, flipping your phone over, “Plus like, I’m not trying to be with anyone like that right now.”

Your friend gives you a look, “Okay, sure.”

“What do you mean ‘okay, sure’?” you scoff.

“You’re not trying to be with anyone like your ex,” Charlie corrects, her dark red lips pulling into a smirk, “You go on and on about how you just want someone to take care of things for you. Maybe he’s that kind of dude.”

“He has someone come every Sunday to clean his house for him,” you sip the drink again, “I don’t think he can take care of anything for me, considering I can clean my own house.” The bar slowly starts to fill up with the after work crowd, leaving Charlie to run back and forth between you and pouring beers for incoming patrons.

“He can afford to have someone come and clean his house,” she says with a smirk, holding down the tap while she fills a glass with Lagunitas, "That's kind of hot." You flip your phone back over and sigh, no new messages.

If anything is true in the music and art world Eddie is involved in it's that Eddie Munson is a professional loverboy. Never with someone for too long, never long enough for them to want something more than fun -- never long enough for 'Are you my boyfriend?' never long enough for 'What are we?' It got easier the older he got, the less women and men cared about labels. You were right to make that judgement about his key carabiner hanging on the front of his keys. Eddie Munson is a slut, and everyone knows it but you.

He had two actual girlfriends in his early twenties, but nothing quite like his friendship with Steve. 'Platonic life partner, sometimes,' they'd list it as -- never too afraid to get affectionate. Hugs, kisses on the forehead, Eddie held him so many nights when Emma died he felt like they left an indent in the center of the bed. He touched and loved the people who loved him back, but to anyone else – he never wanted to get too close. He always gave out just enough of him – enough for people to keep wanting more, a satisfaction he basked in now since he was such a loner in high school with no notches to his belt.

But now he’s blabbering on to Robin over a huge plate of nachos about how you texted him all day. You texted him all day and he had his phone charging in the kitchen while he was upstairs in his office so he didn’t know and now it’s very clear that you’re upset.

"Okay? How is this different from the girl you were seeing over Christmas?" Robin laughs over a mouthful of loaded nachos, a frosty pink Frosé next to her to beat the heat. Her eyes crinkle closed, a smattering of freckles stretching on the apples of her cheeks when she smiles. The heat of a sunburn runs soft pink over her nose, outside of the gray in her sand blonde hair that she'll never dye, she looks almost the same as she did in high school. “So you didn’t text her back,” she shrugs, “You leave her alone, she fades off into the distance – just like the girl before that, and the guy before that, and the girl before that. Why're you talking about it like it's the end of the world?” "I care," he groans, turning his phone to show Robin your messages. You'd sent them every few hours, but most of the messages from the morning and afternoon were from when he was working -- phone nestled on the charger down in the kitchen while he clacked away on code upstairs. By the time he saw them he was embarrassed, and you were probably already at your friend's bar. Eddie tries to explain the whole situation while Robin scrolls through with a careful and soft expression, a tiny smile forming on her face.

“I already fucked it up,” Eddie sighs, pulling his hair up into a ponytail with volume hair stylists would envy. He runs his hand over his jaw, following the edge of it to land behind his neck where he squeeze gently on the muscle.

Robin shrugs again, passing his phone back to him, “Par for the course, kid.”

His eyes narrow, “I’m older than you.”

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “You always fuck it up, Ed. That's your thing. You walk into a room and someone leaves crying. You've never done the whole sappy love thing with someone, why do you think you're changing your tune now?”

“I know but – fuck Robin, I didn’t even sleep with her yet,” he says a little louder than he intends. His tattooed hand wraps around the Pilsner glass in front of him, dripping in condensation, bringing it to his lips.

“That’s a new development,” she raises her brows, crossing her legs, "You never wait this long."

“I just…I don’t…I shit – I don’t know.”

“What did Steve say?” Robin asks, teeth biting down on the straw to her drink, “He always has good girl advice.”

“I haven’t even told Steve.”

“At all?!” she nearly spits out the frose all over the nachos.

“Rob we just buried Em,” he explains softly, “Like, she’s not even fuckin’ cold yet. I can’t just come out of the woodwork five months later like ‘Hey man, think I actually met a girl I’d consider a future with. We’ve been seeing each other for a month’. And like – what if I’m just psyching myself out? What if this is just an early midlife crisis?”

Robin takes a slow sip, nodding while he speaks before taking a pause. “Ed, I think you’ll feel better if you tell Steve,” she offers, “I think he’d get your head straight about it. But in the meantime, you should text her back.”

“What do I even say?” he huffs, shoving a loaded nacho into his mouth. “Try honesty with a woman for once in your entire life, Rockstar boy,” Robin plasters on a customer service smile that makes him let out a frustrated ‘tsss’, “It won’t kill you.” "Here, I'll text Nance and ask her -- she's our next best bet," Robin takes out her phone and types with the fervor of a teenager with a sugar high. Eddie sips his beer, looking at the screen of his phone while the cursor to type blinks back at him.

You stumble out of the bar, too crowded now to have fun with your friend. Over tired and over served you make your way down the street and around the corner, stopping to lean against the brick wall of a different bar when you feel your phone buzz in your hand. You take a minute, taking in your surroundings. People are so loud down here, and everyone is so pretty. Street lights are there and gone and there and gone as cars whiz passed on Delancey, the bustle of the Friday night life in the LES is a buzz with excitement. You're already a little down for the count. Your phone feels like a paper weight in your hand, sighing with satisfaction at the notificaiton on the screen. But your chest still aches with annoyance, how many times were you gonna get drunk at a bar with a swollen heart over some dumb boy? Man? Guy?

You don't want him to come save you, you know how to get home. You can see the green bulbs of the train entrance and the glow of the McDonalds 'M' on the corner in the distance. Down the stairs, one train into Brooklyn, cross platform transfer -- you've done it drunker than this countless times before. You text Charlie with an air of victory before putting your phone back in your smart black faux leather bag slung over your shoulder. The warm summer air flows over your legs, catching the hem of your a-line skirt -- the light material flowing in the breeze. Time isn't working quite right for you but it feels like it's been five minutes and he hasn't shown up, so you make your way to the edge of the corner to cross.

"Whoa there, Peach," you hear Eddie's gruff voice from the side of you, the pull on your arm the same as when he steadied you at Trader Joe's a month ago, "Careful now."

You pull out of his hold, glassy eyes focused on the black and white stripes on the street ahead of you, "I know what I'm doin'."

“Where are you goin’, huh?” he asks softly. Eddie steps in front of you, guiding you to the light post to get out of the way of other pedestrians.

“Home,” you slur, “M’goin home. Trainssright there.”

“I don’t think you’re good to take the train,” his voice is gentle, hand coming out to hold you at the waist, “I can get you a car.”

“I’m fine.” It's the only sentence that comes out lucid, his jaw ticks.

"You don't look fine," he looks down into your glassy eyes, a look he's seen before. The way his mama would drown herself in whiskey and stumble into the kitchen so the bruises would't hurt so bad. The way an old fling would slur to him about how she can't live without him. The way you look so sad and it's his fault.

"I'm. Fine," you reiteratie. The light changes, the bright white of the walk sign flashes across the street. You go to pass him but his hands place themselves on your shoulders. "You really wanna get boiled alive on the train?" he asks with a smile, "You don't wanna take a car?" You sigh, why does he have to be so handsome? The gin from your last two drinks travels from your head to your thighs, pulling them together at the sight of his smile. He has that ratty vest on, a CBGC t-shirt sticking to him under it, the sleeves completely torn off. He smells like cedar and citrus again, a hint of a left over cigarette. His grays catch the light of the over head lamp, bouncing like tinsel in his pony tail sitting on the crown of his head. "Can we go to your house?" you ask, voice raised a higher octave than normal. His face blanches, "Aw honey, that's not a good idea. I don't want you to think that I --" "Please?"

"Thanks, have a good night," Eddie waves off the delivery man with a smile as he rides away on his bike. With plastic in hand he makes his way back up the stairs where you've set up shop on one of the stools in his kitchen, head down on the island counter.

"Food's here," he says quietly. Dealing with drunk you was very much like dealing with drunk Robin in the early 2010s, overgrown toddler in a bad mood. You let out a half hearted 'Yay', head coming up, eyes half closed in the kind of sleepiness a few mixed drinks and some beers can send you into. He goes into the fridge and pulls out two bottles of Poland Spring and a beer for himself. The waters get placed in front of you while he tends to getting the food plated up.

You ignore the water -- Blue Moon bottle staring right at you, and to be honest -- a cold cirtussy beer sounds sooo good right now. You reach forward, the glass ice cold against your palm now that the liquor has fully settled, heating up your skin. The sound of glass on the counter cobbles through the kitchen when you slide it closer to you, alerting Eddie to the noise.

“Excuse me,” he says sharply, snatching the bottle out of your hand, “Can you behave?”

You pout when his eyes narrow at you, heart thumping guiltily in your chest, shame brewing in your skin. You nod back at him with sad eyes, a twinge plucking in your heart strings.

“Don’t give me that face,” he warns, “Don't act up."

“I don’t like when you’re mean,” you mumble softly, running your fingers in shapes over the butcher's block counter top. He sighs, plating your sandwich and pulling your fries from the bag. He kisses your temple while he slides the plate in front of you. "I'm sorry, honey," he says quietly, but gin always puts you in the mood to argue. "You don't have to talk to me like, like -- you don't have to talk to me -hic!- like I'm a kid," you hurtle out, surprised at your own gumption, "I'm not."

"I know," he says, putting the bags into his recycling bin under the sink, "I'm not talking to you in any kind of way Peach I -- " "You don't even like me," you state. His head cocks to the side, leaning on his hands while they hold on to the edge of the island. "Who said that?" "I was -hic!- I was talking to someone at the bar about --" you start, lump building in your throat, "About you and um -- they said, they said it sounds like --" Your eyes water, "Like I'm just for fun." "Oh," he says, looking down at his hands. The weight of this conversation falling into his stomach from his chest like a deep pit.

"Like I'm just fun for you to play with -- but like, you don't even wanna have -- you don'even wanna h-have-have seggzwithme so like -- you don't even like me." More and more if your insecurities flow out of you like a broken faucet, tears starting to slip down your cheeks.

"And like you probably don't even think I'm pretty."

"Oh, baby, no," he coos, brows tilted in sympathy while you drunkenly let all your sober fears out, "I think you're so pretty."

"So pretty," you repeat, wiping your face with your hands, "But that's it."

Eddie takes a deep breath, coming over to you and pressing his warm soft lips to your cheek, "Let's talk about this in the morning, sweetheart. I'm gonna get upstairs ready for you."

"I should just go home," you sniffle, embarrassment starting to flow through you with your bloodstream, burning all your pores, "I'm sorry." "No, no, don't go home," he assures, nose nuzzling against your cheek, "Stay. Just stay."

He makes sure you eat, watching you come back to yourself the fuller and more hydrated you get. You're easy to lead upstairs, pliant and tired now, needy almost -- not that you'd ever admit to it. You tease him about his 'old man pills' when he takes out his perscription high dose Motrin he got for some old back pain. Great for when you might get a killer hangover these days. You grimace at the Pedialyte mixture he has you drink before you get tucked into his bed -- out before you can even feel him grab the pillows and a throw from the other side of you. He settles in downstairs on the sectional, sighing while he thinks about the way your face scrunches when you're about to cry. He flicks through his Hulu options on the big screen in front of him but nothing really seems to catch his attention. Mind wandering to you asleep upstairs but knowing better than to crawl into bed next to you when you're not yourself enough to say it's okay. The familiar buzz of his phone goes off on the coffee table, when he picks it up his face is on the front screen while someone calls in on FaceTime. "You're callin' late, man," Eddie grins lazily, socked feet sticking out to rest on the worn walnut table in front of him, "You okay?" "Yeah me and Bandit just got in from camping. Got some pics of him to send you, he's such a scamp." "You have fun?" he asks, rubbing his eyes. Eddie's voice is quiet while he speaks making Steve's head cock to the side. The lights changes on his face while he walks from the living room to his bedroom. "Yeah we had a lot of fun," Steve starts, "Why're you whispering?" "What do you mean?" Eddie asks, getting up off the couch to pad back into the kitchen. "You're talkin' all quiet," Steve smirks, "You got a girl over or something?" Ed puts his phone down and huffs while he grabs a bag of chips from the cabinet. Steve giggle, leaning his head in closer to the screen. "You do, don't you?" he guffaws, "Am I interrupting?" "She's sleeping," Eddie says softly, picking up the phone again and leaning against the counter. "Aw, so you ended up texting her back? Good."

"What the fuck? Who told you that?" Eddie's brows furrow, spitting through a mouthful of chips. "Robin, obviously." The light changes on him again while he makes his way to his own kitchen. Bandit's little pants and huffs echoing into the phone, "You think Nancy came up with the 'Hey pretty girl,' opening? She's never been a flirt."

"Well it worked so, congrats."

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" Steve pulls his own bag of chips out. They crunch together. "It just didn't seem right," he shrugs, "Y'know with Emma it's hard to be like, 'Hey I think I might actually see a future with this girl I've only been seeing for a few weeks.' Like, you just lost the love of your life."

"I'm not gonna be sad to hear that you're into someone, Ed," Steve smiles softly, voice calm, "Tell me about her."

So he does, he tells Steve about how he kept running into you that day at Trader Joe's and how he felt so stupid for not waiting at the doors for you but he was too scared. You were so cute in your bike shorts and sneakers, so careful in how you chose the fruit you were gonna get. When he saw you on the platform he knew it was like he was getting a second chance -- "Maybe Em thought you should stop being such a whore and sent her over," Steve laughs. Ed rolls his eyes but can't hold back his chuckle, watching as Steve rests his chin on the heel of his hand while he listens. Eddie talks about the picnic date, how he immediately felt comfortable telling you about his mom. The rain, the kiss in his apartment -- how he could've fucked you but didn't. How all your little dates had gone since.

"Oh so you like her," Steve nods.

"I'm scared," Eddie says quietly. "Scared?"

"What if it's just a fluke and I hurt her? Or I get hurt?" Eddie asks, "And like -- please don't take this the wrong way but like -- what if I put in all this effort and then lose her?"

"Like how I lost Em?"

Eddie nods slowly, not wanting to say the quiet part out loud. He talks about what you said when you got back to his place, how you think he doesn't really like you, how he doesn't think you're pretty. You're just for fun. "But this doesn't feel like 'just for fun', does it?" Steve challenges gently, "Cause if she was just for fun you would've texted me about if she could deep throat or not."

Eddie chuckles darkly, pink rising on his cheeks -- Steve chuckles too. Still gross boys who are gross.

"You should tell her how you feel," he encourages, "What's the worst that can happen?" "Everything."

"Okay," Steve shrugs, "I lost everything. And what happened?"

"We all came to pick you up." "Exactly. We'll be here to pick you up, too. Don't like..." Steve sighs, "Don't just immediately throw something away just because you're not used to it. The more you stand there and think about what you want, the less she's gonna think you want it."

"I know..." "So let her know you want it."

They talk for an hour, both cozied up on their respective couches -- Bandit immediately getting in the frame and yelping at Eddie's face on the screen. The seize in Eddie's chest loosens because maybe this could be okay. Now he just has to make sure you know it.

You wake up the next morning, groggy and dry -- but thankfully not nearly as hungover as you were expecting. Your joints hurt, your stomach's a little jumbled, but no headache and that's what matters the most. You shift in his crisp sheets, turning around to see that the bed is empty next to you -- pillows and throw blanket gone with him. You slept alone. You look at your phone on the bedside table next to a full bottle of water. You chug it while you check your notifications -- 6:11 AM. If anything was true, you always woke up too early when you drank too much the night before. The water sits heavy in your belly, pressing your bladder which was already screaming for you to go to the bathroom. With a sigh you stand up, and when you do, the embarrassment of the night before settles in. Your emotional hangover.

You pad to the bathroom and pee, seeing your face in the mirror like you did the night you got rained out. Your makeup is smeared, face a little bloated -- you do your best to wash it off. The cool water feels good against your skin, still hot from the liquor and dehydration. You pat your face dry and leave the bathroom, lingering at the top of the stairs where he's laying on the couch, already awake. "G'morning," you rasp out. He perks up, head tilting up to look at you from his place in the living room. "Morning, peach," he smiles, "You feelin' okay?"

You nod, ungracefully stomping down the metal steps of the spiral staircase while you get your footing, "Your old man pills must be magic or something."

Eddie pulls back the blanket, scooching back against the cushions to make room for you to lay down next to him, "C'mere, baby."

C'mere, baby runs down your spine, making your throat catch. You make your way towards the couch, crawling in next to him. The living room is quiet, with just some early morning sun pooling into the windows -- like you two are the only people awake on the street this morning. He covers you up, wasting no time wrapping himself around you and pulling you into him, "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah," you nod into his chest, the scent of his skin mixing with the faint smell of cirtus and cedar, "Did you?" "Normally I'm fine on the couch," he says, voice grizzly and sleepy, "But I didn't sleep a wink last night." "Oh, I'm sorry. I could've slept on the couch or I --" "No, it's not that," he shakes his head, catching your gaze, "Probably would've slept better if you were next to me." Your cheeks burn, a smile splittling across your face, "Well I'm here now."

"You are," he nods, leaning up to run his thumb over the apple of your cheek where a stray piece of glitter sits. Remnants of your makeup that you couldn't wash away.

"I'm um...sorry for how I acted last night," you confess, "That's not like -- that's not how I am."

"Don't be sorry," he assures quietly, "I understand." You're both quiet for a moment, the hum of the central air fuzzing the silence between you. "You're not just for fun, peach," he says, a seriousness to his normally playful voice, "I'm sorry I made you feel like that." "I um -- I'm sorry I kind of went a little insane," you shrug, feeling small, "I didn't mean to text all those times and then come here and cry and like --" "Stop apologizing," he says, thumb grazing your lower lip to stop you, "You were just feeling a way, that's okay. I get it." He takes his thumb away, leaning down to give you a kiss that sends you reeling. Warm and soft, delicate. His hands lead his arms around you again, smiling when you reach up to cup his cheek. "I like you," Eddie smirks against your mouth. "I like you, too," you smile when he breaks away. "The deli's open on the corner if you want me to run over and get a bacon, egg, and cheese," he offers quietly. "Why do I feel like you were gonna do that anyway?" you ask in the same tone. "I was," he grins again, "I just wanted to impress you by asking." He sits up, clamboring over you to get some coffee started so it'll be done by the time he gets back. You wait patiently for him, rolling your eyes while he shoves his socked feet in his slides, leaving the house in his pajamas of a t-shirt and black joggers. You prepare the coffees, feeling domestic like you live here -- getting used to where things are already.

He comes back twenty minutes later, sighing when the air conditioning hits him as the door opens, "It's already like, 80 degrees."

"Gross," you reply, face scrunching in the way that he likes, "Coffee is ready." "Oh, thank you." His eyes glitter at the gesture, seeing that you used the same mugs from when he had you over the first time. Those are his favorites, but you'll learn that eventually. The sandwhiches are tossed on the butcher block counter where you cried last night, but your embarrassment melts away when you feel him wrap himself around you again -- like he can't get enough. "I'm playing a show on Thursday at House of Yes," he says, "They're doing a metal theme'd night." "Yeah?" you ask, hands reaching for the plastic baggy and taking out both of your sadwhiches wrapped in foil. His arms still tight around your middle while you maneuver around your kitchen. "You should come," he asks, kissing the top of your head, "I'll get you a ticket."

"I don't know if that's really my scene," you shrug, twisting in his hold to face him, "I'm not like -- I'm not cool and underground like that." "So?" he quirks his brow, "You can be cool and underground for one night to hang out with your hottie rockstar boy-toy."

"That's so gross that you described yourself that way," you laugh, pushing out of his hug and opening your sandwhich, "Like, so cringey, babe." "Babe," he repeats back to you, "I like that. You can call me 'babe' whenever you want." "Duly noted," you agree, teeth sinking into the bread of the roll and breaking into the warm and gooey center. The jumble in your stomach starting to fade away while the grease of the egg soothes it. Eddie takes his sandwhich and coffee to the living room, taking his phone off the coffee table to open up his text conversation with Steve:

she called me babe.

i literally can't even breathe right now.

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #older!eddie munson #older!eddie #older!steve harrington #stranger things au #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic

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pedgito · 6 months

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𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 ╳ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Two: Chivalry, Secrets & Hot Tubs (Week One)

[strangers to friends to lovers, age gap (56/mid 20s), forced proximity, no outbreak]

(Series) Content Warning: a very, very lonely joel miller. copious amounts of lusting, tension, joel is an excellent cook (food, alcohol, ect), hot tubs, impromptu snowball fights, awkward situations, deep talks and tragic backstories (specified within chapter warnings, deeply depraved smut/sexcapades and the inappropriate use of a dining table (also specified within chapter warnings), nicknames of endearment (no use of y/n)

quick note: i love all the reblogs/feedback and that you're all enjoying this as much as i am <3 and a huge thank you to @swiftispunk for being the best and looking over the first chapter for me, i am completely scatter-brained and forgot to mention this when i posted last monday, so tysm han and pls go check her out if you haven't! & follow my fic update blog (@pedgitos) and turn on post notifications so you don't miss any updates/posted fics!

Chapter Summary: Settling in is easier than you expect, but it does come with a fair share of challenges. A week filled with getting to know one another and some moments shared, your week doesn't end on the best note, leaving you with a choice.

Chapter Warnings: (8k) no outbreak, grumpy!Joel, domestic shenanigans, Joel being naturally assertive, cooking dinner together, reading is good at encouraging Joel, one hot tub & two stubborn individuals, also...one bed trope incoming

You wake up refreshed, like you’ve been born with a new reverence for life—alright, it might be a bit of an overstatement but it’s a wonder what a decent night of sleep could do and you’re feeling that this idea, playing house with a stranger—though it wasn’t much like that anymore—wasn’t the worst choice. And it reminds you of Joel, having left him in the chair last night, not wanting to burden him but you can only imagine the ache in his bones, his back, the discomfort of sleeping in a chair all night.

You lay for a moment, bleary eyes adjusting to the early morning light. The morning sunshine wasn’t strong here, blanketed out by a stark white snow that covered the ground, it muted out most colors and left a cool, but bright blue that shined through the window above your bed.

It was peaceful. No cars, no buzz of strong electricity outside your window, people and their idle conversation a few floors down from your apartment window. Not even a bird, really. But, there’s a distinct clearing of a throat from the living room that has you stirring in bed, rising lazily as you move with the same enthusiasm.

It was a fresh week. The first official week of your vacation and you were going to start it off on a good note, clambering out of the bed and slipping on a pair of fluffy slippers to keep your toes from freezing off, not bothering to glance in a mirror on the way out—not that you needed to, it didn’t matter. It was early, you were still trying to shed the sleep from your body and you could care less. Plus, it wasn’t like an old t-shirt and sleep shorts was some foreign concept.

When you peek around the corner, arms crossed tightly over your chest, you can spot Joel’s head tilting to one side, hand kneading at the taut muscle in the center of his back where his neck starts to begin and then you’re stuck watching as he stretches his arms out wide, working out all of those muscles. Every single one. And you’ve been silent for far too long.

Yeah.

Clearing your throat softly, you approach from behind and keep your distance, announcing your presence like you hadn’t been lingering for a minute or two already.

“Morning,” You greet politely, resting your weight against the edge of the island, taking in full view of a freshly awoken Joel, eyes still puffy from sleep.

He looks very…gentle. Surprisingly, so. It softens his rigid demeanor significantly and you have to silently talk yourself out of glaring at him for too long, “I didn’t want to wake you—I’m so sorry.”

Jeez—you two are getting good at that. Apologizing, afraid to step on each other’s toes.

“Not your fault,” Joel massages his bicep with the heavy pressure of his thumb, looking slightly pained as he rolls his shoulders, “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“Yeah, but I forced you to stay up, so—”

“You didn’t,” Joel quickly shuts you down, “I’m a grown man,” there’s a laugh hidden somewhere in there, but Joel continues, “don’t blame yourself for my own irresponsibility.”

It’s too early for this. You force on a fake smile, void of any real emotion at this hour, running on fumes and the smell of coffee. Speaking of—you sniff, eyes searching for the smell like a dog would track a scent, and Joel is already pointing in the direction you should be looking for when your eyes land on him.

“I already finished it off on my own,” Joel admits, pointedly taking another long sip before resting the mug back on the counter, “I can get another pot goin’ if you need it.”

There’s an inclination to let him, seeing him assert himself so easily and offer, but you shake your head, “I think I can handle a coffee maker,” You assure him, meandering around the kitchen in search of the coffee grounds, ignoring Joel’s tracking of your movements, waiting for a moment to interject and point you in the right direction. You spot them a moment before the urge comes with a soft aha!

“I needed to make a drive into town,” Joel tells you after you’ve gone through the steps of starting your own batch of coffee, “pick up some more food, figured you might wanna tag along.”

He’s not asking, only assuming. But to be fair, his assumption is right.

“Sure,” You reply cooly, pouring yourself a hefty cup of coffee to sip on, letting your body take hold of the caffeine, “...how far away is the closest town?”

“Hour and a half.” Joel answers and you almost have the nerve to go wide-eyed on him, but then you remember just how deep into the woods you both were and that it was necessary.

Truthfully, there was a more concerning matter at hand.

“How’s your music taste?”

Joel has the gall to look offended by the question.

“I’m leavin’ in thirty,” Joel ignores you, “don’t think I won’t hesitate to leave you here.”

Okay, noted: Joel wasn’t much the morning person you assumed he was.

Joel immediately realizes how little disregard you have for touching things that aren’t yours when you reach for the makeshift box of cassettes tapes placed in the backseat of his truck—the thing was old, riding on it’s last leg, but it was something Joel would cherish until it was unsalvageable, torn seats, dents, and all.

“Ain’t gonna find anything you like in there,” Joel assures you, “None of that pop stuff they’re always playin’ on the radio these days.”

The tables turn on him suddenly, seeing your face contort into a similar emotion that he gave you earlier. Bewilderment, shock, annoyance. You scoff at the comment.

“Says you,” You retort back, sifting through the different cassettes until you find Joel trading glances between you and the road in front of him, almost worried you might chuck his collection out of the passenger side window, “Joel, eyes on the road.”

Joel enjoys a lot of country, which isn’t a total disbelief. But, it wasn’t something you shared the sentiment on, flicking away a handful of country artists you’ve never listened to and reaching some of the good stuff—older rock music, some classic 80s, and late 90s.

You pluck one out carefully, prying open the cassette case with gentle hands before sliding the tape in, allowing the low hum of the music to fill the car. There’s a brief moment of respite before Joel smirks to himself, thumb tapping against the steering wheel.

“What were you saying?” You look at him pointedly, shifting slightly in your seat.

Joel looks away briefly, biting back a chuckle, “Fine—I’ll give you some credit. Foo Fighters aren’t terrible, but you skipped right over Bruce Springsteen, so…”

You scoff in disbelief, “You don’t get to criticize me with that atrocious collection of country music,” You stare down at the box in thought, eyes brimming with a mischievous that Joel knows of immediately, he’s seen it before. Not with you, but he knows, “you know, maybe I should just do you a favor and—”

You can barely get a hand on the window roller before Joel’s hand is gripped tight over the box, trapping your other hand in his grip as he warns, “I’m not above leavin’ you stranded in the cold.”

Your grin is nothing but evil and Joel finds that there’s something about you that infuriates him in a way that is hard to describe, not in anger or rage, but a level that he thinks he could match. A game of back and forth that he could play into—but you’re quickly relenting regardless of the threat and placing the box on the floorboard.

“Already tried that,” You retort, “didn’t work too well for you, did it?”

Fair is fair. Joel doesn’t poke the beast.

Instead, he takes the chance to ask a question.

“So, what exactly was your plan?” Joel asks curiously. “You comin’ out here with no car and all?”

You shrug nonchalantly, “Didn’t really have one, but I would have figured it out.”

Joel shakes his head dismissively, subtly resembling a face of disapproval.

“Hey, you don’t get to judge me, okay?” You don’t wait for a response, “You can have whatever assumptions you want about me, but don’t try and act like you know anything about me.”

It was another reminder. Joel didn’t know you, but you didn’t know him either. You reign your frustration in slightly, quick to defend yourself but aware that not everyone handles confrontation in the same way—if Joel was quick to anger, you didn’t want to stoke the fire.

“I’m not,” Joel argues, his voice calmer than you expect, thinking back to the saddled rage his voice held the night you arrived, the threat that lingered with every word, “I’m not, alright?”

“Then stop that.” You comment, waving your hand in a vague motion toward his face, “Stop looking at me like—”

“Like what?” Joel interjects, eyes more pensive as he looks over at you.

“Like—like I need a fucking lecture on life or my choices,” You tell him, a hint of pleading in your voice, “I’m not some kid who doesn’t understand how life works.”

“You’re not a kid—”

“Good, great that we established that,” You lean back in the seat more comfortably, arms crossed over your chest as you keep your eyes on the snow covered road, “now shut up so I can enjoy the music.”

Thankfully, Joel does just that.

Conversation falls flat until you arrive at the store in town a while later, Joel fetching a cart and pushing it your way before he stops you suddenly, hand over your own again—a touch that normally you would flinch away from, but he’s already done it once before and the thought doesn’t even cross your mind.

“I’ll catch up,” Joel tells you, “I forgot somethin’ in the car.”

You glance back briefly, knowing that the walk isn’t that far.

“Oh, I can wait. It’s fine.”

Joel doesn’t say so much, but the look in his eyes goes a long way. A silent plea for you to go with it and don’t ask questions—again, you didn’t have any right to. You nod quickly and wander off toward the store as Joel trails away.

It’s then when your phone starts to vibrate away in your pocket, the sudden availability of service sending a barrage of notifications your way—you’re terrified to take a glimpse, but you do anyway. It should be no surprise to bear witness to the many, many texts from your mother wondering where you’d run off to, but there’s a tinge of guilt settling in your stomach.

You send her a quick, dismissive text to explain that you were fine and enjoying your time, but no elaboration on the things she wanted to know, because really, there was nothing to tell. And if you did decide to expel the details of your trip, mentioning that there was no boyfriend and it was just a stranger you met in the middle of the woods, well…that wouldn’t go over smoothly.

You also find a quick, heated moment of frustration to send an unpleasant text to the owners of the cabin, still polite enough that it wouldn’t warrant your ability to work things out—and you decide that calling would reach them faster, that somehow they’d magically find a way to appear and fix things, but there’s no answer. Only a voicemail that gave vague details about being away on their own vacation.

Just your luck.

Great. You sigh deeply, shoving the phone away into your pocket and returning to the land of obliviousness as you step inside the small market.

You fend for yourself for a while, throwing several random necessities in the cart as you go, enough sustenance to spread over four weeks and manage meals the entire trip, also a few more bottles of alcohol don’t hurt, looking for a few hard liquors that catch your eye and adding them to the growing supply of items.

You’re lost in concentration of the ingredients on the back of a box dinner when Joel’s voice startles you back to the real world, eyes jumping up to look at him and he spots the panic immediately.

He nods slightly when you recognize him, “Sorry, keep forgettin’ how jumpy you are.”

“You’re just ridiculously fucking quiet,” You tell him, breathing out a long sigh as you toss the box into the cart, “everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Joel assures, doesn’t elaborate. Okay, cool. You weren’t going to pry, no matter how much your instincts told you to. He scans the cart casually, “Mind tradin’ off?”

You lend him the lead and follow, watching as he pointedly finds things, like he’s reading off a list in his head and moves around the store with a purpose. It’s only slightly annoying that you have to keep pace with him, but he’s suddenly speaking out to you as he’s glancing over something on the bottom shelf, “Are you allergic to anything?”

“No,” You responded, eyebrows knitting together in confusion, “Why?”

“Grab some of that fresh rosemary,” Joel says, pointing out somewhere behind you and you whip around, eyes searching furiously and coming up empty, “—find it?”

You’re a little dumbfounded as you search the shelf of fresh herbs, Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching behind you as he reaches over your shoulder and plucks the exact thing he’s looking for with ease, “Hey, I had the right idea.” You defend, noticing how amused he looked at your befuddlement, “And you didn’t answer my question, either.”

“Well,” He tosses the small, plastic package in the cart, still tucked up at your side and you can feel his body heat, the solid wall of his chest against your shoulder, “don’t like the idea of accidentally killin’ you if I cook something you’re allergic to.”

“Well, what if I’m lying?” You challenge and Joel shoves you aside gently to grab the cart, hands on your shoulder as he shifts you away—and when had things gotten so…touchy?

Truthfully, Joel finds it easier than telling you, noting how quickly you quiet down when he asserts himself and does rather than asks. He knows if it made you uncomfortable you wouldn’t have had a problem speaking up immediately.

“Look at me,” And there’s a deep timbre to his voice that has your chest sparking like a fire, eyes connecting with Joel’s for longer than you’ve ever allowed and it’s like he sees right through you, but he’s searching for something, “—you’re not lyin’.”

“But, if I was?”

Joel nearly leaves you in the dust, but turns to look at you with a subtle grin.

“Well, now I know you’re not.”

–

The ride back is easier, much easier—and Joel doesn’t fault you when you fall asleep halfway through, the heat of the car and the low hum of the music like a perfect mix as you curl in on yourself. Joel wakes you with a gentle hand on your shoulder when you finally make it back, allowing you a moment to shake the grogginess away with a word over his shoulder as he opens his door.

“Careful over that patch of ice on your side,” Joel instructs, “gettin’ colder so it’s slicker than it was a couple days ago.”

Careful. You roll your eyes carelessly, nudging the door open with your shoulder and hopping out, boots hitting the hard ground—your first mistake was underestimating the slickness and Joel’s warning, because the moment you take your first step it’s all downhill. Literally.

Luckily though, like a moment of divine faith as you pray that you don’t hit the ground, Joel is right at your back, arms slipping under your own as he plants his feet firmly and catches you. One arm crossing somewhere over your midsection and the other wrapping around your shoulder, a large palm holding you steady as he helps you back to your feet. You can feel him on the brink of making a comment, eyes looking down tenderly into your own—

“Don’t ask.” You warn him bitterly, face scrunched up like a kicked puppy, shrugging him off lazily. Joel doesn’t argue, making sure you’re steady before he allows you himself to fully let go.

Joel shakes his head subtly, a nuisance of his, and rounds the back of the truck to reach for the bagged groceries, “Fine, I’ll just say I told you so then. How’s that?”

Worse.

Joel never asks for help, doesn’t even seem bothered when you stand there aimlessly, watching him stow away the groceries like he already had a game plan and you feel slightly useless, but it does give you a good opportunity to watch without any explicit reason or excuse.

There’s an obvious purpose to Joel’s movement, clear that he’s used to doing a lot of heavy lifting and keeping up, probably prefers organization over clutter, and has a certain inclination to do things himself, always. And you can’t help the way your gaze clings to his face, noticing something a little off—not good or bad, just slightly different. You hadn’t noticed it this morning, but with the extended amount of time your eyes lingered on him, you realize he’s cleaned up a bit, shaved his beard down to near stubble, a subtle difference…but you notice.

You’re not sure how long you’re stuck in this state, arms resting against the counter as you stood there, practically useless, thinking about what Joel looks like on a regular basis, when he isn’t cooped up in a cabin in the dead of winter. You want to see that side of him, crave it. It’s an insane thought that doesn’t make sense, eyes widening suddenly at the realization of the thought you’re having—

“You still with me?” Joel’s voice calls out in the haze, muffled slightly as you come back into focus, eyes landing on him. “Think I lost you there for a minute.”

“Oh—no. I mean, yeah. I’m still a little tired, I guess.” It’s a bold face lie, but Joel seems to believe you. “Why?”

“I was sayin’ I need to go chop up some wood for the fireplace,” He explains again, “then you went all wide eyed…”

“Oh, okay,” You nod jerkily, “...do you need help?”

Joel immediately declines. No surprise there.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Joel suggests, “I can manage just fine on my own.”

Sleep sounds great, but it doesn’t happen.

You try—you do, but the splitting of wood, the strong crack of the axe catching the wood outside of your bedroom window, it isn’t exactly soothing to the ears. So, you find yourself wandering into the kitchen, peeking between the curtains with a wild curiosity that reminds you of when you were younger and trying to catch a peek of the cute boy next door, a bashfulness replaced with a deep, insatiable hunger that you didn’t know existed until this moment.

Joel was attractive, you could easily admit that. But, seeing him now, it’s a done deal. There was a deep pit of despair in your mind and you were stuck at the bottom with no way out.

It’s almost abysmal how easy he makes it look, the axe he’d brandish as his weapon of choice against you swung over his shoulders, the unfortunate lack of skin stretching over taut muscles as he went through the motions, covered up by thick layers. But, you get the idea.

There’s a slight pout forming on your face before you catch yourself.

He slices full power through the wood like it was eager to give way to him. You also find that his face tugs up in a scowl after every swing of the axe, a soft sigh of exerted energy as he tosses the logs to the side and starts up again. You could watch for hours. But, you settle for the few more minutes he spends collecting the wood before you’re scrambling back into your bedroom like you had been there the entire time.

Unfortunately, Joel isn’t oblivious. Still, he spares you the embarrassment.

There was no reason for him to entertain whatever he thought might be going on. He couldn’t.

The next few days are uneventful, though that was to be expected. It allows you time to really settle in, usually curled up on the couch watching the fire crackle away until you thought your eyes might melt away, or reading a book that Joel always seemed to be trying to catch a peek at. There was an innocent curiosity there that you could appreciate.

You also learned that Joel only took his coffee one way, offering up your services to refill his cup while you refilled your own, sugar lingering over the rim and he’s quickly pushing away the small container of crystalized goodness.

“Joel, come on–” You grimace but relent, placing the cylinder of sugar on the counter.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” Is all he offers, almost challenging you to take a sip.

You accept, obviously. But, it isn’t without consequence.

The moment the bitterness hits your tongue you’re scrambling away, forcing the mug into Joel’s waiting hands and spitting out whatever putrid liquid remained in your mouth in the sink.

It’s the first time Joel actually laughs, a full on chuckle that isn’t very receptive on your end.

Joel apologizes with dinner that night, a gesture that wasn’t expected or needed, still you’re thankful nonetheless. But, it offers you the realization of just how good a cook Joel can be.

Steaks grilled to a perfection that only came with repetitive practice and learned techniques, vegetables sautéed and seasoned to an enjoyable level, and a side of pasta that if Joel told you he made from scratch, you would’ve believed wholeheartedly if you hadn’t seen him dump the entire box of pre-made pasta into a pot of boiling water.

You’re halfway through dinner, chewing thoughtfully on a bite when you finally break the long, but comfortable silence that had blanketed over you both.

“So, Joel,” There’s a tone to his name that catches his attention, eyes flicking up to meet yours mid-bite, “what do you do for work?”

At this point, your nosey tendencies take hold.

There’s a scrunch to Joel’s nose before he speaks, almost as if he considered feeding you a lie alongside the beautiful meal he’d made. He settles for a simple answer.

“Uh, carpentry.” Joel tells you after a long pause, “I—build stuff for people, businesses sometimes.”

That explains some of his sturdiness, his practiced strength that came from, probably, years of hard constructive work and building. It also explains why he’s also working away at his hands, rubbing out the stiff joints and knuckles.

“I know what carpentry is, Joel.” You deadpan, but there’s a playfulness lingering in your voice.

You assume he’s used to explaining himself often, which is why he forces it on you so easily.

“And you?” Joel asks suddenly, “College? You’re about that age, right?”

You snort softly at the tone he offers, slightly patronizing, but all in good fun.

“I’m taking a semester off,” You answer indifferently, remembering how disappointed your parents had been about the ordeal, but you were suffocating, “I’m not sure what I want to do anymore.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Joel assures, “can’t fault you either. Never went to college so I don’t have an opinion on it.”

There’s no judgment on your end, but for the sake of conversation, you bite.

“Any reason?” You ask curiously, wondering if you'd receive the similar sentiment that it’s all just bullshit.

“Didn’t have the money,” Joel answers simply, “didn’t have the grades, either. I thought I could start my own business out of carpentry, but…”

But…you lean into the table slightly, hanging on his words.

“You need a lot of money for that,” Joel finishes, “and, I mean, I’m livin’ comfortable now, but that idea took a lot of money that I didn’t and still don’t have.”

“So, you waste it on month long vacations in the middle of the woods,” You surmise humorously, nodding in approval, “can’t say I blame you, either.”

Joel shakes his head in amusement, chewing around a bite as he speaks, “Your turn.”

Right. An eye for eye. A question for a question. He's watching you expectantly, waiting for you to give a response to the same question you asked him.

“Oh—I work out of this bookstore in downtown Austin.” You admit, finishing up the last few bites of your food, scraping the plate nearly clean. “It pays the bills and then some. I like it.”

There’s no compliment needed for the food, all the evidence of it gone. But, you feel the need to appreciate it anyways.

“Thanks for this, Joel.” You speak again, softer this time.

“It’s no big deal, darlin’.” Joel assures you, holding up his hands in a feeble defense at the compliment, clearly something he doesn’t welcome easily. “Just food.”

“It’s been...months,” You tell him, “since I’ve had any type of home-cooked meal. Take the damn thank you, Joel.”

He smirks at that, seeing the threatening fork raise before you utter those final words.

“You’re welcome.”

And he means it.

–

You force Joel to stay seated while you clean, knowing it was the least you could do after he spent so much time preparing and cooking dinner. There’s a solid few minutes of arguing before you have to physically shove Joel back into his chair despite his protests, hands pressed into his shoulders as you threateningly speak down to him.

“If you move, I’m locking your ass out in the cold.”

Joel wouldn’t mind, but you’re silently hoping that he’ll just listen.

After all is done, tossing the damp washcloth to the side, you sigh with a newfound relaxation.

There’s only one thing that might top off this night, making it almost the first perfect day here.

“That’s it, I’m getting in the hot tub,” You decide, squeezing tenderly at the tense muscles of your neck, thankful that the owners had a small alcove connected to the cabin that allowed for you to enjoy the hot tub from the safety of the cold, “join me?”

You’re not sure what inclines you to ask so openly, but you don’t second guess it.

“While I appreciate the offer,” Joel starts, “I don’t think I brought the proper…attire.”

He’s still seated where you had him planted and it makes you laugh softly at the idea that he was taking it seriously, which—yeah, you did threaten the possibility of hypothermia on him.

“Fine,” You relent, rounding the corner of the island closest to him as you quickly call out over your shoulder, “but, there’s still a couple of chairs in there if you need the company.”

He didn’t need just anyone’s either and didn’t need, so much as wanted.

He wanted your company.

A while later, you’re already waist deep in the hot tub, figure hugging white bikini tied back securely, arms resting against the side furthest from the door as you press your chin against your forearms and staring out the wall of vast windows that line the room, allowing a view of the snow storm outside, coming down in a flurry that seemed to only be gaining in strength—and Joel, well, he’s still sitting in that stupid chair.

He’s allowed himself too much time in his own head, thinking over the events of the past few days. His call to Sarah was pleasant, a much needed moment of peace when he hears his daughter’s bright, hyper voice on the other end. When he doesn’t have her for the holidays, it’s hard. The calls are sparse, the communication is clipped, and it feels like he’s being forced away from her, knowing that she’s growing older every day. That he is growing older.

He’s allowed a lot of his life to slip away, when he wasn’t working to pay bills and put food on the table he was usually drinking, bar-hopping with Tommy at his old age to hide the pain he felt everyday, mentally and physically. There’s a problem brewing under his skin, using the company of his brother and alcohol to cope with loss he feels so viscerally everyday. The life he could’ve had.

He feels pitiful, miserable—only took this damn trip to get out of town by the suggestion of Tommy, away from all distractions, hoping for a refresh to clear his head. But instead, he met you.

He had no clue what the fuck to do anymore.

Joel’s never processed emotions well, feelings or anything thereof.

But, here he was, lusting after you.

He knows it’s the excitement, the taboo idea around sharing something special with a stranger. Someone who knows nothing about you, someone who doesn’t have the leverage to judge. Someone who doesn’t have to know about all the wrongs he’s committed and bad choices he’s made.

You’re not privy to the fucked up version of Joel that belongs in his hometown, cooped up in his childhood home that he inherited from his parents, filled with too many now painful memories that he’d made with Sarah when she was younger—when he still had her.

He can’t help the way his mind races every single second of the day, constantly worrying, always trying to busy himself with something, anything to keep that lingering cloud of anxiety away. But, when he thinks about you, even something so mundane as the way you squint to get a closer look at a paragraph of the book you’ve probably read a thousand times, his mind goes quiet.

Because, frankly, he’s fascinated by the idea of you. That maybe, just maybe, you weren’t actually real. He’s halfway leaning toward the idea that he’s had a full mental break and this is all an illusion he’s cooked up in his head, but then he reminds himself that you are just as full a human as himself. There is a reason for this, even if there had to be some other force at play.

Maybe you needed this as badly as he did.

A fresh start, no judgment.

And that’s why he decides to follow you, the moment he catches a glimpse of you as you turn the corner to take the steps down into the room that connected to the kitchen, a full glimpse of skin and body that he’s tried to keep his mind off of, despite how openly you stare at him.

There has to be something there. He can’t have imagined all of this.

You feel his presence when the creak of wood gives him away, one hand shoved into his front pocket and his other arm helping him stay upright as he leaned against the doorframe. The steam billows and settles like a cloud over the bubbling hot tub but does nothing to hide how see-through your bathing top is and the slick slope of your breasts, his eyes trailing down toward the small bow that was sewn to the midpoint of your top and know he’s staring at your chest, very openly—Joel’s immediately regretting his choice.

Your eyes follow his but you dare not speak, afraid to startle him.

Now who was the jumpy one?

“Change your mind?” You ask curiously, shimming the expanse of the hot tub as you grab onto the opposite ledge, resuming your previous position, closer to Joel now. If you reached out you could touch the edge of his flannel and soak the trim, maybe even pull him closer, but you resist the urge. “It feels amazing. I’m serious.”

It wasn’t a ploy to get him in, but it wouldn’t hurt. He doesn’t respond, eyes staring at the soft wave of the water as it hits your side, his posture rigid.

Maybe you’d broken him.

“Joel,” You call out with a soft nudge to his thigh, as far as you could reach with your fingertips, cutting into his line of sight, offering a friendly smile, “just strip down to your underwear and get in.”

“I don’t think—”

Oh, for christ sake.

“You wouldn’t have come over here if you weren’t at least thinking about enjoying the benefits of the hot tub,” You argue, “so stop being grumpy and strip. I won’t even look.”

It shouldn’t sound as gritty as it does, a playful venom in your tone as you sink back slightly.

It makes Joel feel like he’s back in high school, flirting with who would eventually be his ex-wife and mother of his daughter, but there’s an assertiveness that intrigues Joel, your willingness to put yourself out there without fear. Take a leap, a jump, and hope that someone will catch you.

Joel caught you, he just needed someone to catch him.

You spot his fidgeting, the wheels and cogs in his mind turning and he just needs that shove.

Just enough.

You rise over the edge, palms pressed flat to bear your weight and squeeze your breasts together, belly button nearly level with the water as you’re close enough to see the fine details of his face, giving him a look that Joel couldn’t deny.

“Get. In.” You stress the words, making direct eye contact. “You can thank me later.”

Finally, he moves.

You sink back slightly into the pool and wade the water until you hit a corner, watching briefly as Joel works away at the buttons on his flannel, quiet air filling with an unspoken tension. You try to busy yourself with the view outside, something that didn’t require you to look in the vicinity of Joel for a second, knowing that the moment felt more intimate than it needed to. But, it doesn’t stop that sparse glances over your shoulder to check on him, now barefoot and pulling his shirt over his shoulders, the fabric pulling and obscuring your view of his face and his view of you, staring so starkly at him in that moment.

It shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. The freckles that speckle his shoulders, nearly invisible from this distance because of his tanned shoulders and the unevenness of the tan as it continues down his arm, varying in shades of intensity, undoubtedly from hours of working in the sun. There’s also a smaller patch of hair on his chest that with his short cropped beard, seems to be trimmed down too. His strong build doesn’t throw you off, though—solid muscle that flexed across his stomach as he yanked his shirt a little harder to get it over his head fully, not built in a way that rippled down his abdomen, but showed a sturdiness to his figure that had your body humming to a tune that reached down to your core, thighs squeezing together under the water.

Joel passes the shirt off into a waiting arm chair, clothes slowly piling on the cushion alongside your towel and he pops the button on his jeans, still unaware of your…innocent observation. But, the moment the jeans stretch over his thighs you swallow a little too hard and you’re immediately averting your eyes when he looks up briefly.

Like you’d been caught.

Joel clears his throat like a warning, as if he hadn’t felt your eyes on him the entire time, and swings a leg over carefully, a view of the black briefs that molded to his skin perfectly and hugged his backside in a way that feels criminally illegal…and you’re staring again.

He hisses at the sudden change in temperate, but inch by inch he lowers and adjusts, eventually huffing out a low groan, eyes closed, when he finally settles on the seat inside of the tub.

Suddenly, this felt like a terrible idea.

“See?” You break the revered silence for him, “Worth it?”

“Almost forgot how you just bullied me in here.” He jokes—full on fuckin’ jokes before cracking an eye open to catch your reaction, a subtle look of disbelief on your face. “I’m kidding, darlin'.”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the seat under the water and you smile, a half-hearted roll of your eyes thrown his way before you relax too, for a moment.

“This is so weird,” You speak softly, after a while, and Joel looks slightly puzzled as he opens his eyes fully now, perking up slightly as he adjusts himself, chest rising over the water slightly, his arms hanging over the ledge with his fingers gripping the ceramic—and you’re gaze is drifting again, mostly to his hands, but you mask it as you look away briefly, down the hall or out the window. Literally anywhere but Joel, “it’s just—not how I expected things to go.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Joel replies with an underlying amusement.

As the quiet settles, slowly drifting closer to one side, where you originally were when Joel came searching for you—voluntarily, he lingered and waited, waited for the push you gave him—Joel joined alongside you, burrowing himself in the closet corner nook and enjoying the view in silence.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Joel comments, “everything alright?”

Everything was fine and you couldn’t make complete sense out of it. The ability to be so inherently comfortable with someone you’ve only known for a little under a week, the attraction you felt despite your own rational thinking telling you otherwise, the urge to connect openly and without fear of judgment. It terrifies you.

“Can I ask you a question?” You ask quietly, “Like…a real question, not those superficial ones that we’ve thrown at each other.”

Joel doesn’t like the sound of it, but there’s also the inclination that he could feed you a total lie and you wouldn’t have any idea otherwise.

He nods, fist resting against his cheek as he turns to look at you and suddenly the pressure is on, your heart racing in your chest at his sudden, full attention.

“Earlier…you said you forgot somethin’ in the car,” Joel’s fist clenches unknowingly under the water, an instinct to bury his reaction, “I know it isn’t my business, but I was just curious what is was.”

Joel, against every fiber in his being that tells him to deflect, gives you a straight answer. It’s almost startling how easily it comes out, like he’s lifting a weight off his chest that he’s carried for years.

“I had to make a call,” Joel admits, “to uh—my daughter, she’s back home with her mom.”

Your brow pulls together in confusion, “Wait, are you married?”

Joel somehow amidst the heaviness of admitting his truth still laughs, quick to defend himself from your next question.

“Oh, not at all. Never, actually.” Joel responds, “We…I never married her mom, it was obvious pretty quickly we weren’t going to work well together.”

The answer is simpler than you expect, different too. Part of you wondered if he was pleading his own case to the owners and was just as unsuccessful as you, but this is much more vulnerable.

And despite your ability to lie, and his own, neither of you can force it.

You don’t pry further, feeling like it may push things too far. Too personal.

“Okay, your turn.”

“Do I scare you?” Joel asks suddenly, almost like he’s been anticipating the moment too.

You’re almost sure the expression you return makes you look insane, feeling the implication that he might, that he thinks—it’s so far left field that it throws you off.

“No—no,” You quickly reject any lingering doubt he has, “I mean…the first night, maybe. But, now…no.”

“Oh.” It’s all Joel can muster, unsure of why he was expecting a different answer. That you would say yes and whatever shroud of thought he had about this moment you were sharing was only out of fear, that you were just trying to be polite.

“Look, I get jumpy because you sneak up on me,” You answer, “and you have this…presence about you,” Okay, not the best wording, “not scary or anything, just…strong.” Big, like a wall. Like, if anyone were to ever approach you wrongly, Joel would attack without question. And maybe the fact that he would do that should scare you, but instead, it entices you.

Joel sits with the implication, burdened by his own mind.

You can see him lost in thought, speaking with a comforting surety, “Thank you…for telling me.”

The truth. Thank you for telling me the truth.

The next stretch of time, what feels like an hour, is spent in a comforting silence. You think Joel is nearly falling asleep but then he moves, make a comment about how the snow won’t let up and eventually you’re forcing yourself out of the hot tub, reaching over the side to snatch your towel and sending all of Joel’s clothes descending to the floor in the process and as if you had a death wish on Joel, your ass pops up at an angle that is physically impossible to look away from.

Joel is a gentleman, he swears. He was raised to respect and care and always put women first, but there’s a split second where he can’t pull his eyes away, feels like he’s just caught a glimpse of something he shouldn’t have, but then you’re turning your head over your shoulder and you definitely catch him—you could ruin the moment and say something or you could ignore it.

Fortunately, you save Joel some embarrassment, covering it with a sly smile as you apologize for dropping his clothes and take the final step out and wrap the towel around your body.

“Shit,” You quickly realize that in the midst of your pushing Joel to join you that he didn’t have a towel, “stay here—I’ll go grab you a towel.”

Joel wasn’t eager to move anyways, admittedly. Sporting half a hard-on under the water, he wouldn’t subject himself to the scrutiny of your gaze or what implications it would make, thinking every horrible possible thought to will it away—luckily your timing is perfect.

You quickly gather his dropped clothes and pile them in the chair as you toss the towel his way, ignoring any and all chances to glimpse at his wet body, back turned as you quickly excuse yourself away in fear of the idea that you might say something unforgettably stupid.

The walk to your separate bedroom is quick, swift, like a desperately needed escape.

But, as fate would have it, the moment you open the door and wretch the towel away from your body there’s a loud pop! to your left and a spark on the outside that has you halfway on the floor and slamming into the wall out of both shock and an attempt to shield yourself from whatever unseen force was at play, yelping out loud in the process.

From an outside perspective, you can understand why Joel doesn’t hesitate to come running.

He runs straight into your back, bare chest pressed against your know bare shoulders and leaving you half-dressed in front of him, scared out of your wits and willing to grab onto whatever was nearby to keep you upright—fortunately, Joel’s arm is the perfect anchor as your hand wraps around his wrist and squeezes.

“What the hell?” Joel inquires, slightly out of breath as he searches your face for any signs of injury, “What happened?”

You both look at the culprit—the heated window unit that was no longer expelling heat, and while the cabin was still heated, it didn’t reach the bedrooms well enough that you weren’t shivering without some type of additional help. You sigh in frustration, eyes turning up towards the ceiling as you feel no shame, too frustrated to care as you lean into Joel’s chest.

“Shit.” It’s all Joel offers as a solution, not that you were expecting one. But, still, it would be nice.

“Yeah, shit.” You echo, pushing away from him suddenly to gather your damp towel and a change of clothes, padding your bare feet toward the living room, but Joel is grabbing your wrist before you get too far from him.

“Hey, woah,” He starts in a calmer tone, “you can take my room—I’ll drive into town tomorrow and see if I can get ahold of the owners, we’ll figure something out.”

“I already tried calling them,” You admit, “Earlier. Straight to voicemail and something tells me they won’t be answering their phones until after the holidays.”

Pulling away again, you continue your way toward the living room and gather a few pillows and blankets, tossing them on the larger couch beside the fireplace. Joel doesn’t seem to entertain the idea, following on your heels as he gathers each item you throw in that direction and you finally reach a point of full, unrestrained frustration.

“Joel, cut the shit.”

“Take the room,” He offers as a counter, “I can sleep on the couch.”

With his back? Not a chance. But, he offers anyway.

“Fuck off,” You chuckle bitterly, “I’m not forcing you out of the bedroom.”

“Then it looks like we’re sharin’ the living room.”

You close your eyes, toss the blanket aside and breathe, clenching and unclenching your fists in an effort to not completely lose it on the man standing opposite of you.

Chivalry be damned, Joel wasn’t giving in.

Fine, two could play at that game.

“I’ll take the bed.” You quickly agree, but there’s a lingering ultimatum.

Joel waits, sees the thought brewing behind your pensive eyes.

“But, so will you.”

“Now—”

“No,” You interject, putting your figurative foot down, suddenly vividly reminded of your vulnerability as you stood there, still slightly damp and in a swimsuit that did nothing to cover your body—it was the reason Joel’s eyes were so pointedly stuck on your face, never lingering elsewhere, “either we both sleep in here on the couch or we share the bed.”

Joel’s hands shift to his hips, towel tight around his waist and you’re too annoyed to admire the way his muscles tense and flex with the movement, the underlying thickening desire settling beneath the surface.

You match his stance, daring him to challenge you.

A small part of you wants him too.

—

“Anyone ever told you you’re damn stubborn?” Joel asks, trailing behind you as you enter his bedroom, a clone of your own but with a small bathroom attached.

“All the time.” You answer truthfully. “I’m going to shower and sleep—no funny business.”

Meaning if Joel did sneak away into the living room to offer up the full amenities of his own room, he would feel your wrath tenfold.

Joel resigns to the idea and gathers his own pair of fresh clothes before disappearing into the bathroom down the hall, leaving you both to a moment of levity.

There’s no anticipation to the arrangement—but the idea is there, burrowing into the back of your mind.

You’re sleeping with a stranger…someone you knew little to nothing about, but it was your choice. And you trusted your gut.

Joel was safe, he was good.

You relax under the spray of hot water, a different heat to the one you enjoyed just a while ago, the type that allowed your thoughts to roam, and you laugh softly at the sight of Joel’s shower supplies, knowing he was stuck with whatever you brought—it wasn’t something you thought about in the moment, but there’s a brief realization that he was sharing a moment similar to your own, scowling at the sight of your fruity scented body wash that you left on the shelf there. It wasn’t a huge deal, Joel wouldn’t fuss over it.

But, it also lends your mind to roam more.

As if his bare chest wasn’t already at the forefront, and his eyes as they had stared at you so unabashed until the moment he was caught, all innocent looks with deeper intentions that invaded your mind like a plague.

You were so fucking frustrated—annoyed with him, the state of your life, this stupid vacation. With the suds gone and the water drowning out the silence you allow yourself one—just one moment of selfishness...

And as if the house was the biggest tattletale of them all, the floor creaks on the other side of the door.

“Joel?” You call out curiously, as if an intruder in the middle of nowhere was even likely.

There’s several seconds of silence before Joel finally answers.

“Yeah?”

“Your body wash sucks.” You goad lightly, hoping to ease the earlier frustration that had grown between you both, and while you can’t see him, you can hear his laughter on the other side of the door.

“Can’t say yours is any better.”

You smile to yourself, the way he responds with fondness that he tries to hide.

When you finish up and dress, peeking your head out before you move to open the door fully, Joel is already on his side, turned away. It was obvious that he didn’t want to be bothered. The small blanket of division rolled and wedged in the center of the bed like a barrier, a warning.

Keep your distance and you both may manage to survive the rest of this vacation.

Thank you for reading this to the end! If you enjoyed please extend a like or reblog (with a comment if you'd like, i love reading them <3) to support writers, it helps a ton!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedrostories #MMITW #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x fem!reader #my writing #let's just pretend ellie isn't in that gif lmao

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bella-goths-wife · 2 months

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I wasn't sure initially but after reading them all I must admit I've enjoyed your Yandre Vs x pet posts and love Velvette in particular. Can you do something similar but just for Velvette? Either Yandre, she owns your soul or just an obsessive girlfriend (general neutral reader).

Yandere girlfriend velvette

Warnings: obsessive behaviour but not as bad as pet series, reader is an objectively bad person but in a the devil wears Prada way, ooc velvette?

This isn’t canon to the pet series and is a completely different au! So reader is not pet and is treated significantly better

First of all, you’d have to be something special for velvette to treat you as an equal, let alone develop a romantic relationship with

And you were definitely something special

You were a fashionista demon who died in the 2000s, but your death would not stop you from building an empire

You created unique clothing pieces that blended the fun and freeness of the previous generations with a fresh Y2K style

Think monster high outfits, your outfits held darker and lighter tones blended together which incorporated different cultures from all over the world

You also had a unique ability that helped you with this, you had the ability to put your emotions into the clothing you’d handcrafted

Literally, so if you made a scarf while feeling sad, whoever wore the scarf would then feel sad for however long they wore the scarf

This made your brand unique and gave you an edge that stood out from the other companies

You started out on market stalls but eventually you gained investors and expanded into a company that even had hell’s celebrity’s wearing your clothes

Stolas had commissioned you to make Octavia’s debut dress, veroskia had asked you to create her entire wardrobe for her tour around the hells rings and even the Lilith was photographed wearing one of your dresses

You had officially built your fashion empire that you’d always dreamed about and you even owned your own tower

This unfortunately meant that you couldn’t keep up with demand and handcraft each clothing item and would have to expand the workforce and hire skilful factory workers

This meant that your ability to put your emotions into the clothing wouldn’t work, so you made a limited edition line out every year with one new clothing item coming out every month

Each outfit would have a theme that connected with the emotions, so you’d do a rouge rage or a cerulean calm

You’d sell these to the highest bidder and would quickly become your top earning products with brawls happening at the bidding wars

But your company being successful only made your bad personality traits worse as you became more demanding and perfectionist to your staff in a way that made you a bad person but in a devil wears prada way that had the newer generations of demons calling you an icon

You had an attitude very similar to velvettes, only with the skills and the maturity to carry it

Velvette hated watching you grow your empire so much that it almost rivalled hers in popularity and income

She hated that you’d practically done it all by yourself while she had relied on Vox financially and he only did that because of his interest In her abilities with social media

She hated that she actually liked your clothing and she hated that your ability made you stand out

But she hated most of all that you two had come to hell within months of each other, yet you were a respected ceo and overlord while she was seen as a joke by overlords and parts of the fashion community

She also hated how insanely pretty you were, but she didn’t come to terms with that until later

She would try and do anything to discredit you and make it so your popularity would go down when you were neck and neck

She tried ‘exposing’ you on social media for having poor working conditions and being rude to workers but she forgot this is hell and literally no one cares

She tried slandering you and your clothing brand on social media, but she forgot your modern and you know how to use social media to your advantage too

You kinda turned into a meme similar to the Wendy’s twitter memes whenever you clapped back at velvette

She tried to pull your investors by threatening them with voxtech legal action, but you’d become self sustaining and could handle the loss with having hells celebrities commissioning your personal pieces

She tried to make you look foolish in front of the other overlords, but they all respected you much more than they respected her

She even tried to copy one of your designs but you called her out and she had to do one of those influencer apology videos but it mostly just consisted of her badmouthing you and justifying her actions

Her hatred bored on obsession with how regularly she stalked your profiles and life

After around ten years of this rivalry, you grew bored with it and you were running out of ideas

So you contacted the Vs and sat down in a meeting with them where you suggested a collaboration of the fashion designers on your terms

Velvette wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but Vox insist that it would be extremely profitable and practically forcing velvette to accept

So you started a collaboration

You and velvette butted heads a lot or some stylistic choices

It was so bad that eventually you couldn’t be in a room together for a few weeks

This collaboration took months, and during this time velvette got to hate you up close as she got to know every annoying detail about you

Except that hatred changed to something different over the months she worked with you, you intrigued her in a way that no one else has ever before

It all came to a stop one night when you two had gone out to a club together for social media promo for the upcoming collab

You shared drinks and complaints about one another and one thing led to another and you two had a drunken make out session in the back of the limo

But velvette hauled ass as soon as she realised she was swapping spit with her arch nemesis

She laid in bed and thought about her actions

Could all of those years of feeling hatred and jealousy towards you just been her suppressed attraction to you?

Could all those tense moments she assumed was awkward tension actually been sexual tension?

The thought made velvette want to scream into a pillow

She pushed her feelings down and decided to just avoid you until the collab was over

She thought it would be easier to hate you rather than face her obvious attraction to you

You tried talking with her many times during the collab but she just ignored you, and this hurt you deeply

So you complied with her wishes and after the collab ended you went back to living your lives without each other

But velvette found herself missing you and being around you

Staff especially noticed that she was much harsher to them then before

She felt herself wanting to reach out to you to beg you to either kiss her or reject her because surely rejection would be easier to deal with than this

But it all changed when rumours started circulating

Velvette had been innocently scrolling through social media until she came across a drama channel that claimed to have spotted you in a romantic moment with none other than veroskia mayday

Velvette found herself consumed with absolute disgust and jealousy

She stalked yours and veroskia’s profile and begged Vox to use his hypnosis to send trolls to verkoskia’s profile

The rumours were cleared up after you made a response that claimed that you and veroskia were only friends, but velvette still felt consumed with rage

She did something completely out of character

She went to you at your place of work and cornered you in your office before confessing every little feeling she’d ever had for you

She practically begged you to be with her, but you just sighed and explained that she had hurt you with her actions and that you couldn’t see yourself in a relationship with her

“It would hurt the brands” is what you also said, and that cut velvette deeper than any knife

She had felt pathetic, and she’d never feel pathetic in any relationship

Even before she had gotten to know you, your instant rise to success left her feeling small

You held power over her, and maybe that’s why she was so obsessed and attracted to you

She’d felt surrounded by people who were less than her all her life, and falling for you felt like finally finding an equal

And she wasn’t going to let you go that easily

She’d destroy you and your company if it meant that you’d love and rely on her

Hope you guys enjoyed and let me know if you want me to make this another series

Tag list:

None yet, let me know if you wanna be tagged in future works like this for this if it becomes a series :)

#hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel vees #yandere hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #yandere velvette x reader #hazbin velvette #velvette x reader #yandere x reader #yandere

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melodygatesauthor · 9 months

Text

Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Three - The Therapist

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

Summary: I arrived in a different universe, and in this one you’re a therapist. I saw your name on one of the doors when the orderlies were dragging me down the hall to a cell. I guess luck was on my side, I wouldn’t have to search very far for you this time, not that I would’ve been given a chance anyway. When the orderlies saw me, I think I scared them and they thought I was delusional. They took my watch, I’ll have to get that back…but I have to find you first.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was a morning like every other.

You pulled into the parking lot of the Lennox House for the Mentally Insane, coffee in hand, ready to start your day. You loved your job as a therapist, especially when you felt like everything was in order. You had a good handle on your patients, all of them making good progress on their goals; nothing felt more rewarding as a mental health provider.

But you weren’t prepared for the wrench the unsuspecting six foot nine man was about to throw your way.

You wondered if your success was the reason you were assigned the new and highly delusional patient. After getting into your office and pulling out his nearly empty file, you looked at him from across your desk, his eyes calm, but unsettlingly trained on you. He had a slight smirk curling at the corners of his lips, as though he were trying to appear less intimidating. His size alone was enough to make any sane person quiver. He didn’t even try to tug on his restraints though, and that put you a little more at ease.

“Miguel O’Hara…” you said, closing the thin manila folder in front of you. “It’s nice to meet you I’m–”

“I know your name.”

Miguel sat, strapped uselessly to the wheelchair the orderlies had brought him in. He knew he could rip the restraints off at any given moment, but when he’d heard he was being assigned to you as his therapist, he decided to behave. He needed to see you; he needed to talk to you.

This was a change of pace. In his universe, you were a graphic designer. It was something you’d always enjoyed. In the second one, despite working at a coffee shop, you still seemed to have a hobby of creating artwork for some side income. Now you were a therapist. It was unexpected, but in the multiverse, anything was possible. Miguel was just glad that it seemed like in this universe, you’d never met him before, making this a lot easier - he didn’t have to worry about eliminating his alternate -.

“The orderlies said that you were wandering the halls when they found you? They said that when you saw my name you specifically asked for me to treat you. Why?” You crossed your legs and narrowed your eyes at the man.

You were careful while talking to this one. He was massive in size, not only in his height, but this man wasn’t skipping arm day, that’s for sure. You trusted him, despite being told not to trust patients - they can be manipulative - but you knew he was strong enough to rip his arms from the restraints at any given moment, and yet he sat there. To say you were intrigued was an understatement. Who was this man? And how did he know you?

After wasting so much time in the last universe, he wanted to change his approach. He wanted to try being more direct and honest with you. With a deep sigh, he pressed his lips together and looked you in the eye. You looked good all dressed up in your little pencil skirt and white blouse. He’d never seen you in a lip color that shade of red, but he liked it. Even if you weren’t quite the same, he liked the way you looked in this universe.

“Because, I traveled a long way to find you mi vida,” he started, smirking at you rather pathetically, but he was desperate for you to understand, “and I’m going to tell you why you’re going to take these restraints off my wrists and say yes when I ask you to marry me.”

Your patients had said some crazy shit before. Being in an insane asylum, even a minimum security one, naturally you would expect to hear some outlandish things, but that had to be the most delusional thing you’d heard to date. You furrowed your brow, continuing to take notes. You hummed in amusement.

“You’re very bold, Mr. O’Hara–”

“Miguel.”

“Miguel.” You cleared your throat, smirking in an attempt to show that you weren’t fazed by his surprising statement, “you’ve piqued my curiosity, but I’m certainly not sure why you think I would do that.”

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” You asked, scribbling more notes on your legal pad.

“Ask me how I became so wracked with grief that I created a device to travel the multiverse just so I could find you again,” he said, eyes darting between yours to see if you believed a word coming out of his mouth.

You were stunned. You’d seen patients in a catatonic state, but this wasn’t like that, he was far too clear as he spoke. This also didn’t present as the usual schizophrenic case you would expect to see from the majority of your patients. He was completely calm, making eye contact, and very direct in his line of thinking. He was either so deep in his delusion that he genuinely believed everything coming out of his mouth…or he was telling the truth.

“Miguel, why don’t you tell me more about how you got here, let’s start with that.”

Redirection didn’t always work, but if you could find a crack in his story, you might be able to get him back to a basis in reality.

“I used my watch, the one that security took from me. Gonna need that back by the way, very dangerous if it gets into the wrong hands.” He leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing on you. “I used my watch to travel from a universe where you were a barista with a piss poor attitude, to this one where you’re a therapist apparently.”

You scoffed, “I was a barista?”

Miguel could tell you weren’t buying it, so he decided to be more direct now.

“Listen, I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die,” he watched your expression to see how you’d react.

Regardless of how delusional he sounded, something like that would make anyone feel a bit uneasy. You shifted in your chair, putting your pen down on the desk. Miguel’s expression softened, likely seeing that his words had an effect on you. After all the years of you being a therapist, you’d never let a patient make you uncomfortable like that.

“I think that’s enough for today,” you said, standing up and heading for the door.

“Wait!” Miguel yelled, wheelchair creaking forward a smidge when his body lurched to try and stop you. It worked. You turned and looked at him. “You have to believe me. I’m just trying to keep you alive. If you don’t listen to me…you’ll die.”

“Goodbye, Mr. O’Hara,” you said, opening your office door. “You’re going to be reassigned to a different therapist. I don’t think I’m a good fit for you.”

“No no no, wait!” He pulled his hands free from the restraints, something you both knew he was capable of.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, “Help!” You yelled, only resulting in his strong hand covering your mouth quickly.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk,” he said, voice trembling in desperation.

You looked terrified, and rightfully so. This huge man that you’d never met before was towering over you, staring at you with such intensity, you thought you might faint in terror. He took his hand off your mouth and held a finger to his lips.

“Shh, mi vida, por favor,” he spoke softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“G-go sit down in your chair n-now,” you said, legs shaking wildly.

He put his hands up in surrender, showing you that he was willing to comply with your request. He walked over and sat down in his chair, the weight of his body forcing the equipment to sigh under his frame. There was a silence in the room, a silence that made it easy to hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You took a deep breath.

Miguel recognized that face, you were going to run. He sighed, he’d tried a different approach this time, and it didn’t pay off. Instead, his attempt had you rushing out into the hall, shouting for an orderly or two to help you. He didn’t fight them when they ran in, sticking him with a couple of syringes, being too massive for only one to do the job.

You didn’t stop thinking about him for the entire night. His words rang through your mind like a broken record:

‘I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die’.

No matter how hard you tried to shake it from your mind, it was impossible. For a week you managed to avoid talking to him again, but your curiosity - or perhaps it was your anxiety -, got the better of you. Your co-worker, and the patient coordinator, Stacy, spoke to you exactly one week after you’d last spoken to Miguel.

“He’s still asking for you every day,” she said, handing you his chart, “Dr. Harrow doesn’t want to work with him anymore, says he’s not getting anywhere with Mr. O’Hara.”

You took his file from her hands, looking it over, “So you put him back in there with me, knowing how dangerous he is and that he’s targeting me? That doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

She followed you down the hall as you walked, “I said that, but the higher ups insisted that you should see him. They gave him more sedatives and stronger restraints than last time so–”

“So nothing, I can’t believe they’d do this,” you said, tone laced in frustration.

You weren’t sure if you were upset because you were worried he was going to physically harm you, or if you were worried that there was validity to the words that had kept you up every night for the last several nights. You stopped in front of your office door, letting out a deep exhale. Stacy touched your back, patting it gently.

“Well, at least he’s hot.” She chuckled.

You rolled your eyes at her before opening the door and stepping into your office. There he was, sitting in the chair, eyes hooded from the sedatives when he looked up at you. His restraints were doubled, both his legs and wrists tied down with metal this time, rather than the flimsy leather from before. You felt a little better, but you were still afraid of what he might say. No patient of yours had ever been so direct when targeting you before.

“Hello again Mr. O’Har–”

“Miguel…or you can just call me ‘baby’, the way you used to,” he said, words coming out in a slow drawl due to his mentally inhibited state.

“Miguel…” you said with a sigh, “I’ll continue to treat you, but you need to be more appropriate when you speak to me or you’ll have to seek treatment elsewhere.”

“Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He sounded genuine, eyes looking up at you from under his lashes. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting your unease, so you nodded with a meek ‘thanks’, before sitting down behind your desk. He leaned over and wiped his drool slick lips on his shoulder, unsuccessful in cleaning the mess. Inappropriate as it may have been, you weren’t going to let the poor guy sit there in a mess like that.

You took a tissue and walked over to him. Miguel couldn’t believe you would touch him, not after the way he’d frightened you. He thought this version of you would be impossible to get through to after his first interaction with you, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps being blunt with you was going to work after all.

You held the tissue in your hand and wiped his lips. You damned yourself for mentally commenting on how soft they looked. With a shaky breath, you finished and sat back down at your desk. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t want to talk to anyone else so…go ahead…talk,” you took out a notebook and a pen, waiting for him to start.

“Was that Stacy? Or maybe it was Mira?” He chuckled, watching your eyes flick up quickly to lock onto his.

“So you saw my co-worker’s name plate at some point, I presume? Who let you walk by the front desk of the asylum?” You asked, feeling a pit of unease forming in your stomach at his mention of your two closest friends and coworkers.

He shrugged, “I saw Stacy’s yes, is Mira not your co-worker in this universe?”

He could see you getting anxious. You always clicked your pen incessantly when you did, back in his universe. He wasn’t trying to make you feel crazy, but rather, he was trying to make you realize that he was sane. Finally, you looked at him again.

“M-Mira used to work here, but how do you know–”

“What about Emily? Your step sister…”

“No…no, no, no…” you got up quickly, heading for the door.

Miguel called your name, and you stopped, turning slowly to face him.

“I’m not trying to scare you, mi vida, I’m trying to save your life. If you would…please…entertain me for just a moment.” He rattled his wrists in his chair. “I couldn’t do anything to hurt you even if I wanted to. I’m fucking…I’m drooling on myself and I’m stuck to this damn chair.”

You stared at him for a while, considering your options. If he was insane, which was the most likely explanation, then helping him through this was your duty as a therapist. If he was telling the truth…you needed to try and figure out what he meant anyway. No matter which way you sliced it, the only way you could sleep at night would be to hear him out. You slowly walked back to your desk and sat down. When you picked your pen back up you realized that you were shaking.

“Have you been stalking me?” You asked bluntly.

“No,” he returned your tone. “I know you, I know you well, and if you’ll hear me out with an open mind for just a second, I can explain everything to you.”

You gestured with your arms to give him the floor. He nodded, thanking you in Spanish before letting out a deep sigh.

Miguel told you everything, from the day you first met in his universe to the day you died. He talked in depth about things in your life that he knew only you would know. He damned himself for crying while he explained how much he loved you. Then he went on to tell you about the second universe, where you worked at a quaint little coffee shop barista, but he didn’t express the same emotion toward that version of you as he had the first.

When he was done, you sat there in awe, doing your best to process. Not only did you believe his every word, you were trying not to fall into an existential crisis upon learning that the multiverse might actually exist. You gulped, reminding yourself quickly that if a patient is delusional enough, they can tell a lie and still pass a polygraph test. All it takes is for them to believe that lie to be true with all their heart. If he was a good enough stalker, he could easily be making all of this up, and combined with heavy delusions, you had a recipe for someone too crazy for your paygrade. He needed more care than you could provide.

“Miguel…” you looked him in the eye, unsure of how to respond.

A buzzer saved you, indicating that the time for your session was at an end. He didn’t fight, he’d learned the hard way that breaking the rules of the asylum would get him nowhere. Regardless, he couldn’t continue like this for long, he was wasting too much time. If this version of you wasn’t going to see things his way, he needed to move on.

One more session…

Both of you were thinking the same thing without realizing. You would give him one more session to sway you one way or another, and he would give you one more to make up your mind before he moved forward.

He was already waiting for you in your office when he heard you clicking down the hall toward the door. He heard you stop, and then Stacy started talking to you.

“I texted Mira and she’s down, you wanna come out for drinks with us?” Stacy asked.

Miguel’s heart nearly stopped. Was this it already? Was this the day you’d die if he didn’t stop you from going out with your damn friends? He thought about the last universe though. You still died, even before you were supposed to go out with your friends, as though it were a static event that happened in every universe you existed in.

“Yeah sure that sounds fun! I’ll meet you at your place around seven?”

Once you finished finalizing your plans, you made your way into the office and sat down behind your desk, trying not to make eye contact with the man whose words had kept you up at night over the last week. You averted his gaze until you couldn’t anymore, finally looking at him and sighing heavily.

“Hi Miguel, how was your week?”

You started the same way you started every session.

“If you go out with your friends tonight, you’ll die,” he said, speaking coldly, “I told you that’s how you died before, remember?”

“You really expect me to believe that? Come on. I’ve been wracking my brain all week trying to decide how I felt about what you said and I’m not buying it.” You spoke with little conviction, voice wavering slightly. “Plus in the second universe you said I died getting hit by a car, not from being in a car so–”

“I know, but the days started the same both times, your friends talking about meeting up for drinks and you agreeing to go,” he sighed, “What have you got to lose, hm?” He looked intense now. “If I’m wrong, then you can toss me in my cell for the rest of my days and label me insane, but if I’m right, then you’re going to come back here and realize that I’m telling the truth.”

“How…how will I know that you’re telling the truth versus making this up?”

You’d left out the fact that Stacy and Mira died in each universe as well, not wanting to complicate things by mentioning them. He looked up at you, brow furrowed and face full of frustration. He was hoping that after you finally believed him, that this alternate version of you would be worth all this time he’d put into you.

“You’ll just know.”

He was right.

The next day you came into work, despite having just lost your two closest friends, to confront the insane man who suddenly didn’t seem so insane. If you’d been in the car with them that night, you would’ve died alongside them. You stormed into your office after demanding Miguel be brought in to see you immediately. You’d grabbed his watch from storage, putting it on your desk.

Success had never looked so heartbreaking. Miguel hated seeing you so distraught. Your bottom lip was trembling and your eyes were glossed over with tears. He hated being right sometimes. You pointed to the watch with a shaking hand. Your face held a combination of anger and sorrow etched in every pore.

“You’re saying that this thing is…you can travel to other universes–”

“Si, honey but listen–”

“-going on but I believe you, I really fucking believe you–”

Your eyes were crazed, “mi vida, don’t touch that please, it’s not–”

“-through the multiverse and I mean, you’re insane and I’m insane for even thinking you might–”

You picked up the watch, holding it in your hand and putting it on your wrist while you continued to talk over Miguel’s desperate protests. He started wriggling in his chair, trying desperately to get free. You didn’t understand how that thing worked. It wasn’t made for you.

“-I thought to myself why the hell didn’t I just take this damn thing and prove once and for all that–!”

It wasn’t made for you…

When Miguel built it, he’d put in a failsafe to prevent anyone else from taking it and using it. If someone stole it from him, or he ended up in an insane asylum and had it confiscated, they wouldn’t be able to take it to another universe, leaving him behind and helpless. Since there was no telling where the watch would take him, he wanted to prevent the possibility of ending up in one that didn’t have modern technology, and getting stuck there…without you. So it was hardwired to work with only his DNA, and no one else’s.

It would appear that his failsafe ended up being what killed you in that universe. You pressed the button on the watch, waiting for something to happen with bated breath. Miguel hoped that his device would malfunction. He’d taken a liking to this version of you, but it didn’t. He watched as your body convulsed, flesh bubbling and tearing from the inside out as the energy that would normally transport him from one place to another coursed through you.

Your screams would be etched into his memories for the rest of his days. It didn’t matter that you weren’t the original, it was still your voice crying for help and ringing through his ears. He’d never seen anything so horrific, not even in horror films. You were gone again, and this time he felt despair again. He almost wished that if you were going to die, that you’d gone in the car with your friends instead, that way he wouldn’t have to go to the next universe covered in your blood and with the sound of your cries on repeat in his head.

He managed to shimmy himself over to the part of your blazer where he knew you kept your ring of keys. Tipping over onto the floor he could get to them, moving his wrist in a way that just barely reached the lock holding his hand in place. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, truly, but when three orderlies and a security guard tried to stop him from getting his bag containing his personal items, including that photo of the original you, he had no choice. He even warned them to stay out of his way, but when they didn’t listen, he was forced to make them.

Stepping over their bodies, bag in hand and watch on his wrist, he activated the device. He was still searching for the perfect you.

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#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara smut #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara imagine #yandere miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara noncon #miguel o'hara noncon #miguel o'hara non-con #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fan fiction

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fluloa · 1 year

Text

Si fpom

Jake Sully x reader [series, part one]

Home.

That's what your mother whispers to you, mouth stretched into a warm grin as she holds you in her arms. A baby so small, crying in choked whines and all she can do is wipe a hand through your thin threads of short hair. She's exhausted, spent of the hours of pushing and crying and screaming. Ongokx. To be born. Here you were, settled in her arms with a face so sweet and skin so teal. Ronal feels tears dry up on her cheeks as new ones overlap them, "Ma ite. Ma txon."

My daughter. My night. The fire beside her crackles, warming her sweat-dampened legs as Tonowari supports her from her back. The moon's light shines in from the slitted open flat of the tent, highlighting the side of your face. Born in a night. Her little night.

As you grow older, so does your curiosity. You're drawn to the ocean, to the outside of the reef, to the outside of your home. Barely the age of three and you're waddling to the sea foam of the ocean, with your father hot on your feet before he's scooping you up. You just manage to pick up a dirtied seashell before it. "Tomorrow, my daughter. Far too dark now."

He starts walking away with you on his hip, and you look over his big shoulder, arm reaching out clumsily. "Go out there." You wave your seashell, and he takes it from your chubby little hand.

He lows a laugh, "This right here is all you need." He gives your belly a small tickle, before gently moving your head to the view of your village.

When you're four, you're gifted with a baby brother. You sit on your knees from afar as you watch the baby in your mother's arms with curiosity, loud cries filling your ears. He looks so odd to you, a face so small and the stripes on his skin like little spikes. You look to your own. Why are yours more stretched out? And why is he crying so much? Is he hurt?

Your mother looks to you, eyes wearing a tiredness but she smiles, flicking a hand in your direction as she beckons you. "Come look, txon."

You slowly crawl your way towards her, eyes trained on the little being in her arms. You kneel neatly beside her, looking up to her and she nods again, smile brightening as a few chuckles leave her lips. "You can touch, ma eveng."

You warily reach your hand out, placing your palm on the soft skin of his belly. You're fascinated with the way your hand covers most of it. You shift your hand again, instead feathering at his cheek and your mouth cracks into a little smile.

"Tonowari," Ronal quickly whispers, pointing her head to the scene in front of him. His face beams with joy at the sight, placing a hand on her arm as his chest swells with warm pride. At such a young age, you held a sense of maturity, of wiseness. Destined to be a leader. A tsahik. But that didn't mean you didn't have a snap of childish fire in you.

"Ao'nung!" you hiss, refusing to unlatch your grip on the seashell he's desperately holding. He whines, tugging again but it's useless to you. Six and two is a big difference in strength. "Give it— give it!" you scream.

You finally pull, and it's a hard pull. Whipping it out from his grasp and the force sends him to the ground butt first. Hearing the frustrated hisses morph into big cries makes you grin in victory, but the expression drops as soon as you hear the angry thud of footsteps against sand and see the angry look on your incoming mother's face.

During your sixth cycle, you rode your first ilu. Sure, it was a bit on the messy side and you did squirm a bit before connecting your tsaheylu, but as soon as your fingers grazed the wet scales of the animal's neck and you settled comfortable on her back, you were gliding through the sea. Ronal was scared for you at first, but Tonowari's hand placed on her shoulder gave her enough reassurance.

Once you come back up to your parents, your smile is bright, water dripping from your face. Your mother leans over and flicks a few wet stray hairs out from your face. "How was it, txon?"

"Really, really good!" you gasp, earning a chuckle from both your parents. "Can I go further?" you point your finger out, almost reaching to the deeper fill of sea.

Tonowari shakes his head.

"Let me go further!" you whine, dreaded that your father had caught you trying to sneak an ilu after sunset. His grip on your forearm is tight and unforgiving, dragging you away from the coldness of the sea's start and to the dryness of the hot sand. Even if you were twelve, you still held that childish fire.

"I will not let this continue," he snaps out your name. "Foolish girl. One of these days, you'll end up dead."

Your fingers claw at his fist wrapped around your damp skin, tears burning at the rim of your eyes. "I would rather that than be stuck here!" you cry.

He suddenly stops, looks back to you with his face still. "You disappoint me."

He lets go of you, and you slump to the ground, finally letting the tears break from your eyes and drool down your cheeks. You wanted more. More than this land, than this village. But it was out of reach, and you couldn't even attempt to stretch out your hand to catch it.

You feel a hand warm at your shoulder, and you numbly look up, seeing your grandmother eyeing you with a soft sympathy. You clumsily crawl to her, clutching her legs in a hug and a soft chuckle leaves her. "Come," she murmurs.

You're sat at her tent, arms wrapped around your knees as she gently unfolds your braids, drops of water sliding from your hair and sticking to your back. Your eyes are wet, tiredness taking over your body little by little. "What is the matter?" she starts, her tone casual.

"Why am I so different?" you mumble, eyes trained on the ember fire in front of you. "I feel as if I am so apart from everyone else."

"You are your father's daughter," she responds. "He sees himself in you, and he is afraid of that."

"I am nothing like him." You bitter, playing with a cuticle of your nail as annoyance from the events of before settle deep in your heart.

Your grandmother laughs, "You would be surprised. But, ma eveng, you are not apart from everyone else. Different, maybe, but it is not bad. It is a gift."

She takes the final braid out from your hair, humming as she cups your chin with her fingers and turns your face to her gaze. "Lor evenge," she awes. Beautiful girl, she calls you, something that you can't seem to believe each time the words leave her mouth as much as you try to. Her eyes graze over your hair, using a soft hand to comb through it. "You must wear it like this more often."

Your eyebrows crinkle, a smile making its way to your lips. She grins back.

"Come," she takes your hand, bringing you up with her and she skims past her tent, dragging you with to wherever she's going to. She sneaks you past the village, away from the people and fires and leads to you a thick land of rock that's mended through the sand and is perched at the edge of the sea, as flat as the sand beneath your feet. She slips her hand away from yours, stepping onto the rock surface. You watch her with curiosity as she starts to move her arms, and then she turns to you, curling her hand toward you.

You swallow steadily, stepping onto the rock and feeling the gravelly surface graze the bottoms of your bare feet. You begin to follow her movements, unable to fight the grin on your face as she smiles in your direction.

"Dance with the water," your grandmother whispers, voice blending with the soft sway of the ocean. "Feel its waves. Its undertow. Feel it within your body, and move with it. Move with the water, ma evenge."

Your grandmother grows ill when you're fifteen. You can tell in the way her face softens and wrinkles, the way her voice croaks, and the way her movements slow.

Dancing with her at your designated spot, the flat chunk of rock. The night's air cool as it breezes through your unbraided hair, beads jingling on your body as your hips sway. A sudden stop to her motions has your head whipping towards her, rushing to her just before she falls to the ground. "Grandmama," you murmur, pressing a few fingers to her head and worry shocking through your system at the intense warmth that you feel against them.

You yell out desperately, holding her to your smaller body as she begins to slump against you. A few people come, and take her from your arms, rushing her to the healers pod. You follow after them, hot on their heels as you silently beg Eywa for a miracle. You could not lose her. She was your source of peace, your light in the pitch black darkness. She was the only thing that made sense to you.

They lay her out on a blanket layered bed, dipping a bowl of misty green liquid into her mouth. You don't pay attention when the thin curtains of the marui pod whip apart, your parents swarming beside you.

"Mother," your father whispers, kneeling down to her form and rolling a hand over hers. His head suddenly slumps, mouth dipping in a sadness and your heart plumbers.

"Let me see her," you rush, attempting to push past the little crowd of people that surround her. "Let me see her! Grandmama!"

Your mother wraps a hand around your arm, but you immediately shrug it off, forcing your way past everyone as your eyes begin to fog. You drop to your knees, eyes trained on the still, dead face of your grandmother. You suck in a rasped gasp of air, hand pulling on her arm wretchedly as you cry. You scream out, only to be forced away by the rough arms of your father, shoved into his chest as your wails of pain begin to muffle. He lets you cry, lets you hit at his body as despair fills your being. A new tsahik would come forth; your mother.

A little while later, you held young little Tsireya in your arms, allowing her tears to run at the skin of your torso. You push your own need of comfort aside, instead focusing on your younger sister that reaches for the comfort that you need to give. You comb your fingers through her dark hair, just like your grandmama, and mumble a soft tune. "Mawey, hi'i ilva. Aku tikeftxo, teya si fpom."

Calm, little drop. Take away sadness, and fill peace. The beginning of your songcord, the first little bead of your chain.

Past your teenage years and into your early adulthood cycle, you were fierce. A force to be reckoned with. You held that fire within you, and it had only blossomed into a bigger wrath of ember. A gifted dancer, a strong hunter, but a kind heart. A kind heart that your people grew to know, to adore. Wise beyond your years, people said, but a wild, curious and adventurous young girl deep inside. Your father's daughter, just like your grandmother had once said.

"A tsahik in the making," your mother tells you, fixing the crystal woven crown on your hairline. Your head juts up, your chest risen with pride as she then traces your newly tattooed back.

A tsahik in the making that you hope could live up to your grandmama.

— sooo here it is!! ik this chapter isn’t that big but trust me, next chapter will be FAT. lol. pls be kind. <333 also idk if this will get attention or not

to be in my tag list for this series -> here

PART TWO

#jake sully x reader #jake sully smut #avatar the way of water #jake sully #dilf jake sully #jake sully imagine #james cameron avatar #avatar 2 #avatar 2 jake sully #avatar imagine #avatar #avatar smut #reader is a badass fr #tonowari avatar #ronal avatar #aonung avatar #tsireya avatar #angst

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bllk-after-dark · 1 year

Text

20% off on our OF!!

pairing. isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, mikage reo x fem!reader

content warnings. MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI, nsfw, both of you are 'pornstars', praise kink, mastrubation, vaginal sex, squirting, mention of cum in pussy, written in lowercase

series. part two

isagi yoichi. he‘s tight on money and so he does some research for quick money. of course he heard of onlyfans, but when it got suggested to him… it didn’t leave his mind and so he gathered his courage, after days of thinking about it and asked you if you would join him. he was relieved you agreed, he doesn’t want to do this without you.

the two of you are very new to this, but after doing some research (spying on other people’s accounts), you really get into it. it starts making fun, not only a second source of income. the two of you always giggle and blush at the praise you get, when your buyers call the both of you pretty, so fuckable, so cute and pliant after several orgasms.

you gain experience, and slowly you get bolder. both of you agreed to never show your faces, but the cameras linger longer on your upper bodies, showing chest and neck, sometimes even your chin. it’s dangerous, and it’s thrilling. not to mention, you get money, money for showing off his dick and your pussy, cumming while a whole audience watches, panting and moaning for more.

nagi seishiro. he spends so much money on his games, it’s unreal. and even if reo lends him some of it, nagi feels always bad for it. he likes to be spoiled, but he doesn’t want to be indebted. and so he turns to you, asking if you would join him on onlyfans. you’re shocked at first, but in the end, you agree.

in the beginning it’s only some jacking off, nagi making you cum on his fingers, or some of your nudes, showing off your body.

but then the two of you really get into it, especially you. nagi looks so pretty with his eyes lidded, panting and whining, all while you wrap your hand around his dick, pressing your thumb on his slit, slowly torturing him until his thighs shake. it’s one of your most bought videos, nagi sitting on the chair, naked and his head thrown back, all while you ruin him with nothing more than your hand.

it becomes an addiction for him. to be praised and spoiled by you and the audience. nagi makes such a good sub, such a sweet and good boy, you’re so glad he asked you to be part of his onlyfans account. without it, you would’ve never found it out, the praise kink nagi has.

mikage reo. you ask him to appear in one of your videos. your onlyfans account has been up for a while, filled with videos where you pleasure yourself, always alone, never another man or woman with you. but then you appear on the top 100 and you thought it would be a good celebration, to have a video where someone fucks you stupid. not only would it sell well, it would also finally be chance to have good dick again.

so when you ask reo, you know he wouldn’t agree because of the money, not when he’s the heir of a rich family. he finds you attractive, of course he wants to have sex with you! you’re over the moon when he agrees, a faint blush in his face.

when you finally upload the video that’s barely 30 minutes long, it breaks your own records in days. it’s your most popular piece and so many ask for reo to come back, the mysterious man who ruined your pussy, filling you with his cum and making you sob as you squirt all over him. reo never shows his face in your future videos, but your fans can always tell it’s the same man.

anne. hehe 🤭

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parkerdoeswriting · 8 months

Text

I’m in Love With How You Feel

(TASM!Peter x PregTeen!Reader)

category: fluff oneshot

summary: preggo teen!reader and peter discuss baby and living situations

warnings: (teen) pregnancy, reader is written to be afab but is referred in neutral terms

word count: 0.8k

A/N: im lowkey tempted to make this like a just teeny tiny series with two or three more parts so if that’s something at least one person wants to see I will write it

pt 2 to Anyone Else But You, but you don’t gotta read it to understand this

“Hello goober” Peter coos into your bump, pressing small kisses to the surface of it.

“Goober?” you laugh, ruffling his hair.

He smiles dorkishly at you, his hands caressing your bump.

You’ve been pregnant for around 5 months, and ever since then, Peter could not keep his hands off your stomach. He tried not to touch it during school, so as to not drag attention to it, but you were getting to the point where your bump showed against your baggy sweaters.

You managed to somehow inform your parents of the news, and thankfully they didn’t kill you on the spot. They were upset at you and Peter of course, but they noticed how happy you two were and so they supported you both, and were excited to meet their future grandchild.

Then next was May, Aunt May. Peter felt better telling her about the baby then you were telling your parents. You can still see her expression when you both told her of the situation, a mix of shock and pure joy. Her arms wrapping around you both to give you a soul crushing bear hug.

“Are you staying the night?” you ask him, your hands resting on your bump gently.

“Mhm, never gonna leave you” he mumbles against your belly.

You chuckle softly at his words, petting his hair as he practically clings to you.

“You’re gonna have to go home eventually” you remark, making little ponytails in his hair.

“Nope, gonna bring you with me” he smirks cheekily at you, sitting up so he can wrap you up in his arms.

“That reminds me actually, when I do give birth, are you gonna visit a lot?” you ask, rubbing your bump.

“Well.. I was hoping we could live together so I can help at night” he says, pressing small kisses to your cheek.

“Like- get an apartment?!” you tilt your head in confusion.

“Mhm, I’m starting a job soon so I’ll start getting some sort of income” he plays with your hair.

“I don’t know if we can even rent- cause we aren’t eighteen yet..” you sigh, frowning softly.

He sighs as well as he looks up at you, his lower lip jutting out. It’s been hard figuring out what you should both do after the birth of the baby, Peter doesn’t want to leave you to be the carer the majority of the time, and you don’t want him to miss out on his education, which has caused a small strain in your relationship.

“Well, we could either do like a week here and a week at my place, or I could spend all my nights here? I’m sure May would understand” he offers sweetly, reaching for your hand.

“I kinda like the idea of a week there and a week here, we could do that after a couple weeks after this demon is born” You giggle at my joke, putting his hands back on your bump.

As if on cue, the baby kicks against your stomach. Peter’s eyes widen as he looks at you in shock, laughing softly.

“Our little demon” he leans in to kiss you, his thumbs rubbing circles on your bump.

“We still gotta figure out names” you whisper to him, looking down at your bump.

“Stinker if it’s a boy, stinkerette if it’s a girl” he chuckles.

“Stop fooling around” you laugh back, messing his hair up.

“Fine, what do you think we should name ‘em?” he reaches for your hair in return, giving it a quick mess up.

“Dunno, was thinking maybe Juno for a girl?” you giggle mischievously.

“We are not naming our child after that movie” he laughs, planting his face back into your bump.

“Oh come on.. it’s a very beautiful name” you pout.

He shakes his head, his nose brushing against your belly. You scoff playfully at him, shifting your body so you’re lying on your back.

“Noo.. don’t move” he mumbles, trying to hold you in place.

“Just laying down Pete” you stretch out, yawning.

“You sleepy?” his head pops up.

“Always” you chuckle at your little joke.

He moves his face from your bump up to your face as he lays next to you, paying attention to you. He cups your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. It was all like some sort of routine of his, he’d spend time making sure the baby felt loved and cared for, and then made sure his baby felt loved and cared for as well.

“Love you” he mumbles assuringly, staring deep into your eyes.

You blush, leaning into his touch, cupping his hands with yours.

“Love you too” you smile, yawning again.

He moves on his side, his body pressing against your sides as he lays his leg over yours, snuggling his head into the crook of your neck. You know he won’t fall asleep until you do, but it doesn’t matter. You slowly feel yourself fade into dreamland, the stress from the pregnancy dripping away with each second you let yourself succumb.

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #andrew garfield x reader #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x reader

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clairedaring · 1 day

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why is ming such an interesting character - a thoughtful essay originally posted in the my stand-in mdl comments section

By MDL user Liltsu (reposting with permission from OP, just added some gifs to illustrate OP's points) - original comment link

Probably an incoming unpopular opinion ahead (read with caution lol, disclaimer that I am not attempting to justifying Ming's wrongdoings to Joe, more so trying to understand for myself and anyone else why I find his character so interesting):

Am I the only one who doesn’t hate Ming, and wouldn’t consider it to be a sad ending if Ming and Joe ended up together? At least as of now, especially from what I’ve seen currently and how I can imagine the direction the rest of the series might take. Let me expand.

For context, I went into this drama not expecting very much, and felt extremely sceptical of the trope of the ‘stand-in’ it uses, because one of my pet peeves in romance dramas is the ‘transfer’ phenomenon. If you haven’t heard that term before, it’s basically a psychological term about how a person (let’s call them A) will ‘imprint’ on someone else (person B). So to have a ‘transfer’ regarding someone else, for example, would mean that person A might have liked a person in the past (person C), and then meet someone new (person B) who resembles that person (C) in some way, and purely because of that, person A starts to also like or believe that they genuinely like person B. The problem with transfers is that they typically are rooted in a person’s (A) unwillingness to let go of the past person, and don’t truly love/hate (whatever emotion it is) the new person (B). This drama, reverses that trope.

This will link to why I find Ming’s bond with Joe to be more genuine than I’ve seen be believed on here (just based on a few comments tbf). My theory is that, ironically, it was Tong all along that was Joe’s metaphorical stand-in from the start. Why? We see a short flashback of Ming going to the cinemas and seeing the ad/clip of ‘Tong’s’ back, doing a martial arts scene, but we only see his back. That very shot/scene is what made Ming feel entranced by Tong and motivated him to seek Tong out with his sister for an autograph. He even mentions it himself to Tong. However, I believe that the ‘back’ that Ming saw, was Joe’s and not Tong’s. Ming « fell in love » with Joe’s acting/aura/presence on the screen first, but mistook him for Tong who is the ‘known’ actor of the film he saw. So all along, his feelings for Tong are somewhat illusory, and obsessive. Tong, who in my opinion gets off of happily at the notion of someone being infatuated with him, simply strings Ming along (and uses him), as we’ve seen.

In my opinion, Tong represents the side of Ming that was raised in a classist, materialistic family that rather obsesses about ‘spectacle’, in a way that harms Ming in the long-term. That kind of lifestyle or way of life makes him petty, distrustful, overtly and unreasonably jealous, and aggressive. Behaviours that manifest very evidently when Ming sees Joe with Sol, but particularly in correlation to scenes in which his affinity for Tong has been strengthened (Tong only sharpens the conditioning Ming has been raised through, that of being sceptical and always needing things to go his way, and fuels this, either by being in his direct company or feeding him seeds of doubt indirectly). Tong represents attachment and obsession but not love. Particularly the scene in which Ming renders Joe unconscious and keeps him captive is the most blatant example of Tong’s influence, which brings out all of the qualities of Ming that reflect the wealthy and entitled background he is born from and still lives off from.

Ming’s interest in Joe is different in my opinion, and the series carefully points to this in a nuanced way. If my theory is correct about Ming having been drawn to Joe first, rather than Tong, and the feelings that were initially meant for Joe came to be directed toward Tong (and became twisted due to that fact), we can assume that Ming’s feelings for Joe are more…instinctual. They awaken something in Ming. And to me this is perfectly shown in their first interactions: Ming hugs Joe from behind, believing he is Tong, but if my guess turns out to be true, he subconsciously went toward Joe and embraced him with the original feelings that he felt at the cinema (when he truly ‘first’ saw him), rather than the other way around, which the series makes us believe at first glance. Then, in their interactions after, Ming is consciously reluctant to open up to Joe (showcasing the walls he has up, even toward Tong), but is still intuitively interested in Joe, wants to be around him, and cares about what he is up to. In my opinion, he sets unfair and unequal conditions in their relationship at first because of the self-défense mechanism he has kept up (someone with his background would find it difficult to trust and be vulnerable with someone else easily). This is why the most crucial interactions between Joe and Ming, in my view, are the scenes at Joe’s home. We see that Joe had said that Ming had fulfilled HIS dream to come back to a lit home and with someone welcoming you back warmly. I believe this is something Ming has long craved as well for himself, and Joe expressing this, and being the way he is, makes Ming feel safe and allows him to become more open, more intimate, more honest, more ‘himself’.

I feel that Ming struggles to fully understand these sides of him, and has even more difficulty communicating it to others (especially Joe), but that his gentler moments show indeed the equal, and dare i say, even ‘healthy’ potential of this couple. We see this from the last scene of this episode. Instead of Ming indulging in luxuries for someone of his status, or succumbing to some kind of greed, he has pertained to what he has truly desired all along in his heart: a warm home, where he can lead an honest and loving life with the person who sees him past his social persona of the rich, pampered, entitled and obsessive kid. This is symbolised by the fact that he has continued to live in Joe’s home, waiting for him for the last two years, which reflects his commitment and earnestness which he had gradually developed for Joe, even before.

I think what people get (understandably) confused or feel betrayed by, is the scene in which Joe realises he has been a ‘stand-in’ for Tong by Ming, especially during sex (because this is somewhat what Ming consciously believes for himself too). For me, I saw it more so as, on one level, the revelation of what I just mentioned about Ming’s prior conscious intention (which evidently is form of betrayal to Joe), and on another level, it is a defining moment of transition, where Ming is still somewhat clinging on to Tong (because of the feelings he first felt for him at the cinema, which could really be Joe again), but also clinging still to what he knows and about his way of going about things (through manipulation and violence).

So a transition from that, into the growing feelings, appreciation, and warmth Ming did start to exhibit at Joe’s house (the symbol of vulnerable space). We see this through Ming buying the couple mugs with THEIR names (Ming and Joe), or the meaningful moments of genuine happiness that Ming feels in the simple, non judgemental moments between the two of them. This is something his sister comments about, that seeing Ming with Joe is surprisingly pleasant because it is the fist time in a very long time since she has seen Ming happy and so smiley (this is one of the biggest external piece of evidence to the idea that Ming’s « feelings » for Tong have a very different nature to his feelings for Joe). And we see this very clearly in the scene in which Joe bought a watch to Ming (and which I believe we see him promote now two years later on the poster he is). That scene is extremely significant because it shows the shift and differences of Ming alone with Joe compared to with Tong or how he is used to being. The watch is a gift from Joe, who believes it to be the « top » watch in terms of ‘quality’ and price, something we see Ming ALREADY HAS (and doesn’t have particular personal feelings toward). The top watch he has reflects his status, his wealthy background and the expectations on him by others and himself (to be considered societally the ‘best’, but in a rather vain way). However, Joe’s watch isn’t the top watch in a societal, classist sense, but it holds more value to Ming because it represents Joe’s sincerity and that matters more to him. The watch, which is typically a common symbol of time, also reflects, in my opinion, the difference in how Ming spends his time. By taking Joe’s watch and wearing it, his way of using time is also more personal and sincere, wanting to lead a life of authentic connection with someone on the same wavelength as you. In his act of taking of his old watch, which was the ‘top watch’, Ming leaves behind his old lifestyle, or at least takes on more step toward exiting it (the life of vanity and falsehoods). So all these signs of Ming’s genuine interest, endearment and feelings of care for Joe are sprinkled there from the beginning, and the series deliberately is setting a constraint between his potential for warmth and healthy sincerely with the baggage he still has from his past through Tong and his family (something he both feels and is to some extent very much controlled by).

The series has really made me invested, and that has really been invigorating for me (as I binged the episodes today) because I haven’t really felt that as much with a lot of BL series lately - not that there aren’t don’t get me wrong, just that it feels like fewer have my engagement than usual. And to me, the series’ strength at this point (excluding the very good acting etc) is the writing, so I am very hopeful that for the parts of Ming that would require a form of redemption, or improvement, that the series would allow him to have that arc by the time that Joe and him supposedly get back together (if they do). In the case where my interpretation is close to the series’ intention, then i believe that although it doesn’t make the previous scenes justified, that it would be very much possible for Joe and Ming’s relationship to take on a healthier, more mature turn, where their relationship would become more patient, communicative and understanding, just like the interactions they shared in their own shared home.

I’ll probably end my train of thought here, but would really like to hear if anyone disagrees or agrees with my opinions, would be happy to hear from anyone hihi. Thank you to those who read this whole e s s a y, i’m appreciative of that :).

#msi thoughts #NOT MINE #my stand in #my stand in the series #my stand-in

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anantaru · 2 years

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𝐄𝐗 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄

ex! husband dottore feat. dottore x fem! reader

ex husband series.

୨୧ WARNINGS: nsfw : toxic relationships : manipulation : ??yandere

ex! husband dottore who won't take his wedding ring off, he will keep it on his ring finger and put it on every single day after waking up, seeing nothing wrong in doing so. You decided to address it, your tone was of a concerned kind and slightly irritated as he stated that he didn't deem it necessary to take his ring off, since he knew the both of you would eventually get back together anyways. Dottore won't let you speak up on this topic anymore, brushing it off without much effort and changing the subject.

ex! husband dottore who won't stop addressing you as his wife, even in front of his co-workers, it wouldn't matter to him, really. He'd tell you it‘s a quote on quote, 'bad' habit of his, that was additionally incredibly hard to break free from. He obviously didn't do it on purpose and completely respected your decision to the divorce. Dottore will also note that it's a lot easier to refer to you as his wife instead of adding the little, more so annoying 'ex' whenever he talked about you and you knew he was all about doing the minimal effort.

ex! husband dottore who will secretly let someone look after you, without ever telling you about it nor asking for your permission in the first place. He doesn't want to waste any time in explaining things to you, nor get into an argument with you in the process. He was a busy man and couldn't look after you all the damn time, naturally he just had to get someone from the fatui who'd follow your every step— being so good at their job that you would never notice them, ever.

ex! husband dottore who tells you that you can still use his money for your needs and that he will help you out financially as long as you want to. He doesn‘t really need it for himself so you thank him, making it clear that once you're having your own proper income, that he doesn't need to provide for you anymore in which he will simply respect your decision. Upon said scenario truly happening, dottore will go behind his words, always sending you money and other necessities he thinks you'll be in need of.

ex! husband dottore who doesn't take no as an answer in this particular scenario, he thinks it's the bare minimum to help out his wife, stopping in midst his wording and having to correct himself in front of you, adding the little 'ex' silently to his sentence while rolling off the word 'wife' especially provocating. You'll brush it off, tired of the conversation and certainly not complaining, telling yourself that you can always use the extra money, thanking him in the process.

ex! husband dottore who will show up uninvited to the home you once shared and he graciously let you stay in after the divorce, multiple times mentioning that fact and punctuating the last words particularly well, almost threatening with his aura, leaving you short of breath. He'd say it was closer to his workplace and that he didn't have much time on his hands to actually get to his new apartment, assuring you he only wanted to take a quick shower and rest before going back to his lab.

ex! husband dottore who will cup your cheek with one hand upon hearing you agree, letting him stay. He'll tell you how deeply he admired you, not to mention how you continued to be nice to him despite everything and will thank you for always looking after him. He'll run his hand over your arm before intertwining your fingers together, his touch gentle, so gentle you weren't used to it at all, it almost felt unreal and fake, the sudden surprising sincerity in his words had a shiver run down your spine, body trembling.

ex! husband dottore who will bluntly tell you that you'll always be his pretty wife he loves and cherishes, that he in fact, didn't see the divorce as an actual divorce, admitting that for him its more of a break he so happened to let you have, being confident in his words when he tells you that he'll be sure the both of you would get married again in the future. He'll tell you that he indeed missed you very much, so much it hurt his heart, his eyes showing a glint of sadness.

ex! husband dottore who will apologize for all the things he had done, when he didn't have much time for you, when he left you in your house all alone because he wasn't there and when he preferred his work over his marriage, especially when he wouldn't communicate with you. You were the only ray of light in the darkness he called his life, a mix between sadness and regret, showing his facial expression crumble as you felt sorry, your voice breaking in your throat, hugging him into your embrace with his face suddenly going back to his usual expression, the sadness dissolving as if it wasn‘t real in the first place.

ex! husband dottore who will hug you back, tightly, as if he was actually scared you might leave him once more, he'll start to leave a small peck on your neck, waiting for your reaction before kissing the same spot one more time. He was waiting, testing the waters as he moved away from your neck, your eyes meeting one another. He'd ask you if its okay to kiss you, with a small nod from you proving his hypothesis right. Was he always this charming? you asked yourself as he took your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger, bringing you closer to his lips, deepening your connection.

ex! husband dottore who will leave you short of breath, kissing you deep and long with his hands resting right above your behind, drawing small circles on your back to calm you down. He'll take your hand in his, gradually bringing the both of you to the bedroom he so very much missed being in with you, your scent still lingering all over the room which only awakened the long gone familiar feeling of tenderness and safety deep inside him.

ex! husband dottore who will take his time with you, drawing his hands over your body to explore your skin how he always did back when the both of you were married, witnessing the wetness that was already slicking up the inside of your thighs, licking his lips in anticipation. He'll get rid of his clothes, throw them on the floor without a single care in the world, taking his time, the muscles on his chest were well defined and brightened up the dimly lid room.

ex! husband dottore who will hiss upon feeling your cold fingers on his twitching muscles, his chest heaving with his breath quickening as a response of your touches. His body will hover over yours, the lingering scent of his perfume making you needier than before, unable to refrain yourself from him, craving his touch and forgetting every little thing around you with him being an exception, staying engraved in your mind. He'll line himself up with your fluttering hole, his addicting gaze flickering from his hard member to your adorable expression, pushing himself in.

ex! husband dottore who offers you a loving smile, treasuring your flustered expression you continued to have even after all the countless times you had sex with him before, yet your eyes never changing as your walls sucked him in, inch by inch, his impressive girth splitting you open with you getting adjusted to his length again. You squealed out as he placed his thumb on your clit, drawing circles around the sweet bundles of sensitive nerves and bringing you to the sinful pleasure you secretly missed.

ex! husband dottore who will hook one of your legs over his shoulder, shoving himself further into your cunt, placing his hand on the headboard for additional support and to not suddenly crush you with his weight before increasing the pace, setting for a deep and fast rhythm on his hips. You're crying out, adrenaline rushing through your veins and setting your body on fire as you whined, wanting him closer to your body when embracing him in your arms, his sweat covered skin becoming one with yours.

ex! husband dottore who will be satisfied with your reaction, very much so, humming in response as he advances closer to your face, kissing you starvingly before telling you that you'll always be his and his alone, remaining by his side 'till death do us part'. His eyes will roam through the room, spotting a little box on top of your nightstand before grabbing it, your wedding ring stored in it. "show me your hand." he'll say, his voice deep, panting while still being buried in your cunt as you obliged, pushing the gold ring past your finger and keeping it there.

ex! husband dottore whose face will light up at the sight, overwhelmed with the overflowing pleasure as he fucked you harder, his gaze intensly watching the little ring perfectly fitting around your finger. You moaned out his name in desperate chants, the pressure on his hips increasing as a few more controlled thrusts brought the both of you to your climax. His groans were rough and heavy, grunting out numerous curse words as he spilled himself in you, plastering your walls with his warm seed with your back arching into him.

ex! husband dottore who watched you unravel, couldn’t resist the mess before him, your abused cunt twitching around his girth as you spasmed, your orgasm hitting you hard. Your legs were shuddering with a combination of your essence and his seed oozing out of your hole, staining the silky bedsheets. He'll press himself back into you, leaving his cock in, kissing your forehead before embracing your lips again, your mouth partly open as you gasped out, sensitivity of his cock still being nestled in you kicking in.

ex! husband dottore who will leave the same night, without a word as to why, going to the bathroom to shower the filth off his body before going back to you one more time, taking your cheeks in his hands, breathing steadily with his eyes locked on yours. He'll end it with a chaste kiss, soft and firm, his slightly damp hair tickling your skin as he left it at that, walking away with his empty promises by his side.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #dottore x reader #dottore smut #genshin x you #dottore x you #genshin impact x you #fatui harbingers #genshin impact dottore #tw toxic relationship

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delicatebarness · 15 days

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i think he knows | chapter eleven

Summary: There is a celebration for one of the Rogers to be held.

Warnings: Kissing?

Word Count: 1377

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A/N: For everyone who voted for this in my poll today, I've been reading and listening don't worry. I know you miss Sunshine.

Soft patterns are painted against your bedroom wall as the morning sun filters through the curtains. You stirred awake with a sense of excitement, rubbing the remnants of sleep out of your eyes you could hear the faint sounds of movement coming from your bathroom. Steve was already up.

Rolling out of bed, the events of the night before were still fresh in your mind. Bucky’s confession about the list had left you with mixed emotions: gratitude, surprise, and also a sense of trust. Despite the chaos you were welcomed by at Stark’s Motors, Bucky’s gesture had been a reassurance of his sincerity.

As you headed downstairs, you found your parents gathered in the kitchen. The nervous energy filled the air. Your dad was sitting at the table, his leg bounced anxiously as he repeatedly checked the time on his watch.

“Any news yet?” you asked, taking a seat at the table.

Your dad shook his head, there was a hint of frustration in his voice. “Not yet,”

Your mom shot a worried glance towards your dad, their concern was evident. Suddenly, the familiar chime of an email incoming broke the tension. Your parent's eyes widen as they sucked in a breath and turned towards the stairs.

“I got it!” Steve exclaimed, his voice filled with joy as he rushed down the stairs, laptop in hand. “I got the scholarship!”

Your parents rushed to their feet, erupting in cheers as they enveloped Steve in hugs and congratulations. Relief washed over you as a smile tugged at your lips. “That’s fantastic, Steve!” your dad exclaimed, his eyes shined with pride at his son’s achievement. “Tonight we’ll celebrate, dinner anywhere you want!”

Steve’s grin widened, nodding eagerly. “Yeah, that sounds great!”

As Steve drove you both down the familiar streets, the sunlight cast a warm glow over the town, and you shared a comfortable silence. The morning had been eventful, but now, as you headed to school together, there was a sense of peace in the air.

Glancing over at your brother, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. “I really am proud of you, Steve,” you said, your voice filled with sincerity. His smile widened at your words. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry about what happened at the game,”

Steve shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. It’s in the past now.” A few moments passed, the car began to stop at a red light and Steve turned to you. “Listen,” he began, his voice soft but firm. “I don’t want you getting too close to Bucky,” he continued with a somber tone. “I’ve seen the way he can be, and I don’t trust him.”

Your heart sank, you weren’t surprised that Steve was still adamant about you and Bucky but the disappointment washed over you. “But Steve,” you began, pausing for a moment to search for the right words. “I don’t think he’s as bad as you think.”

He sighed, his gaze returned to the road. “I know you might not see it, but I just want what’s best for you,” As the light turned green, he continued the journey ti school. “I don’t think Bucky is it.”

The hallway bustled with passing students as you felt a hand grip your wrist, before you knew it you had been pulled into a dimly lit bathroom. Your heart raced for a moment before looking up at the small smile playing against Bucky’s lips.

Before you could utter a word, Bucky’s lips crashed against yours in a fervent kiss, a wildfire of desire igniting within you as your back hit against the cold tiled walls. For a moment, you lost yourself in the heat until a pang of concern pierced through you.

Breaking away from his embrace, your eyes darted around the bathroom and your voice trembled with urgency. “What if someone catches us?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he brushed a strand of hair away from your flushed face. His voice was laced with confidence as his hand moved down to cup your cheek. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Your resolve wavered as you drowned in Bucky’s intense gaze, your resistance crumbled. “Okay..” You closed the gap between you again, your lips meeting again in a tender kiss. The embrace was filled with a quiet intensity, it felt like it was lasting a lifetime.

When you finally parted, your breaths mingled in the stillness of the bathroom. Bucky’s voice was soft with longing as he spoke. “Hey, I was thinking… maybe we could sneak away after school, and have a little fun just the two of us.”

A surge of excitement coursed through you at the suggestion, but also a flicker of guilt. “I wish I could, but my dad is taking us out to celebrate Steve getting into college tonight,” You began to fidget with the zipper that hung from his leather jacket. “I can’t get out of that.”

Bucky’s lips curled into a smile, resting his forehead against yours. “It’s okay, Sunshine,” Letting out a relieved sigh, Bucky’s understanding lifting a weight off your shoulders, your hand found his, fingers intertwining. “We’ll find another time,” Bucky said softly, squeezing your hand gently.

You nodded, as the sounds of the hallway filtered through the walls. Bucky leaned in for one last lingering kiss before reluctantly pulling away. After a final glance, you turned to leave the bathroom, your hand slipping from his as you stepped back into the crowded hallways.

As you set off toward your next class, a smile played on your lips as the thoughts of his lips on yours lingered in your mind.

The celebration dinner for Steve was a lively affair, held at a quaint local diner that you knew Steve came to with his friends and Sharon. The diner had been decorated with colorful streamers and balloons, all the colors of the college he would be heading to. The air was filled with buzzing chatter of other families and friends eating out, and the aroma of food.

Settled into a cozy corner booth, the vinyl seats creaked slightly. This diner was nothing compared to the one Bucky took you to the evening before. You noticed Steve had changed into his best shirt and tie, looking every bit the part of the accomplished high school senior. His smile hadn’t faltered all night.

Throughout the dinner, conversations were consumed by laughter and animated gestures. Your parents couldn’t contain their pride, showering your brother with praise. You found yourself joining in, expressing how proud you were of his achievement.

As the plates of fries and burgers were being passed around the table, Steve retold tales of the scholarship application process and how he achieved it. Each story was met with understanding nods and verbal recognition.

You couldn’t shake off the encounter with Bucky earlier in the day, his kisses lingering in your mind. As you stole the occasional glance at Steve, you couldn’t help but wonder if he could sense the turmoil beneath your cheerful facade.

When dessert arrived, your dad raised his plastic cup for a toast. “To Steve, I couldn’t be prouder of you.” His eyes glistened with pride as he directed his words towards your brother. “From the moment you set your sights on this scholarship, you showed determination, perseverance, and commitment,” You smiled as you glanced over at Steve, just as Sharon placed her hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “You poured your heart and soul into every application, every essay, every game.”

As your dad continued to praise your brother, you thought about what your life would look like in a year. Who would be at a table like this when you get your acceptance letter? What will your dad say about you? Would Steve be back home to celebrate? Would you have someone by your side, offering reassurance? Would it be Bucky?

“... may your future be filled with success, happiness, and endless possibilities. We love you.”

You were brought back to the present by the cheers and applause of your family. With a smile, you raised your cup high in tribute to your big brother, and silently to your journey ahead of you.

---

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#bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #high school au #i think he knows series #i think he knows #i think he knows fic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x sister!reader

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munson-blurbs · 2 years

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Oh, Baby (Dad!Eddie x Mom!Reader)

First installment in my Dad!Eddie series. Feedback and suggestions are super appreciated :)

Warnings: language, pregnancy, allusions to sex, allusions to abortion, mentions of Eddie’s deadbeat dad

WC: 1.5k

February 1992

It’s Saturday, a day where you normally slept in, but you’re abuzz with nerves that wake you at 7:00 AM. Your husband, Eddie, sleeps soundly next to you, arms splayed across the pillow and sheets bunched around his waist. His long curly hair is pulled back in a ponytail, though strands have fallen out of the holder in his sleep. He’s oblivious, blissfully unaware of the emotions that pang through your body. For a man who prides himself on being so in tune with you, whose tagline is “I know your body better than you do, babe,” he hasn’t picked up on the fact that you’ve been eating your pasta with butter because you suddenly can’t stand the smell of marinara sauce, or that you come home from work and immediately fall asleep on the couch, or that you didn’t ask him to pick up tampons from the pharmacy next to his record store this month.

You creep out of bed and tiptoe into the bathroom, digging quietly in the back of a drawer where you’ve hidden the EPT box. A few weeks ago, you would’ve been excited at the prospect of being pregnant with Eddie’s baby. Then he’d made an off-handed comment about not wanting to be a dad because he didn’t know how to be one, and that he was happy for it to be just you and him forever.

It’s the longest five minutes of your life, but when your watch finally signals that it’s time to look, you take a deep breath and peer at the counter.

Two pink lines.

A sob escapes your lips and you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from waking Eddie. You have no idea what you’re going to do. It feels wrong ending the pregnancy without telling him, but you also don’t want him to feel any pressure to be a dad. His own father had repeatedly told him that he was a mistake, that he was a burden, and you didn’t want to risk repeating the cycle.

You’re still mulling over your options when you hear the sound of footsteps shuffling towards the bathroom door. You cap the test and shove it in the waistband of your underwear, hoping it’s covered by your oversized T-shirt.

Knock knock knock.

“Sweetheart, I gotta come in,” Eddie mumbles sleepily. You can picture him rubbing his eyes and stretching, thinking about injecting caffeine directly into his bloodstream to wake him up. He’d been promoted to manager at the record store, and while the extra income was certainly helpful, it also means he’s a lot busier.

You open the door and smile weakly. He blinks a few times and asks, “Are you crying?”

“Just allergies, I think,” you offer, lying through your teeth.

“In February?”

“Yeah...winter allergies.” It’s pathetic, but luckily he’s still tired enough to leave the matter alone.

“Okay. Go back to sleep and get some rest. You need any medicine or tissues?”

You shake your head and pad on back to bed. The pregnancy test is still pressed up against you, and you shove it under your pillow as soon as you climb under the covers.

“Hey, Munson! Got anything new for us to listen to?” Steve Harrington walks into the record store around 11:00 AM, hoisting his son on his hip. “Maybe something with Elmo for Andy to rock out to?” He tickles the toddler, who lets out an excited giggle.

Before Eddie can respond, Andy wriggles out of his father’s grasp and makes a beeline for Eddie, crashing into his legs with a laugh.

“Hey there, bulldozer!” Eddie scoops Andy up as the boy tugs on a lock of his hair. “‘Course I got something for ya! Saved it in the back because I had a feeling Dad would be bringing you by today.” Steve always stopped by on Saturdays. It gave Nancy some time to herself, and Andy loved seeing his Uncle Eddie.

Steve, Eddie, and Andy walk to the back where Eddie’s stashed away a Sesame Street cassette. Andy’s face lights up when he spots the familiar Muppets on the cover.

“Ed, do you and Y/N wanna swing by later for pizza?” Steve asks. Andy nods his head vigorously, which makes Eddie’s heart melt.

“I’d love to, but Y/N has been real weird about food lately,” he states.

“Weird how?”

“Like she doesn’t really have much of an appetite, and normal foods gross her out. Y’know, all of a sudden I can’t put cream cheese on a bagel because the smell makes her throw up.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Sounds like she’s pregnant, dude. Nancy had the same thing...I think they’re called aversions?”

Eddie practically falls over. “No, she can’t be...” But then it all clicks into place: the exhaustion, the short tempers, the nausea. “Oh, fu-fudge,” he amends, acutely aware of Andy’s presence.

Steve laughs and claps Eddie on the back. “Congratulations! Maybe pick up a test for her on your way home.” He notices that his friend is eerily quiet.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, taking Andy from him. “You’re gonna be a kick-ass dad.”

"No. I’m not,” Eddie argues, trying not to raise his voice. “I don’t even know how to be a dad. Mine jumped ship. Would rather rot in prison than raise his own kid.”

Steve sighs and tells Andy to go sit on the couch for a few minutes. “Listen, Eddie,” he starts. “You are not your dad. Not even close. You have a job that you like and you’re great at. You’re kind and patient with your wife. And, don’t tell Dustin, but I’m pretty sure you’re Andy’s favorite uncle.”

That elicits a small chuckle from Eddie, but he’s still ambivalent. “Sure, I can be a good uncle. But taking care of my own kid? That’s...terrifying.”

“Y’know, Munson, a few years ago, I also would’ve been terrified at the idea of you being a dad,” Steve jokes lightly, “but now? Seeing who you’ve become? You went from slacker metalhead to...well, responsible metalhead. And while your old man ran away from the challenges of fatherhood, you’re gonna stick around and fight like hell for your kid. I guarantee it.”

Saturdays at the store usually fly by, busy with customers, but today’s shift seemingly dragged on forever. Before jumping into his van and racing home to you, Eddie pops into the drugstore next door and grabs a pregnancy test. His hands are shaking as he counts out the change at the register.

He finds you at home, asleep on the couch with reruns of some black-and-white show playing on the TV in front of you. He loves the coziness of the apartment that he calls home. You’re what makes it ‘home.’

Where are we gonna fit a baby? Eddie wonders silently before gently rocking you awake. “Babe, can I ask a favor?”

“Mm, Eds, too tired,” you think he’s asking for something sexual as you curl up into the blanket.

“No, no. Not that.” You hear the sound of a plastic bag and see that he pulls out an EPT box identical to the one you’d hidden in the bathroom. “Can you just take this for me real quick?” You seem confused, so he explains. “I was telling Steve about how you haven’t been feeling well, and he thought...maybe...” he trails off, shoving the box towards you.

“I’m not taking that,” you declare adamantly, determined to get back to your nap.

“Please, Y/N? Just so we know.”

“I already know,” you snap without thinking. “I’m pregnant. I have a doctor’s appointment next week to confirm and discuss my options, okay?”

“Y-you’re...wait, options?” He sits down next to you, rubbing your calf with his thumb.

You force yourself to sit up, and it takes all of your energy. “I know you don’t wanna be a dad, Eddie. I wasn’t gonna say anything until I was sure, but I’m not going to keep a baby that you don’t want. That won’t be fair to any of us.”

Tears pool in his eyes. “Listen, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared to death about having a baby. But I talked to Steve, and he helped me realize that I’m not like my own dad. If anything, I’m like Wayne, just looking out for the little lost sheep of the world. I want our place to be where our kid’s friends can come to be safe and just relax, maybe play a little D&D...” he smiles as he kisses your lips softly. “Our home isn’t going to be one to run away from. It’s gonna be the one people run to.”

You grab his hand and look deep in his big brown doe eyes. “So...we’re doing this? We’re actually going to bring a little Munson into the world?”

Eddie kisses you harder this time, gently placing his hand on your stomach. “I’m all in.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fluff #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x mom!reader #fanfic #stranger things #dad!eddie series

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thebrunettemuse · 2 years

Text

pureblood princess

pairing: james potter x fem!reader (slytherin and pureblood)

part: one , two , three

summary: james had never really noticed you, not until you came back to your seventh year pretty and was sat next to him in defense against the dark arts.

a/n: so i’ve decided to make up this complex story in my head and if i don’t write it i think my head might explode. anyways enjoy this heart aching story, this will definitely be a series. not proofread OKAY BYE ENJOY

James Potter had never noticed you, he was too wrapped up in Lily Evans to even look in your direction. But when he got on the train, ready for his seventh and final year at Hogwarts he watched as you entered in through the door. He had always seen you as the pureblood that he found quite annoying, but this moment? The sun hitting your face and brightening it up as you smiled at one of your friends, well— his heart sunk.

He wanted to say hi, but you brushed passed his shoulder to go and find your usual friends in their usual compartment. Yet his eyes lingered, he couldn’t look away.

Throughout the day he found himself searching the crowd of incoming students to find you, just as he did for Lily all these years. All he could think to himself was how he had wasted the past six years pining after a girl who didn’t even look in his direction when you were right there.

“James, who are you looking for?” Sirius asked as they sat in the Great Hall for dinner.

“Hm?” James looked over, being pulled from his thoughts while he looked over the Slytherin table a million times and still couldn’t seem to find you. “Oh— no one.” he shook his head.

“Liar.” Remus smirked, looking down at his food which made James furrow his eyebrows in response.

“Excuse me?” He laughed a bit, trying to cover up the fact this his friends were onto him.

“By this time every year you’re sat next to Lily Evans flirting with the poor girl, so why are you sitting with us and looking at the—” Sirius took a moment to follow his previous line of sight. “the Slytherin table?” he found himself shocked with what he found, his mouth turning into a confused frown.

“I’m not looking at the Slytherin table.” James lied, his eyes rolling before looking back down to pick at his food.

“Right..” Sirius slowly nodded.

“I’m not!” James tried to defend, but it came off more aggressive than he had originally hoped for, his own actions immediately throwing himself under the bus.

“Woah— calm down. We’re just messing with you.” Remus laughed lightly and James stared at him with his lids lowered before he scoffed and shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. He hated mashed potatoes of course, but anything to keep himself from tattling on— well, himself.

The next day he had DADA class first thing in the morning, sitting at his assigned seat towards the back of his class, something he was grateful for because he could do his usual in class shenanigans. But— as soon as he was starting to get used to his new seat, the chair beside him was pulled out, and none other than you had sat down next to him.

He watched in shock as you set your books down and took your seat, slowly looking over at the dark curly haired boy who sat next to you. You looked confused as to why he was looking at you the way he was.

“Do you need something, Potter?” you asked, his last name falling off your tongue with ease and he had wished for nothing more than for you to say his first name.

“Oh— uhh.” he stammered, why was he freezing? He never froze, he was James Potter for Merlin’s sake. The king of flirting, so this was very unusual for him. Say something. Anything.

“Nope, everything’s good.” he breathed out finally, looking away awkwardly. Why did he have to be so awkward? He was ruining his chances with you, which were already very slim considering who you were, who your family was.

Pureblood family, strictly Slytherin. Just like Sirius’ family. You were what some called the pureblood princess, untouchable unless you were raised just as you were. James definitely wasn’t, but that wasn’t going to stop him. Hopefully..

“Good, I was beginning to think you didn’t like me sitting here.” you joked, something you didn’t do very often. In fact you were usually very quiet, really only spoke when you were spoken to. Just as you were taught growing up.

“Oh no, you can sit here— I mean I want you to sit here..” he stuttered again, but looked back up at you again.

“I have to sit here.” you smiled, this playful smile that made his heart skip a beat and he laughed lightly.

“Right yeah, I suppose you do.” he motioned towards the seating chart displayed on the chalkboard in front of the room.

You scoffed, shaking you head before looking down at your DADA book, opening it up and tucking your hair behind your ear to expose a bit more of your face.

The entire class James was trying to find some excuse to talk to you, yet he couldn’t find any reason to. Only small stolen glances in your direction, watching as you paid attention to the professor and wrote little notes with a quill on a blank sheet of paper.

Then class had ended, and just as soon as you came, you left. James sat for a moment, leaning back in his seat and sighing audibly before standing up and walking into the hallway.

“When did you start getting whipped for Y/N?” Remus appeared beside James, which he sighed in relief seeing who it was.

“Merlin, you scared me Moony.” he rolled his eyes.

“Well, are you gonna answer me?” he asked.

“I’m not whipped for Y/L/N.” he stared forward, not wanting to look at Remus because he knew his face would betray him once again, just as it did the night before.

“Right, you can lie all you want but I saw you staring at her that entire class when Lily was sitting right in front of you.” Remus exposed him. “Better not tell Sirius, he’d get pissed if he found out you like a girl like Y/N.” he warned his friend.

“I’m not, so you have nothing to worry about.” James defended his actions, but he knew he had been caught.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Remus teased.

The rest of the day he couldn’t stop thinking about you, the face you make when your focused and how you smiled at him at the beginning of class. He tossed and turned in his sleep thinking about it, groaning as he shoved his pillow over his face in frustration. It was like his crush on Lily but a million times worse and he couldn’t understand why. Why was he suddenly so head over heels for the pureblood princess?

The following weeks seemed to go by rather slowly and he tried to blame it on him just being ready to finish school, but in reality you were stuck in this special little place in the back of his mind. He saw you in the library every Thursday, his day to study and catch up on homework before the weekend.

You had barely spoken to him too, randomly asking for a quill when you forgot one, him asking for a piece of parchment paper when he had ran out. Helping answer questions for each other when the two of you got a bit confused, but that was it.

Lily even spoke to him more than you did, and yet every time him and the red head would talk he didn’t get the same feeling the previous years when the girl gave him attention, he had secretly wished it was you talking to him.

But after almost a month of little words exchanged, something had changed, he had stood up for you.

It was in DADA, the class was learning about the Imperius when a Ravenclaw students decided to make a very mean joke towards you.

“Alright students, today we will be learning about the curse that controls the mind. It is called the Imperius curse, it is very dangerous and it is very important you know how to protect yourself from it.” the professor explained.

“Protect ourselves from it, or from people like Y/N’s family?” the witty Ravenclaw girl spoke up. James looked up from his book towards the girl, then towards you. Usually when someone made a sly comment like that you would fire something mean back, but your face told a different story.

Tears filled your eyes and you looked at the girl who had a smirk on her face. “Now that’s quite enough, Miss. Golding.” the professor warned.

“That was a real bitch move, Grace.” James said towards the girl, which caused you to look at him in shock. Was James Potter really standing up to the Ravenclaw to defend you? He had ignored your every move for years and yet here he was actually being nice. Shocking, to say the least.

“That’s detention for you, Mr. Potter.” the professor sighed.

“That’s not fair, Grace said something first.” James defended his actions.

“Okay, detention for you too, Miss. Golding.” the Ravenclaw sighed.

James looked over at you and shot a small smile on your direction, you smiled back.

After class you found James in the library studying and approached the table he sat at by himself. “Hey, uh—” you started awkwardly. “Thanks for defending me in class earlier, you really didn’t have to do that.” you smiled.

“Of course.” he said softly, a small smile on his face as well.

“Sorry you got detention.” you pressed your lips into a line. You really did feel bad, and felt like it wasn’t deserved that he got detention for standing up for another student when they couldn’t.

“It’s okay, it was worth it.” he shrugged and leaned in a bit closer. “Between you and me Grace is a pain in the ass.” he joked, earning a breathy laugh from you.

“Yeah, she is.” you nodded. “Do you usually study alone?” you asked. James froze yet again.

“Uh— yeah. Usually.” he looked down.

“Do you care if I sit?” you questioned, motioning to the chair on the side of the table next to him.

“What? Oh, no. Not at all.” he motioned towards it. “Please.” he came off as desperate, mentally face palming.

“Okay.” you laughed again, sitting down and setting your books in front of you. The two of you spent an hour sitting side by side in silence, and every once in a while he peaked over his book to take a look at you. He couldn’t help it, you really were those one of a kind girls.

“James!” he heard his name get called, looking over to see who the feminine voice was. Lily Evans, of course it was. How come when he finally was moving on she seemed to appear more often?

“Lily.” he nodded towards her as she approached him. “Can I study with you?” she asked, her eyes darting over at you and then back at James. You stared up at her for a moment.

“Oh, look at the time! I best get going before my friends start wondering where I am.” you said, gathering your things and shoving them into you arms. “See you around, Potter.” you smiled in his direction before walking off.

“See— see you.” he muttered to himself, finding himself watching as you left.

“James?” Lily called, snapping him out of his gaze.

“Yeah? Oh, yes! You can sit, study— yeah.” he nodded before looking down at his book. But he didn’t steal glances at Lily, in fact he stayed glued to his DADA boom instead.

Every Thursday after that the two of you sat in the library and studied for an hour, and every single time Lily would come in and ask to study, and every single time you would leave when she did.

You knew Lily Evans didn’t like you that much, not very many people did. It was hard to like someone who came from the background you did, you understood that. What you couldn’t understand is why James Potter was suddenly being so nice to you? It was like a switch in his brain flipped over the summer, his usual cold demeanor towards you turned into a warm and welcoming one.

So one day as you sat reading next to James, he finally spoke to you, causing you to look up from the notes you were writing. “What are you doing this weekend?” he asked.

“What?” you asked shocked.

“What are you doing this weekend?” he repeated and you stared for a moment completely dumbfounded. You set down your quill.

“I’m not sure.” you shrugged, because you weren’t sure. You usually sat in the Slytherin common room with your friends and talked about your week with each other, talked about your families or sat in silence. It was boring.

“Wanna go for a walk around the Black Lake?” he asked casually.

“Why? You’re not going to push me in or anything, right?” you joked and he laughed.

“No, I’m not going to push you in.” he smiled.

“So— why then?” you repeated.

“Sirius and Remus are going on a date, Peter is hanging out with Marlene, and I like to go on walks with my friends on the weekends.” he shrugged.

“Oh so we’re friends now?” you teased.

“Of course! We sit with each other every Thursday and next to each other everyday in class.” he explained further.

“I will go if you answer one question for me.” you decided.

“Shoot.” he leaned back in his chair.

“What happened?” you asked, he furrowed his eyebrows, unsure of what exactly you were asking. “I mean, something must’ve happened over the summer. Before you used to hate me, and tease me.” you explained.

“So what happened? Why are you defending me now and hanging out with me?” you looked at him. James thought for a moment.

“I don’t know, I guess I changed my mind— about you.” he looked at you, his face relaxed as he searched for any reaction on your face.

“Changed your mind what about me exactly?” you dived deeper.

“I already answered your question, are you in or not?” he asked.

“James.” you warned, earning a sigh from him. He really didn’t want to have to ever explain this to you.

“You, your family, they stand for everything I’m against.” he replied honestly. “But at the beginning of the year when you walked onto that train, I don’t know how to explain it but, you changed. You looked really well, happy. Very unlike your family.”

“Classic me, came back to seventh year all pretty.” you joked, looking away, but his words stung. All these years he saw you just as everyone else did. Your unforgiving last name revealing who you were supposed to be.

“Not just pretty, Y/N, you looked happy.” he reiterated. You looked back up at him. “Besides, you’ve always been pretty. I was too sucked up in the rumors to notice it.” he looked at you deeply, like he was the first person in this entire school to see you.

“What about Lily Evans, is she too busy?” you questioned.

“I don’t know.” he shrugged, he was being honest. He hadn’t asked Lily what she was doing. “I asked you what you were doing, not Evans.” he smiled.

“Okay, I’ll go to the lake this weekend. But I swear if you push me in—” you started to get defensive but James only laughed.

“I’m not gonna push you in. What, are you afraid of water?” he teased.

“I can’t swim, and I’m not just saying that to sound cute. Like I would literally die if I fell in the water.” you replied honestly.

“Then I would save you.”

#james potter x reader #james potter x slytherin!reader #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #james potter angst #james potter x fem!reader #james potter

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casasupernovas · 8 months

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thing is.

the doctor in series 3 is a lot more complex people give him credit for.

when he gets mad at martha at the end of 'smith and jones' it's not because he's offended at her flirting, annoyed at her insinuations, 'how dare she'. no. he's mad because she sussed him out, right down to the blue suit.

in 'smith and jones' the doctor has a clean slate, he has reinvented himself. and this version has no baggage.

this doctor hasn't got a brown suit it's blue, this doctor is flirtaious, romantic, even does the 'honourable' thing of making sure she knows the kiss he will give her means nothing. she won't get attatched that way when he sacrifices himself to draw out the plasmavore.

but this doctor is also a bit callous, he's excited by the thrill and danger, dimissing very real distress from people around him in favour for the facts. he only pulls himself back upon his conversation with martha.

in fact, it's no coincidence the kiss happens after martha commemorates the dead, her old mentor.

the problem is however, martha is too clever, too observant, too confident to completely be won over by this entirely. when he tells her he is the doctor, just the doctor, at first she refuses to call him by this. he has to earn it. sonic screwdriver? lol, got an electric spanner too? she asks if he has help because surely he didn't come to this hospital because he thought something was wrong on his own?

that's why he says stuff like this. he's like why are you poking holes in the illusion. i'm *this* person now, don't take me back to my reality.

but he's not quite done. they both could have died on the moon but she saves his life so, he gets another chance. incomes the reinvented doctor part two. [you can argue the doctor always knew they would make it because martha told him she saw him in a moment that had happened for her but not yet for him.]

so part 2 commences but he's turning it all the way up because he wants her as his companion.

so he's smooth talking her, but even then she's still not letting him get one over on her. "not pompous at all." so better turn it up some more, and he time travels, a 'cheap trick' to impress her more.

until his newly formed version of himself gets a hole poked in once again after martha inadvertantly makes him remember rose. and he clams up, decides it will only be one trip in a pretty aloof, defensive and abrupt way. shuts down any path that could lead to something more, testing to see if she can do the same - "i only go for humans" - she can and away we go. he's racing about the tardis back to semi-normal and they are off.

it's why he's so having mood swings all throughout 'the shakespeare code,' flip flopping between annoyance and dismissal at her questions, she's ruining how it was supposed to go in his head. she wasn't supposed to ask *this* many questions, she was just supposed to be impressed. but she went and reminded me of rose so this can't work now, it's gonna be one trip. but then flipping back to this need to impress and to just fall back into step to how they were, running around and having an adventure. how he's supposed to be.

and he decides i don't want this to end. im extending the trip. but yet again martha pokes another hole - his home. but the doctor holds onto the pretense for as long as he can. he doesn't just say "we can't go to my home and please don't ask me why because it's painful." he just lies. and this pretense now takes on a new form, because it directly references rose with choosing new earth. see, he starts by reminiscing on gallifrey when he describes it to her then chooses someone else to reminisce on. rose. all with little regard to how martha would feel about being used in this way. but unfortunately for the doctor, this takes a dramatic change for the worse as taking martha here directly leads to her abduction.

now, despite martha's olive branch after the death of the face of boe, the doctor still doesn't tell her the truth. until she sits down, and really hones in on his lies and the people of new new york began to sing for the dead. and the doctor looks at martha, the human, listening to the humans commeorate the dead. and tells her the truth. that he lied because he liked it. because he could pretend. pretend that his reality was not true. he was not the last timelord.

intriguingly enough, by the time we get to the lazarus experiment, the doctor seems determined to play out how the story was supposed to go. yet again disregarding martha's feelings. find a new companion. travel for a bit, then bring her home safe and sound. and not one year later. no ties, a nice thanks then goodbye. no heartbreak, no tears. but he comes back. because he doesn't want it to end yet, offers her another trip. and here goes martha again. telling him he needs to be clear in what he wants right now. he's not someone who can just breeze in and out of her life without a second thought. is she his companion or is she a passenger?

and the pretense is over. mostly anyway, and the doctor is at his mlst vulnerable due to the circumstances of '42' and by its end, it's like a refreshed smith and jones.

but now he doesn't feel the need to lie, he's not fully there yet. but he's more comfortable, he doesn't need to pretend.

perhaps too comfortable.

#doctor who #martha jones #tenth doctor #10th doctor #tenmartha #smith and jones #the shakespeare code #meta #the lazarus experiment #42 #human nature #the family of blood #blink #utopia #the sound of drums #last of the timelords

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infoactionratio7 · 10 months

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(you) on my arm - s. adamu

summary: sydney is at a wall, she has no ideas when it comes to the new menu at the bear. she decides to go to a bookstore for some new inspiration, she finds it, but not in the way she was expecting.

pairing: sydney adamu x fem! bookseller! reader

word count: 2,514

note: annoying! carmy bc he literally is insane, kinda fluffy meet cute vibes, reader just moved to chicago, inspired by the song (you) on my arm by leith ross cause the song is rlly cute! also sydney gives me sapphic vibes, she definitely would have a crush on a girl!

monday morning -

Sydney was pissed, she had sent at least ten messages to Carmy in the last twenty minutes. Some about the new menu they were working on together, some about the fact that he had been a bitch the night before when he kicked everyone out because Claire just had to see the new restaurant. She ran her hands down her face in frustration as she sat at her dad's kitchen table, the sun streaming in through the blinds into the apartment. It warmed the floor as she got up from the table, debating what to do. She had no ideas left, everything was either not working out, or it just didn't fit the menu for the new revamped restaurant.

"Sydney, where are you headed off to today?" Her dad walked into the room with a steaming cup of coffee, freshly brewed from a new coffee blend she had found shopping the day before.

"Uh well Carm is not responding so I'm gonna head over to The Bear and meet up with him for a little then see where the day goes from there I guess." She walked out of the dining area and put her breakfast dishes away.

"Okay honey, have a good day. Hope he stops being an ass." She laughed, "Me too... me too."

Sydney grabbed her shoes out of the closet she had thrown them in last night, slipping them on and grabbing her bag. "I'll see you later dad." She grabbed her keys, and started making her way to the restaurant where she could deal with Carmy in person.

You looked around the bookstore, you had only been open for a month but it had been a hit within the community. You had almost any book anybody could want. There were teens coming from the school a few blocks away to get some cheesy romance novels to bring to the park and read with their friends, and there were grandparents coming in to get their grandchildren a new picture book about god knows what. You even had some people come in and request books you had never heard of before, you promptly ordered two copies of any book you didn't have. One for the customer, and one for you, to read and explore the pages.

It was a beautiful space, tall ceilings strung with fairy lights and lanterns, trying to bring some sense of whimsy to the dull days in Chicago. The books were arranged in every which way, requiring the customers to truly search for a book they wanted to read. You had tables full of recommendations, from people online and the employees of the bookshop. You really enjoyed curating all the titles you had in your collection. Tourists looking for a cute little magnet or souvenir adored the hole in the wall place, a safe space to just cuddle up and read a book.

You had a few customers that day, a mom and her son looking for his first chapter book to read. You had suggested he read The Magic Tree House, a series, about a brother and sister and their time traveling tree house. There was a tall guy with a buzzcut, who said he worked just down the street and was looking for a book about how to get rid of mold in the structure of a building. He seemed in dire need of some help, so you found the best book possible, The Toxic Mold Recovery Guide. You had no idea you had the book but it was meant to be. He thanked you immensely, leaving his name and number just in case you ever needed anything. His name was Richie, he seemed pretty nice.

Low music played as you restocked a shelf, you hated the idea of having Colleen Hoover books in the store but they were a big source of income. They absolutely flew off the shelves. The least touched section of the store were the cookbooks, it seemed like everyone in Chicago was moving too fast to just dedicate one hour of their day to making a meal from scratch. It was disappointing, because you had a large selection, from Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child to Momofuku by David Chang and Peter Meehan. You knew that someday it might come in handy and you would be lucky to have all the cookbooks.

Sydney walked into the restaurant in a sour mood, Carmy had still not responded to any of her texts and she knew he was here. She walked straight into the office, passing the locker room, sans lockers and covered in black powder. Richie furiously flipping through a book that said something about mold on the cover. He glanced up at her

"Shut the fuck up." She was taken aback

"I didn't even fucking say anything Richie," he scoffed at her

"Well I was preparing for you to say something dumb as hell, and you did so I stand by my first statement." He looked back down at the book and mumbled something unintelligible to himself. She rolled her eyes and made her way into the office.

"Carm are you here?" Turning the corner she saw the chef, surrounded by papers and various file folders. He had his phone in his hand and was about to dial a number, "You little bitch, you fucking had your phone this entire time." She couldn't believe what was right in front of her.

"What do you mean chef?" Carmy looked confused, "Of course I had my phone, I'm about to call the fridge guy."

Rolling her eyes she brought her hand up to her face, holding her forehead in her palm. "I texted you at least ten fucking times, you couldn't even bother yourself to respond!" Shaking her head she sank down into the office chair Carmy had abandoned an hour ago.

He looked around the room, trying to get her to understand how much work he had been doing, "Syd I've been trying to make sense of this paperwork for hours, I haven't had time to respond to your messa-"

Fak's head popped into the doorframe, "Carmy I got your text about helping Richie clean up the mold but he's being mean to me." Sydney turned from Fak to the red faced chef sitting on the floor. He had been caught in a lie, of course Fak came in at just the right time for this to happen.

"Okay fuck you chef, I'm leaving." Sydney shrugged, stood up and left the room. She heard heated words from Carmy as she walked out of the office and passed the locker room again, now he was pissed at Fak, as usual. She heard her name as she turned around,

"Sydney, wait a sec come here."

"What do you want Richie, I thought you wanted me to shut the fuck up." She crossed her arms tight and shot him a pointed look.

"You should go to that bookstore a few blocks down, I got this damn mold book earlier and saw a shit ton of cookbooks. You should check it out." She sent him a tight smile and turned her back to him. "Thanks Chef."

You had just finished restocking the shelves for the day when the little bell above the door rang. You went behind the desk and called out, "Welcome to The Book Worm, If you need anything let me know!"

You heard no response so you just busied yourself cleaning up the case that was behind the checkout, it housed all your special edition signed or first edition copies of books. It needed to be dusted pretty often because you wanted to keep the quality of the books at their highest, just in case anyone would ever want to purchase one.

You heard a thud come from behind you, and turning around you looked down at the counter. There was a stack of six cookbooks placed on the counter in front of you. Looking up you saw one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen since you had moved in to the city. Her hair was long and perfectly braided, her eyes a beautiful shade of umber catching the light in a hypnotic way. She had a grimace on her face, yet still looked stunning. You had no idea how to react, so instinctively you started to enter the books into the register as you made some small talk,

"So how has your day been," She sighed and looked up to meet your gaze, "If I'm being honest, shitty. My fucking partner wouldn't respond to my messages and when I went to talk to him he had is phone in his hand about to call someone. So yeah really fucking shitty." You looked back down at the book at disappointment, of course she had a partner and of course she was straight.

Awkwardly smiling you tried to think of a good response"Oh, um, wow. That's pretty shitty I'm sorry." She seemed to sense your disappointment, trying to save the conversation, "Shit uh, my business partner I mean, he's a little bitch sometimes. We're uh, opening a business- or I should say um," She rubbed the back of her neck, "We're kinda rebranding his brother's old restaurant, its a lot." You had finished entering all the books into the system, your chest had filled with warmth when she rushed to clarify that he was her business partner. You thought that maybe, just maybe it might be because she wanted to make sure you knew she was single, and not exactly straight.

"I guess that explains the cookbooks then," You looked at her, she had been staring at you in a flustered state of shock. "What, oh, uh, yeah! I'm kinda stuck making the menu so wanted to get some inspiration."

Sharing an understanding smile, you read her total out to her. She grabbed her wallet and pulled out some cash, as she handed it to you her fingers brushed along yours. It sent chills down your spine, no matter how cliche it might be, you knew that she was someone to keep close. Your face flushed red as you took the cash and put it into the register, printing her receipt and giving her any change she needed back.

You decided that since she got so many books you would give her a free tote bag, just so she could carry all the books out of the shop. You pulled one off of a hook behind you and started to put the books into a bag. You decided to quietly slip a business card with your cell number and a little note into a book so she could find it and contact you. A subtle way of screaming, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen I want to spend the rest of my life with you, without being too forward. As you finished packing the bag, the two of you both happened to say something at the same time.

"Do you wanna come see my restu-"

"Do you work at the restura-"

You flushed

"No you can go-"

"No you can go - sorry um. Do you want to come to the opening of the restaurant. It's uh, the one down the street, we're not opening for a while but, if you want to come to the friends and fam-"

You cut her off, wanting her to know you really wanted to go to her restaurant, "I would love to go... what was your name?"

"Sydney, It's uh Sydney" Her face got hot, nervous about the fascinating bookseller she just had the pleasure of meeting.

"Well Sydney, I would love to go. Just let me know the details," You softly smiled as you gave her the bag filled with books. She looked to you and grabbed a bookmark you had as a display that happened to have the shop's phone number on it. "I'll call you, um when we get closer to the open date, promise." You smiled, hoping that she would get in contact with you sooner than she expected to. She turned to leave.

"Thanks for coming in, really good to meet you Sydney." The door rang again and she sent you a wave through the glass, walking away quickly.

You were frozen, you had just given a random girl you just met your number, and had openly flirted with her for all the world to see. You crouched down onto the small stool you had behind the desk, tucked your head into your knees and screamed. You were feeling rushes of emotion and didn't think you would ever recover from that interaction. The bell rang again just as you finished screaming, you shot up and saw a group of teenagers heading to the new books you had just set out.

"Welcome to The Book Worm, If you need anything just holler!"

Sydney rushed back to The Bear, she was so utterly mortified, she had never seen someone so radiant and in their element. The chef couldn't contain her emotions as she stormed into the restaurant, Richie was the first person she saw, he started to say something,

"Not right now Richie I swear to God" The tall man was taken aback but threw his hands up in surrender, not wanting to get involved.

She might as well have ran into the office at the speed she was going, throwin the bag of cookbooks on the ground and closing the door, sliding down the back of the door she groaned,

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, fucking, fuck," dragging out the last word as she hit the floor.

Carmy stared at her from the floor a few feet away, "Yo Syd what happened to you? Looks like you just ran a marathon." He chuckled at the expression on her face.

"I just met the most beautiful girl and totally fucked up my chances with her cause I left so quickly." Sydney put her hands into her face and just sat there marinating in her embarrassment.

Carmy had some strong suits, his attention to detail one of them. He noticed something poking out of one of the books. He grabbed it, hoping that it was something that would change Sydney's mood before he had to work with her for more hours than they could count. He grinned taking the note out of the book and reading it,

"Hey Syd," He reached out to give her the note.

She looked up from behind her fingers, "What?"

He shook his hand, implying he wanted her to take the note from his grip. She groaned, then leaned forward to forcefully take it out of his hand.

She read the note, and smiled. Thank God you slipped her this note.

cookbook girl -

i hope you enjoy your SIX cookbooks, i have some more you could borrow for some inspiration. text me

Sydney's face heated up as she leaned back into door and scoffed.

Carmy had saved the day, one again.

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