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neonghostlights · 9 months

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Chapter Two: What Did You Just Say?

Alien!Eddie Munson x Fem!Famer!Reader

A/N: This chapter picks up right where the last chapter left off.

Series Summary: Your dull life gets flipped upside down when a stranger crash lands on your farm. When the mystery of what he is unravels, he takes you and your heart for a ride that is out of this world.

Warnings: Blood (it's green), Head injury/cut, Reader gets injured, Eddie chases reader (but not really), 18+ only

Wordcount: 3.4k

Chapter One here

“Are you okay?” You asked the injured man.

He blinked one slow blink instead of answering. His hand tightened around your wrist with a squeeze before letting go completely. The loss of his touch on your wrist felt heavy and you didn’t know why.

He rubbed his head, staring down at green liquid coming from the wound with furrowed brows. It pooled on his fingertips and dripped down his long fingers, running in a stream towards his wrist. It was bright and unnaturally colored, nothing like anything you had ever seen before.

The green blood was pretty weird. But if you needed to help him you couldn’t just focus on that.

You tapped his shoulder, getting his attention. It seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. He didn’t look up at you, he just started furiously tapping on the screen in front of him.

You watched in awe as the buttons and gears illuminated on the panel in front of him. It looked like a high tech version of the inside of a luxury car.

On the screen, a bunch of symbols popped up. You didn’t understand what any of it meant. He seemed to understand it completely though by the worried look on his face as his eyes scanned over them quickly.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt. But you’re leaking green fluid and you probably need to see a doctor.” You hesitated as you spoke, unsure on what to do. They never give you instructions on what to do if a strange thing crashes on your family farm. You wished they had handbooks for situations like these.

The man continued to ignore you as he continued typing into the screen, fingers moving in a blur from his speed.

The screen lit up even brighter before a large enhanced picture of earth popped up. The man looked at it with raised brows and then at you, pointing at the screen.

“Are you asking me if we’re on earth right now?”

He pointed to you and the screen again, waving his hand a little bit to get you to answer quickly.

You nodded quickly. How could you have been so blind? This wasn’t an airplane or some sort of military vehicle. This was a spaceship. And that made the man you were staring at not a man at all, but an alien.

“Uh, yep. That’s us. Now, if you don’t mind I’m gonna go make a few phone calls.”

The man watched you with furrowed, confused brows as you started to back away. You looked behind you to see Comet had moseyed back down the field to the rest of the cows, not bothered at all by the strange happenings. Of course she would save herself and leave you to handle the danger on your own.

When you got a few steps away, he frantically undid the halter type seat belt and pulled himself up from the wreckage, glass and metal crunching under his boots. He slid a little as he tried to get out quickly, obviously not wanting to let you get away.

“No, no, no,” you demanded. “You stay there and just wait for the cops or the government or whoever happens to be on alien duty to show up, okay?”

Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned the cops.

“Or maybe not the cops!” You corrected, placing two hands out in front of you as you slowly backed away. Your boots caught against some of the loose metal and broken glass around you. You would have to clean this up before one of the animals got hurt.

He stood out of the wreckage now. He was taller than you thought he was going to be, with thin long arms that had a hint of muscle bulging at the biceps. His long sleeve shirt and pants were tight, forming to him. Black lace up boots came up to about his mid calf.

He stumbled towards you, gaining his footing. Poor guy had to be dizzy from hitting his head after presumably falling out of the sky at record speed. It was a miracle that he was even alive. Maybe that thing had airbags in it.

“Just stay right there,” you cooed, taking the voice you would use to get animals or children to listen.

He didn’t listen though. He got his bearings and started to stride towards you with a determined look.

“No!” you yelled, but he didnt stop.

So, you did the best thing you could think of when posed in a life threatening situation like this.

You ran for your life.

You sprinted towards the house with your back turned away from him, leaving you vulnerable for him to come up behind you. Your boots pounded across the grass, thudding with each step you took.

Nights on the farm were devoid of all light except for the moon, the stars, and the light pole your grandfather had added next to the house. You stumbled through the field, your foot landing in a shallow hole and sending you towards the ground.

You hit the grass with a thud and the air left your lungs with a wheeze. It hurt like hell but you couldn’t just lie there like you wanted to. You needed to get inside and call for help before he could catch up to you.

You scrambled forward. A sharp pain shot up your leg from your ankle when you put pressure on it but you had to ignore it for now.

You climbed over the rickety wooden fence, a splinter of wood embedding itself into your palm. It made more sense to climb over it than pausing to open and close the gate behind you. The wooden planks wobbled from your weight, creaking from the weak wood. You really needed to replace that damn fence.

You tilted over and fell on your side. God, this was awful. Now you know why those girls in horror movies always fall. It was hard to stay up straight when running for your life. If the stranger behind you had a knife you’d be done for already.

You took a second to glance back to see him high tailing towards you, just a couple of feet away from you. His long legs covered more ground than you could. Here you were, falling all over the place and injuring yourself in the process while he looks like he hasn’t even broken a sweat.

You let out a scream and got back up, crossing the gravel driveway and climbing onto the front porch. You threw yourself up the steps, grasping the metal handle to the screen door. It slipped between your sweaty fingers on the first try.

You made the mistake of turning to see how close he was now. You felt him before you saw him. His body pushed up against yours, trapping you against the screen door. His back was to your front, arms spread to keep you behind him.

You froze, confused by his actions. “What are you doing?” You yelled, pushing his back so he would move. He didn’t even budge an inch.

You did your best to lean around him to look at his face. He looked panicked, eyes wide and head swiveling, obviously looking for some sort of danger.

You realized then that he didn’t know that you were running from him. You also realized that he was trying to protect you from the unknown threat.

It was kind of sweet.

You flicked the back of his neck to get his attention, deciding not to go with his head since he was already banged up.

“Get off of me. I was running from you.”

He turned at your voice to face you, rubbing the back of his neck with a wince from where you had plucked him.

His head was bleeding heavier now, most likely from his running getting his blood pumping.

You sighed, feeling bad now. He didn’t seem like he would be a danger to you. He was hurt and probably confused. If he was going to hurt you he would have already done so by now and he definitely wouldn’t have tried to protect you.

You opened the door behind you and gestured for him to follow you inside. You pointed at the couch and told him to sit while you went to get your first aid kit from the bathroom.

You dug underneath the bathroom sink until you found what you were looking for. You held it up triumphantly, turning to go back to the living room when you ran right into your new friend, who was supposed to be waiting for you in the living room.

You jumped back in surprise before you narrowed your eyes at him. “I told you to wait,” you muttered as you grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the couch, pushing on his shoulder so he would sit.

When you were sure he wouldn’t get up again you opened the first aid kit. “So, what are you? Where are you from? I mean, you’re obviously not from here and from here I mean the planet earth unless you’re playing a prank. But I’m not sure how you would fake the green blood or the crashed spaceship in my cow field,” you said with a laugh that verged on the edge of hysterics. You squirted some cleaner onto the gauze.

You dabbed the cut on his forehead. The man hissed in pain, grabbing your wrist to pull you away. You stayed steady, not letting him move you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I have to clean this or you’re going to get an infection. Okay, so we’ve covered that you’re not from here. So does that mean you’re an alien?” You dabbed at it gently while he still held onto your wrist. His fingers rubbed against your pulse point, sending chills up your arm. You blamed it on his seemingly chilled skin. His body temperature seemed to be lower than yours. You weren’t sure if it was from his injury or if that was just how he naturally was.

The man looked you in the eyes and mumbled something to you in a gravelly voice.

“Huh?” You asked, pulling out some adhesive sutures from your kit. These would have to do.

He repeated his words, slower this time but you still didn’t understand. It didn’t sound like any language you had ever heard before.

Your eyes moved from the green blood blotting the gauze you had used, to his full lips which were mouthing words that didn’t make sense, and then to the cold feeling of his skin against yours where he held onto your wrist. You thought of the weird contraption he had been in, the screen with the picture of earth on it, and how he had pointed at you and the picture as if to make sure that was the planet he was on.

You dropped the supplies you were holding from your hand and started to back away. He let go of your wrist, looking at you with a questionable look. What the hell were you doing? Based on what you’ve gathered, he wasn’t from this world. Hell, he probably wasn’t even from this universe.

He said something again in his language, softer this time. It sounded like a plea but you couldn’t be sure. His hand reaching out for yours. You felt kind of bad for the poor guy. He crash landed onto a planet that wasn’t his own. It seemed like he couldn’t understand your language. He was hurt and probably in pain.

You let out a dramatic exhale and clapped your hands together. He jumped back at the noise.

“Okay, this is what we’re gonna do. We aren’t going to call the police because I’m pretty sure if they do that they’re gonna drag you away to some sort of laboratory or something and you seem like you don’t want to hurt anyone. All you need to do is fix up your little space craft thing and you’ll be good to go,” you rambled, knowing that he couldn’t understand you. To his credit though, he gave you his undivided attention anyways.

“So this leaves us with what I’m going to do with you for now though…” you trailed off. You couldn’t make him sleep in the barn. That would just be mean. “Stay here,” you mumbled as you went to go find some blankets and pillows for him. He, of course, did not listen and followed you throughout the house. He observed everything as he went by with curious eyes. They must not have houses like this wherever he’s from.

He trailed behind you, stepping on your heels a few times which earned him dirty looks from you. To his credit he did look at least a little apologetic. You spread the blankets out on the couch to make a makeshift bed. You fluffed the pillow and pointed at it. “Sleep.”

He looked at you and then back down at the couch with a blank look.

You groaned and guided him to sit on the couch then pushed on his shoulders to lie down.

He laid on the couch like a corpse with his arms crossed against his chest as he stared up at you. It didn’t look comfortable but it would have to do for now. You took a blanket, an old quilt your grandmother had made, and tossed it over him. You hoped he didn’t expect you to tuck him in.

“Alright, goodnight,” you called as you switched off the lights in the living room, just leaving one lamp on in case he got scared or something. Do aliens get scared of the dark? You double checked the lock on the front door and slowly crept out of the room and towards your bedroom.

You took a deep breath when your bedroom door closed behind you. You let your head thump against the wooden door. What the hell were you doing? Not only did you have a strange man in your living room, but a strange man that was most likely not from this world.

Well, you always said you wanted to have an adventure. Here it was.

You woke up before your alarm went off like you did every morning. Your body had become fine tuned at waking up before the sun ever peeked over the horizon.

You stretched, contemplating all of your life choices that led you to having to wake up this early to not only work, but to also confront the handsome alien man that was sleeping on your couch.

Unlocking your bedroom door and pushing the dresser that you used as a barricade with all of your body strength out of the way, you crept silently into the living room. He probably wouldn’t even be up yet. It was pretty early and he had obviously had a rough night.

The lamp was still on in the living room, illuminating the now empty spot on the couch. The blankets were on the ground, like he had tossed them off and jumped up suddenly.

“Alien?” You whispered-yelled throughout the dark house, checking room to room with no success.

He had disappeared.

“What the hell?” You groaned. How can someone lose an alien only hours after they got them?

Maybe he left, deciding to go to town on his own. Or maybe he had a buddy pick him up and give him a ride back to whatever planet he came from.

You sighed in relief at his absence, going to your room to get ready for the day.

It took less than five minutes to throw on a pair of jeans and boots to head out into the field to take care of what you needed to take care of.

You threw open the door, inhaling the fresh morning air and stretching your arms out to the still dark sky and groaning as your joints loosened up. Maybe last night was a weird dream. You tested your weight on your ankle, still feeling the ache from where you fell during your run. It wasn’t awful but it was still there.

You chewed on your lip. Where the hell was he? You looked out to the cow field and saw the wreckage still there. You’d have to find a way to pull that into the barn before someone else saw it and started to ask questions.

Squinting your eyes to try to see the spaceship better from where you were, you could barely make out his movements beside it. You crossed the field, heading to him. You hoped he would have it fixed so he would just be able to leave now.

When you got to him, he was sitting in the driver's seat. The sharp pieces of glass that covered the grass around the ship the night before had been cleaned up and laid in a pile in what looked to be a passenger seat. You’d have to find a way to thank him, you had been worried about the cows somehow getting hurt if they got too close to it.

He smiled at you when he saw you, looking genuinely pleased to see you. It was surprising, since you really hadn’t been the nicest to him. He started rummaging through some sort of glove department. It was weird how much the inside resembled a two seat car but with a large touch screen with buttons surrounding it, purple glass, a circular shape, and a two handled steering wheel.

He pulled out whatever he was looking for, a small metal box that fit into the palm of his hand. His fingers curled around it, waving it triumphantly for a second. He opened it, revealing what looked to be a small computer screen, two ear plugs, and a smooth metal chip that almost looked like a guitar pick but smaller. He tapped on the screen, holding it out to you.

He stood up out of the seat, staring at you expectantly. You weren’t sure what he wanted you to do so you just stared at him with a confused look and gave him a small wave. You weren’t touching the things in his hands. For all you knew they were some weird mind control and before you knew it you would end up in a test tube to be studied by the aliens.

Isn’t that how all of the abduction stories go?

He said something in his language, it sounded rushed and excited. He tapped on the screen again and held it out in front of your face. You shuffled back.

“Get that damn thing out of my face,” you snapped, not really meaning to be mean with him. You were just scared.

The screen lit up a bright purple at the sound of your voice and he moved it away, facing it towards him again. He started tapping on it some more. He pulled out the earbuds and put one in each ear and placed the metal chip thing under his tongue. He closed his mouth for a second, focusing on something. You could see his tongue moving on the inside of his cheek like he was trying to get the thing in the right position.

Finally, he stopped, a big smile crossing his face. Bright teeth showing in the early morning sunlight as it crested over the rolling hills of the field. It was strange how human he looked, but also not. What really gave him away was his beauty, the inhuman kind. There was no man walking around this earth that looked like that.

Not even the men on the cover of your favorite books were that pretty. The alien wasn’t beefy or overly muscular, but you could see the swell of the muscle on his biceps, like he worked with his arms a lot. It looked good for his tall, thin frame. You imagined that if you could see through his tight clothing, you would probably see a toned stomach.

You shook your head, trying to free yourself from those thoughts. You shouldn’t be wondering what was going on under the aliens' clothing. This wasn’t some science fiction romance book.

He opened his mouth then closed it. He stopped for a second, looking off like he was thinking hard about something before opening his mouth to speak again.

“Hello, human. My name is Eddie,” he said, completely in English.

You froze, your brain ceasing to function for a moment. There was no way the alien man learned a new language that quickly. You couldn’t believe it.

“What did you just say?”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson au #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #alien!eddie munson #alien!eddie munson x reader #alien!eddie munson x farmer!reader

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mirkwoodshewolf · 9 months

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Hi, if you’re still doing Doctor Who fanfics, I was wondering if you could please write a silly little 11th Doctor x Platonic!TimeLord reader where they are best friends and have a relationship dynamic like Joey and Frankie from the Basement Yard Podcast.

Like they’re in a dangerous scenario and one of them makes a joke and they both just start laughing. Or when they’re on the TARDIS they’ll be arguing and then one of them says something that reminds them of a song and they both just start singing it. And they use insults and a term of endearment.

I think this would be really fun and silly, but no worries if you don’t want to.

Thanks<3

okay I’m gonna be honest, I have no idea who those guys are but I’ll still do this idea.

Okay so one thing the 11th doctor is the best next to Tennant (yeah I’m biased cause Matt smith is MY doctor).

and yeah being friends with 11’s doctor is a WILD ride!!

yet at the same time you guys just click with one another from the moment you guys meet.

let’s say both of your chaotic energies just mesh together like fish fingers and custard hehehe

and that sometimes can be pretty strange or confusing to others especially when it comes to saving the galaxy

like this one time when you, the doctor and the Ponds got ambushed by the Daleks.

“Resistance is futile. Prepare to be exterminated!”

“Damn and I think I left the stove on in the Tardis.” You say.

at that comment 11 couldn’t help but say.

”how many times does this make? The fourth? The fifth?”

”lucky number seven actually my friend. But you’ve forgotten plenty of times. Remember when you thought a grease fire could be extinguished with water?”

“And you could’ve told me that?”

after briefly glaring at one another you both start to laugh.

“What is all this?” Proclaimed one of the daleks.

”it’s better you go with it” Amy said.

There was also another time with some space pirates that had taken a town hostage for their crops and money (real bugs life type situation)

they had you and the gang in cages along with the villagers and the pirate captain was going on a villainous monologue of how he was superior than these foolish villagers.

"With the subordination of these meek-little farmers, soon the entire galaxy will know my name! BLAZER THE WRATHFUL!!!" the pirates soon uproared in celebration, but soon a loud laugh overcame that.

It was your laughter.

"Something funny monkey!?"

"I'm sorry, I-I'm sorry my dude, did you say your name is Blazer-fury?"

"Yes!"

"So do you--shoot blazers out of wrath?" you ask.

"Enough out of you! Or we'll kill you first!"

But you couldn't help but snicker under your breath. The Captain turns back to you demanding what's funny.

"I'm sorry. My guy I am soo sorry. I just keep thinking to myself of how every morning you standing in front of them mirror saying to yourself, 'You know what would be a real kick-ass name! BLAZER THE WRATHFUL!!' HAHAHAHAH! That's how I hear you in my head. Remember Doc like that movie?!"

"Which one? You mean the Dinosaur one? Ahh I remember when we got to have those dinos on a space ship. That was a fun time."

"No, no, no Doctor you know the one with the talking Raccoon."

"Oh yeah. Huh? Art imitates life."

"RIGHT!?!? HEY! HEY CAP! What was your second choice gonna be? BLAZER THE SCROTUM HEAD!?"

At your comment, you had his entire crew laughing when Blazer the wrathful puleld you against the bars, his sword to your neck as he sneered.

"That's it wench! You die now!"

"Well, dying would certainly be better than living in a galaxy where a misogynistic moron who thinks Blazer the Wrathful is a kickass name." you said bluntly before using your taser gun that River gave you the last time you both met.

In the end, you all saved the village and defeated the piarates.

Overall, when it comes to being you and the Doctor, you better watch out cause there's bound to be some chaos, mischief, and a bit of eye-rolling due to their chaotic energy together.

"Hey Doc! Where's the flux-capacitor on SEXY?"

"She doesn't have one of those, this is a TARDIS, not a Delorian."

"Do you think she'd be able to transform into that?"

"No! I like her this way and this way she'll stay."

"Then can you make me a time-machine Delorian?"

"No."

"C'MON DOC!!"

Yeah, chaotic energy at the max.

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #doctor who imagines #11th doctor #11th doctor x reader #1tth doctor x gn reader #doctor who imagine #11th doctor imagine #11th doctor imagines #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fanfiction #11th doctor fanfic #11th doctor fanfiction #pond family #doctor who fandom

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unreliablesnake · 3 days

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Pairing: David “Deacon” Kay x f!reader

Note: I only saw like one season but goddammit... I had a brainrot and wrote a little something.

Warnings: age gap.

••••

“Just wait until you hear the end of the story because it gets crazier, I swear,” you said with a laugh before taking a sip of your wine.

Deacon loved the idea of just sitting there in the small restaurant near the apartment complex you both lived in and listening to you telling him those funny stories from the hospital. During these moments you were full of life and it was obvious you loved your job more than anything, so he always encouraged you to talk to him about your day.

It would have been a lie if he said he wasn't catching feelings. Because he was. And boy, did he wish you were feeling the same. Every time he saw you smile at him he wanted to pull you into a kiss, just a quick nonchalant kiss that would make him forget every problem he had. But you never showed any romantic interest in him, which soon made him realize he was dumb to assume you would ever love a divorced man his age.

He had seen your boyfriends, the young and successful titans who were ready to give you whatever your heart desired. He remembered that surgeon you dated for a while around the time he moved away from his family, the man who always gave you a ride home in his fancy Aston Martin, and the man who once yelled at you in the hallway during a nasty fight. That was the day he checked his license plate to see who he was and if he got into trouble before.

“Okay, I'll shut up now,” you said with your hands held up.

“Please, don't.” But you shook your head and took a bite of your pizza. “What's wrong?”

“You always do this. You know, asking me about my day, then watching me with this weird smile on your face, as if you were listening to the village idiot telling some funny story.”

Deacon let out a laugh while he took the glass of wine from you. “Okay, no more alcohol for you. I watch you with a smile because I love to listen to your stories.”

It was strange how he couldn’t remember when he reached out to take your hand, but when he saw your gaze move down to your hand, he immediately pulled it back with an apologetic look on his face. He could have sworn you were disappointed by the lack of contact, but he dismissed this thought immediately. If anything, you must have been relieved that he decided not to force this.

“There’s something we might need to talk about,” you suddenly said, your voice serious all of a sudden.

He let out a questioning hum to assure you he was listening, but before you could say anything, a man near the entrance began to yell at the couple sitting by the window and even pointed a gun at them. Deacon’s immediate reaction was to pull you down on the floor so you would be out of sight, then he pulled out his own weapon and told the man to drop his gun. Instead of doing that, the man pulled the trigger with shaking hands and the bullet grazed the innocent man’s arm. The woman screamed and Deacon shot the attacker without hesitation.

While he made a call to report the incident and call an ambulance, you slowly stood up and looked over at the two injured men not far from you. Even though he wanted to stop you, you sprung into action and asked the staff if they had a medical kit in the restaurant. Being a doctor meant you were ready to save whoever you could, including the attacker who was slowly bleeding out on the hardwood floor.

“Let me help,” he tried when he stopped behind you.

You turned to him with an angry look on your face before returning your attention back to your patient. “You did enough damage, Deac,” you spat.

With a sigh, he moved over to the other man and helped to bandage the wound until the ambulance arrived. His eyes wandered to you every once in a while, seeing the way you did your best to save him with the help of a waiter. He knew what bothered you. He knew you swore to save people, while his job often came with taking the life of someone. Maybe for you there was no way to get past that, and seeing him actually hurt another human being opened your eyes and made you see this contrast.

The ambulance soon arrived and the paramedics took over, leaving you standing in front of the restaurant and watching the others do their jobs. Deacon bit on his lower lip nervously as he stepped behind you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder to pull you against his chest, his face buried in your hair as he kissed your head. “Are you okay?” he asked you quietly.

You didn’t turn to look at him, you didn’t even respond to his question, but within a matter of seconds you said, “I need to wash the blood off my hands.”

He took the hint and let you go, his eyes not leaving you while you went back to the restaurant. You never returned to his side, instead you stayed inside, sitting by a table to wait for the cops to arrive and take your statement. Since he didn’t want to push you now, he kept his distance, hoping you would change your mind and talk to him about what happened.

But then a week passed and he hadn’t seen you. He briefly considered visiting you at the hospital you worked in, but he was quick to dismiss the idea. So when Hondo told him someone was looking for him, and he found you standing in the hallway, he had no idea what to say. Should he apologize? Was this what you wanted?

To his luck, you knew exactly what you wanted to say. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you away. It’s just… I know you wanted to protect the people there, I know that man shot another before you pulled the trigger, but you need to understand that I’m not comfortable with this. I knew what you do for a living, I heard the stories, but I guess you always tried to shelter me by keeping these parts to yourself,” you told him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” was all he said to you.

You took a step closer, your eyes fixed on him as you got ready to speak up again. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about before the shooting.” He nodded, encouraging you to go on. “Maybe I’m seeing more into things than I should and I need you to tell me whether I’m right or wrong. The way you’re looking at me and touching me makes me think that you might see me as more than a simple neighbor. Or friend.”

As he took a deep breath, Deacon carefully considered what to say. He didn’t want to risk losing you over feelings you might not even reciprocate, so he cleared his throat and decided to lie. “Look, I’m much older than you. I want to believe that you’re my friend and I want to make sure you’re safe. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

“Sure?”

He nodded and heard a relieved sigh leave your lips. Or was it a sigh of relief? Because the next moment you muttered something under your breath, maybe an apology, then before he could ask you what you meant by that, you put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer to kiss him. Your lips were soft as they moved in perfect sync with his, and his hands were resting on your waist when he moved you a little closer to him. Anything to close that almost nonexistent gap between you.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but duty calls,” Hondo said with a laugh when he passed by.

“We will have to talk about this,” he told you, unable to hide his smile. This was exactly what he’d been dying to do ever since that day he had his first proper conversation with you. When you nodded with a shy smile, he gave you a last quick kiss and said, “I’ll call you later, okay?”

#david deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #david kay #david deacon kay #swat #s.w.a.t.#deacon kay #deacon kay x reader #swat cbs

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blankwashed · 2 months

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Sleepless Shadows (Part 2)

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII

Recap: Your mind instantly shifts from spending a night out doing whatever with Toji to spending the night with Satoru. Be it just getting supper. Besides, Toji probably is just going to ditch you, just like he always does to vulnerable females he coerces with.

"Sure sir, I'd be happy to," you gleamed at him and stood up.

Lost in a fog, Satoru's mind floats as to how fast you agreed to his suggestion. He leads the way to his car, a black Jeep Wrangler, opens the door for you as the gentleman he is and joins in on the other side.

Once the doors are closed you feel extra chaste. Being in a car with your good looking lecturer at this time of night? Who would've ever thought?

Just before Satoru starts driving he makes sure you have worn the seatbelt. He reaches to the seatbelt on your side and tugs it a few times, making sure it was intact and had you kept in place.

"Just checking, you never know when you need to be extra careful, y/n. " This time he had a sly smile on his face. Your face immediately blushed hard red. All you could do was nod and pray to every deity there was that this wasn't a dream

The ride to supper was genuinely uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable in a bad way but a ride where you kept your thighs kept together. It was challenging with Satoru talking to you, as if he knew he was playing you like a fiddle.

“Y/n, have you thought about what you wanted to have for supper yet? I was told that this place has an excellent choice of pizzas and burgers.” Satoru was trying to have a conversation with you, just to kill the dead silence in the vehicle.

Wet. You were just soaking wet at that time.

“M-Maybe I’ll have whatever you’re having sir. I doubt I’ll be able to finish an entire serving of pizza on my own, haha.”

Noticing how uncomfortable you were, Satoru decided to make you turn more like jello by the way he spoke. “Are you hot, y/n? You’re sweating. Let me turn on full-blast for you,”

Sweat was dripping from your temples to your chin. Why was it so hot? The car had air conditioning.

You were just sitting and trying your best to not wet his seat with your juices. Lord, how embarrassing that would be when you stood up and left a puddle on his car seat.

“Nu-uh..that won’t be necessary sir. It’s quite cold tonight,” You replied, flushed.

How long more does it take till we reach the place…the vibrations from the car as it drives on uneven road….they just make you feel like—

╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳

“Here we are,” Satoru says, stopping his engine.

He drove you to Two Frenchies, a modern French bistro cafè. Mhm, a restaurant that serves the finest escargot. You didn’t know it was open at such an hour.

“Sir, French cuisine? I thought we were just getting pizzas and burgers,” You questioned your sir who had smug look on his face.

“I changed my mind, anyways you’ll be able to choose anything you want to eat here. My treat,” He smiles, eyes in a form of a crescent.

Ordering French food was a new experience. as you haven't encountered such unfamiliar and elaborate dishes before.

"Coq au vin? Pot-au-feu? I'm not sure what these dishes mean, sir. It just sounds and is way past my university budget..." You pointed out confusion in the way you pronounce the names of the food, that you have never even heard or seen any of these dishes in your life.

Satoru's eyes start to smile, signaling to you that he will take care of ordering for you. Ever since Satoru started out as a young lecturer, he has been receiving income at a young age which he takes and keeps it in his savings. Savings ready for him to spend for a night like this. For you.

Actually his addiction with you started when you were a freshman in his class.

It was the fall of 2022, you just started studying law in Tokyo University of Shibuya. It was your first class of your Juris Doctor (JD) degree. It was strange for you as your lecturer called in sick on that day and was replaced by her T.A. (teaching assistant), Mr. Satoru Gojo.

He was young, good-looking, drop-dead gorgeous to be your lecturer. His chiseled jawline that could literally cut butter and spread them on your thighs bread. Not to forget, his snow white hair that looked like he just came from a mobile game. Jack Frost much? Remembering that day sent shivers down your spine.

You were always had the hots for him since day one. Shifting in your seat due to how wet you'll get just from looking at him. The ways you imagined that he would take you. You just wished that he would be your actual lecturer so that you could gawk at his beauty. Soon enough, as you progressed in your studies, he finally became your Kyōju (教授), professor.

“Y/n, hello? Are you alright?“

You zoned out, probably sleepy too as this was way past your bed-time that you've set for yourself.

“Oh sorry sir, I blanked out for a sec. Kind of sleepy right now, not going to lie,“ Brushing your side bangs pass your eyes.

“It's alright. I was wondering whether you'd be able to eat the food that I ordered for you. Quiche Lorraine and Soupe à l'oignon gratinée are my favourite midnight snacks so I figured that you might like them as well,'' He worriedly looked at you.

You were not familiar with both dishes. A quiche, so it should be just like a regular quiche, right? But you didn't want to seem ignorant and tell him that you have utterly no clue what both foods meant so you just gave him a nod.

When the food arrived, you were gawking at how delicately it was prepared! The quiche was baked to perfection, which crust resembles a pie's. Once you had a bite of it, you couldn't stop. The flavor relates to a creamy texture, which balances both sweet and salty, balanced by the saltiness of the bacon and cheese.

“Sir! This..this is delicious! I never knew that they had smuch goodge tasje therr...“ You were indulging and could not stop.

Satoru lets out a smirk and chuckle.

“Slow down, dear. We wouldn't want you have indigestion and stomach pains, okay? This has dairy in it,“ Satoru kindly reminds you while you were savoring the meal.

He causes you to blush once again.

As you start to slow down on eating, you realised that Satoru has not touched a single one of the dishes he had ordered.

“Sir, why aren't you eating?“ your eyes widened as you ask him.

He closes his eyes and just shook his head, "I'm not feeling hungry. My purpose here is to feed you, dear. Not me,".

After you heard his words, you blushed red again. You knew that teacher and student relationships are discouraged as the universities want to maintain a professional and ethical environment. There are no prohibitions that say that you can't date Mr. Gojo once you graduate, right?

"Arigato, sir!" you stood up and bowed. The few people in the restaurant who were upper class individuals gave you a look that were questioning how you were able to even dine at a fine-dining establishment.

Satoru hugged your waist to try and bring you down. "It's okay it's no big deal. Just finish your meal and we'll be on our way okay? I don't like how people are looking at us with their judgmental eyes," he says to your ears.

You nod your head and try to finish your meal without getting stomach pains.

and now i realised, i dont think my mind can think of anyone other than satoru.

he has implanted himself into my brain........please implant yourself somewhere else as well, please.

I also added that little part at the end because I get an upset stomach if I eat dairy fast LOL

#gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo x female reader #romance #love <3 #not mature #kinda cute idk #cute #i have a class tomorrow and after class i have a meeting to record so idk if i can post or not :(#i really love posting tho!!! i love writing its my dream #its just been really long since ive done anything like this #fics

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slothgiirl · 1 year

Text

a rose by any other name epilogue

reader x druig.

New York. North Dakota. 2024.

You had never been to New York before. Not in this life, or any other. You weren’t sure this counted either.

Seeing a city from the airport cab ride to Doctor Strange’s place in the city seemed like cheating. You’d seen the famous skyline, but hadn’t step foor anywhere.

“Is there some superhero directory I’m not aware of,” you ask Druig, craning your neck. You were pretty sure that was central park, gone in a flash.

“Sanctums are quite stationary,” he shrugs, licking ketchup off his fingers. You thought airport hotdogs were a bag idea. “This one’d been around since the 1700s. When it was New Amsterdam.”

“Wasn’t Hong Kong closer?”

Druig shakes his head, “we need someone. . .flexible about all those rules they made about the mystic arts.”

“Two thousand years and it never occured to you until now,” you ask him, slouching into the seat. The world was still intact. The news hasn’t stopped reporting on the new chain of islands in the indian ocean that look like fingers.

Tiamut was neither alive or dead in some weird cosmic energy thing you didn’t understand.

Druig looks over at you sheepishly, “I had other things on my mind.” His gaze flickers down to your chest.

It’s probably the whole averted apocalypse that has you in such an indulgent mood; you lean you head against his shoulder and smack his chest lightly.

“Careful my lady,” he says sounding terribly smug, “Ikaris did attempt to murder me.”

“I guess I’ll have to finish the job,” you rest your hand against his chest, feeling his ribcage move as he breathes. He wasn’t fine.

Druig was careful to keep weight off his left foot.

Phastos had given him the all clear which didn’t make you feel much better. Not when two of them had died in the span of days.

Phastos had left quickly, unable to be away from his family for any longer.

“Oh, is that how it’s gonna be,” he laughs.

“I guess I could let it slide,” you meet his gaze, feeling immense relief all over again, “you did just save the world.”

Druig tips his chin up, looking full of himself.

There was a lightness to him that you’d missed, a playfulness that was so characteristic of your Eternal lover. Your eyes rover over his features that you knew so well. The scar on his cheekbone, near the outer corner of his eyes, had not faded at all. The way his brilliant blue eyes crinkled with easy smiles and how his laugh filled a room.

He was there. Alive. You were both alive.

So many lives and you continued to be enamoured of him. It never got old, being in love, making a home with him. Anyplace, anytime.

There were tears in your eyes.

Again.

All you’d done this week was cry.

“I did,” he nods, pressing his lips against your hair. “Though if you hear Phastos tell it-”

“Yeah,” you clutch the fabric of his shirt.

Sensing your somber mood, Druig wraps his arms around you. “I’m right here, love.” He tucks your head under his chin, “‘S alright.”

“When the plane started to shake,” you say quietly, “I thought that was it-” It was over. The world ending with you in a private plane.

There had been so many close calls.

“The world’s always ending,” you mutter, breathing in his scent. You understood Lizzy, finally.

It was never over. Earth was still in trouble after Thanos.

Captain Marvel had her hands full with the rest of the universe.

“Is this what being part of the universe is like?” Always being scared some empire would come in and take over, being invaded, some asshole destroying your planet for no reason. You didn’t want to sit by and hope for the best. You couldn’t.

It would drive you mad.

“I-,” he frowns. “Well, I wouldn’t really know. Don’t remember anything but Earth.”

“All those planets-” you shift your gaze out the window as the cab pulls to a stop. What about the planets where Arishem got their way?

“I know.”

Druig’s expression grows weary. It was the same way he’d looked when Ajak had forbidden them from aiding the Mexica from smallpox and the genocide on the horizon. He wasn’t going to let this go.

You pay for the cab.

The sanctum is an unassuming building. The plaque is the only way you know you’re in the right place.

You're surprised there's no awards for saving half the universe. No Avengers insignia for Doctor Strange.

Druig holds your hand.

“This isn’t some. . .” you pause, “He can help right?” You didn’t understand much of anything when it came to magic.

“If not,” his eyes glow. “I can always. . .”

It’s comforting.

“Okay.” You nod.

The world was still spinning. There was nothing else you could do but go for it.

Dr. Strange seemed the type to break whatever rules suited him, very Iron Man-esque who thought he was above the Sokovia Accords. Right? You try not to think to hard about Ultron. About ashes and world heritage sites getting destroyed by the latest threat. The London Eye was still closed.

You breathe.

And knock against the door.

It swings open.

You aren’t sure what to expect as you step through: cauldrons and black witches hats covered in dust and cobwebs. The last sanctum had been ordinary for it’s time, filled with students and ancient sayings in calligraphy hanging on the walls. That isn’t New York either. It lacks the faux orientalism prevalent in Europe circa the 1800s.

No, the New York sanctum feels like a rundown hotel that’s decades past its prime but no less grand for it. There’s tasteful tables with relics you imagine are just as magical as Phastos inventions.

You peer around the grand staircase, expecting to see someone. “Hello?” You don’t have to check to know Druig’s a step behind you. His presence is an anchor as you venture further into the sanctum.

There were no students.

It feels abandoned compared with Hong Kong.

Your chest tightens at the thought of the sleepy fishing village. Hong Kong was nothing like that now. There was a certain pain that came with knowing the world was transformed each time you lived. You thought of street food vendors whose names only you knew.

All that history you carried with you. The faces of people you’d loved. The memories of books that had not survived.

You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

In your mind’s eye, the ashes of the Snap were the same as the smoke of Tenochtitlan burning.

Druig sets his hands on your shoulders, “do you think they have an Instagram we can message?”

“Ha, very funny,” Dr. Strange walks in from a corridor, looking over his shoulder like a teenager sneaking out of the house, “do you mind if we move this into the laundry room. Don’t want Wong to interrupt us,” he says even as he leads the way.

“You were expecting us. . .Dr. Strange,” you state aloud looking for confirmation. It was a parlour trick for these sorcerers.

“Yes and no.” He whips his head, turning to you as he opens a door, “and please call me Stephan. Dr. Strange is grandiose even by my standards.”

“And the discount Jedi robes aren’t,” Druig says cocking his brows.

You elbow him, “look who’s talking.”

“My lady,” he holds his hand against his chest in mock offence.

You roll your eyes at him.

Stephan looks on, amused. “I foresaw the high possibility that you’d stop here. . .it the world wasn’t destroyed, if you both survived, if you chose to leave. There’s so many factors. A background in statistics is useful in the mystic arts.”

“Well that’s no fun.” You’d been hoping for less maths and more wand waving. In the news, it seemed so easy, just a wave of his hands and-TA DA.

“And neither is reincarnating,” Stephan snarks back, taking a seat on a laundry basket full of either robes or linens.

You purse your lips. “It’s not ideal. But not awful.” You never really remembered dying unless it was awful. That hadn’t happened in a while. No, it was more like being homesick for a time and place that didn’t exist but people struggled with that all the time. People moved so often in this century: never knowing when they’d go back home.

And that wasn’t even touching on displaced people. Millions of Sokovian refugees. . .

“So you're not here to get that fixed?” Stephan asks pointedly.

He must’ve decided to become a doctor by watching House M.D. Copied the whole schtick off there.

“I thought it couldn’t be. . .changed.” You frown, crossing your arms over your chest. You wish you could google this magic stuff. You didn’t like being so badly informed.

“No. The spell you cast can’t be modified,” Stephan agrees, “I’d have to break it and create a new one. Though granting any type of immortality is a big no-no in the mystic arts.”

“Which is why we’re hiding,” Druig infers.

Stephan Strange frowns ruefully, “I’m not Sorcerer Supreme anymore or it’d be my call. I still-I’m still going to help.”

“Right?”

“Earth needs all the allies it can get.”

“So not out of the kindness of your heart,” you surmise, feeling like a pawn. You’d never liked how Ikaris and Ajak had made you feel like a tag along. Like Druig’s human pet. It left a bad taste in your mouth.

“You don’t think you’ve lived long enough?”

And wasn’t that also true. You’d been lucky to witness so much. History and people and spend it with the man you loved, your soulmate, not just once but over and over. It was far longer than most people got. You’d told Druig something similar once.

What made you so special you deserved an exception?

“Oi,” Druig stiffens.

But this wasn’t his call. This wasn’t about him. Not really.

This was about you. You who was just another human having an unusual conversation with a peer. Often, you’d be the token human in the Eternals conversation and no matter how long you’d lived there was still something unique about the human experience that you could relate to Stephan Strange in a way that Druig and Sersi would never understand.

(You’d talk about this with Sprite one day.)

“I think I’ve been very lucky,” you acknowledge. “But all I want is this life. For however long that is. I think I’ve done enough reincarnating, y’know.” It had all been a cosmic accident you didn’t even remember creating. Had you been trying to save yourself and the magic came out like this? Had you meant to create another spell?

These memories were lost to you now. And they didn’t matter.

You were done with living again and again. You didn’t want to forget and remember and forget again. You wanted to hold onto all of you, your memories and thoughts and your muchness as it was right now in this moment and die knowing that was the end. Just like everyone else. (You were curious about what came after, if anything.)

“Okay,” Stephan smiles kindly. “I’ll help you. But- this’ll be it. No second chances. No next time. No do overs. You’ll be frozen in time. You’ll still have your magic, but you won’t age. You couldn’t ever have children. You’ll still be just as breakable as me and every other sucker in New York.”

“Alright.” You nod.

“You sure? I can always just break the spell.”

“I’m sure.”

He nods. “Well then, try and stand still. I need to concentrate.” Dr. Strange waves his hands in cyclical movements.

It’s like a buzz under you skin. Something’s happening, but it’s too foreign for you to understand what. The small cramped room fills with light.

You shut your eyes and count, steadying your breath. This was it.

By this time tomorrow you’d be in space.

It was crazy when you thought about it. No less crazy than Thanos and New York and falling in love with an alien.

1. 2. 3.

Deep breath.

***

Makkari waves her pointer finger in a circular motion, the most universal hand gesture for spin around.

You indulge her, “you’re acting like I grew another head or something.”

The speedster smiles, I am glad you are coming with us.

You grin, “you’re only saying that so I help you with your eReader. Or did you splurge on an Ipad? Wait, you probably stole it.”

Looking awfully mischievous, Makkari holds her finger to her lips, hush now. Didn’t happen if there’s no witnesses.

You laugh, figuring there were worse crimes than stealing from the Apple Store.

The Domo floated above head. Thena was all packed up and ready to go. You’d said your goodbyes to Sersi, Kingo, and Sprite days ago.

Now it was just about leaving. Leaving this green and blue rock you called home.

You bite your bottom lip. It had been hard packing up, mostly because you didn’t know when you’d be back. Clothes, essentials, a magic book from Dr. Strange. Saying your goodbyes hurt the most.

What would Sprite look like at twenty? You were so used to her as an adolescent. Your siblings. . .

“We don’t have to go.” Druig reaches for your hand. “We can stay if you wish, my lady.”

North Dakota was gloomy today.

“I want to.” That was true. You also felt bittersweet at leaving this planet. “I want to see the stars. Find the other Eternals.” You meet his startling blue eyes, cupping his cheek. “I want to do all of it with you.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “I love you.”

“I know,” you nod, “just, give me a moment.” You squeeze his hand, before slowly heading towards Thena. You take your time, gazing over the landscape. The grass was brown and dead for the season. You're pretty sure it’s going to rain tonight.

It was frightening to say goodbye to everything you knew. It was frightening to begin a new chapter after so long. There’s security in the known, in the constant, and now that is gone. But you were ready for it. You were ready to begin a new chapter. You weren’t in this alone. You had Thena and Makkari, and the man you loved and that was all you really needed. The people you loved.

You look over your shoulder, watching as Druig hugs Phastos, ready to explore the stars.

notes: bookendings with makkari and druig at the end just like how the first chapter was makkari and druig mainly. im making up that dr strange timelooped reader’s physical body so shes frozen in time. idk. idk. he’s also like yeah mb this is important to the cosmos the way he connected the dots that tony start needed to live to defeat thanos. either way druig and reader get to have lots of sex on the domo after saving the world and thena forces makkari to organize her piles of stolen things. mb reader learns to use magic and starts being able to hold her own in a fight.

#a rose by any other name #druig x reader #druig imagine #Druig x you #druig x y/n #me @ marvel eternals 2 when!!!!

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dino-fart · 1 year

Note

Hello Goddess! I have a question but for Doctor Strange! (not agua papí 😳) surprise! Lol. So.

It's more of a Sub Stephen × Villian Dom! Reader 😳. Here me out-

The reader is one of the strongest witches in the universe. Since Stephen began his journey in the mystic arts (Y/n) has became his arch-enemy. They constantly fight. Neither wins during their multiple battles between the years. (She also misses him during the 5 years he is gone.) Now with Wanda going crazy he hates to but ends up turning to (Y/n) for help.

He makes a deal with her but doesn't realize that he is getting himself into int she starts to touching him 😳.

The deal is she will help if Stephen agrees to sleep with her.

So I was hoping for Smut and submissive Stephen sounds hot. 😭. But lowkey end up admitting they love each other.

@clea-strange-is-the-way

SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG GODDESS

“I can’t believe I’m entertaining this...” Stephen sighed in frustrated as he sat across from you.

You held your cup of tea in your hands and smirked at him. “Well, dear?”

“Fine...What are your terms?” He glared.

“My terms are simple...I’ll help you fight Wanda...And I have you for one night. You give up complete control. And let me finally get that stick out of your ass~” You grin.

Stephen nearly spit out his tea and his face flushed. He gritted his teeth and sighed. “One night.”

“One night.”

“Agreed.”

You were true to your word, helping Stephen fight Wanda. You were injured at the end of the fight and ended up back at your home. You recovered quickly, like you always did and now you waited.

Are you doing okay? Stephen texted you.

I’m fine, darling, you?

I’m fine...Shall we make it tonight, I need to hold up my end of the deal.

Oh don’t say it like that, love, you’ll enjoy it, I promise. I’ll see you tonight, oh and wear that Armani suit.

Tonight then.

You wore a blue lingerie set and black sheer robe on top. You sat down in the armchair and crossed your legs. You smirked when you heard a knock on the door and used your magic to open it. Stephen walked in, he wore his Armani suit, like you had requested. His eyes took in your form and his cheeks turned red. “You look ravishing my dear.”

You smirked and sauntered over to him. “Had to dress for the occasion.” You leaned up to kiss his cheek and took his hand. You led him to the bedroom and gestured for him to sit. “Now before we began, I set the rules and me alone. The next rule is we have to have a safe word. Mine is cherry.” You said walking over to show him the various bondage items.

“Alright...Mine is orange.” Stephen nodded and stood next to you.

“The next one is, if any of these items seem uncomfortable to you, tell me now and I won’t use them.”

“I suppose they’re all fine...I will just use my safe word.” Stephen blushed. He didn’t want to admit it but he didn’t know what most of them were. For some odd reason he trusted you. Well...It wasn’t odd, you saved his life.

“Last rule, if you want more after tonight, just give me a call~” You purred.

Stephen moved to sit on the bed and took his jacket and tie off. You took out your red lipstick and applied it to your lips. You set it down and moved to sit on his lap. He moved his hands to place them on your hips. “Ah, ah. No touching yet.” You purred and he moved his hands away.

You leaned over to kiss along his neck gently, leaving red lipstick marks. You kissed his cheek next and pulled back, gently tracing his jawline. “You’re much cuter, like this...But you need to relax, doctor. Let me take care of you.” You cooed and kissed his lips slowly. Stephen kissed you back softly and let out a soft moan at your lips. When you pulled back he tried to capture your lip in another kiss but you denied him. “Lay back on the bed, head on the pillow, legs and arms spread.” You ordered.

You moved off of him and he obeyed. You moved to tie his hands and legs to the bed posts. You removed your robe and took off your panties. You grabbed a riding crop and sat on his face. Stephen let out a grunt and began to eat you out. He tried to move his hands and you gently tapped the riding crop on his chest.

“I’m in control, darling.” You reminded him.

He continued to eat you out and you rode his face. You set the crop down and gripped the wall as his movements became faster. “Fuck...” You moaned softly and grinded your hips faster. Stephen slipped his tongue in your folds and nipped your clit. You cried out in pleasure and threw your head back. “Right there, Stephen...Good boy...” You moaned and continued your movements. You ran your hands over his hair, “So good Stephen...”

You gripped his hair when you finally came on his face. He panted against your thighs heavily and you moved off of him. The lipstick on his cheek smeared from your cum. You moved down to see his hard cock and gently pumped it. Stephen arched his back and thrusted his hips in your hand. You leaned over to undo the restraints on his legs and his wrists. You need his cock inside of you now. You straddled his hips and sank down on his cock.

Stephen gripped your hips immediately and sat up to nip the soft flesh of your breasts. Using his teeth, he tugged the bra down so he could suck your nipples. You moaned softly and gripped his shoulders as you rode his cock. You should’ve pushed him down and spanked him for that but you were too lost in pleasure to do so. Stephen gripped your ass and thrusted up into you.

Your breasts bounced out of your bra at the force of his thrusts. “Stephen, holy shit...” You moaned and he kissed you hard. He wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you off the bed and against the wall. He gripped your thighs and thrusted deep inside of you. You cried out in pleasure once more and gripped his hair and your other hand raked your nails down his back.

“So...Fucking...Good...” Stephen grunted and picked up the pace, his cock hitting your cervix. You kissed him passionately and he slipped his tongue inside of your mouth. He hands roamed to your ass and increased his pace. The room echoed with sounds of moans and skin slapping against skin.

“I-I’m going to cum!” You moaned against his lips.

“Cum, baby, cum on my cock.” Stephen whispered in your ear.

You came hard and he continued to thrust. He soon came and wrapped his arms around you. He mustered up the strength to carry you to the floor and collapsed on top of you. He panted heavily and kissed your shoulder softly. “I love you...” He said softly but didn’t meet your gaze, he was worried what your reaction would be.

“I love you too, Stephen.” You smiled and tilted his chin up to look at you.

Stephen kissed you softly and stroked your cheek gently. “Maybe I can see you again tomorrow?” Stephen teased.

“I suppose that’s alright, maybe I’ll get to try on the strap on?” You grinned.

Tagging: @starksbf, @strangelockd, @thealleydog, @wolfie-west, @k1mikoz, @fizzybubbletea, @pinkthick, @silver-shadow, @strangesthirdeye, @mynamehasbeentakenbysomeperson, @lucimorningst4r, @evelyn-kingsley, @strangesgirl

#requests #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader

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missvelvetsstuff · 1 year

Text

Guarded Heart

Bucky Barnes x Reader, Reader x Thor

Chapter 9

Warnings: swearing, angst, injury

Y/N woke up to a beeping sound and felt someone holding her right hand. She opened her eyes but couldn't see for a minute until they adjusted to the bright light. She looked to see who was holding her hand.

"Mama? You're awake!" She rasped out.

Her mother smiled but had a sad look in her eyes "and now you are too" she squeezed her hand then brought a cup of water with a straw up to her "Take a drink, you've been out for a couple of days."

Y/N tried to sit up but her whole left side felt like it was on fire, she huffed in frustration and waited while her mom adjusted the bed.

"Please tell me Natasha is taken care of. And Thor is ok"

Her mother nodded "Yes, she's dead and he's fine. Most of your people are fine. James too, in case you were wondering."

She made a face "I don't know if I care about him. He chose her." She felt a tear "and Clint, Clint was the mole. He betrayed our family for a piece of ass. He said Dreykov was going to put him in charge of our family." She tried to look around "Mama, my arm hurts and I can't move it. What happened?"

Her mother looked at her with tears in her eyes "You were shot baby. In your left shoulder. The doctors did everything they could but-" she choked back a sob "Honey they couldn't save your arm."

Y/N shook her head "That can't be right, it hurts so much." She reached with her right hand only to find the stub at her shoulder. She looked back at her mother with wide eyes "Mama my arm. How will I ride now?" And burst into tears, her dream truly was gone. She cried onto her mother's shoulder for what seemed like forever. Her mother just rubbed her back and whispered soothing words.

Y/N pulled away from her mother when she heard someone come into the room. Her mother moved out of the way as Dr's Banner and Strange looked at her.

Banner looked at her kindly "How are you feeling kiddo? You've been out for a couple of days, had us worried."

She looked at him irritated "I really don't know, Bruce, considering I just learned my lifelong dream is gone. I guess I'm just a mob boss now. Something I never expected to be until after I had my gold medals."

Stephen tried to console her "I know it's terrible but your life doesn't have to be over. Once you're fully healed we can look into prosthetics. Your godfathers company has done some incredible work on that front so I'm sure he can-"

She snapped at him "Don't try to bury me with your optimistic bullshit. How would you feel Stephen if you lost the use of one or both of your hands? All I ever wanted was to ride horses but this mob shit keeps fucking with my life" she yelled and threw the food tray across the room "GET OUTGETOUTGETOUT!!!!!"

Y/N sat there breathing heavily and crying "I can't do this mama. I just can't. Please leave me alone."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the Barnes townhouse Steve knocked on Bucky's bedroom door "Hey, Buck?" And heard a groan "She's awake so you might want to take a shower and sober up. We're going over to see her after lunch."

Bucky groaned again, he had come home from the hospital with a few bumps and bruises then dove into a bottle of scotch until he couldn't feel anything anymore.

Steve opened the door and made a face "Damn dude, take a shower. This whole room smells like a bar."

Bucky flipped him off "She's not gonna want to see me after everything. You guys go on without me."

Steve frowned "You need to get your nasty ass up before I call Sam to help me."

"Fine. I'm up now fuck off." He dragged himself to the shower and sat under the hot water berating himself for the many ways he screwed everything up. 4 years with Nat and it was all a lie. He scrubbed himself until his skin was red, trying to get rid of her touch but he couldn't. He desperately wanted to see Y/N, to apologize and beg her forgiveness even though he didn't feel like he deserved it.

When he saw her thrown back and the blood on her chest, after Clint shot her, he felt like his chest caved in. If only he had listened to her.

~~~~~~~~

At the hospital, Y/N was being a difficult patient yelling at everyone except her mother and throwing whatever she could reach. Her mother finally had enough and called him.

Thor arrived at the hospital 30 minutes later, hair still dripping from his shower. He could hear her yelling from down the hall and grinned that she still had her fire. He knocked on the door frame "Hey there, little one" and went in to hug her.

The hug was desperate, clawing, wanting to be closer but unable to. She sobbed into his chest as he soothed her. "Alright little one, I'm here, you're alright."

She pushed him away angrily "No, nothing's alright. Everything is fucked. How can I ride or compete like this? It's over. I might as well marry some boss and start popping out kids while he stays out late to fuck his mistress. My life is over."

He pulled her back and stroked her hair "No little one, it's not over. You'll have to make some changes and adjustments but you can do it. Remember Sonora Webster? She kept diving horses after losing her sight and she didn't have a godfather with a tech company that happens to make prosthetics. You'll be brilliant little one."

She calmed some "How can a prosthetic be as sensitive as the real thing?"

A voice from the hallway "Are you questioning the quality of my work, kiddo?" Tony and Pepper walked in with a huge bouquet of multicolor roses and set them on a shelf across from the bed "If you work with me we can make something that will almost be indistinguishable from your right arm. Have a little faith."

Y/N looked at them and tried to smile. "Hey Tony, Pepper"

Pepper gave her a small smile and gentle hug. Tony on the other hand was, well, Tony. "I've already been working on your new arm. The Wakandans were happy to give me the vibranium to make it and Princess Shuri has been brainstorming with me.

We should have it ready by the time you are healed enough." He grinned proudly

Her smile was a little more sincere "Thanks Tony. I don't know what I'm going to do but I guess that's a start."

"Consider your dreams delayed. You need time to help me perfect the arm and hopefully Destry will stoop balking at water features" he quipped

A small chuckle snuck out and she covered her mouth with her right hand. Tony grinned "That's my girl. I know it's all a mess but you have us. We'll help you through."

Thor sat quietly holding her hand as she spoke with Pepper and Tony. When they both gave her kisses and left he was still there.

He squeezed her hand "See little one, it's not all so dire. It might not be easy but you have support and will be ok."

She looked at him, really looked for the first time since he came to visit. "Thor. What's going on?"

Thor blushed and rubbed his neck "What do you mean?"

She scowled "Don't play that game with me. There is something....."

He sighed "I planned to wait until you were better but you're too perceptive. I met someone."

Her heart stopped and she tried to smile for him "That's amazing Thor. I'm so happy for you."

"You know I love you little one and I always will. Jane is just, incredible."

"She's a lucky lady." She said sadly

Thor gently grabbed her chin and pulled her to face him "This doesn't change anything between us. I'm still your friend, trainer and whatever else you need me to be."

She looked surprised "Does she know about me?"

"Of course, you know I'm not one for keeping secrets. We are not committed at this time." He tried to reassure her.

Y/N smiled at her friend "I'm happy for you, Thor. Truly. I am getting very tired though." She stopped as an orderly came in and set her lunch on the tray. They chatted about nothing as she picked at her food. She would miss the physical aspect of her relationship with Thor and hoped he would still have time with her outside of training but she really was happy for him.

@bigphattygyal @lokiandbuckysdoll @kimomoraba @avery199 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @esposadomd

And resigning herself to being the old mobster lady with all the horses, there were worse possibilities. At least she never married Zemo.

Chapter 10

@sebsgirl71479

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #mob!au #reader x thor #mob!bucky #arranged marriage #angst #angst with a happy ending

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fineprintedsunsets · 10 months

Text

⚚ Study Buddies ⚚

Sypnosis: Your Doctor Stephen Stranges Student at the New York Hospital, You decide to ask him for help on medical papers with a due-date up and coming. The help expands far more then to just some papers. After all, he is your mentor, how could he refuse you?

Word Count: 2.2k

!Trigger Warnings!

-thigh riding obvi

-stephen strange X no specific oc

-she’s his student/ta at a hospital.

-workplace rom!

-age!gap 19(F) 36(M)

-pre-accident

-mentions of daddy!kink

-Praise

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :

Such A Whore - JVLA

1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

The way his hands work with tools was, (normally) something so meticulously unforgettable you would never think it would happen to fascinate you. You supposed it was up to the eyes of the beholder, or in this case, the one that held the scalpel. Recently, you had been receiving more and more invites to spectate Doctor Strange’s surgeries. It was an honor only the highest can bestow.

You loved the looks he gave you. Even if they were nothing special. He looked at you. It was hard to say that for anyone else at the NY Hospital. Female doctors, nurses, an even some desk woman would oggle all day long at the doc’s looks. You couldn’t blame them, it was hard not too.

Strange’s hand did not shake once as he lined the scalpel against the man’s chest, and cut, sticking a tube through the small incision. No one seemed to breath during theser procedures, the clock would tick, the occasional sneeze would slip free. But nothing could break the silence for you, not when you were so interlocked with his fingers, his handi-work, the way he makes it look so effortlessly easy.

“Billy.” Doctor Strange gruffs, tilting his chin towards the man. Bill nods, taking the tray away with the blood, putting it off to the side before replacing it with a clean one. He never gets a thank-you, just a chin-tilt.

The intense moments went on for another hour as you watched the man save a womens life, sending her back to her hospital room. The only diffrence? She was now breathing. After the procedure comed to a close, you exited pulling off your scrubs and tossing them in a bin. A quick glance at the clock told you it was lunch.

You nod at a few passing doctors, smiling as you office doors come into view. Pushing them open you let out a breath, relived you could finally get some alone time. It’s been a long day, and the frozen grapes you stuffed in the employes fridge (although, not so frozen anymore) were the perfect little treat.

You grab the container, eyeing the treats, watching them slip and slide in the container. The refrigerator door closes as does the other one, as you roam the halls of the hospital, trying to find the perfect spot.

Unfortunately, it’s not very warm outside. The winter weather aftermath coating the outside picnic tables and bences with it’s frosty revenge. You settle on a supply closet. Sure, filled with unknown samples, dangerous chemicals and a few wheelchairs. It’s still a private place.

You even catch a small smile as you see one of, what must be, an extra examination table. It must have been placed in here when they relized they had had one to many.

Setting yourself up on the patient bed, moving to dangle your legs off the end as you open the container with much considered anticipation and pop one of the frozen fruits in your mouth. The simple, yet elegant flavors wash over your tongue, making you grab one after the other. The paper protector crinkles as you shift, finding the most comfortable spot on the bed.

Your mind roams over the rest of the days activities. There’s a collage dinner you had been invited to, but they usually ended up in older colleges bragging about opportunities you would be overlooked for. Being 19 has it’s perks, as it does its disadvantages. You sigh, popping another grape in your mouth as you hear the door creak, starting to straighten up.

Your breath gets caught when you see Dr. Strange. He stops when he sees you, a curious look drawing over his face.

“Lunch break?” He ask,

“Yup.” You lift up the container in an effort to show it’s contents.

Cocking a brow as he walks closer, the door shutting behind him. He reaches into your container, grabbing one of the last remaining grapes, plopping it into his mouth. Stephen smiles at the taste, a gesture so simple but nonetheless making heat pool between your thighs.

“That’s lunch?”

“Yup.” You reply, finishing off the container and capping the tupperware back up. Before you slide off the bed and head for the door you catch his eyes on you. It’s just like the other looks he cast at you, nothing different.

“Is that all you have to say?”

You see the amsment on his face already,

“Yup.” You smile, slipping off the bed, fixing the paper before walking to the door. Stephen’s eyes burn at your back, you feel them. The reports that are due Tuesday are getting closer and closer, and some of the things you don’t quite understand. Perhaps if you turn in the reports to head of office yourself and force them to look at your work they might start to consider you.

Just maybe.

You spin around, facing him. His eyes locked on the shelves, seemingly looking for some lost medication.

Clearing your throat, you start to speak, lowering your gaze to the floor. “Would you be able to help me with uh, some papers due this Tuseday.” You swallow, as if what you just did was the hardest task known to man. It was normal, your his TA, he’s your mentor. It’s what they do, Help.

Dr. Strange is suddenly standing over you, crowding your frame against the door. You could slip out right now if you wanted to, but something is holding you there. Stephen grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to lock with his, holding you there with just his thumb and forefinger. You can smell his aftershave, your crowded in it. His scent. Everything is Stephen.

“Look at me when you speak.” Strange’s voice is deeper, and that heat pools in your stomach, making the storage closet seemed 10 times as small as it usually is.

“Can you help me?” You swallow, unable to look away from his blue eyes. They are the hook holding you in place, or perhaps it’s just his very existence. Even as you try to push the unwanted feelings down, they always come back to the surface. Poking and prodding.

“Yup.” You cringe as he mocks you, a smile playing at his lips from your reaction. He exists, grabbing the pills he needed, taking his intense gaze and scent with him.

Now, you wait.

⛨

“Your too distracted, how do you expect to get work done?” You shift from your seat on the couch. Your thighs rubbing against eachother, the friction only making the pent-up frustration grow. Ever since he walked through your apartment door, it’s been impossible to focus.

“What are you so distracted by, kid?” Dr.Strange gruffs, throwing the paper back on the Coffee table. His eyes are on you now, you can feel them bore into you. Flipping your insides around. If only he would rearrange them.

Jesus. Knock it off. He’s your mentor.

“You.” You whisper barely audible. Strange’s eyes never leaving your body. You suddenly feel them rake lower, noticing the way your thighs are clenched against eachother, the way your tummy rises and falls.

“Well then, why don’t we take care of that ache. So you can get this work done, hmm?” Your eyes shoot up from their place on the floor, finding their way to his blue eyes. A smile plays on his lips.

“No. Were colleagues- your my mentor-” Stephen leans in, his breath coating the shell of your ear,

“And Mentors are supposed to help their students.” The words make heat pulse right to your clit, pratically begging for the realease you’ve been holding in all day. He pulls away, watching as you struggle between what’s right and wrong.

This was wrong.

Yet somehow, it made you want to do it more.

The look you passed him was enough, he pats his thigh, brushing his finger over his clothed knee.

“We can't make a mess, baby. Ride my thigh.”

You only nod, feeling every emotion under the sun as he pulls you to him, forcing you to straddle his lap. Stephen’s fingers fins your hips, caressing the curve of your ass as you positioned your clothed heat right over his thigh. Feeling the muscles beneath you, your begging to move. Except he dosen’t let you.

Not yet.

“Take off those shorts for me. Pesky things, all they’ll do is get in the way.” God. Your cunt clenches at the sound of his voice, at how deep it’s gotten, practically a growl. You do as your told, pulling away from him to shimmy out of your sleep shorts. It was inapproiote to where them, but apart of you hoped he noticed.

Stephen did, although he acted as if he didn’t know you were rubbing your thighs together, or watching as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, examining the now forgotten papers. He only wanted you to ask. Its all you had to do, ask him and he would.

“Come back to me.” Strange reaches his arms out, but you are already there, straddling yourself on his lap. You hold onto his broad shoulders as he positions your hips, resting both hands on either side of your ribcage.

Guiding you.

He guides your hips forward, his erection throbbing against his slacks. You grind on his thigh, liquid heat pouring out of you. Stephen sees the evidence of your ache on the fabric of your panties and groans.

You feel a sudden burts of confidence, starting to move your hips freely, getting yourself off on his thigh. Dr.Strange lets you, resting his hands on your ass, letting you take the wheel.

You chase the feeling of him underneath you, allowing you to use him. You stop, settling on the thought before freezing in place, seeing his eyes locked with you.

“I’m not aloud to look at the pretty girl humping my leg?” Stephen suspends a smile, looking as if he dosen’t know whats wrong. What’s making you stop. He does. He knows it as well as anyone that this is wrong, but he keeps his face composed and cool for you. After all, that ache will just get in the way. It makes embarrassment shoot up your spine. God. What were you about to do? Come on his leg? Your mentors leg?

You go to pull away, still incredibly horny, the embarrasment burying itself in your gut. Stephen stops you though, forcing your hips back down. A gasp escapes your throat as his knee pushes into you, contacting your clit with sparks of pleasure. You fall into him, positioning your neck at his shoulder, heavy breathing coming off of you.

“It’s okay baby-” He starts, turning to meet your ear at the slope of his neck.

“-get your pretty little cunt off on my thigh.” Your groan, burrying your nose in his neck as you begin to move your hips onto his knee as he pushes into you. You can smell his body wash, Irish Spring you’d guess. Feel him everywhere. One of his hands goes to the back of your neck, holding you against him as the other slips between your two bodies, playing with your clothed clit.

You arch closer, all while pistoning your hips against him. You chase the high, barely believing this is how your getting off. It’s nothing but a dream. Stephen’s fingers pull away when he sees your movements start to speed. He knows your getting close, that quickly? It makes him smile.

Stephen growls in your ear, his words a low whisper. “You need my permission to come. Ask for it.” You nod, his fingers tightening on your neck. He tries to hide a smile when he feels the goosebumps his fingers leave.

Only his touch.

“Yes, Sir.” You groan, his fingers release you, before cupping the back of your throat again, a bit more gentle. Your coming, your about to come. The feeling builds and builds as your hips start to move faster, but before you do, before you let the dam break, you decide to mess with him.

Dr. Strange wants you to ask for permission?

Ok.

You arch a little, reaching his ear. In between breathy moans you mange to get out four words that send his whole body on fire, most of that heat flowing towards his throbbing cock.

“May I come, Daddy?” You arch and sway, digging his thigh deeper onto your cunt. Moving on the muscles that come undone underneath. The wetness growing by the second. You hold out for him, but it’s becoming to much. Stephen sits there, looking shocked before he growls.

“Yes, Come on my thigh like a good girl.” Your pussy clenches around nothing at your mentors filthy words. He pulls away from your neck to guide your hips as you come.

“Jesus. Kid.” He pants, sounding more breathless then you. You stay there for a moment, before pulling away from his shoulder to look down at him.

“I can’t believe that just happened-”

He smiles, his face looking much more bright then when he arrived.

“Is the ache gone?”

You nod. Gone? Its just getting started.

“Good. Let’s get back to these papers.” You groan as you fall onto the seat next to him, watching as his eyes follow your movement, seeing your breast bounce at the action.

“I’ll give you a reward if you finish these tonight.” Stephen smirks as you grab the papers as fast as you can, studying harder then you’ve ever had before.

“Good girl.”

#fanfic #stephenstrange #dr.strangesmut #thighridingishotasf #one-shot #marvel #marvelsmut #doctorstrange

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arshipweek · 1 year

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AR Ship Week 2023 Round Up

AR Ship Week 2023 is finished and what a fantastic offering of fics we have! Thank you everyone for participating and I hope you all had fun!

The AO3 collection will remain open if anyone is inspired to add a late entry.

Enjoy the fanworks!

💂 BODYGUARD AU 💂

lights, camera, behind the action by starvalisedham Tom is a famous film director whose latest film unknowingly gets caught up in trafficking illegal weapons, so Alex gets assigned as an undercover bodyguard. Through morning coffees and shared proximity, Tom finds that this new ‘Friend’ of his might just have the potential to be something more. Tom/Alex

🧛 VAMPIRE AU 🧛

Blood Lines by Suzie_Shooter Sequel to There Will Be Blood, in which John Rider is not as dead as he should be and Yassen is the opposite. And quite cross about it. Yassen/Alex

⛓️ HANDCUFFS ⛓️

they’re just like bracelets, right? by starvalisedham Tom asks Alex to teach him how to break free from various restraints – duct tape, zip ties, rope, you name it. It’s all very straightforward until Alex starts playing with the handcuffs. Tom/Alex

🏠 “I DIDN’T KNOW WHERE ELSE TO GO.” 🏠

Hard-Knock Life by polarnacht Every time a mission leaves Alex battered and bruised, he goes to Yassen, seeking relief in rough sex - until an incident forces Alex to think about what he really wants. Yassen/Alex

🛏️ “PROMISE ME YOU’LL STILL BE HERE WHEN I WAKE UP.” 🛏️

Echoes of the future past by kelkblr They saved the world in the future but now, stranded in the past, Alex and Yassen have to build a new future for themselves. But since when were their lives ever simple? Yassen/Alex

💢 FORCED TO WORK TOGETHER 💢

Tailwind by Polarnacht After Alex betrayed Yassen to MI6, they are forced to work together on another mission. It goes as well as expected. Yassen/Alex

We must stop meeting like this by kelkblr Ian is on a simple information-gathering mission when he finds himself in an unexpected hostile situation. He soon finds out he isn't the only prisoner and now he and Yassen must work together to escape. Yassen/Ian

Greetings & Salutations by galimau & Valaks It took Yassen years to understand what his soulmate mark said, and many more after that before he heard the ill fated words. The simplicity of a bullet would have been far easier than years with his mentee nee bonded rooting him back to the humanity that SCORPIA had stripped from him. Yassen/Nile

😍 LONGING 😍

One-man Army by RavenJames When Yassen appears again in Alex’s life after “dying” on Air Force One, Alex suddenly finds himself in the middle of a strange game, where he isn’t the one who has to fight, but the one to be fought for. Is Yassen participating in that game or trying to protect Alex? Or is it a bit of both? Yassen/Alex

😵‍💫 OBSESSION 😵‍💫

My Doctors Can’t Explain by countessrivers Yassen Gregorovich.Alex has a name now, for the man from the hallway, the man with the scar.He has a name, one he can’t stop thinking about, and he’s not entirely sure why. --- Between seasons, Alex dreams, grieves, hallucinates, and obsesses. Yassen/Alex

Within a gilded cage by kelkblr Yassen just wants Alex to be safe. This way, no one can take Alex away from him again. Yassen/Alex

Free Until They Cut Me Down by galimau & Valaks Yassen Gregorovich never wanted to be owned again. Yassen/Nile

🙇 DOM/SUB 🙇

Giving In by Polarnacht During a passionate sparring session with Alex, long buried desires surface in a way that makes them impossible for Yassen to ignore. Yassen/Alex

🩹 WOUND TENDING 🩹

Devotion by countessrivers As he rides out the last of the agonising coughing fit, spitting out the mouthful of blood courtesy of his dry and ragged throat, Yassen wonders, for maybe the sixth, or tenth, or dozenth time, what exactly could have gone wrong.

He’ll need to explain it to the board, after all. When he gets out of here.

When. Not if. Yassen/Alex

Seller’s Remorse by Rirren & icebluecyanide In a brief respite between torture sessions, Alex gambles on the nature of Yassen’s affections for him in a desperate ploy to save himself. Yassen/Alex

🕑 A SLEEPLESS NIGHT 🕑

sleepless nights and flavoured crisps by starvalisedham Tom can't sleep so he texts Alex, who sneaks in bearing snacks and drinks and company. He stays the night and Mrs Harris finds them the next day, sleeping on Tom's bed. Tom/Alex

#alex rider #arshipweek #yalex #tomlex #mod posts

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gollanta · 8 months

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an idea for a maxi(?) thiam fanfic where theo dying after the sixth season. (please, someone write this😭)

Theo isn't a perfect chimera, right? Sooo he has one problem. The Dread Doctors kept him alive but without them, he would have died a long ago (as a chimera). Every year the same shit: Theo starts to lose his strength and healing. Then he loses werewolf powers and almost dies, but the Doctors inject him with some kind of serum(?) and save him. (This may sound stupid because they killed everyone who started to die for some reason, but let's pretend that the guy was fucking special, and they were ready to tear their asses off to keep him alive?? You'll understand) They always said that Theo is the one but without them, he would have died for sure. And Theo believed them. He felt like he was dying, how could he not believe them?

He was trying to find this serum or at least records about it, but there was nothing. He couldn't leave them without it. He thought he could live alone if he took Scott's power, but it didn't work.

He went to hell and when he came back he thought that maybe this time he finally can get a full life.

After season 6 he stayed to protect Liam and his friends. A year later, they all began to trust each other and became friends. Theo finally had people who cared about him, loved and trusted him.

But then his wounds stopped healing.

He knew what that meant. He tried to figure it out on his own, but it didn't work. He just found the last of the serum, which he used to stall for time and come up with something. Or to say goodbye to everyone. He left some of the serum to test it, but it didn't work.

So he just accepted it. He didn't want to tell anyone about it. He thought it would be better if he just left the city and died somewhere else. So that others would think he just ran away like he wanted to for a long time.

At the time, Stiles returned to BH and noticed that Theo was acting strange. Everyone had told him that Theo changed but he knew he was still keeping secrets. Stiles couldn't just let it go and took Theo for a ride. With a little fight, Theo finally said what was going on.

«Everyone is worried 'cause you're acting fucking weird. They don't know what is going on but think you're gonna leave BH soon. OMG Liam is going crazy because he thinks he's not enough to make you want to stay. What's your plan? To leave the house like a goddamn cat and die somewhere on the street? They will not forgive themselves if they find out that you left to die alone when you have a pack to take care of you.»

Stiles persuades him (with threats) to tell at least someone about it and go to Deaton.

And he does. He returns to the pack and, under Stiles' supervision, tells the truth.

I think he kept some of that serum to analyze it, but he couldn't do it himself, so he gave it to Deaton, but he also didn't know what it was. I like the idea that Malia and Deaton went to France to find something that could help Theo. They came back on the day that Theo was dying. They said nothing but "wait" and watched Theo die. Theo suffered in pain for several days but did not die. After a while, his power returned. He started healing. He was alright.

Then Deaton explained that all this time Theo was not dying. The doctors poisoned him so that he would never leave them, because "without them he would die". He was not supposed to feel pain again, but a few months ago he went to the place of doctors (I don't remember where they were) and found the last of his serum. He was afraid he would die without it, but in fact he only poisoned himself. I think it works like a poison and an antidote. When you take it once (the first time) in a few months you'll start to feel like you are dying. When you take it a second time, the pain will immediately disappear but recur in a few months. It will happen again and go around and around.

«You needed to get through it without the poison, so the next time the pain would be easier until it completely disappeared», Deaton said.

*Somewhere in the background are flowers and tearful scenes where Liam begs Theo to fight and stay with him because they have just begun to understand their feelings for each other.*

*Some kind of cool ending with happy thiam and good relationships between Theo and everyone else*

I want a MAXI, like a big fanfic with everything written in detail. With drama, with flashbacks, with jokes, with the reactions of almost all the characters (better without Scott, I hate him, but it's okay if he's there), and with Theo refusing to accept that he's been deceived all this time.

I really wanna read this😭😭

#teenwolf #liam dunbar #theo raeken #thiam #вовченя #ліам данбар #тео рейкен #тіам #thiam angst #thiam au #hurt/comfort #dread doctors #thiam fanfic #theo #thiam teen wolf #I'm tired of translating this idea of mine from Ukrainian

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moral-terpitude · 10 months

Note

Hello! Could I have Rose (because I just saw your Holly ask and I’m also curious about this!), Petunia, Snowdrop and Wisteria please? For Quinn obvs! xx

Alex! Thank you! Welcome to the small novel I’ve written in this post! The readmore is absolutely necessary! (Aka, this has somehow unleashed all the things I’ve daydreamed about but haven’t had room to include)

I saw the follow up about Rose being Sunflower actually so:

Sunflower-What names were you originally thinking of calling your OC?

it was originally Brooke.

I couldn’t think of any other name when I started writing, and I’d just be typing and think, “no. That’s not right. It doesn’t fit.”

Which coincidentally hindered my motivation to write the story at all. And then @zablife saved my butt when I made a post about the name not fitting and suggested the name Quinn, which immediately fit!

It’s a wonder I hadn’t thought of it already, because something in my head was telling me she is someone who would have a Halloween party every year at the studio, and would try and con Tommy into dressing up like the Joker to her Harley Quinn. Which he would not understand because “isn’t he mean to her?”

Also, I would like to think maybe Quinn has listened to Pierce the Veil a few times, even though the overlying guide from my theme is never interjected directly, since I know every kid adamantly googles their own name, and Kellin Quinn from Sleeping with Sirens was featured on King for a Day by Pierce the Veil.

Petunia- When was the last time your OC cried?

The last time Quinn cried would have been during their lockdown during COVID, when no one could travel or get on a plane without being vaccinated. She’s allergic to one of the binding agents (the way egg is specifically used as a carrier in different vaccines is an allergen while eating egg is not) in the COVID vaccine, so her doctor recommended for her to not get it. Her Oma passed not long after we see Quinn talk to Dalton in that flashback, and while there isn’t a funeral, she feels terrible that she can’t go home and be with her family, despite how much they frustrate her.

Snowdrop- What is something your OC loves, and something that they hate?

Quinn loves her job. She really does. There’s something about the catharsis for other people that sometimes a tattoo helps them work through grief, or loss, or healing, or some kind of milestone in life that she really just has to keep doing want she does in order to help them.

She knows she could never work in the medical field, or do something that people may see as “more useful”, so that’s why she kind of starts to go stir crazy during Covid, because it’s the first time she’s had to stop, and do nothing, and she really feels useless.

Something she hates (other than Gerard? 🙃): cilantro, people telling her what to do, getting carsick, not being able to find a Chinese restaurant in all of Manhattan that has egg rolls like her favorite place back home, and her fourth grade year book picture because that’s when she had braces.

(I originally had a whole part wrote out/ planned about their family pictures/ yearbook photos/ candids that her mom has hung in the hallway that leads to her dads office, but, of all of the things I’ve had to cut, that was one of them. But in one of the photos with all of her cousins, Quinn tried to make Tommy guess which one of them was her. He just finds the photos interesting because he’s never seen her any other way.)

Wisteria- Does your OC have a skill they’d like to learn? What is stopping them?

Quinn already kind of has the “boyish” (for lack of a better description) things down. Despite not having a car, she knows a lot about them. Her and her dad worked on a vintage car together for years, she knows how to do an oil change, and can usually figure out what the “funny noise” is. Her Opa taught her to ride a horse and drive a tractor, and she’s shot a gun quite a few times.

(She has a strange penchant for thrifted taxidermy, but she could never do it herself.)

During COVID she tried to learn how to sew. It’s one of the things she thinks “I could do that.” There’s so much pretty fabric and vintage patterns in the world that she loves the idea of it, but she just can’t get a grip on it. She can never get the seam allowance correct, she can measure twice or three times to only cut once and still comes out with the wrong measurements, and she doesn’t have the patience to try and install a zipper in anything. It’s something she’s learned to appreciate from a distance.

#alex 🌮#ava’s asks #answered asks #oc asks #asks #thomas shelby x oc #modern #quinn meyer #misadventures #modern tommy shelby x oc

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mckiwi · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 Day 6: "I've Got a Pulse"

Characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Original Male Characters

Summary: The 'Doctor' in his name is there for a reason.

Yes, Stephen understands the irony of shopping for apples. "An apple a day keeps the doctor away," as the saying goes. But perhaps today it was a good thing Stephen's never been one to listen.

Stephen didn't delve into his Midwestern roots often, but when he did, it was almost always for home-cooked food. Nothing quite compared to a homemade Apple Crisp on a Sunday afternoon. He was analyzing the quality of two apples when he noticed a ruckus on the other aisle. "Papa! Papa!" A frantic teenager clung to an elderly man collapsing to the floor. Instincts kicking in, Stephen rushed to the scene.

"What happened?" Stephen asked calmly, taking in the sight of the old man clutching his chest, gasping for breath.

"I don't know. My Papa, he just- he said his chest hurt, and then he dropped." The teen said, scared tears starting to brim his eyes.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Devan," the boy answered.

"Do you have your phone with you, Devan?" Stephen asked in what had been dubbed his 'Doctor Voice'. Devan nodded. "Alright. I need you to call 911 for me, okay?" Tapping the man's face gave him no response, even shaking him yielded no response. Pressing his fingers against the man's wrist, he felt no pulse. He tried to feel the carotid pulse at the neck with the same negative result. "Tell them he's in cardiac arrest."

Devan stared at him, "he's not gonna die, is he?"

Pulling up the man's shirt and positioning his hand on the man's chest, Stephen answered, "I've never lost a patient before, don't plan to now." One hand over the other with fingers interlocked, he pressed the heel of his hand to the man's chest. Falling into the routine of CPR was like riding a bike. One compression, two compressions, three, four, five. Almost immediately the pins in his bones started to protest, but he kept on. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one.

"What street are we on?" Devan asked.

Continuing with the compressions, Stephen answered, "Bleecker Street. The store's name is Bleecker Farm." Tilting the man's head back and pinching his nose, he began rescue breathing.

Devan brought the phone away from his face, "they're on the way."

His own breath starting to become a little haggard, Stephen said, "okay, thank you. What time is it?"

"10:27," the teen answered.

It hadn't even been two minutes yet and already his hands were getting sore. The closest hospital was a little over ten minutes away, plus response time, which meant the rest of the day was surely going to be miserable, yet well worth it if he could save this man's life.

By 10:30, the man's at least starting to breathe enough that Stephen doesn't have to perform rescue breaths quite so often.

10:31 rolls around and he's gathered a crowd.

10:33 and Stephen can feel exactly where his misshapen bones are. He can feel his pulse in his fingertips.

10:34 has only sheer willpower keeping him going.

10:35 comes by and Devan informs him the ambulance would be there in five minutes.

10:37 means twice now Stephen's had to use a small spark of subtle magic to keep the man alive.

10:39 and he's lost count of compressions somewhere around one thousand, three hundred fifty-six.

10:40 brought the bitter-sweet sound of sirens. His hands burned so bad they felt cold. He didn't even know how that made sense, and yet…

10:41 has Stephen nearly in tears when the ambulance arrives.

The stretcher comes out and the responders haul the man onto it. They take the man into the ambulance, and about thirty seconds later he hears a victorious "I've got a pulse!" from one of the nurses.

Devan's about to follow them, but right before Stephen tried to leave, the boy approached him. "Thank you! Is there anything you need? Anything I can do to repay you?"

Stephen thought about it for a moment before replying, "do you know what the greatest gift we can receive in this lifetime is?" Devan's brow creased in confusion. "The greatest gift we can receive is to have the chance, just once in our lives, to make a difference." Stephen conjured a card behind his back before handing it to the teen. "Go make a difference." Devan looked down at the homeless shelter, FEAST's, address, and phone number written on the card. Before Devan could question any further, Stephen had disappeared through a gateway back to the Sanctum.

Wong walked into the main sitting room, greeted by a pathetic-looking Stephen. His head was buried in his crossed arms and his hands were swaddled in ice packs. There was a bottle of pain relievers with a glass of water beside him on the table. "Hands bothering you that bad?"

"Mhm," Stephen mumbled, not bothering to look up.

Wong eyed him skeptically, "I thought you just went to the store to get ingredients for an Apple Crisp. You've only been talking about it for the past week."

Stephen once again mumbled, "mhm."

Sighing, Wong pulled up a chair to the table and took one of Stephen's hands in his own. When Wong starts to massage little circles across the back of Stephen's hand, he tenses with a small noise of pain before relaxing to the soothing motions. "How'd you get your hands so sore? I thought they only acted up on rainy or cold days?"

Barely peeking over his makeshift pillow, Stephen said, "had to perform CPR."

Wong paused in shock for a second, "why?"

Sitting up now, Stephen explained, "A boy's, who I assume to be grandfather, went into cardiac arrest, so I helped him."

"And by help, you mean you were stubborn and did the CPR by yourself." Wong chastised, switching to Stephen's other hand.

"No one offered," Stephen said. Wong just sighs, exasperated at his friend's self-sacrificial nature, and continues to massage his hand.

After a few minutes, he stands up to find the heating pads. "Go take a nap and use these," Wong says, "I'll cover your Sanctum duties for the rest of the day as long as you promise to actually take care of yourself."

Smiling slightly, Stephen took the heating pads with a small "thanks" before heading to bed. In a few hours, he'd wake up to the smell of Wong baking Apple Crisps.

#I've Got a Pulse #whumptober2022 #no. 6 #doctor strange #stephen strange #dr strange #wong #male original characters #marvel #marvel fanfic #doctor strange fanfic #stephen strange fanfic #fanfic #stephen is a doctor #hurt stephen strange #protective wong #wong is a good friend #mckiwiwrites

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spicylove4ever · 2 years

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Supreme Strange VS Sinister Strange

I have seen that, despite being variants of Doctor Strange that made basically the same thing (destroy their universes), they are percieved in different ways by the fandom.

I'm here to talk about why is that, and through the differences on their actions.

Sinister Strange basically:

Used the Darkhold to see if there was any universe where he was together with Christine.

Prolongued use of Darkhold lead to corruption on him in the meantime

When found no happy version of him with the loved one, he got angry and fucking murdered all of those versions who lived without her.

Not only murdered other versions of him out of frustrated obsession over his unstatisfied love, but carelessly turned his universe into a ruin while doing it (not clear if he just didn't care about the consecuences or did it on purpose, but I bet is the first one) which means he killed the Christine of his universe by killing the other versions of him that reminded that their love seemed no possible instead of actually trying to get back together with her.

When a variant of him came to make a respectful request, he told him he would only let the other him use the Darkhold to save the multiverse if he, quote "gave him his Christine" (did he meant the one on the respective universe, or the one he saw outside?). Variant answers sensible thing that basically implies "dude, she's not mine or an object, it's her you have to ask to, and you really think she's up for staying on this death trap?" which basically starts the fight.

So, Sinister Strange is the Yandere Dr Strange.

Meanwhile, the Supreme Strange:

Got devastaded for the loss of his loved one. And learned magick in the first place in the search for a way to bring her back, but learned on the studies that goal was a bad idea.

Decided to use the Time Stone to go back in time and save her. Allong the MANY tries, we see that his main goal is for her to be alive and healthy, even if that meant they were not together (he would have loved to be still with her, but was willing to let her have another life as long she was alive).

Regular Time Stone plan failed, so tried a different aproach through studies of time, which meant gain power and turn himself into another thing. So far, this step was a MERE POWER UP, he wasn't trying to hurt anyone.

Becomes obsessed into his goal, to the point of oversee the consecuenses of his actions. He gets to absorb the other half of himself that is trying to tell him what he's doing, and he refuses to listen.

He reaches his goal, but it becomes a 1000 level of reality check when Christine is scared of him, which he could have got over of if bringing her back hadn't destroyed the universe.

He realises his mistake and tries to fix it, and tries to bargain so he would be the one punished as long and everyone else is saved, but no results. He ends all alone in a tiny universe with his INMENSE GRIEF AND GUILT.

He's later called to save the multiverse and he says yes, by that time he is a little more collected and has learned his lesson.

So he's mostly an OP Emo Dr Strange.

Or in other words, Sinister Strange is the Strange who would endanger the multiverse and kidnap 838 Christine (for example, since he has already seen her) and Supreme Strange would be the one who does this:

Then he would give 838 Christine a ride home, be his akward self along the way, give her a hug goodbye, and then come back to Sinister Strange for this:

Or, other way to put the main difference between them is that only one of them is boyfriend material.

#what if strange vs sinister strange #supreme strange vs sinister strange #doctor strange #doctor strange variants #dr strange #steven strange #multiverse of madness spoilers #dr strange 2 spoilers #christine palmer #we all love supreme strange #somedy make sure sinister strange is killed

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dragonmuse · 1 year

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This proves, once again, that I cannot do anything without a firm deadline (or two). A bout of covid in summer and a couple of long road trips and train rides meant I got through many more audio books than I usually would. So I'll limit myself to my favourites here and give a short teaser each instead. Just because I really want to. Hope that's alright.

To Night Owl from Dogfish by Holly Goldberg Sloan and Meg Wolitzer. Avery and Bett are both 12 years old and live with single gay dads. That's excactly everything they have in common. Otherwise they couldn't be more different. Only now their dads have decided to fall in love and to send the girls to the same summer camp so they can get to know each others as "new sisters". This cannot stand! A reverse Parent Trap, if you will. Utterly hilarious and very heartfelt. Also the most realistic 12yo I've come across in fiction ever, I think.

The Strange Case of the Alchemist's Daughter by Theodora Goss (Part 1 of the Athena Club series). When Mary Jekyll's Mother dies, Mary is left with no family, a lot of debt and a household staff she'll have to let go. When she comes into possession of a bank statement in the name of "Hyde" she is reminded of the cruel Mr Hyde who used to work for her late father and the high reward set for his apprehension. So, as one does when faced with mystery in Victorian London, she enlists the help of one Mr Holmes and the good Doctor Watson. You know how in gothic literature women are usually sidelined to wives, daughters, victims or monsters? Well, this is their story. And by "their" I actually mean "all of them"'s story. Readers of "Dracula Daily" will also encounter familiar names, especially in the second book. Brilliant, brilliant series!

The Fetch Philips series by Luke Arnold (of Black Sails fame), starting with The Last Smile of Sunder City. My current obsession. Detective noir novel set in an urban fantasy setting with a twist. Very cool world building and character development.

Identitti by Mithu Sanyal (translated from German by Altal Price) Nivedita's life is turned upside down when superstar postcolonial and race studies South-Asian professor Saraswati - her supervisor, mentor, idol and crush - is discovered to be actually… white. One of the most brilliant books I'v ever read, I think. A very, very darkly funny take on identity, race, academia and finding a place in the world. It makes you constantly go "Come on, the case is crystal clear now!", only to make you go "Huh. Or not." two pages later. You will also learn A LOT.

Now.. saving the best for last. Stories Beneath our Skin by Veronica Sloane. I will not give a summary here, because that simply feels too weird. But I loved it so damn much! This was my comfort while I was in bed with covid for over week. The found family dynamic reminded me quite a bit of Becky Chambers' books, and I mean that as the highest praise. I listened to it before Smut Nights became a thing so I was a bit suprised by the steamier bits, but that is in no way a complain ;) Can recommend it highly to anyone following you here!

Thank you for this reading program! It was a lot of fun! And thank you, just, for everything I guess!

omg omg you read my novel? I am torn between joy and wanting to hide under the bed. Just as a note to anyone who reads it now, please know I don't think it's cool for white guys to have dreads. It was really ridiculous that I wasn't aware of that in 2013.

I actually HAD to write the smut bits back then because the press (now defunct, hence it being self-published at this point and quite messy) required a certain steam level for novels.

AND MY MOTHER READ IT. She called me her 'little pornographer'. Truly a dark day.

But uh, being compared to Becky Chambers makes me want to ugly sob because I love all of her books very deeply, thank you.

And I love all of your reviews, my TBR list is now longer!

ANYWAY, please excuse me experiencing all my emotions at once, on to

YOUR POEM:

I wish I were a bonsai tree

so carefully tended

to be coaxed and trimmed

taking on a perfect shape

Would that I could give such peace

just by growing my tiny leaves

and reaching for the light

To be loved like that

for myself alone and the things

we make together

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limerental · 2 years

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ficletober day 16 - steddie future fic

(but finished late and it's already on ao3 here and it's for a fandom i'm not in for a media i haven't really watched i was possessed ok i'm normal) It's ten years later. Steve's a hospice nurse. Eddie's got the virus. It's kind of weird and sad and strange and inevitable. Or something. And not as sad as it sounds. we interrupt our regular programming for whatever the hell this is. content warning for hospitals and death but no MCD beyond ruminating about it. also, disordered eating, illness, yuckiness, and grossness. explicit blowjobs and glow in the dark condoms. etc

One of Steve Harrington's patients dies on a Wednesday morning.

Which isn't unexpected, given he's a nurse at a hospice facility, you know, they're all bound to croak at some point. His job's about making it a little easier, a little quieter. Not saving anybody or saving the world, just easing the pain. It's not like he's head over heels for the job, but it beats his other options. College flunkee who doesn't dare give his rich asshole father the time of day, no matter what job opportunities making nice with him could buy.

Would rather change catheters and wipe old people's diarrhea his whole life than resort to that.

It's hospice. They don't get better. Sometimes they go home a while and come back, but they all die. Losing patients is a breath of relief. Their suffering finally over. His job– making dying seem easy –complete.

So, its not unexpected when he walks in on Wednesday and reads the night shift's notes. That the Turner kid's probably on his way out.

It's not a surprise at all. The guy's been lingering for a week now, barely conscious. He's an AIDs patient, riding the last wave of compounding infections and failed drug cocktails.

Palliative care is a strange sort of thing, like compassionate neglect. It's not a kindness to pump a failing body full of fluids as their organs shutter out one by one. Fluids restricted, no feeding tube, nothing but pain meds and the hush of the ward. Let them die of dehydration instead of drowning.

What's unexpected is walking into Turner's room and finding Eddie fucking Munson sitting in there with him, gripping Turner's hand.

"Munson?" Steve blurts. It's been years. It's been a damn decade, but the guy looks almost the same. Steve's living and working a few towns over from Hawkins and most anyone who meant anything to him there has moved away anyhow, so he's out of the loop in a way that feels nice but also means he's lost track of a lot of people. It's just weird that Munson's still kicking around here when Steve had pegged him for one of those who'd ditch the whole state the second he could.

His hair's a bit different, more mullet than shag and he's got something of a mustache going, but he looks the damn same. A touch of grey at his temples maybe. A wrinkle at the corners of his mouth.

"Jesus," says Munson, looking at him all bug-eyed. "Is that Steve fucking Harrington? In baby blue scrubs? In a hospice ward? In bumfuck Indiana? With a buzzcut?"

"Colonel Mustard in the ballroom with a candlestick," jokes Steve, and Munson keeps gaping at him. Maybe because he just made a dumb joke at his friend's deathbed.

"Geez, I never thought– you a doctor?"

"Nurse."

"Geez," he says again. "You're a sight for sore eyes. I can be here, can't I? They told me he's… you know."

"Yeah, sometimes it takes a while though," Steve says, but by the looks of things as he flips through the chart, scribbling down vitals, it's any time now.

What happens next is what always happens. Not that everybody's death here is the same, but that every patient he's ever had does it eventually.

Die.

Sometimes in a huddle of family, sometimes alone, but usually quietly, slowly, and suddenly. The dying man breathes and breathes and then doesn't.

None of it takes very long in this case.

Munson is sitting with both hands held over one of the Turner kid's when it happen, watching him die with all the somber sort of silence moments like this demand from anyone. He's sitting there more still than Steve ever remembers him being, but then again, it's been a decade. Maybe his theatrics have mellowed out. Maybe he has some normal, adult job now like. In finances.

Steve looks again at Munson, tattooed up his whole neck and wearing a jacket held together by safety pins.

Ok. Maybe a normal, adult job at a biker bar.

"Were you two close?" Steve asks in the quiet as he turns off the noise of the machines.

"No, he– I didn't know him. But there's this support group I'm in, and one of us tries to be there when– well. It was my turn. Or not my turn, my turn, you know, not like it was his turn but it will be. Someday."

"You–" It's like something big and cumbersome gums up inside his chest.

"Yeah," says Munson, shrugging. "Me."

"Shit, man," says Steve, because he's great with handling the dying and increasingly worse with the living, let alone the living dead.

"Yeah, very sad. Woe is me. You wanna swing by my place after your shift and drink some beer about it?"

And they aren't friends exactly, really never were, but Steve figures it's kinda just polite to accept an invitation from somebody you used to know who just roundabout confessed to being riddled with deadly disease. Or something.

And there's a part of him that remembers being eighteen and studying Eddie Munson like an unsolvable puzzle, thinking about him and his knobby weird wrists and long tangle of hair and the ridge of his Adam's apple and his tar-black eyes, sometimes at times he shouldn't have, at times he really really shouldn't have, and then burying all that and doing nothing about it and then a whole decade passing in a blur.

His teenaged self feels very, very far away, and now he knows intimately what happens to people who don't take that leap and be brave and cling to the shit that matters while they still can.

They die alone. Or with strangers sitting next to them, measuring their last vitals.

"Yeah, sure," says Steve.

Can't hurt, he thinks.

Famous last words.

Munson still lives in Hawkins in the same trailer park, but he's prettied his uncle's old trailer up some, a strangely grandma kitsch aesthetic for a man who has several visible gory skull tattoos, one with curled goat horns stamped high on his throat.

He's got a mosquito plant growing in an old sherbert container and a listing aloe. There's tomatoes and jalapenos in buckets and kitty litter containers. A half dozen bamboo windchimes and dangling bells cluster in the rafters of the old porch, and a painted rocking chair sits beside a six foot cactus, its reaching branches segmented into flat, spineless pads hung with leftover tinsel from Christmas, its pot used as a heaping ashtray.

"This is Henry," says Munson. "He's my roommate."

"The cactus?"

"Yeah, man, he's decent company. "

He pats the plant a bit too hard, and a piece falls off. Without comment, he fishes it off the porch and shoves it into a yogurt cup of dirt sitting beside a dozen others.

"I give these suckers away like candy," he says. "Everybody and their grandma loves a free cactus."

"Sure," says Steve, who is fairly certain even a cactus would die a miserable death in his care if he looked at it wrong.

There's a white plastic chair fallen on its side in the overgrown yard, greyed with mildew spots, and Munson tugs it up from the grip of the grass growing through the spokes of its backrest and plops it down beside the rocker on the porch. He swipes off the spider webs and dirt and gestures with spread arms to the shitty chair, bowing like it's a throne.

It's over the top. It's weirdly familiar. Everything else has marched on, has changed, has aged or whatever, but Munson's the same fucking weirdo he was ten years ago.

"Sit down, buddy, stay a while. Though I can't say I'm the greatest host. Don't get paid until Friday, so it's just cheez whiz keeping me goin' mostly. Hell, half of this place might be held together by cheez whiz."

Steve thinks it's probably a joke, that all he's eating is processed cheese, but he wouldn't be surprised. Munson looks sallow and skinny. Not a lick of muscle on him, and he's wearing a pit-stained wifebeater and little denim shorts. Anywhere his skin's not sickly green with fading tattoos, he's so pale it's almost blinding and purple-veined under his red-rimmed eyes, and Steve's not stupid. He does this for a living, watching people hollow down to nothing and then snuff out, and he can see pretty clearly when someone's one foot in the grave. It's not even the virus that does it usually, it's the compounding trauma of it all, the drugs, the loss, the slow starvation both literal and spiritual.

He doesn't even like Munson much, doesn't know him too well and barely did back then, but it's--it's sad. It's heart-breaking.

He wonders if one of Munson's support group is already lined up to sit beside him at the end.

Steve's looking at him rocking in the rocker beside Henry the six foot cactus, little tinsel pieces blowing cheerily in the breeze, and can't even fucking think about it.

"Sit, Harrington, sit, sit," he insists when the silence stretches, and Steve's still standing on the stairs. "You're giving me the willies just staring at me all puppy-dog eyed. I'm not going to keel over tonight. Sit down! Sit!"

Steve sits. The plastic chair groans ominously.

"You've got a lot of plants," he says for want of something to say.

"This? Naw, this ain't anyhing. You should see what I have growing over the ridge in that cornfield."

He's high right now, Steve notices, hard to tell how wide his pupils are with eyes that dark, but he's got this molasses slurred energy to his movement that is unmistakable. Steve gets drug tested too often at work to smoke much these days, and it feels a little desperate to do alone anyway, like an admission that his life's shit enough to need to get high to escape. He thinks like, what do people do when they hang out anymore? What do people say?

"I like your… bell things," says Steve.

"Ah, they're handmade."

"Cool, cool. How's um… life?"

Munson laughs at him. More like cackles, rocking back and forth in the chair slapping his knees.

"I live in my dead uncle's falling down trailer," he wheezes. "I'm thirty whole years old and work washing dishes and have two bucks to my name. I sell coke to high schoolers out of a van. My best friend is a cactus. I'm dying of the virus one day at a time. You know man, it's peachy. How's your life, then? Successful, I bet, Mr. Bigshot. Fancy medical career. Cute little family. Picket fence."

It's Steve's turn to laugh, feeling the surreality of how off base Munson is.

"Naw man," he says shaking his head. "None of that. Life's just…" He shakes his head some more, runs his hand along his buzzed scalp. It still feels weird to skim his hands along soft peachfuzz. "It's lonely, I guess."

Munson makes a face, watching his hands.

"Why'd you buzz it?" he asks, and Steve grins, knowing he'll get a kick out if it.

"Started going bald."

"No shit!"

"Yeah, no shit."

Not too badly yet, but it had felt a little pathetic, watching his hair thin in the mirror and clinging to it as some kind of. Immutable piece of his identity. Some kind of symbol. What it symbolized, he's got no clue, but it's in the past now, it's over and done.

"Your mullet is really showing me up, Munson," Steve says and gets an eyebrow waggle and a dramatic shake of his hair in return.

"Read it and weep, Baldy."

Munson waves at a neighbor walking her dog, and she waves back cheerily. There's a mockingbird yelling out repeating bird calls from somewhere nearby, a pair of wasps flitting about in the eaves of the trailer, and a big, ugly thunderhead cruising the summer sky. The air smells like ozone and cut grass and the tar cooking in the asphalt, and Steve's realizing he doesn't really know how to talk to someone who's dying but not actively.

Not that it's always a death sentence. The virus.

There's plenty of treatments now, experimental and otherwise. No cure yet but maybe soon. Steve's seen it enough times to know the virus doesn't really discriminate either. It takes gay and straight the same way in the end.

He wonders about Munson. Is he–? But then, it's none of his business really. Still, he remembers being eighteen and thinking he'd like to bite down on the white pudge of Eddie Munson's inner thigh and chew on the taut tendon there like a chicken wing. And yeah, he thinks that's still as messed up as it was then. And he still wants to, probably.

"You heard from the kids lately?" Munson asks. It surprises him.

"Hardly kids anymore," says Steve. "You haven't?"

"Not really," he says, nabbing a Zippo from one of Henry's branches to light a cigarette. "Not in a while."

It surprises him. He figured, out of all of them, Munson had the biggest chance of keeping up with at least some of them. Half because he always acted like he'd stay a kid forever himself. Peter Pan to their lost boys.

"They're OK, I think," he says. "Moved on. It's been a while for me too."

Munson looks at him, and his big eyes are all sad and wet. Or he's just really high.

Steve doesn't know what he's doing here, not really. It feels like a fragment of another life. One where he's Eddie Munson's old buddy, catching up after years apart, and it's a Wednesdsy in July with evening creeping in and he's got most of his shit together and knows what he's doing with his life.

"You want me to go pick us up some food?" Steve asks, clearing his throat, and doesn't ask you been eating, man?

"If you're paying, I'll pick it up."

"You're trashed."

"Driven worse," Munson shrugs, and he's up, keys slinging around his fingers before Steve can protest. "I'll go to Skeeter's down the road. Gimme your wallet."

He makes grabby hands, and Steve, the idiot, slaps his worn wallet into his waiting palm.

"Just as easy as that?" he says, guffawing. "Give the broke, ailing druggie trailer trash your credit card?"

Steve just kinda figures Munson's decent. It's been a while, but he can't have changed too drastically and he seemed decent back then too. Steve thinks of Munson sitting quietly beside a dying stranger this morning and thinks maybe that's not something someone would do if they were a bad person, but hell, he could be wrong.

Maybe stealing someone's credit card when you're flat broke with some very expensive drugs the only thing keeping you alive has nothing to do with being a good or bad person. Maybe Steve's just kind of an idiot.

"Get a lava cake too," he says. "My treat."

"You're a decent guy, Nurse Harrington," says Munson. "Not too bright, but you're decent."

"I could be waiting to rob you blind."

"Oh," he coos like one would at a pig-tailed toddler. He taps with a long finger against Steve's forehead. "Lights are all on but no one's home. Good luck scrounging anything up in there. Like I said. Cheese whiz."

The beat up van squeals away into the settling evening.

The mosquitos have stormed out in force as dusk sets in, Munson's scrawny little plant not quite enough to hold back the hordes, so Steve lets himself into the trailer, hoping maybe because Munson said that stuff about scrounging around that he's not overstepping a boundary.

Munson wasn't lying about the cheese whiz.

Not that it's being used like glue to hold together bits of crumbling infrastructure or caulked along the baseboards or whatever but that a siingular can of the stuff, plus some assorted condiments and a weirdly fuzzy pickle floating in a half empty jar of brine, are the only things in the fridge. Plus, a handful of Budweisers in the door.

The trailer otherwise is atrociously cluttered, a loose spill of eclectic detritus. Dirty laundry and crusty dishes and a whole lot of loose cassette tapes and dog-eared books with wizards and unicorns on the covers. Prayer flags strung across the ceiling and posters slathered on the walls. A privacy bead curtain to the back bedroom. Some illicit drug paraphernalia intermingling with pill bottles.

He picks one up to read the label and recognizes it, then starts picking out all the little bottles from the clutter and setting them together on top of the magazines on the coffee table.

He's got most of the full ones arranged together when Munson busts through the door with a doggy bag.

"If you want some real fun drugs, I've got some in the back," he says. "Those aren't really any good to snort."

"Sorry, sorry," says Steve, pulling his hands away.

"No, you're fine. I do have a system but it's a bit. Chaotic. Probably would make a good little nurse like you cringe."

"Some of these are expired," says Steve. "Are you taking them? What's your viral load?"

"Buy a fella a drink first, golly!" Munson presses his hand to his chest in mock offense. "You don't have to mother hen me. I'm a big boy. I've had this thing for years, and it hasn't got me yet."

"Sorry," Steve says again.

They go back out onto the porch with dinner and some cold beers. Two dozen wings and a thing of large fries. Munson plugs in an electric bug zapper, immediately glowing and crackling with vanquished mosquitoes and moths and craneflies.

Skeeter's is a dive bar, but their wings are still as damn good as Steve remembers. Eating wings is messy as shit, and Munson forgot napkins but drags out some bandanas from some musty drawer in his trailer. After a while, they both get tired of playing polite and wipe their mouths with the back of their hands and gnaw shamelessly on the gristle of spent bones they drop to the weathered porch.

It's full night and it's summer and it doesn't quite feel like real life. Munson lights a cigarette, and the ember of it hovers like a glowing eye in the crook of his fingers, pulsating.

The flickering orange of the streetlight doesn't quite reach onto the shadow of the porch, and Steve looks at Munson leaning in the rocker with his legs sprawled out and thinks about his unrealized boyhood fantasy. Of slumping on his knees between the guy's legs and–

It's not hard to imagine that maybe it's still '86, and Steve's burning up with energy that has nowhere to go, untethered from whoever he used to be with no real way forward. Still pretty sure there is a way forward, a tomorrow, a next chapter where something good happens. Something not awful at least. No more monsters, no more bloodshed, just– a life. Love. Something fulfilling and peaceful enough and–

He slips down off the shitty chair and onto his knees on the porch. It hurts like a punch up through his joints. He's not even thirty, and he's old as shit and not even happy and well-adjusted. He wants to whine about it, scream about it. Munson's thirty, and he might not make thirty-five. He wants to scream. He wants to–

"Munson," he says, because the guy's got his head tipped sideways with the cigarette dangling on his lips, looking at him like he's insane. "Muns– Eddie," he says. "Eddie, is it chill if I– I don't know. I've always wanted to– Can I– you got condoms?"

"Steve," says Eddie and touches his buzzed head with his fingertips like he's checking if he's real. "Steve, did you really just ask if it's chill to suck my dick?"

"Yeah. I guess."

It's weird. It's like a dream. Eddie gets a condom and shimmies his shorts down his bony, weird legs and drops back in the rocking chair. Steve's been sitting there on his heels the whole time he scrounged through his trailer. Like a pet, waiting.

"Are you even gay?" Eddie asks.

"Are you?"

"I've got the virus, Steve-o."

"So? Lots of people do. It's not a gay disease. It's not the act of a vengeful God. There's nothing wrong with being gay. There's nothing wrong with either of us."

He kisses Eddie on the inside of his thigh just past his knee when he says it and the skin is so soft under the firm touch of his lips that he regrets how bad his fresh shave is going to burn.

"That's very sweet, Steve. Real cute. But you're sucking some random guy's dick in a trailer park, and I'm high enough that I'm feeling kinda nervous with Henry watching. There are a few things wrong with us."

"Don't be nervous," Steve says and smooths both palms down his bare legs.

"Sweet as sugar, I'm telling you."

The hair on his legs is fine, barely there, but Eddie's pubic hair is coarse and thick and Steve's not too sure he's showered recently. Which should be gross really, should be a lot of things, but it mostly makes Steve want to pick him up by the scruff of his neck like a kitten and wash him off under the trickle of the kitchen sink.

He hasn't really sucked a dick before, just thought about it a lot and he's watched a few pornos. It seems straight-forward enough. Eddie's penis is right there and not really that hard yet, nestled snug against his balls in coarse hair. He's uncut, a little shine of fluid hanging at the blunt tip pushing beneath the hood of his foreskin, and it seems like it would fit pretty decent against the roof of his mouth. It's cute even. A little tough to see in the faint light, so Steve plants his palms on Eddie's knees and spreads him wider to look.

He bends close enough that Eddie must feel his breath. In his old fantasies, he lapped at him in slow licks like a dog, savoring the taste.

Eddie flicks him in the center of the forehead.

"Condom, you ding-dong."

"Right, yeah, right."

Munson pulls at himself, a harsh, weird tugging in a way that hardens him up fast. Steve skirts his fingers along the back of Eddie's knuckles as he does it. It's fast enough that the condom goes on smooth in no time, and then Steve's fingers curl to take his place. Latex shifts under his grip, dulls the heat but not the weight of it, and Eddie sighs and shifts up and the rocker tips back.

Steve puts his mouth over his covered erection and tastes rubber, mostly. It doesn't fit as nice in his mouth as it would have flaccid, but he rubs the head back and forth against the ridge behind his teeth and a little further. Real careful.

"What's gotten into you anyway? Jesus."

Maybe Munson's sobering up. Steve looks up at him through his lashes, and Eddie swears a colorful string of really made up cursewords and then bites his own fingers to keep quiet.

It's barely 10PM. There's kids living nearby probably. Little old ladies. Or maybe there's worse stuff someone could hear past dark in a neighborhood like this one.

Steve takes Eddie's dick most of the way down his throat.

"You into death, Harrington?" Eddie gasps. "You into like. Dying people. You never looked once at me before. You into finishing the job? Because you are literally killing me right now."

Steve pulls off.

"It's not like that," he says. "I looked at you all the time. Before this. I wanted to do all kinds of stuff."

"Oh," says Eddie. "Like what stuff?"

"Like this."

Steve leans past his stiff dick into the shadow of his gaunt pelvis and presses his mouth against the crook of his thigh. It's as doughy and soft as he imagined, probably fish-belly white too beyond the wiry hair, and Steve opens his mouth and bites. Eddie rocks up, the tendon in his teeth flexing into a taut cord and his cock jumps hard against Steve's cheek.

"Holy Christ, you're a fucking weirdo," Eddie chokes out.

It makes Steve feel a little dizzy, like he's seeing double vision. His decade old fantasy of biting at some vital, thrumming, secret part of wild-eyed, crazy-haired, full of life Eddie Munson blurring with the Eddie who's cast in shadow on a warped porch, pantsless, bare ass on his rocker, sauce-stained wife beater shrugged up his little pudge of a belly, bright yellow condom glowing in the dark.

"I don't know why I wanted to do that so bad," Steve says, muffled as he kisses up Eddie's twitching belly. He twists his fingers around the base of his dick and rubs up and down a few times just to watch Munson arch his back against the chair. "Hey, the condom glows in the dark."

"You just noticed?"

"Looks a little radioactive."

"That's only how it looks in movies."

"You sure?"

"This place is not a place of honor," Eddie gasps, rolling his hips up against Steve's hand.

"Huh?"

"It's… nevermind. You're a weirdo, Steve Harrington. You're a real weirdo."

"Is this what dirty talk for losers is like?"

Eddie skims his buzzed hair with both hands. He holds them there and tugs his head up, looking. The orange streetlight glow catches in his black eyes and hides the dark bags under them, accentuates the groove of wrinkles at the frown of his lips. He's damn pretty. Steve wants to lap him clean and chew on him some more.

"Guys like me are shunned for a reason, you know. I'm worse than a freak now. I'm a ticking time bomb. I could take anyone who gets close enough to love me down with them."

"Oh I love you now?" Steve jokes, and Eddie doesn't laugh. He's sober.

"It's dangerous, Steve. You should stop."

"Are you telling me to stop?"

"No. I'm saying you should want to."

"I don't want to."

He wraps his lips back around Eddie's dick.

With his eyes open, he can blurrily watch the bright yellow glow of the condom dim and brighten as he moves. The light looks sickly against Eddie's soft belly and thighs. Steve thinks danger.

He wants to ask if he knows who gave it to him, but knows that's rude and also not very sexy. They're probably dead now. It's not a very sexy thought at all, but Steve pushes the heel of his hand against the front of his jeans and rocks into it. He's not sure what comes next in his old fantasy. Suckle at Eddie Munson's inner thigh and then– And then, he–

Like all his dreams, they evaporate into thin air before the end. He still doesn't know what he wants to do with his life. He still can't get a handle on what he even likes. Does he like nursing people through the very end of their lives? Is it just a thing he fell into by chance and keeps doing because he doesn't have any clue what else there is?

If he'd been braver ten years ago and actually got to sucking Eddie's dick when his knees still worked perfectly and nobody was sick, what would have happened? Would it have been just once, a quickie, a satisfying good time but that's it, that's that? Would they have have had some gross whirlwind romance, caught up in each other, acting like lovebirds, overflowing, sticky-sweet and disgusting? Would they have been lovers, calling each other baby and sweetheart and pookie, standing against a world that goddamn hated them like nothing else, but all of it a little more tolerable and meaningful together, maybe? Would they have crashed and burned, Steve too indecisive and scattered, Eddie too wild child and unstable and hungry for the whole world, for fame and sex and drugs and all of it boiling up and ending quick and bright and permanent?

None of that would have passed his mind back then. He'd only seen people die blood and messy and sudden, not slow and inevitable with a little breath of relief.

"Steve," sighs Eddie, fingers digging into his scalp like he's trying to grip at his hair. "Steve, Steve, Steve."

Steve hollows his cheeks and tries to make it good for him. He really hopes it's good for him even it never happens again. Not like. For truly morbid reasons, but he supposes that's always possible too. That Eddie just dies. That he conks out and snuffs it.

It sucks. It makes him pull harder with suction at the dick in his mouth, moving his tongue with more determined purpose, laving along the latex-covered condom. He imagines the yellow glow staining his cheeks and tongue and hands. He wants it to. It's silly.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," swears Eddie and bucks his hips and goes taut, riding out the wave of an orgasm. Steve feels it as a warm weight pulsing against the skin of the condom held against his tongue. It's weird not to taste it, feel it. He rubs his palm against his own cock trapped in his jeans, and it only takes a second before he's coming off too. Maybe it's been a while. He leans his forehead against Eddie's bare thigh and gasps his way through it.

Eddie pushes him back and pinches the condom off and ties it, flinging it away somewhere out into the grass. Steve wonders how safe or sanitary that is but doesn't comment. He doesn't think wandering stray dogs or raccoons can get HIV. Probably. It's maybe just as gross as anything else about Eddie's life.

"You good?" Eddie asks and cradles his head in his hand. His dick's gone limp and small and spent against his pale thigh.

"Lava cake," says Steve. His lips feel dry from the latex and the lava cake is still sitting at the bottom of the doggy bag and the porch is covered in scattered chicken bones and Steve's knees hurt something awful.

"It'll be cold. Just a big brownie."

"Still chocolate," he says. "I don't care."

"You're really weird," says Eddie. "If I haven't said it before."

"Life's weird," he says. Eddie Munson's eyes shine.

"Yeah," says Eddie, fishing the bag of lava cake off the porch, still pantsless and sweaty. "Yeah, you're damn right about that.

They eat chocolate cake together with the bugzapper zinging overhead and a dog barking somewhere over the horizon and the streetlight glow haloing their bent heads. They lick chocolate from their fingers and then each other's fingers.

It's July. It's past midnight in a nowhere trailer park in bumfuck Indiana. It's ten years ago and it's the future.

Maybe five years on, Steve's holding Eddie Munson's hand while he finally dies after weeks, months, years of wasting away to nothing.

Or maybe not.

#steddie #i didn't like. intend to write this the image of thigh chewing just gripped me so tight i couldn't... not #i still don't know what stranger things is about #i did enough of a deep dive to get the character voices down #sowwy #also someone was already rude to me on ao3 about this fic it's a new record #i waltz into a fandom late with starbucks and get booed out #i'm not tagging this too intensely either it's embarrassing someone should feel embarrassed for me #my fic #ficletober 2022 #sort of

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