#(which is Residential Schools but you only go in the day) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

buckysdollbarnes · 1 month

Text

you are in love series - part one

one look, dark room

PAIRING: tfawts!bucky x grad student!reader

Summary: Moving to NYC to go to grad school, your friend's dad has a connection with the owner of a rental building in Brooklyn where you can live on your own, for cheaper than you could get anywhere else. On a student's budget, you strive to still make your place your own by thrifting as much decor as possible. Meeting your quiet and somewhat secretive neighbor, James, you gain some free labor to help you move the random stuff you buy, and with that he may be growing to love parts of the modern world he has been missing. With you in a big, new city feeling alone for the first time and Bucky wanting to make a connection with someone other than Sam and his therapist, maybe online marketplaces and a turntable will bring you both what you need most.

warnings: mild language

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is my first time EVER writing fiction, usually I only ever write academic papers so this is fun. :) I read over and revised this chapter so many times, so I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed and I'm excited to start on the next chapter.

a/n: also!! sorry for it being so long genuinely just so much had to happen in this chapter for it to be set up the way I wanted, which I think I did well enough. lmk what you think <3

Why did I think carrying this by myself was a good idea? It might be cute and a great deal, but I don’t think I'll be able to feel my arms tomorrow. I might need to hit the gym again before I find more bargains like this. Hell, maybe I'll even invest in a neck towel, because this heat is unbearable. I’ve been searching for some larger pieces to fill my apartment, and this vintage bar cart should fit perfectly. Just five more blocks to go.

Moving here alone has certainly come with its challenges: being on my own in such a big city, dealing with a lot of stress, and managing on a tight budget. But I’m determined to make it work though and prove everyone wrong. Growing up, you see so many romcoms where the heroine leaves everything behind to chase her dreams in NYC, landing a job at a magazine or fashion house, living in a gorgeous high-rise, and meeting the perfect guy. It’s a beautiful fantasy really, but the reality is much tougher. New York isn’t a movie set; it’s a real city with real people, and you have to work just as hard, if not harder, to be here. I know that, but it feels like a majority of my people back home DON’T know that I know that.

I came here for school. In about two months, I’ll be starting my Master’s program at NYU. I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as when I received my acceptance email. I worked my ass off in undergrad to earn strong recommendations and good academic standing, and seeing it all come together was a huge relief—until the reality of the cost hit me.

Luckily, a friend's dad has a connection with a landlord in Brooklyn and got me a good deal on a place of my own. It’s incredible not to have a roommate in this market, especially in a place where your bed doesn’t touch your stove, though it can be a bit lonely.

Finally, reaching the stoop, out of breath, you set the cart down on the pavement. Wiping your brow, you notice the street is unusually quiet for this time of day. The city never truly sleeps, but the residential streets seem to take occasional naps. A little breath of air somewhere where it feels like oxygen is running out sometimes. Light filters through the trees, momentarily blinding you, and you turn back toward the building.

“How on earth am I going to get this up to my floor?”

Carrying it down the street was one thing, but hauling it up the stairs is a whole different challenge. Plus, who knows when the building's maintenance has last been here, the steps might not hold up under the cart’s weight. They usually feel like they could give away holding one person.

Deciding that falling to your death and being crushed isn’t really how you want to go, you open the double doors and drag the cart into the lobby, using the wheels on one side. Passing the main desk where the worker, who looks completely uninterested, engrossed in a crossword puzzle, you make your way to the end of the hall and start pulling the cart backwards up the incline of the stairwell.

“Nah, I can’t,” you say aloud, after struggling up two floors, letting the cart rest on the landing. There’s still three more floors to go, but your body is clearly telling you the cart belongs right here. Maybe the universe wants it to stay here—who knows, maybe the entire second floor needs a communal bar more than you do.

“Excuse me,” a quiet but rough male voice comes from behind me. You turn around to see him—a guy you’ve seen around your floor a few times, though you’ve never talked. One of the neighbors. You quickly realize you’re blocking the entire staircase.

“Sorry! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll move this um — just give me a second.”

You shove the cart closer to the wall to make some space for him to pass, but he stays put, his gloved hands in his pockets. He’s definitely handsome—tall and solid, but not intimidating. His furrowed brow and tight-lipped expression don’t exactly scream “welcome,” but he’s still got a certain charm.

He shifts a bit, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating. Feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, you decide to try talking to him again.

“You can just squeeze by if you want. It’s just really heavy, so I’m taking a quick break before I try lifting it up again.”

After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and asks, “Do you need help?”

Looking back at him, you consider saying no. You pride yourself on being independent and capable, and part of you wants to insist you can handle it. But then you think about the struggle of getting the cart up the last two flights of stairs—only this time, it's three—and decide against it.

“You wouldn’t mind? You’re headed down, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He gives a little smirk that makes you feel a bit dizzy.

“Well, I’m already here so.”

You nod slowly, a small smile appearing on your face.

“Sure, you can take this end, and I’ll get this o—” you start to say, but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you, lifting the cart with ease and starting up the stairs without breaking a sweat.

“Hey! Be careful, uh—,” you pause, realizing you don’t know his name.

He picks up on your hesitation and hesitates himself, considering whether to give his name. He’s wary of how others might perceive him, potentially recognizing his name from past news broadcasts or papers, still dealing with the shadows of his past despite his efforts to make amends. Not wanting to be dishonest, he chooses the safe option.

“James.”

“Be careful, James. I don’t want you tripping and falling on my account.”

“Won’t happen, doll.”

“What-,” you start, caught off guard by the pet name, “what if it does?”

“It won’t, see?” With the last few steps, you and James arrive at your floor. “Already here.”

He must have seen you around before too, to know where you live.

He gives you a quick look and then carries the cart to your door.

“This is yours, right?” He turns and looks at you expectantly. You rush over, fumbling for your keys to unlock the door. If he’s willing to move it all the way, who are you to turn him down?

You lead James into your apartment, wondering if it looks anything like his. The layout can’t be that different; it’s not exactly a luxury building.

He strolls further into the room.

“You can set it right here,” you say quickly. “Thank you for bringing it up for me. I was honestly thinking about giving up when you showed up.”

Setting the cart where you indicated, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and gives you a look that feels intense.

“It’s no problem.”

His gaze wanders around your apartment, taking in the mix of vintage furniture and eclectic decor. On a student’s budget, you’ve filled your space with secondhand finds. It’s more affordable and personal that way. The place might not be filled with new things, but it’s entirely curated by you. Finding beauty in the mix of old and new is something you do well, and now, thanks to James, you have one more piece to add.

James’s eyes land on your turntable setup. He seems intrigued by your collection of records but doesn’t say anything, turning his attention back to you.

“I have to go.”

Your eyebrows lift at his abruptness. Sensing your surprise, he quickly adds, “I’ve got an appointment.”

You nod vigorously, urging him to go and thanking him again for his kindness. Feeling a bit sad that this chance encounter with your new neighbor is ending so quickly, you call out as he heads for the door.

“I’ll see you around then? Since you live here too.”

He turns on his heel, giving you one last smirk.

“Yeah, you’ll see me.”

As he heads down the stairs, you shut your door and lock it behind you. Wandering over to where James’s gaze lingered, you pull an album from the shelf, lift the acrylic cover on your turntable, and set the record down. You close the cover, push play, and let the needle softly drop onto the vinyl. As the music starts, your mind drifts back to James.

Embarrassingly, you find yourself hoping this isn’t a one-time encounter. You don’t know much about him beyond his name, but there’s something about him that makes you want to see him again.

“Two hundred bucks for this is crazy,” you mutter to yourself, staring in disbelief at the sofa you’re eyeing on Facebook Marketplace.

“People are practically giving this stuff away.”

Not wanting to miss out on such a good deal, you message the seller to check if it’s still available.

Since you got the bar cart about a week and a half ago, you haven’t picked up anything else. With the July heat blasting, just thinking about moving a sofa in this weather makes you want to rip off your skin to cool down.

You can’t help but think of James, who you’ve seen briefly in the hallway since your last encounter. He just nodded as he passed by, and that was it.

Your phone dings, snapping you out of your thoughts. The seller confirms the sofa is still available and offers to deliver it since they have a truck.

Excited, you reply with a yes, and they let you know they’ll head your way soon.

You get up to rearrange your furniture, making space for the new sofa. You don’t have much to move since you’ve been slowly collecting things. As you shift the pieces around, your turntable stops, signaling it’s time to flip the record. After you do, you take a moment to picture how the sofa will fit in the space.

Then it hits you—moving a sofa is way heavier than the bar cart. If you struggled with that, how on earth will you manage this?

“Independent woman, my ass.”

With the delivery imminent, you decide on the only solution you can think of. Without hesitation, you head to the apartment across the hall and knock softly on the door. You wait, hoping James will answer. After a moment of shuffling and then silence, you start to wonder if you should just try something else.

Just then, the door cracks open, revealing half of James’s face. He looks curious but not annoyed—no one usually visits him.

“Hey! James! Great to see you again! I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? I just bought a sofa from this marketplace deal, and the seller’s coming to drop it off right now. He said he’d deliver it, but didn’t offer to help get it up to my apartment. I realized a sofa is way heavier than a bar cart, and you saw me struggle with that, so I was kinda sorta hoping you could help me bring it up here?”

After your rambling, you offer him a hopeful smile, waiting for his response.

A few moments of silence later, that smirk you’ve been missing appears on his face. Opening the door wider, he comments with a grin.

“You bought another thing you knew you couldn’t get up the stairs?”

“I honestly didn’t think it through. The deal was too good to pass up. I’m really sorry for bothering you. I can try to find someone else if you’re busy.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, doll.”

The smile that blooms on your face is unavoidable.

As the delivery guy drives away, James shows you where to grab the sofa and effortlessly lifts the other end. He encourages you to take the lead, making sure the weight is on him as you both navigate the stairs. With minimal effort, you get the sofa up to your place.

After some awkward maneuvering, you finally get the sofa into your apartment through the thin door and set it down. You put your hands on your hips and exhale deeply, only to find James already looking at you with that same intense gaze from before. It makes you a little nervous.

You can’t help but feel grateful—there’s no way you would have managed this on your own.

“I could have handled the bar cart,” you say, nodding toward the cart now adorned with bottles in the corner, “but this? No chance. Thanks so much for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “I wasn’t busy.”

As you look at him, you start to feel like you know him from somewhere beyond being just a neighbor. Maybe you’ve seen him around the city before you moved?

Brushing off the thought, you offer, “You’ve helped me out twice now, and it doesn’t feel right not to return the favor. If your whole evening consists of not being busy, why not stay for dinner? I promise I’ll cook something totally good and not poisonous.”

James looks surprised by your offer but quickly hides it.

“You don’t need to do that. You don’t owe me anything,” he says, not wanting you to feel obligated or uncomfortable. He worries that his presence might not be enjoyable.

He wishes he could be as charming as he was back in the 40s. Being friendly used to come easily, and if he were still the same person he was at 26, he wouldn’t have left so quickly after helping you on the stairs the first time. He wouldn’t have had a therapists appointment to go to and he wouldn’t have a hidden arm made of metal. He’d have asked you to dinner or for you to let him take you dancing instead in return for his brawn. Now, he struggles to make new connections beyond a few familiar faces, like Sam, and asking someone for a dance feels out of reach.

“No, no! Stay, I insist! It gets kind of lonely around here, doesn’t it? Why not have a friend dinner?” you press, hoping he’ll take you up on the offer.

Seeing your sincerity, though still feeling a bit miffed, he finally agrees.

“Yeah, sure. I can stay.”

James settles onto the sofa while you work in the kitchen. You’ve decided on making some stuffed ravioli and garlic bread—easy, delicious, hard to mess up.

Before getting into cooking, you switch out the record, letting new music drift softly through the space. Unbeknownst to you, James watches closely, paying attention to how you handle the records and the turntable. The care you take when putting a record back in its slip, taking a new one out of its dust cover, and gently putting it on.

Seeing you focused on cooking, James gets up and strolls over to your setup. He runs his fingers lightly across the spines of the record sleeves, feeling a surprising sense of comfort. He hadn’t realized people still used record players so often.

The setup looks quite familiar to him, with many aspects reminiscent of the record players he used back in his earlier days. In his life before this one.

As you finish preparing the pasta and pull the bread from the oven, you call out, “Hey, food’s ready!”

You glance back to see James hovering by the turntable. He quickly moves to the table and sits down.

Over dinner, the conversation flows comfortably. James seems to be relaxing a bit, his initial reserve fading. He’s still somewhat guarded, but what he does share is genuinely interesting. You sense that opening up is challenging for him, so you respect his pace and take whatever he is willing to give. Laughing with each other a few times and getting through some odd topics, he mentions that he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in quite a while and thanks you with a smile.

After a pleasant dinner, you decide to bring up something you’d been curious about.

“You like records?”

Caught off guard by the question, James tries to answer without revealing too much about himself. It feels strange to be here, knowing you don’t really know who he is, but he worries that being too open might scare you away. He decides to keep his secrets for now, selfishly hoping to get to know you better before revealing more.

“Yeah, I used to have quite a few records as a kid. My ma would play them too, especially when she was cooking, just like you. I didn’t realize they were still so popular.”

Excited by this glimpse into his past, you push further.

“Oh, there’s definitely a huge market for vinyl. Lots of people who think it makes them superior, but also a lot who just love the physical aspect of it.”

“So which one are you?” he asks.

You laugh and reply, “Maybe a bit of both.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, catching his rare smile.

“But really, I just like having it. There’s something different about the listening experience. It requires more effort than just hitting play on a playlist. It’s about choosing a full album and actually sitting down to listen. That feels more intentional to me, and that’s why I do it.”

James seems to ponder your answer, his expression softer than before. He then turns his gaze back to the turntable.

“So, since you mentioned you had records as a kid, do you not have any now?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“Haven’t had any for a long time. Talking about it makes me miss them. Everything these days feels so complicated. I like simple things like that.”

Watching him as he looks away, you hesitate but notice the nostalgic shine in his eyes. You sense he might appreciate physical music even more than you do.

“If you ever get any and don’t have a place to play them, you’re welcome to use mine.”

He turns to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, I know it’s not the most convenient offer, but it’s there. One record lover to another,” you add with a smile.

He returns your smile, saying, “Okay… thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Doll.”

That night, Bucky lies on his makeshift bed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the events of the day. You knocking on his door for help with the couch, inviting him over for dinner, and all the easygoing conversation you shared. It was such a stark contrast to his usual rigidity. He'd let his guard down just a little—letting himself smile or flirt ever so slightly.

He wishes he were better at this. It used to come so naturally. Hell, before he left for war, he’d gone dancing with both his own date and Steve’s at the same time. Now, he finds himself listening to you talk while struggling to share anything of his own.

He doesn’t want to pass up your invitation, especially since you’re inviting him into your space again. Clearly, his reserve hasn’t put you off too much.

“What would I even bring?” he wonders aloud.

All he’s ever listened to is 40’s music and big band. He doubts that’s readily available these days.

Rolling onto his side, he grabs the cell phone Steve had insisted he get before he went back in time to live his real life, without Bucky.

“You can do anything on here, Buck!”

Scrolling through the three contacts he has, he taps on the name of the guy who’s been trying to reach him for weeks.

“So, is there a valid reason why you haven’t picked up my damn calls?” Sam’s voice comes through.

“Sam, hi.”

“Did you finally learn how to click the screen? Is that why I’m hearing from you now, old man?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thing. Too confusing,” Bucky says, grimacing as he fiddles with the phone.

“Okay, okay, what’s going on, man? You doing alright?”

“I’m fine. I just have a question and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harass me about it.”

“Is it about wizards?”

“What?”

“Wizards. Is the question about wizards?”

“No, what the hell. Look, I had dinner with one of my neighbors tonight—”

“Was it a girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hell yes, it matters. And from that response, I KNOW it was a girl, so—”

“It doesn’t matter. She has a record player, which I didn’t know people still used, and she offered to let me use it, but I don’t have anything to play on it.”

“I’m not getting the problem.”

“I only like the stuff from the 40’s and—”

“Did you listen to that Marvin Gaye playlist I sent you?”

“Not interested.”

“C’mon, man, it’s good stuff. Give it a listen.”

“Not feeling it.”

“Alright, your loss, I guess. Still not seeing the problem though.”

“What do I bring? I can’t just bring around the stuff I know because where would I even get it?”

“Whoa, man, what do you mean, where would you get it? Just go to a record store and hit up the vintage section or something.”

Bucky pauses, mulling over Sam’s words.

“They have that?”

“Duh. You know, you could answer these questions a lot easier if you just looked them up on your phone—”

“Thanks, Sam. Talk to you later.”

Lying back down, Bucky decides that the next time he’s out to see his therapist, he’ll first stop by a record store to find something to bring over to your place.

Your easygoing presence was so comforting, and he found himself longing for it as he drifted off to sleep. He’d see you again soon enough.

Later in the week, as you wind down from a busy day, you focus on making your space as calming as possible.

You light some candles and turn on an orange floor lamp, the soft glow wrapping around you and setting the perfect mood to sink into your sofa with the book you’ve been neglecting.

You’ve just started settling into your reading when you’re jolted out of your half-nap by the sound of someone knocking on your door.

You get up and peer through the peephole, and there’s your dinner guest from earlier in the week.

Opening the door with a smile, you greet him.

“Hey James, unexpected visit! What’s up?”

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks. You glance down and realize your outfit—shorts that really lived up to their name and a tank top—might not be the most guest-appropriate.

Brushing off your embarrassment, you look back up at him.

“I’ve got something I’d like to play, if that’s alright?”

Bucky’s mind races. Standing at your door, he worries maybe you only offered your place to be nice, and now he’s making a fool of himself. Of course, you didn’t want him there—he could barely talk.

Just as he’s about to get lost in his own head, your bright smile pulls him out of it.

“Oh my gosh, please, come in. What do you have?”

His doubt fades away as he sees your genuine excitement.

“Brought some Sinatra. Not sure if you’re into that, but I used to like his stuff when I was younger.”

You spin around abruptly, staring at him in disbelief.

“There’s no way you think I don’t know who Frank Sinatra is…”

Bucky stumbles over his words.

“Well, I mean, it’s not exactly new stuff so—”

“You think I wouldn’t know ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? ‘New York, New York’? I mean, I even moved to New York—I had to get the romanticism from somewhere.”

“What are those?”

You pause, confused.

“Like, the most iconic Frank Sinatra songs. You are talking about Frank Sinatra, right? Not some other Sinatra I’ve never heard of?”

“No, you’re right, it’s Frank.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I guess I don’t know those ones.” He admits.

“So, what era are we talking about?” You ask, reaching for the record.

As you grasp the sleeve, you notice a glint of light catching James’s bare hand. Realizing he’s not wearing gloves, confusion sets in before it clicks. You HAD seen James before.

Looking up at him, he seems frozen, obviously panicking. He planned to tell you eventually, but not like this. Not when you weren’t close enough yet.

He thought there is no way you are going to want anything to do with him now.

You thought there is no way was there's an actual Avenger in your apartment right now.

You’re frozen, just like him, but more in shock rather than fear.

“Do you… usually go by James?” you ask cautiously.

Hesitating, he shakes his head.

“What do you usually go by then?”

Bucky feels anxiety creeping up his back. You’re both still holding the record, and he can’t tell if you’re scared or just surprised.

“Bucky.”

You stay silent for a moment while Bucky’s nerves are on edge.

“So… metal hand…”

Clenching his jaw, he replies, “Arm.”

“You’re that Bucky.”

“Yes.”

After a long pause, you start again.

“You’re an Avenger and you didn’t tell me?”

Bucky hesitates, his discomfort visible. “I’m— I’m not an Avenger.”

“What do you mean? You’re totally an Avenger! Why wouldn’t you tell me? How did I not recognize you before?” you ask, laughing in disbelief.

Bucky’s taken aback. You really thought he was an Avenger? You’re not scared of him at all, which surprises him. You must not know much about his past if you’re still standing this close.

“No wonder you don’t know ‘New York, New York,’” you say, almost to yourself. “It’s from after your time! This is crazy, I—”

You’re interrupted by his response.

“Are you not scared?”

“Of course not.”

Bucky closes in on himself, panic evident. “If you really knew me, you’d want nothing to do with me. I’ve—”

“I might not know the version of you you’re talking about, but I’ve met James, who helped me not once, but twice carry stuff he definitely didn’t have to up the stairs, stayed for dinner, has been very polite to me, and has given me zero reasons to be scared of him.”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes revealing an internal struggle. That one look holds more weight than his words. You can see the battle within him, torn between his past and the present moment.

“Listen,” you say, finally letting go of the record, “if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But I’m not scared of you, and I actually like your company. So, regardless of whether you’re James, Bucky, or whoever, you’re still welcome here.”

You pause, adding, “And we can still play this if you’d like.”

Bucky struggles with his inner turmoil. The idea that you know who he is but still want him around is foreign to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of the kindness you’re offering, but it’s been so long since he’s received such warmth that it’s almost impossible to turn it down.

He’s not comfortable with his identity or his past, but in this moment, he wants to push it aside. If you don’t care, maybe he can allow himself not to care, even if just for a bit. Maybe he can prove something to himself, or even his therapist.

Handing you the record, he relaxes his face slightly. You’ve always thought him handsome, but in the dim light of the dark room, he looks almost ethereal.

You’re hoping he believes you because your excitement for his company tonight feels more significant than it probably should, but you’re okay with that.

“I’m Bucky.”

You smile warmly at this change. “Alright, Bucky. What do you want to do?”

He gazes at you deeply, his look sending a shiver down your spine and warming your chest. “Play it.”

a/n: well, hope this was alright. as I mentioned before, ive never wrote fiction before, but ive definitely read enough to get the gist.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader series #marvel fanfiction #Bucky Barnes slow burn

374 notes · View notes

punkshort · 9 months

Text

look what we've become - ch.6

Chapter Summary: You arrive at Ellie's family's house, but it's not what you expected.

Chapter Warnings: language, mentions of child abuse (not SA), mentions of slavery, angst

WC: 6.3K

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Ellie was quiet the next morning, picking slowly at her granola bar and bent over, staring at her book. It was the day you expected to arrive at her aunt and uncle's house, and you had a hunch she was feeling bittersweet about it. When you woke up, you had a pit in your stomach that you assumed had something to the conversation you had with Joel the night before, but as the morning wore on, you realized there was a different reason. You weren't ready to let Ellie go.

"Hey," you said, nudging her knee so she would look up. "You excited to see your family?"

"I guess," she said with a shrug. Joel appeared to only be half listening as he nursed his coffee across from you.

"I'm sure they'll be happy to see you," you replied. "They probably don't even know you're alive. You said you were taken from their house, right?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "After my parents died, they took me in. I can't really remember much, but I know it was nighttime and I had a bag over my head, but I don't remember them breaking into the house, I must've been asleep."

"And it was the Fireflies who took you?" you asked.

"I'm not sure. It wasn't Marlene's group, if it was. There was more of us, they kept us all in this gross basement or something. No one could tell where we were, and whenever they moved us, they had the bags over our heads."

"Jesus," Joel muttered to himself with a shake of his head.

"How do you know it wasn't Marlene?" you asked gently, curious to learn more, but worried about upsetting her.

"Because after a few months, they took me and a couple others to Marlene's camp. She never made us wear the bags," Ellie explained.

"They hurt you?" Joel asked. His eyebrows were pinched as if he were bracing himself.

"A little," she admitted quietly. Your gaze dropped down to your hands, trying not to show her the emotion on your face. "They'd hit us if we weren't working fast enough, or trip us just for fun, I guess."

"I'm so sorry, Ellie," you whispered, reaching out a hand to place on her knee.

You exchanged a pained look with Joel before dropping the subject. At least she was going back home. She might not be excited yet, but you were willing to bet she would be once she saw her family again.

"We're doing the right thing," you murmured to him when you were out of earshot as Ellie packed up her belongings. "I know you weren't on board with this at first, but we're giving her a chance at a decent life."

"Second we get back I'm tellin' Tommy we are cuttin' all ties with these people," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't care what they got to offer."

You nodded, feeling the anger rolling off of him as he aggressively folded up his sleeping bag. You grabbed your pack and kicked dirt over what little fire remained, snuffing out the embers before reviewing the map once more.

Thankfully, her family didn't live within the city itself. Cities were heavily populated, which meant more risk of infected, soldiers, or hostile people. You tended to avoid them at all costs. They lived in a small town outside of the city called Morristown, which didn't have much outside of a post office, a school, and a fire department. The residential homes were built far apart from each other, scattered and disorganized. You got the feeling that people who used to live in this town knew everyone's business, it was so tiny. And you also had the feeling these were the types of people that shot first and asked questions later, given the extent it appeared they went for privacy.

"That's my school!" Ellie said excitedly, pointing down the street. Joel was focused on the map, trying to find the way to Spirit Drive, but you twisted your head so you could see the building she pointed out in the distance.

"That's cool, Ellie," you said warmly, happy to see she finally had a small smile on her face. "What was your favorite subject?"

She went on to tell you about her art class and a teacher she adored, and all the while you stared at her, listening to her stories while your heart ached. You imagined her in that school, with her friends, playing sports, eating lunch, and something inside you burned. It almost felt like jealousy, but that didn't make sense. It was a feeling you couldn't put your finger on, but you thought you knew what it was when you turned down her street, swallowing the lump in your throat when the realization set in that you were minutes away from never seeing her again.

"This the place?" Joel asked Ellie, squinting his eyes between her and the map. The house didn't look like much. It was a small, brick ranch with a long, gravel driveway that led up to a dilapidated grey barn. The hinges on the storm door to the front house were originally black, but now orange with rust. White paint chipped from the door in long strips, and the front garden was long abandoned and overgrown.

"Yeah," she said, looking at the barn.

"Do you think they're still here?" you asked, a flicker of hope igniting in you. Maybe if they weren't here, you could convince Joel to take her back to Jackson.

"Oh, yeah. They're here," she said confidently. You both glanced down at her.

"How're you so sure?" Joel asked, and she tilted her chin up towards the corner of the house. You both followed her gaze, noticing the cameras for the first time. They were small, it was no wonder you missed them, but they were there and definitely working. You could see a little red light flashing in the lens when the camera swooped across the lawn and over the driveway, where you all stood.

Joel slowly flicked his eyes around the house, counting at least seven cameras that he could see from his position. Then his gaze traveled to the barn, where he thought he could make out at least five more.

"How in the hell did you get taken from this place with all these cameras?" he asked. She didn't reply, and he wasn't really expecting an answer.

"So, what do we do?" you asked Joel quietly. "Do we just go up and knock?"

Joel twisted around to glance at Ellie, but she wasn't paying attention. She fidgeted her fingers inside her long sleeves as she stared out across the wide open dusty, dirty land the house was built on.

"I'll go up and knock, you two stay back," he decided, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck before venturing further down the driveway. The sun was blazing, even more so in the desert with little to no shade. You couldn't imagine how uncomfortable Ellie must have been in her long sleeves.

"That's far enough!" a man's voice rang out. Joel stopped dead in his tracks, whipping his head around to try to locate the source. Then he saw movement. An older man with a scraggly grey beard and balding head emerged from the barn, aiming a rifle right at Joel. He held his hands up in the air, showing from a distance that he meant no harm.

"Is that your uncle?" you whispered, holding your hands up as well.

"Yeah, that's Uncle Dave," she said, but she seemed unbothered by the threat. In fact, she shoved her hands in her pockets as she waited for him to approach.

"We aren't lookin' for trouble," Joel called out as Dave slowly made his way closer, his eyes transfixed on Joel. "We're here-"

"Toss your weapons on the ground!" Dave ordered, readjusting his grip on his rifle.

"Okay," Joel said, nodding, and slowly reached around to pluck the handgun from the back of his pants with two fingers. He held it up and gently tossed it on the ground in front of him.

"You too, missy," Dave said without even looking at you. You followed suit, slowly removing your gun and tossing it on the ground at your side. When you were no longer armed, Dave relaxed a bit, letting his shoulder drop but still aiming the rifle at Joel's chest. He finally allowed his gaze to drift behind Joel, looking briefly at you before his eyes landed on Ellie. He hesitated and swallowed roughly before forcing out a harsh chuckle.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Junebug! Get out here, you ain't never gonna believe this!"

A rounder woman with glasses and tight curly blonde hair emerged from the barn behind Dave, a scowl painting her features as she walked forward, aiming a revolver at Joel. When she looked over and noticed Ellie, her expression changed. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise and she let her gun fall to her side.

"Ellie!" the woman cried out, trotting clumsily down the driveway towards you. You looked down at Ellie, expecting her to finally show some excitement, but she only offered them a pained smile.

"Hiya, Aunt June," Ellie said before being enveloped in a huge bear hug.

"Oh, my sweet girl! I thought I would never see you again," June said with tears in her eyes. Dave watched the two reunite from his position in front of Joel, the rifle now slung over his shoulder.

Ellie stepped back and introduced you and Joel to her family. She explained you were helping her and keeping her safe, and the two adults began to warm up to you after that.

"Please, why don't you stay the night?" June offered. "We'll make you dinner and give you a warm bed, it's the least we could do." Ellie turned to you and nodded, a genuine smile finally spreading across her face.

You felt Joel hesitate next to you, but you quickly accepted her offer, not ready to leave Ellie just yet. He gave you a sideways glance before giving June and Dave a tight smile and followed them into the house, only after picking up your weapons from the ground.

The inside of the house matched the outside. It was well lived in and dated, but it was clean. You glanced around the living room, noticing there didn't seem to be any family pictures around, just landscape art and a clock on the wall.

June gave you a brief tour of the small house and showed you their spare bedroom, where you and Joel left your backpacks.

"Why don't you help me in the kitchen, dear, and leave the men to their own devices," June said, her pink cheeks pinching into a smile. You looked at Joel, trying to read his expression. He gave you a quick nod, confirming he was comfortable with being separated, and you returned her smile.

"That sounds great," you told her.

Dave led Joel down into the basement, explaining along the way that he would be 'blown away' by his set up down there. Ellie had mentioned they were preppers, and based on the cameras, you had to assume the basement was remodeled to be a safe room or a bunker.

You helped June chop up vegetables while she kneaded dough to make chicken pot pie. Your mouth watered at the prospect of a home cooked meal.

"We've been traveling for over a week, eating mostly trail mix and rabbit. This will be wonderful, thank you so much," you told her.

"Of course, dear. It's no trouble at all. Ellie!" June called out. Ellie came around the corner, her sketch pad hanging limply at her side.

"C'mon, girl, you forget how to help out around here?" June asked, her brows furrowed for a moment before she realized how harsh she sounded. She turned to you and laughed, her features relaxed again. "Kids, you know?"

You smiled and looked back at Ellie to gauge her reaction. She seemed quiet and closed off, but you brushed it off, chalking it up to the long day.

June held out a butcher knife to her, and Ellie hesitated, her eyes flicking from her aunt to the knife.

"Auntie, please don't make me," she said, eyes wide.

"You know the rules, don't tell me you forgot now," she replied lowly. Ellie reached out a shaky hand to pick up the knife.

"What is this?" you asked, putting your hand out to stop her.

"Well, we need chicken for the chicken pot pie, don't we now?" June said sweetly, and you were beginning to feel like that ruddy smile of hers was a little fake.

"I'll do it," you said, stepping in front of Ellie, hand outstretched for the knife.

"Now, I appreciate the offer, dear, but Ellie understands it's part of her chores, right?" she said, narrowing her eyes at Ellie. She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting to the floor.

"She can chop the vegetables and I'll take care of the chicken," you told her, your tone becoming more insistent.

June's watery eyes wavered between you and Ellie as she weighed her options. You glanced down at the butcher knife in her red, flour covered hands, then looked back at her.

"I insist," you said darkly, dropping the fake pleasantries. June's gaze dragged up to remain locked on you.

"Girl's gotta learn to be comfortable with killing," she replied, but you reached out and snatched the knife from her grip before she had a chance to blink.

"That's alright, I could use some practice, myself," you told her, refusing to break eye contact.

The tension in the room was thick, even Ellie was shifting her weight, trying to make herself as small as possible. You waited for June to try to argue with you again or say something to Ellie that didn't sit right, but it never came. As if storm clouds passed, her eyes cleared up and she blinked at you, a smile spreading across her flushed cheeks.

"Well, then," she said, dusting her hands on her apron. "Coop's out back. Suppose we should thank our guest, right Ellie?" June said, raising an eyebrow at the girl. Ellie nodded and looked up at you.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"No problem, kid," you muttered, giving June one last glance before heading out the back door.

"This here's an AK-47, got maybe six of these fuckers," Dave said, his fingertips grazing the weapon on the wall as he passed. "Just about anything you can think of, I probably got two of 'em."

For someone who hoarded weapons in an underground bunker, Joel would have thought the man would be a little more subtle. A little less eager to show a complete stranger his entire stash. But then again, men like Dave loved to show off. If they couldn't boast about it, then what was the point?

"Real nice set up you got here," Joel murmured, knowing the man was waiting for a compliment. Dave's chest puffed with pride before he opened a sliding door in the back of the basement, revealing a small room filled with different sized monitors, cameras all cycling through the different angles he had covering his property. Joel was wrong: he had way more than just the cameras he saw. They rotated to different views all around the outside of the house. He noticed the only cameras that were monitoring indoors were in the barn where he saw an old John Deere tractor and a pickup truck flash on the screen.

"Jesus," Joel whispered, taking a step forward, but still not entering the small room. "How the hell you manage to watch these all the time?"

"Ah," Dave said proudly, tapping his finger against his temple. "I got motion alerts. Sends out an alarm when I'm sleeping or taking a shit or whatever. Gets annoying, though. Mostly just birds or other animals, so I turn it off during the day. But sometimes... sometimes I get something good."

"Like us?" Joel said, and Dave laughed.

"Yeah... yep, exactly like you," he replied, trailing off as he stared at Joel.

"Y'know," Dave said after a moment, stepping back to shut the door. "There's folks around here who pay good money for things, if you're ever in the market to buy or sell."

"We don't got much, but we're doin' just fine," Joel said, beginning to feel uneasy.

"Nah, see, that's where you're wrong, friend," Dave replied, pouring two glasses of whiskey and handing one to Joel. "You do got somethin'."

Joel held the glass tightly, bringing it up to his lips and pretending to take a sip before setting it down. Something told him he should keep his wits about him. He raised his eyebrows at Dave, waiting for him to continue.

"That girl with you up there," he began, and Joel felt his stomach twist at the mention of you. "She would fetch you a fair price with the folks I know."

Joel froze, doing his damndest to not let his emotions show. The pieces were starting to click. He clenched his jaw and swallowed lightly before taking a deep breath.

"That right?" he replied, urging him to continue. He needed to get back upstairs, for the first time realizing you all might be in danger.

"Hell yeah. Medicine, food, weapons. I'm sure of it," he said with a click of his tongue. "I make one radio call and they could be here in two days."

"Hm," Joel replied, clenching his fists behind his back. "Lemme think on it, yeah?"

"Sure, sure," he said with a wave. "Don't think too long, though. One day, someone'll take her. It's just a matter of if you get to benefit from it or not, you get me?"

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Yeah," Joel said. "I get you."

Joel decided you weren't leaving his sight. He was relieved when June called down, letting them know dinner was ready, so he could make sure you were okay without making an excuse to leave and raise suspicion. A man like Dave with a whole arsenal at his disposal wasn't someone he wanted to tangle with. He had to be careful.

A cynical part of him wondered if he should be worried about the food, but he knew you helped prepare it. You were smart, you would have noticed if something was going on.

But when he climbed the stairs and locked eyes with you, he knew something was wrong. You didn't show it, but he could tell by the way your smile didn't reach your eyes.

He settled down at the table as you and June scooped out the meal on everyone's your plates while Ellie silently brought everyone glasses of water. When she set Joel's down, he tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn't look at him.

"Ellie, why don't you get Joel 'n me whiskies. You ladies want anything stronger?" Dave asked, tucking his napkin into his shirt. You shook your head and politely declined as you took your seat next to Joel, your knee purposely knocking against his under the table. He glanced at you, your lips pressed in a thin line as you looked down at your food, not wanting to raise suspicion but desperately wanting to warn him that these people seemed off.

"You know, I've been meaning to try that margarita mix we traded for last week," June said thoughtfully. "Ellie, let me show you how to make it." June waddled out of the kitchen and into the living room, behind Ellie. You heard their voices carrying over faintly as June instructed her how to make her drink.

"This looks great, honey. What's in it?" Joel asked, turning and giving you a pointed look. Honey. He never called you that. It got your attention, and you gave him a quick, curious look before you understood his underlying question. Is this safe to eat? Your gaze drifted back to Dave, who was watching the two of you talk.

"Just normal stuff," you told him. "Nothing special. Veggies, chicken."

His eyes bored into yours, trying to communicate silently with you. You figured it out. Something happened in the basement that worried him, the same way June's behavior worried you.

"Alright, let's dig in!" June said cheerily, entering the kitchen with a yellow drink in her hand. Ellie followed dutifully behind with two glasses of whiskey, placing them in front of the men before sitting across from you.

"This is great, Junebug," Dave told his wife after a few forkfuls. June smiled as she sipped from her glass. You and Joel choked down the meal, offering your compliments and thanks once again, while Ellie silently pushed her food around her plate.

"Not a whiskey man, Joel?" Dave asked, his eyes growing glassy from the drink he had in the basement and now his second one.

"It's just been a long journey," Joel explained, but took a small sip anyway. "Feelin' real tired, is all."

Ellie glanced up and looked at Joel, knowing full well he wasn't tired. In the short time she knew him, it was like pulling teeth to admit he was tired. She looked back and forth between him and you, trying to read your faces without being obvious.

"Quit playing with your food," June told her harshly, finishing up her margarita. "You should be so lucky to have a roof over your head and food in your belly."

Joel stiffened next to you but didn't look up from his plate, his mind racing, trying to formulate a plan.

"You know what? That drink looked good," you said suddenly. "Ellie, why don't you show me if you remember how to make it?" You stood up from the table and Ellie jumped to her feet to follow you.

"Bring me another, too," June barked as Ellie followed you around the corner to the bar cart in the living room.

"What the hell is going on here, Ellie?" you muttered quietly, picking up the margarita mixer and pouring it into a glass.

"It's how they always are," she whispered. "They aren't exactly good with kids, but it's fine."

"No, it's not fine," you whispered back, holding your hand out to keep her from pouring tequila in your glass, choosing to just drink the mixer, not wanting alcohol to dull your senses. You nudged her hand to make her pour a little extra tequila in her aunt's glass. "This isn't how you should be living."

"Well, I don't have much of a choice, do I?" she asked sharply before turning on her heel and heading back into the kitchen. You trailed after her, finding your seat next to Joel and taking a sip of the fake drink and trying to ignore the guilt. You had no idea how you were going to be able to leave her behind with these people.

You helped June clean up the dishes after dinner while the men filed into the living room. Joel had drank his first glass, but held up his hand when Dave offered a second, rubbing his eyes and reminding him how tired he felt. He needed to get you alone and get you the hell out of here, paranoid that Dave would call those people to do a "trade" for you like he was already suspecting happened originally with Ellie. What else would explain kidnappers being able to bypass his security system?

As if reading his mind, Dave asked "Think any more about what I told you downstairs?"

Joel yawned, trying to hide his anger by contorting his face.

"Lemme sleep on it, get back to you in the mornin', I'm beat," he said, hoping he wasn't laying it on too thick. If he was, Dave didn't seem to notice, the whiskey doing its job by keeping him oblivious.

"Alright now, Ellie. Time to get ready for bed," June said, her drink sloshing in her glass. "Say goodbye and thank you to your friends."

You could see the despair in Ellie's face. Trying hard not to cry, you wrapped her in a hug and whispered it will be okay in her ear before pulling back, swallowing hard. She was about to reach for her sketch pad when, much to your surprise, Joel suddenly leaned down and pulled her into a hug. Ellie also looked shocked, not sure what to do at first but eventually brought her arms up around his ribs. You thought you could see him whisper something in her ear, but it happened so fast, you weren't sure.

"Okay, off you go," June told her, and Ellie quickly walked down the hall without another word. You watched her go, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

You sat next to Joel, trying to appear interested in what her aunt and uncle were talking about, but you realized it didn't matter the more they drank. Joel's hand dropped on the couch next to you, grasping your hand and stroking his thumb over your knuckles. You looked up at him sadly as he tried to wordlessly say it's okay, I'll get us out of this.

After another hour, Dave stood to tend to the fire, stumbling in the process. June chuckled, her face redder than usual.

"Time for bed, old man," she teased, and he grunted in response, pushing a log around with the poker before straightening back up.

"Suppose you're right, Junebug," he replied. You could hear the alcohol in his voice, the way he spoke slightly louder and slower than usual.

"You two need anything, you just holler," June said, pushing herself off the couch. "Clean sheets are in the closet."

You and Joel stood, watching as they made their way slowly down the hall to their bedroom, June mumbling to Dave until their door quietly clicked shut.

You immediately swiveled around to Joel but he clamped a hand over your mouth, shaking his head. You nodded and he removed his hand, leading you down the other end of the hall to the guest room, and shut the door.

"Joel-"

He held his finger to his lips before he made his way around the room, checking the furniture and closet for any possible hidden cameras or bugs. When he was satisfied, he finally spoke.

"Don't get comfortable. When they fall asleep, we're leavin'," he whispered.

"We can't leave her here," you said, sweeping your arm towards the door.

"I know," he said, and you breathed a sigh of relief. "They'll sell her off again the first chance they get."

"Wait, what?" you asked, eyes wide. "I thought someone snatched her?"

"I really fuckin' doubt it," Joel said, running his fingers through his hair. "When we were in the basement, that asshole was tryin' to convince me to sell you to slavers. Said if I don't do it, somebody'll take and sell you anyway. Sounded awful lot like a threat, if you ask me."

"Jesus Christ, Joel!" you whispered, wrapping your arms around your ribs and pacing nervously around the room. "So you think they sold Ellie into slavery? Their own niece?"

"Wouldn't put it past 'em. You should see the shit he's got in that basement. Must've cost a fortune. I'm sure Ellie wasn't the only one they sold off."

It started to make sense. The way June spoke to and treated Ellie like she was a servant didn't leave you feeling warm and fuzzy.

"But they seemed so happy to see her," you said, thinking back.

"Yeah, probably saw her as another paycheck. Two for one," Joel said with a scoff.

"So what's the plan?" you asked him, biting on your fingernail anxiously.

"Give it an hour or so," he began, sitting down on the bed. "Make sure they're passed out. Then, you go get the kid, and I'll go to the basement. I gotta figure out how to turn off the motion alerts on those cameras so they don't wake up. Then we get the fuck outta here."

"Okay," you said quietly, sitting down next to him, stunned. Twenty minutes ago, you just thought they were bad guardians. You had no idea it was this bad. You buried your face in your hands, feeling guilty for bringing Ellie back into this house. You should have fought harder to get her to stay in Jackson. Now, you all ended up in danger, anyway.

"We have to try to warn Tommy and Maria," you whispered. "What if something happens? It'll take us a week to get home."

"Maybe not," Joel replied. "I saw on his cameras that they got a truck in that barn."

Joel stuck his head out into the hallway, craning his neck to listen for any movement from the master bedroom. After a few minutes of silence, he looked back at you and nodded. Quietly, you followed him down the hall, pausing outside of Ellie's room. Before you could open the door, Joel put his hand over yours. He cupped your face and quickly pressed a kiss against your lips, then pulled back to look deep into your eyes while his thumb caressed your cheek.

I'll get us out of here, I'll keep us safe.

You nodded, understanding without him having to say a word. He dropped his hand and made his way down the hall to the basement door, clicking on his flashlight before descending the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly pushed the bedroom door open. You took care to close it gently behind you, then turned around to find Ellie fully dressed and waiting for you at the foot of her bed.

"Hey," you whispered, and she stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

"I'm ready," she whispered back.

"How did you-"

"Joel told me," she said quietly. "He said to keep my bag packed, and not to fall asleep."

So he did whisper something in her ear when he hugged her.

"Okay, good," you breathed, trying to hide your nervousness.

"I packed all new clothes, and a few other things I wanted. Do you think I need anything else?"

"You have your flashlight?" you asked.

"Yep. And I got this," she said, proudly reaching into her pants pocket and pulling out a switchblade.

"Where did you get that?"

"Does it matter?" she replied.

"Just be careful with that thing, put it away," you told her. She folded it back up and shoved it into her jeans.

You poked your head out of her door, making sure the coast was clear before taking a step out. You made it two feet before Ellie's hand shot out and grabbed your arm, pulling you back into her room just in time. The master bedroom door swung open and June hobbled out in her nightgown, making her way groggily to the bathroom. You and Ellie stood with your ears pressed against the bedroom door, listening intently as the toilet flushed and the sink ran.

"Where's Joel?" Ellie mouthed.

You pointed down to the floor and mouthed back basement.

You waited until you heard her door click shut and the squeak of the boxspring before opening Ellie's door again. Silently, you made your way down the hall and to the dark kitchen, where you waited for Joel.

"What's he doing?" she said as softly as possible.

"Motion sensors," was all you said back. She shook her head.

"He won't know - I'll do it," she replied, and before you could stop her, she opened the door and made her way down the steps, turning her flashlight on in the process. You went after her as quickly and quietly as you could, knowing Joel wouldn't expect you to be down there.

You entered the bunker, taking a second to gawk at all the guns adorned on the walls. There was also an elaborate looking radio and a workbench filled with electrical parts. You passed five dressers that looked to be filled with different types of ammunition, and you thought you even saw a couple grenades.

"Joel," you whispered, and you heard him shuffle near the back of the room. You swung your flashlight towards the noise, your heart pounding in your ears. He stepped out from behind a tall shelf of canned goods, shaking his head and holstering his revolver.

"This wasn't the plan," he scolded with a deep frown, but before you could explain, Ellie pushed past you both and made her way to the little room in the back that housed all of the security system equipment.

"Ellie!" Joel whispered, going after her.

"I know what I'm doing," she said over her shoulder. He glanced back at you and you shrugged.

"There, the alarm is turned off and so is the recording," she said, emerging from the room. Joel gave her a confused look.

"Recording?" you repeated.

"Yeah, the cameras record everything. So they won't know what direction we go when they wake up tomorrow and try to review the footage," she explained, looking at you like it was obvious before heading to the stairs.

"Did you know-" you began to ask, but Joel cut you off.

"Hey, wait," he whispered, making Ellie stop on the bottom step. He unscrewed the cap of whiskey Dave had shared with him earlier and poured it all over the radio, watching as it sparked a bit. And for good measure, he cut the wire that powered the device before making his way toward the stairs, pushing past Ellie to lead you both out of the house.

Joel led you to the barn, maneuvering on the soft grass instead of the noisy gravel. There was a standard padlock on the door, which he was able to break relatively easily with his hunting knife. He was beginning to realize Ellie's aunt and uncle had all the appearances of being survivalists, but lacked most of the skills. He had lost count of the things he would have done differently if he was defending his own home.

Still, he didn't want to wake them when he was so close to safety. So, he put the truck in neutral and had Ellie steer from the driver's seat while the two of you pushed the car down the long driveway, waiting until it reached the road before making Ellie move to the back and starting it up.

He drove for a few hours until you were both struggling to keep your eyes open, the adrenaline that was previously fueling you both long since worn off.

"Let's pull off here, maybe we can find some gas before we head out in the mornin'," Joel said softly, trying not to wake Ellie.

"Okay," you said quietly, staring out the window as he got off the interstate. He drove for another half hour until he found a volunteer fire hall.

There were a few abandoned cars in the large lot when you pulled in. Joel parked the truck and turned to you.

"Lemme go in and check it out, you stay with the kid," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"I'll come with you," you said, but he held out his hand.

"Stay," he repeated firmly, and you shook your head.

"What if-"

"Just do as your told for once," he snapped. You clamped your mouth shut, too tired to argue. He was clearly annoyed that you improvised back at the house and brought Ellie in the basement.

"Fine," you seethed, and he slid out of the truck. You watched with your arms crossed as he approached the door, shining his flashlight inside the window before working on the lock and pushing his way in. You could see the beam of his flashlight through the windows as he moved from room to room, carefully checking out each one before finally coming back out to let you know it was clear.

"Ellie," you whispered, nudging her shoulder gently. Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up with a yawn, turning around to try to figure out where you were.

"We're gonna stay here for the rest of the night and try to get some sleep before hitting the road tomorrow," you explained as you hopped out of the truck.

She silently followed you into the building, where Joel was waiting, holding the door open. He led you both up the stairs where the firefighters had a small living space with bunk beds. Ellie snagged the first one she saw, curling up with the blanket that was already draped over the bed and falling back asleep.

"You good?" Joel asked, looking over as you flopped down on one of the beds.

"Yeah, are you?" you replied. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Long fuckin' day," he murmured.

"Why don't I keep watch tonight and you get some rest, I'll sleep in the car tomorrow," you told him. You could tell he wanted to argue with you but his exhaustion won.

"Yeah, alright," he agreed after a moment.

You stood back up, checking your gun before heading back downstairs. After you peeked out the windows to confirm everything was all quiet, you wandered around the first floor a bit. It looked like after the outbreak, the building may have acted as a safe zone. There were abandoned bags, cots, blankets, and trash overflowing in the bins.

You were looking through some duffel bags for anything useful when you heard a noise outside. You froze, quickly pulling your gun from the back of your jeans as you made your way cautiously out into the room. At first glance, your flashlight didn't show anything out of the ordinary. You were about to give up when you heard the same noise again. Whipping to your left, you advanced towards the sound with your gun drawn.

The last thing you remember is a hand gripping your throat from behind and a needle slipping into your neck.

Tag List @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina @untamedheart81 @taz-97 @nastiasnow @amyispxnk @plz-be-solo @iloveramensm @caitlynsixxx @anoverwhelmingdin @harriedandharassed @jessthebaker @txtattoostark @merz-8 @sarap-77 @sarahhxx03

277 notes · View notes

godbirdart · 1 year

Text

content warning: residential schools //

as Orange Shirt Day / The National Day of Truth and Reconciliation nears [September 30] I want to give a bit of context to those internationally who might not know that this day is.

Orange Shirt Day was started by Phyllis Webstad and others in 2013. This is a day to reflect and promote reconciliation, as well as uplift and support the victims and communities impacted by the Canadian residential school system. This is also the origin of the Every Child Matters movement.

The National Day of Truth and Reconciliation, as it's known by the Canadian government, was only formed as an official national day in 2021 after 200 unmarked graves were discovered on the property of the former Kamloops indian residential school that same year. Currently there are estimated thousands of graves on residential school properties; many of which have not been properly addressed.

Kivalliq Hall was the last residential school in Canada and closed in 1997. This is not some far-off distant history thing, many people alive today were sent to residential schools as children.

If you want to give support, consider donating to the Indian Residential Schools Survivor Society, or Orange Shirt Day. The IRSSS does fantastic work, offering counselling and numerous support lines - including one for 24/7 crisis support. I'd also like to mention Reconciliation Canada, as they also do good work.

This is a small personal anecdote here, but I'd like to recommend checking out Indian Horse; a novel by the late Richard Wagamese that follows the life of a boy going through the residential school system. There is also a film adaptation by the same name. This book [and its film] offers valuable education on the dark history that is residential schools.

I'm always happy to have additional links and educational material added to my posts, so please do not hesitate to add onto this. thank you.

#residential schools #orange shirt day #national day of truth and reconciliation #long post

420 notes · View notes

tsumuhours · 1 year

Text

AMERICAN JESUS PAIRING: suna rintarō x fem!reader TAGS: alternate universe – gang world, smut, oral, flirty suna WORD COUNT: 10k

Life always has a weird way of fucking you over.

Whether it be in the form of finding an injured member of a notorious gang near your apartment, or trading silence for safety, or how he pulls you into a complicated relationship which goes against integrity and... possibly laws.

mature content !

Life always has a weird way of fucking you over.

Not to say you haven't deserved half of the mandated karma – you haven't always been the best person, given the borderline psychopathic attempt of climbing to the top – but a break, or a nice surprise would be a great change in routines.

Whoever said success is a lonely road was, painfully, correct. To think that you spent your high school years working hard to get into an ivy league, spent those four years working at internships to make those desired connections people dream of!

Only to get out at the age of twenty-two and spend the next year as some glorified, under-paid, under appreciated, assistant. And no, that's not what the job description is supposed to entail, you're meant to be an associate – associates are not supposed to run around getting coffee – with the main purpose of developing your career and hopefully making partner in seven to ten years time.

Not to mention, since the city has unbelievable prices of living, you had to move to a neighbouring borough just for the possibility of having a studio apartment that isn't the size of a closet for the same price. Is it the most convenient?

No, not really, considering the fact the commute is over thirty-minutes and you have to go back and forth from work at unreasonable hours because your boss insists on bringing you to every little, insignificant meeting, or post-work drinks at nine at night – which is an excuse for the woman to spiral further into alcoholism – where you will inevitably end up carrying your boss back to her penthouse on the upper east side.

And no, it doesn't get better, because afterwards, after spending two hours at an expensive bar with the drunken, divorced, mess of a boss you have by the time she gets home safe, you're expected to deal with the city's delayed – and inconsistent – subway times at this ungodly hour and spend the next thirty-minutes in a train with rando's and sketchies.

Oh! No, that's not where it ends, because by the time you get off the subway, it's almost midnight, and you have to take a lovely – scary – ten-minute walk alone to your apartment, but walking anywhere at night is terrifying... Except for the rumour, or fact, that violence has been making its way around the borough, and according to new statistics – regarding the quarterly crime rate review – it's been looking a bit too stabby for your liking.

Now, this walk home is nothing different to how it is every day. You stride down the street with purpose, clutching your taser, and eerily aware of your surroundings. Although, remember how life always has a new way of fucking you over through some odd, irrelevant, way of testing your resilience?

This is one of those occasions.

Let's say it's not common for a man to be curled up in the small alley where residents keep their trash, but then again, crime rates have increased by a percentage that can make anyone uncomfortable – still, committing those types of crimes in a residential neighbourhood where people are simply trying to live their lives is ridiculous. Have some class.

Sure, as a law abiding citizen or natural samaritan would help, but no, not you. Living in a densely populated city means one thing, and one thing only, keep your head down. It's a game of see nothing, know nothing. Everyone minds their own business, that's how you stay safe and avoid danger – including scammers, or the random cult recruiters.

So, you intend on reaching for your keys to the front entrance of your small building, until you hear a small groan come from the neighbours dumpster alley. Sighing, you swallow your pride – and maybe your safety – holding your phone in one hand, and taser in another, and go over to look. The flashlight turned on, as you flash it on the curled up body.

You cannot see his face, but you instantly recognize the leather jacket and matching bandana. Of fucking course, out of everyone in the world, you happen to come across a member of a gang – as if this is some cruel joke from the universe. What do they call themselves? The Foxes? That awful group that parades around in black and maroon, with their emblem of a fox printed on leather jackets that they display for the world to see.

You're reluctant to step forward, maybe it's the threatening affiliation this guy has wound himself with, or the blood on his hands – literally and figuratively – as he grips onto the side of his stomach. The thing is, you've got a massive report to read over and playing doctor with someone is not on your list of side-quests – as it doesn't benefit your position, or reputability on the job any better. However, people are always watching, so if word were to magically get out that you saw a member of this notorious, tight-knit gang and ignored him, that could put a dangerous target on your back.

But, if you help him, you can probably lawyer your way into securing safety for your silence. You could exchange saving his life, for him, inevitably, saving yours in turn – ensuring that you're home, your spaces, where you are at all times is a no-go zone. Sure, that means turning your back on the entire legal system you've spent studying is thrown on the backburner, but you need to look out for yourself.

What is success if it means you've got strangers pinning a vendetta against you, and watching your every move before they strike? How could you ever reach partner if you get killed? How could you ever live with the benefits of making partner, if you get killed before you can exercise those benefits?

The short-term pride is not worth it if you don't get to brag about it... and silence for safety seems like the best option on the table. No one ever said that law always has to be good, it's unjust – at times – unfair and just as corrupt. Only ten percent of people who go into this job do it out of the good of their heart, the rest, the majority do it for the money and respect.

And it isn't part of your job description to be a good person, you're not a doctor. You didn't pledge to an oath about refraining from causing harm or hurt, or to act honestly and responsibility. No, you are conducting yourself with dignity and conscience – and as far as you care, freedom of speech and association still exists, and what you're doing isn't necessarily illegal unless you get recruited or actively participate in a crime.

And since when helping someone not die a crime? He's part of the Foxes, for christ sake. They can invoke power anywhere, he can potentially make you untouchable. You can live your life somewhat more peacefully if it means that safety is a guarantee. If you save one of them, they have no choice but to repay you. That's how the system works.

Sighing, you step closer, bending down to get a better look at him. Flashlight illuminating the severe wound on the side of his stomach, the blood surrounding his black top and his hands. "Fuck my life," you mutter. He's practically losing consciousness with every second, you doubt he's capable of standing up by himself, and there's no way you're going to attempt to fix him by a pile of trash.

So, you do what you can, gently lifting up his upper body, draping his arm around your shoulders as you begin to stand. God is he big, and getting him up the stairs will undoubtedly be a struggle. Still, as if on impulse, his feet start moving as you carry more than half of his weight towards the front door of your building, up the stairs to the second floor – where your apartment remains.

Forcefully, pushing open the door, you find all the strength in your body to lead him to the couch – internally crying at the stain that will taint the grey cushions – where he falls over and lays on his back. Absolutely winded, you walk into your bathroom, searching for that old – raggedy – first aid kit in the cupboards along with cotton balls and comically large band aids that you have no reason for owning.

God, it's as if this was planned, fucking written in the stars. Yes, you were meant to end up in this situation because you are one of the only people in the world who thought it'd be fun and convenient to own large band aids that can temporarily cover a stab wound. Good going!

Gathering all the materials in your hand, you walk over to the couch where he remains in limbo. Again, you're no medical professional, no, the most training you have consists of a short one hour life skills lesson and a topic on human physiology that was part of your biology course in high school. So, yes, you're a bit rusty – but that doesn't mean you're incompetent.

Kneeling down on the floor, scattering the items next to you on the floor, reaching for the cotton balls and bottle of disinfectant. But as your fingers graze over the skin on his torso to lift up his shirt, he flinches, and for the first time since running into him, you look at his face with an offended look on yours – as if he's able to see you through his shut eyelids.

He catches you off guard, the delicate and mesmerising features. Strong jaw, dark hair, furrowed eyebrows that mix in well with the discomfort he must be feeling. Yes, he's beautiful, but he's also bleeding out on your couch and part of an infamous gang that got himself stabbed. Letting out a frustrated, hmph, you lift up his shirt to examine the wound – as if you have any idea what you're doing.

First, you need to unarm him. You run your hands through the pockets of his cargos, pulling out a phone, wallet, and pocket knife, then dig through the pockets of his leather jacket finding nothing alarming.

Next, you cover your hands with latex gloves, then get to work. Letting the cotton balls absorb the disinfectant before running it along his skin, in which he finches in response. "Stop flinching, I'm helping you." You mutter, sure, maybe using water would be a better alternative than bathing him in on the shelf disinfectant, but water is not going to effectively clean him up.

You don't even know what you're doing, and your body, mind, even fucking adrenaline knows that by the way your hands shake. Do you need to stitch him up? You don't know how to suture a wound, you don't even know how to stitch! You don't even own string, yarn yes, but you doubt that sealing someone up with lilac yarn is the most sanitary or safe.

So, of course, you do the most reasonable thing and search it up, and given the short research it confirms that you don't have to do anything – then again, how many people get stabbed and don't receive certified medical attention?

Hands still shaking, you dive into the medical box, looking for antibiotic ointment. "I hate you, you know?" You begin speaking to yourself as you uncap the cream, "You're bleeding out on my couch. Is it a good couch? No, it is uncomfortable, and by the way your legs hand off the arm rests, it's not the biggest. But it's my couch, I found it on the street."

You apply the cream around the puncture, hearing his quiet groans and incoherent murmurs. After that, you reach for the band aid – or non-adherent pad as they call it – peeling off the back and gently placing it over the puncture. It's not a good replacement for proper medical care, but it will suffice until he manages to crawl his way back to wherever he lives and gets professionally treated.

"You better pay for a new couch, or a deep cleaning." You continue, beginning to pack up all your things before standing as you remove your gloves, and move to the kitchen to toss them out. "I have things to do, you know?" You say from the kitchen, washing your hands thoroughly.

That's partially a lie, the things you claim to have insist on reading a fucking brief or case while sitting on your couch watching something on Netflix – because cable is a waste of money – with one of many microwave meals stocking up your small white fridge. Still, this momentary distraction has moved those plans to tomorrow night. A Saturday night.

"I don't know who you are, or what your rank is in this stupid gang of yours, but I don't care." You continue your rant, grabbing a glass of water and pain-killers – placing them on the small cushioned ottoman, because who has the space to own a coffee table? – pacing back and forth in your apartment, where you can finally kick off your shoes by the front door and grab the purse you discarded by the small circular dining table next to the fridge. "I have work to do."

You storm towards your bedroom, dumping your purse on your bed and digging through it for your laptop and thick file, then you grab a highlighter sitting on the bedside table. And hopefully by the time he wakes up, you would have done something worthwhile and beneficial to your career.

So, yes, in conclusion, life always has a weird way of fucking you over.

An hour has passed since you fixed up the stranger who lays, practically comatose, on your couch. Since then, you've changed out your clothes, showered, and gone through at least fifteen pages of this case you're supposed to assist with and eventually write a report for. Sitting in bed, music softly plays through your laptop as you bite on the end of a highlighter, re-reading the same paragraph over and over again.

It's safe to say that your mind is a bit distracted, maybe it's the fact you're harbouring a criminal in your apartment, waiting for him to wake up and possibly kill you. The Foxes are notorious for many things, heists, robbery, petty murder, but particularly famous for the sale of illegal goods – whether it be drugs, or unlicensed arms – and you happen to have one sitting in your living room.

All for what? The fear of getting murdered? Having a target on your back? Trading integrity for safety? To be fair, those are all valid reasons why you've decided to take him in. You can call the police, turn him in, do greater good for the grand community. He's docile and helpless right now, you've searched him for weapons and you keep his belongings hostage on your bed. But, what are the cops going to do?

You hear a groan coming from the living room, and immediately shoot up from the bed, swinging your feet over the mattress and feeling them hit the cold wooden floors as you turn around to grab the baseball bat leaning against the mattress.

The first, and big thing he feels is pain. An unbearable type of pain on the side of his stomach. He places a hand over the plaster, expecting to feel blood or an infection, but jolts awake when he's proven wrong. He sits up, painfully, and scans the apartment for any sign that will tell him where he is. The messy decor of the room, the glass encased bookshelf that's filled to the brim with trinkets, novels, DVD's, CD's, and records. Behind him, on the wall are framed movie posters and paintings. Lamps, candles, and a full wall tapestry behind the tv. A plethora of coats and bags hanging on the door. So much clutter in this little living room.

He turns his gaze to the small kitchen, a shelf lined with snacks, spices, a bowl of onions and garlic, and a concerning amount of liquor. On the counter, are dishes, coloured pots and pans, empty jars. Whoever lives here loves their fair share of pink, grey, and light blue cups, bowls, and plates. They apparently also love their fair share of tea and instant chai latte mixes, and colourful string lights.

He has no idea where he is, or who happened to pick him up from the streets. All he knows is that he was ambushed by the Crows and left for dead, talk about sending a fucking message. Understandably, he turns his head to look behind him, where you stand holding a baseball bat to your side. He reaches for his pocket, where his knife always remains, only to feel nothing. You've disarmed him.

While he should be focusing on that thought. The logical sense that you must know who he is; hence why you've hidden all his belongings and why you're holding a baseball bat for defence, or the fact that you must've called the police by now. But no, his mind is focused on who you are, why you've brought him into your apartment to avoid death, and how those little shorts look on you. Those little black shorts, that tank top, and that big knitted cardigan.

So what if he's about to get arrested, he loves this sight.

"You brought me here?" He asks, watching the way you nod your head.

"You were bleeding out near a pile of trash, and while I considered leaving you for dead, I figured that I could get something out of saving your life." You explain nonchalantly, well as nonchalant as you can given that you've invited a known criminal into your house.

"Who do you work for?" He questions. There are always upcoming rivals or new recruits circling the scene, they love dirty work and favours – an eye for an eye – and will extort, abuse, and come up with the worst reparations. While you don't look threatening at all, especially in that little outfit, he can't underestimate you.

"Specter and Hastings, the law firm." You reply, causing him to laugh out of pure irony. Out of everyone he could have gotten entwined with, it had to be a lawyer. The universe really loves to play games on him, doesn't it?

"What do you want?" He sighs, "Names? Operations? You want me to snitch?" He'd rather die than rat out his friends, his family, just cuff him and take him down to the station because he's not speaking.

"No." You say, "I want safety." A flash of curiosity flashes across his face, allowing you to elaborate. "I want to make sure that wherever I go will be unharmed, untouched, or fall victim to whatever wars you guys get into. I want to be left out of danger, and never have to worry about getting followed home, mugged, or stabbed. I want the guarantee of safety... for my silence."

"What?"

"Is it so hard to understand?" You huff, "I save your life, you look out for mine. And in doing so, I will pretend that I didn't potentially break a law by not turning you in, I will turn a blind eye and ignore that tonight ever happened."

She's looking out for herself. He can't blame her. If anyone were to find out that she left him for dead, she would be a target. However, as someone whose job literally regards the law, you can't blame him for thinking you're hypocritical and maybe the slightest bit untrustworthy. If you can't even stick by your career, how can he expect you not to snitch on him?

"So?" You say, "Is that a good arrangement?"

"I can't guarantee anything sweetheart," he claims.

"Fine, then can you at least keep the stabbings out of this neighbourhood?" You question, "When I get home at night, I'd rather not come across another bloody body and risk getting more blood on my couch out of fear of being targeted."

That he can do. He can tell the guys to avoid this particular area, in exchange for a stranger – who happens to be a lawyer – that saved his life. Not to mention, you didn't call the cops, didn't turn him in, and you're supposedly open to turning a blind eye. In regards to the blood he got on your couch, he can easily fix that. He nods, "That I can do." There's no reason why he should deny anything, you already know he's part of the Foxes – that's the only reason you bothered saving him – and you are well aware about the culture and how no good deed goes without payment.

"Okay, great." You nod, resting the baseball bat against the frame, you've negotiated poorly, and your terms and conditions are promised to be met. Now, you can move along with your life. "Excuse me for a moment," you say, disappearing back into your bedroom to gather up all the things you took from his pockets.

In your short-lived absence, the man glances over at the painkillers and glass of water on the ottoman. He grabs the packet, reading the warning on the bottom half of the box that informs the users of the small percentage of codeine and its addictive properties, only to ignore it and swallows down the pill. It's drugstore painkillers, so of course, it's not going to be the strongest but when it kicks in, it'll help.

You return holding his things, hanging them to him before sitting on the curved back armchair next to the couch. You are unsure of what to do, or say to the brunette. You've never been put in a situation where a gang member is sitting in your apartment, wounded, and you've offered up your silence in turn of safety. Is it time for you to kick him out, or should you try to make conversation?

He, on the other hand, glances down at his phone, texting away to his friends about what happened and how he'll be back soon. There's no doubt that they're all mad about the situation, how he got ambushed by their rivals, and left by a pair of trash bags to bleed out. Though, it's not all that bad, he got saved by a pretty girl who graces him with skimpy shorts and a tank top that loves to plague his imagination. Better yet, this girl happens to be a lawyer, and if he plays his cards right, he can get a run down of loopholes and secure defence.

"So, do I get a name?" You ask, wrapping your cardigan closer around your body. "Or is that confidential? I'm not going to rat you out, I'm barely a lawyer, let alone a narc. And I need a solid ally in case anyone part of your... um, group ambushes me."

"We're allies now?"

"Are you going to give me a name or what?"

You've already seen his face, and he doubts you'll ever be able to say anything to the authorities without ratting yourself out in the process. Also, he's sure he's never going to see you again, or the maximalist, messy design of your apartment... including the row of CD's and records that you keep in that bookshelf despite being in the age of digital streaming.

"You can call me Rin," half a name, but one nonetheless. "Yeah, Rin is good, or Suna, whatever floats your boat." If he could, he'd try and leave, but he doubts he's in a good enough physical state to do so. Also, being stuck in an apartment with a pretty girl makes him want to stay even more. "Do I get a name from you?"

"No."

"Whatever you say sweetheart," Suna shrugs. "So... a lawyer, what made you go down that route?" He questions, wanting to get his mind off the unbearable ache in his body and sharp pain on his side, as he lays back down on the couch. Might as well get some information on you while he's here.

"I'm doing it for the money." You reply, crossing one leg over the other – unaware of how his eyes follow your movements – as you lean back against the seat, finding some sort of strange comfort in talking to a criminal. "I'm an associate, and in ten years I hope to make partner and move out of this place to somewhere closer to my job. I'm aiming for an apartment on the upper east side, maybe west."

"Is that all?" He hums, watching as you glare at him, "Just for the money?"

"Isn't that why we do anything?" You remark, "For the money, so we can sustain ourselves and live. And it's not like I'm doing court law, or criminal justice, I'm mainly interested in business law – contract and tort law – which is what my firm focuses on, including divorce law, because that's where all the money is."

"So, you're just a lawyer who conveniently knows how to bandage up a wound and goes around saving gang members?" Suna comments, "Oh, and how can I forget the whole trading a life thing for safety."

"Well, it's better than running around on the streets causing havoc." You retort, "Besides, becoming a lawyer is in my blood, meaning both my parents are lawyers and I was told as a young girl that I'd be a good one. Whether or not that was a compliment, can be debated. It's a stable career, a respectable one, and once I move up the ranks, I'll be able to order myself town cars."

"And law is something you really want to do?"

You're quiet for a moment before getting up to walk to your kitchen to brew yourself a cup of tea, "Yes. It is. I don't see what else I could do; the arts are a dying career where only one in a million makes a name for themselves, I don't plan on being the next big entrepreneur, and I hated biology and anything medical." You flip on the kettle, hearing it begin to boil as you dig through your tea bags. "Besides, law seemed easy enough, and there's nothing wrong with sitting through prenuptial meetings."

Suna feels a lot better about getting trapped with a lawyer now. He was initially scared of getting trapped with a potential narc with a six-foot pole up their ass, but you, you're just like every other sleazebag lawyer who's in it for the money. It's refreshing.

"Yeah, and I guess there's that whole thing of justice, but I don't even work in that field." You continue, "The justice system is fucked up anyway, and why would I want to contribute to that? I mean, I could get an innocent life out of prison but then again, I could fuck up and let a guilty person run free or risk them getting a reduced sentence. But, I don't work in that type of field, I just praise the people who do."

You wait for the kettle to finish boiling, and once it does, you pour the water into your mug, adding in honey or sugar into the mix before walking back to the living room. Not before grabbing a bag of chips from your shelf, tossing it at him. He is a guest, can't be that rude.

Reluctantly, Suna accepts it. He hasn't been around you long, but the way you've abandoned your baseball bat and returned all his belongings must mean you don't see him as that big of a threat. Well, how could you? You saw him at his weakest, and he hasn't given you a reason to be afraid... or he hopes he hasn't. Additionally, you're not that much of a threat either, you're smart enough to get through law school, attend an ivy, and work as an associate at a well-known firm in the city. And while he doesn't see much of what you do in your private life, he can see the few small framed photographs on the lamp tables next to him.

He can see you partying with friends, clearly drunk at the time when the photograph was taken, which must mean that you do know how to have fun in whatever spare time you have. Also, your refusal to give him a name eliminates the idea of him ever searching you up online. Meaning, whatever worries he's supposed to have can easily be debunked.

"So, what exactly is your role?" You ask.

"I work in the background, I help plan out whatever, I stay on guard, I'm there to protect them." He explains as vaguely as he can, not wanting to give the gorey details of his role or job description. By the way you nod, it's clear you accept that fact since you don't bat an eye or demand an explanation. Both of you know that the less you know the better. "Are you not scared of me?"

You can't blame him for wondering. Usually, you'd be terrified or the slightest bit frightened, but enough has happened tonight to make talking to a criminal the most normal thing. However, he's not exactly the worst presence. Sure, you can see the way he's looking at you, feel his gaze burn into your skin, how they trail up and down your body – and while it gets a piece of your heart racing, at least you know that he isn't planning on harming you.

"No." You shake your head, "I mean, you probably would scare me if I were to be walking alone on the street at this time of night, and I would definitely be terrified if you happened to be with all your friends. But you're alone, in my apartment, I can see your face, and you're wounded. You can't hurt me, at this point in time, I'm a lot stronger than you."

Unfortunately, you make a good point. He doubts he can walk comfortably, let alone act as a proper threat. "Right, of course," he hums, noticing the obvious blood stain on your couch. "Sorry about that, sweetheart." He comments, "I'll get you a new couch."

"Good," you say, biting back a smile. "I'd prefer one in cream, or even this light grey. In terms of style, I'd like one with a wider back and comfy cushions – like a cloud couch – if you can find one that will fit this apartment, that'd be great."

Suna's lips twitch up in a smile as he listens to you give him a detailed description, you avoid his eyes, staring down at the steam coming out of your mug. He tries to sit up to get your attention before it fades away – and for the act of dramatics, he lets out an exaggerated groan, which causes you to rush towards him – you place your mug on the lamp table behind you and crawl onto the floor in front of him.

You push him back down onto the couch, the force being more painful than when he tried to get up, you lift his shirt up to examine the damage you poorly tried to cover up, it looks fine physically, but you can't imagine what he's feeling. "I can't do much, as I said, I'm not a licensed medical professional." You say, moving down his stained shirt. Your touch ignites a trail of flames along his abdomen that takes all his willpower to fight.

"At least, I'm alive and not curled up by a pile of trash." He remarks.

"Yeah, but who's to say that's going to happen again?" You question, "Next time you get into a situation like this, I can't guarantee that someone will be there to patch you up in time."

"If it's not you patching me up, I don't want to live."

"Oh," you say, surprised, backing up from him. "Well, that doesn't give you an excuse to show up to my doorstep all bloody if it does end up happening again."

It has been a week since you've seen Suna.

Last friday you were nursing a gang member back to life with the promise of safety for silence, and a new couch – both of which you aren't sure you're going to get anytime soon. Instead, you still clutch your taser while you walk home, and you've done your best to wash the stain on the couch cushion. However, nothing is getting rid of that disgusting, faded stain, so you've opted to flip it over and hope time will make you forget.

The individual lamps and overhead lights illuminate the apartment, the candles flames are burning– casting a mixed scent of florals, vanilla, and lavender – creating the perfect ambiance for a Friday night in.

You sigh, collecting a mountain of rice – from your ready-made curry – on your spoon, curled up on your couch, gaze fixed on the television that plays an old show you were obsessed with in your teens. Beside you, is a glass of wine filled with ice cubes, and the bottle is placed on the floor awaiting refill. What else is there for you to do than stay home on a Friday night?

"Previously on Pretty Little Liars," you hear play through the speakers, shoving a mountain of food into your mouth, "It's Mona– Hanna won so Mona loses..."

You sink down into the couch, suddenly engrossed in the recap. It's been a while since you've had time to catch up on television, so the recaps serve a well-needed purpose to remind you of the over-the-top drama and plethora of plotholes. There is nothing better than unwinding after a long, long, week at work. Grabbing the wine glass, ice cubes clinking as you bring the drink up to your lips.

It's an odd combination, putting ice cubes in wine– that's unheard of – but you don't mind the diluted taste, also, you aren't the biggest fan of wine, it just seemed classier than making yourself a sad looking cocktail. Though, given the fact you're watching one of the more questionable teen mystery dramas, wine with ice does not seem like the worst situation.

You could have easily gone out, but all your friends are all too tired to go out, and drinks at bars are far too expensive. And let's be honest, going out by yourself is possibly one of the most depressing things a person could do, also that would mean walking home by yourself intoxicated. Obviously, that's not the smartest or safest decision, given the current rise in crime.

Engrossed in the show, absentmindedly feeding yourself until you're scraping the plastic container with your spoon picking up scraps. Sighing, you slide off the sofa, dragging your feet towards the kitchen where you toss out the empty container and dump your spoon into the sink. Half of your attention is still focused on the television, not wanting to miss anything going on.

Drifting back towards the couch, leaning against the armrest as you refill your wine glass, bringing the bitter alcohol to your lips and tasting it on your tongue. This will be your second glass of the night, the first glass came and went as quickly as the previous episode did.

A loud knock on the door sounds throughout the apartment, causing you to choke on your drink. Frightened, you place the glass down on the lamp table, pushing yourself away from the couch as cautiously and quietly as you can. Walking on your tiptoes back to the kitchen, reaching into a drawer for a knife.

Of course you're not going to open the door, you're not stupid. You're simply going to sit against it, clutching the knife until whoever is on the other side goes away... like a responsible, intelligent, adult. It could be someone with the wrong address, despite how persistent they are on knocking. And no criminal would think of knocking either!

Maybe you should turn off the television, give the illusion that no is home, or alternatively, you could turn the volume all the way up and drown out the sound of their fist pounding against wood. Nevertheless, hiding out in front of this door with a knife seems like the safest option. If things go wrong, and the intruder does break in, you can stab them and leave their body on the street.

Crime isn't news around this area, unfortunate things occur all the time! And the police, being police, won't bother stepping in. It's an accidental murder in a bad part of town, or another victim to gang violence, they won't bother finding out it was a kitchen knife that caused the death. Morally, will it crush you? Yes. It will.

You lean back against the door, the continuous knocks do not falter... Until they do, you hear them rest their head against the wood. Maybe they've finally given up. Slowly, you get up from the floor, the faint noise of police sirens flying by. You backpedal until your back hits the counter, reluctantly, you place the knife on the surface behind you.

Heart racing in your chest, then you hear it. You hear him. "Sweetheart, open the door." His voice is muffled, but a simple piece of wood is not going to hide the exhaustion lacing his tone. "Please," he adds.

You hope that your home isn't the new hideout for gang members running from the police, but you can't stop yourself from quickly striding towards the front door and swinging it open. "Oh my god," you gasp, catching him in your arms before he plummets onto the floor. Stumbling back, you quickly catch your balance and drop him on the couch – the same way you did last week – where he falls back, arms resting on the back cushions.

Apparently, Suna has taken an involuntary liking towards you and insists on showing up outside your apartment, and door every time he gets hurt. At least, this time around, he's not shot, stabbed, or badly wounded, he just looks a little... beat up. Busted lip, and black eye that's beginning to form. You know this is not the time, but god does he look so good.

Lord knows what he's gotten himself into, why he's bruised or why out of all the places he could run, he ran here... to you. What happened? Why is he suddenly out of breath, unable to stand, and exhausted on your couch? You climb over him, straddling his lap, and grab his face between your fingers, forcing him to look at you. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" You huff, slapping the side of his face to jolt him awake, "This is no time for a nap Rin, you need to tell me what happened."

Even in this dazed state of mind, even after running five blocks, being chased by both the police and the Crows as a distraction while his team can get away. Getting cornered, beat up (not as bad as the others), picking the lock to get into your building, then running up the stairs, and waiting for you to let him in. He can still appreciate the sight in front of him, including those shorts, his hands running up your thighs, leaning his head back while his lips turn up into a smirk.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I had to run, and believe it or not, this is the safest place for me." He mutters, sitting up to lean in close to you. "And I know you won't refuse me," he hums. Suna's breath is hot against yours, his touch running up and down your thighs setting a fire to burn and a shiver to involuntarily run down your spine. He kicks off his shoes, opting to make himself comfortable on your couch.

"This is not your safe haven," you scoff, pressing a hand flat on his chest to push him back from you as you climb off his lap. You storm over to the kitchen, opening the small freezer hatch on your fridge to pull out a frozen bag of peas for his eye. Sure, it's not your job to care for him, but you can't help doing it – as if it has been engraved in your memory after one experience. You toss the frozen peas at him, which he luckily knows what they're for. "I did you a favour, which you have yet to return, by the way."

He holds the frozen bag of peas up to his eye, this is not the warm welcome he's been expecting, and for your information he has kept up one side of his deal. He has kept your street a no-go zone, and he has been making sure that you are safe. Sure, his methods are a bit stalkerish, he's been trailing you to and from work – lurking from the shadows and wiping out any potential threats that come your way. In terms of the new couch... he's working on it.

"Don't tell me that you're running from the police," you say, beginning to pace back and forth in your living room. "What do you think you're doing?" You exclaim, "You can't keep coming here to hide from the police! Do they know what you look like? Do they know that you came here? Do you know that my entire career can be ruined?"

"Calm down sweetheart," Suna hums. "No one knows I'm here, you're fine. And speaking of the police... yeah, I'm running from them, but I managed to get away through a couple short cuts. Trust me, you're safe." He stands from the couch, one long stride taken to reach you, his hands running down your arms in a somewhat reassuring manner. With one hand tilting up your chin, "And I wanted to see you."

His eyes are mesmerising, a perfect combination of green, yellow, and grey. It's hard to not melt under their gaze. Your hand wraps around his wrist, moving his touch away from your face before turning on your heel to walk towards your bedroom. He hates to see you leave, but he loves to watch you walk away. Maybe this is the universe repaying him for almost dying, it sent an angel in the form of you.

"Wanted to see me," you mutter to yourself, packing up the mess on your bed. The files, loose papers, highlighters, notes, and your laptop. You move them to sit on your cluttered vanity. "As flattering as that is," you continue, "I'd rather you come see me when you're not running from law enforcement. You owe me."

"Sorry to add insult to injury, but I was wondering if I could camp out here for the night?" Suna asks, leaning against the doorframe of your room. He knows you're not going to deny him refuge, whether you want to admit it or not. You don't have it in your heart to leave him out in the rain. Even if you want him gone, he's not going to leave. He's never been that good at taking hints – hence the black eye and busted lip. "Just for the night."

"One night." You sigh, "Only if –" there's always a catch "– you avoid robbing my bank, and stay clear of where I work, and make sure that everyone knows that. And no more attracting police to this side of town," you list. "And if you're going to stay here frequently, I'm going to need some sort of compensation."

"Is that all?"

"Yes." You nod, "now," you begin pushing the brunette back into the living room and onto the couch. Since he's here, may as well check up on how that old stab wound is going. You force him down onto the sofa, his back hitting the cushions – the wind escaping his lungs – as you lift up his shirt. There's still a nasty cut that's bound to turn into an even worse scar, but at least it's healing correctly.

"You sure are quite aggressive," he comments, propping his head up with his hands as he looks up at you. "I don't mind, kinda like it." He purrs, softly laughing at the way you pull his shirt back down and storm up off the ground, grabbing your wine glass and downing the rest of the contents. "I was just teasing babe, no need to overreact."

"Are you aware that you're an idiot?" You comment, placing your glass and the wine bottle on the kitchen counter.

"Do you like that I'm an idiot?" He retorts. He's got a bit of a little infatuation with you. A hot shot associate with a morally grey high ground, and a weakness for criminals like him. It is not everyday a pretty normal girl like you fixes him up and lets him into the apartment while he's running from the cops.

"The same way I like how I continuously find myself harbouring a fugitive." You reply, "It could be better. And can you please either use the frozen peas or put them back in the freezer."

You have better things to do! Sure, the situation could be worse. At least Suna is decent to look at, and he's alright company who doesn't want to kill you, and you have felt the slightest bit safer on your walks to and from work. Though, it's not like you're thrilled to have him in your apartment.

He gets up from the couch, places the peas back where they belong, then slides in next to you. He grabs the wine bottle, taking a swig from the bottle. You watch him intently, the way his Adam's apple moves, the beginning traces of a bruise forming around his eye, and the cut on his lip. He still wears that stupid leather jacket, but at least there's no blood on his hands, legs, or torso. Suna glances at you from the corner of his eye, holding the bottle firmly in his hand, "Take a picture. It lasts longer."

"I would," you say, "but that would mean proving a direct affiliation with you. And lord knows if you ever get caught, I'd rather die than testify in court and risk losing all respect I have in this industry."

"I get it," he shrugs, "I'm bad news, but that doesn't mean I'm necessarily a bad person. I mean, you make money off people's brokens marriages, shouldn't that equate to something? I think that we both do bad things, but we're not bad people."

"Comparing me to you is a low blow," you snort. "That's like comparing apples and oranges."

"They're both fruit aren't they? They both grow on trees, they both make juice." Suna argues, "One is sure, significantly better than the other, but that all depends on personal preference."

You meet his eyes, seeing nothing other than the greyish-green hues. He's got that tough exterior that can draw any girl toward him – including you – the danger that people write about, the allure and flirty personality that makes him less of an asshole and more human. He is the fallen angel that the universe sent to you as a form of twisted karma and dilemma of morals that cross a line. He's beautiful, prideful, a criminal, but has got a strong sense of loyalty and protection. Why else will he make himself the scapegoat to every situation?

"Yeah, well, anyone with a brain can tell who's the better one of the both of us."

"If this is about breaking the law," he says, placing the bottle down on the counter. He steps in front of you, trapping you between his arms, pushing you back against the counter as his body presses against yours. "You're breaking a lot by being here with me, hiding me from the law, trading silence for safety, I'm sure there's something in the constitution that you've broken by not turning me in." He lowers his voice, dipping his head down to yours, "I'm sure if I string enough together, you can be charged with aiding and abetting."

"That's one thing out of the many covering your roster."

He bends down, lips brushing against your own. Heart pounding against your chest. He's so close. Remnants of his cologne fill your senses; oak, wood, musk, sweet amber, cardamom, raspberry. He's addictive in all the ways he shouldn't be. A real fallen angel. Beautiful, perfect, but dangerous, treacherous, and duplicitous. But what does that make you? You're addicting, the light in his dark tunnel, his bittersweet obsession that he cannot indulge in.

"You don't care." He rasps, "If you did, you would have kicked me out. You like me, you like having a dirty little secret, you fucking revel in it."

You don't respond, verbally that is. You break the small gap between the two of you. He reciprocates the action, deepens the kiss, presses you further back against the counter. A hand gripping your hip, while the other travels up your neck, holding under your jaw tight between his fingers. His body against yours, fingers wrapping around the belt loops of his jeans trying desperately to pull him closer. It's messy, driven, and lustful.

Your hands travel under his shirt, feeling the burning skin and the shiver that runs down his spine. The hand he has on your hips, his fingers dig harder into your side while the one around your neck shifts to the nape, reaching up to tug at the roots of your hair. The throaty moan that he elicits from you sends him into overdrive, fuck you're addictive. He wants you, so bad. He needs you.

Palms placed flat on his stomach you step forward, pushing him back onto the couch. He takes in the sight of you, standing over him in those little shorts and tank top that hugs your body so well. You climb on top of him, straddling his lap, and his hands instinctively run up the back of your thighs, sliding under your shorts. Rough hands making themselves comfortable, holding the flesh in his hands, squeezing hard as he helps you grind down onto him. He's hard as a fucking rock, and your moving against him so needy. The friction against your clit, slow and tortuous, small whimpers and staggered breaths that Suna swallows.

Your hands move to move the leather jacket off his body, which he tosses across the living room, leaving him in a black muscle tee that shows off all the hidden, scattered tattoos on his arms you've never had the pleasure of seeing. His fingers grab the front of your tank top, tugging down the fabric to expose you to him. His cold hand cupping your tit, the pad of his thumb running over a hardened nipple as goosebumps scatter down your body and you press down further into the bulge in his jeans.

"Fuck," he groans at your reaction, breaking away from your lips to kiss down your jaw, neck, collarbones, before his lips wrap around your chest. His tongue pressing against you, teeth grazing your skin, while his hand continues to work and massage against the other.

Your back arches, hands tangling themselves in his brown hair, continuously grinding against him as his leaves scatter hickey across your chest. "Sweetheart, you're killing me." He murmurs, reconnecting your lips together. You hum against him, lifting your arms in the air as he pulls off your top, throwing it across your apartment before he does the same with his shirt.

You begin to kiss down his chest, his torso, his stomach, falling down to the floor in front of him – between his legs – as you undo his belt. Suna's eyes fixed on you, the sweetly dangerous glimmer in your eyes as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He lips his hips, allowing you to pull them down – jeans and briefs – letting his clothes drop to the floor. He shudders the second your hand wraps around his dick, head dropping back and hands gripping onto your hair.

Wrapping your lips around the sensitive tip, you tease the spot hearing desperate whimpers escape his throat. Tongue flat against him, head beginning to bob back and forth, cheeks hollowing out as you literally suck the soul out of him. The salty taste of pre-cum on your tongue, his hands firmly entwined in your hair as he lets out a strain of whimpers, bucking his hips up, controlling your movements making you take him deeper in your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly.

Tears begin to prickle in your eyes. Head moving back and forth at a faster pace, his hands knotted in your hair as he takes control, fucking your mouth. Looking up through teary eyes, laying eyes on a sinful sight. His abdomen flexing, head thrown back, eyes shut, and Adam's apple moving at every repressed whimper and moan. You grip onto his thighs as he increases his pace.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Breathless moans coming out in repeated pleas that chase a high. He's so close, impatient, and seeking a heavy and desperate release. "Just like that baby, keep going."

You don't stop, you continue as a mess of fallen tears, pre-cum and saliva. You can't breathe, throat filled with his cock. He fucks your throat, using you for pleasure. He fucks your mouth, swollen head hitting the back of your throat, shuddering as you to swallow or gasp for air. You feel his dick twitch, and in seconds a hot load is shot down your throat and his grip on you loosens. You swallow down his cum, tongue and lips cleaning him up. Once, your lips remove themselves from his cock, he wastes no time to pull you up and reconnect your lips, tasting him on your tongue. You stand from your knees, and he pulls down your shorts along with the simple black panties, then pulls you down onto the couch, laying you on your back.

He hovers over you, hand wrapping itself around your throat as he kisses you. The other, spreads your leg, calloused rough fingers pressing against your cunt. Using the arousal to rub against your clit, a harsh play of light and rough. Fingers pressing hard against your clit, causing a strained moan to sound through the living room, he rubs against the bud. Playing between teasing movements, to forceful mechanisms. He's fast and slow, teasing you, edging you.

"Rin," you muster out, biting down on his lip which pushes him to give you what you need. Working his fingers swiftly, skillfully, roughly against your clit. You squirm beneath him, he's vicious against you, his free hand kneading your tit in a hard grasp. "Fuck, Rin." You moan, chest rising and falling, as he quickens his pace. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you grip onto the armrest of the couch, mouth agape.

Legs twitching, as he brings you to an insatiable climax. His fingers are covered in your slick. He brings them up to his mouth, getting a taste of what he's missing out of. He doesn't waste time, wrapping your legs around his shoulders before he buries himself in your cunt. Lips wrapping themselves around your clit, sucking on it, his tongue moving at a rapid pace. He feels how sensitive you are. Fingers digging into your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth.

You're a mess, a writhing, mess. And the way he looks up at you through half lidded eyes, buried between your thighs. You sink your hands into his hair, looking for something to hold onto. A groan rumbles in his throat, sending you farther over the edge. He increases his pace, devouring you like a starved man who hasn't eaten in years. He's pushing you over the edge, your heels digging into his back, pulling at his hair, forcing him deeper into you.

To add fuel to the fire, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curling into your sweet spot that has you bucking your hips into his mouth. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, perfectly matching the pace of his tongue. He continues until he feels you come undone, pleasure and heat clouding your vision as he pulls away from you. He examines the sight, leaning in close to you.

"I need to feel you." He pleads, the blood already rushing back to his dick, "I need you sweetheart."

You nod, "Please." Whispering, "It's fine, I'm on the pill." You reassure.

He almost collapses right there and then, letting out a whimper as he slides into you. Feeling you raw and whole, he's going crazy, losing his mind at the way you suck him in. Your walls around his dick, warm and so good that he could come right there and then. His find is spinning, he's going absolutely feral over being in you. He slowly moves out, before bottoming out, stealing your breath in the process. That's all he needed, the feeling of having you grip around him.

Suna thrusts into you, picking up a faster speed and your ragged breaths urging him on. He revels in the way your tits bounce, his movements causing the sinful shake of your body. Your nails digging into his back, scratching the skin. If he could save this as a permanent memory in his mind, he would, and he'd replay it over and over again in his dreams. He bottoms out, rolling his hips each time he does so, thrusting in and out at a faster speed and pace.

He then pulls out, the lack of touch jolting you back from your daze, only for him to flip you over onto your stomach, harsh grip on your hips as he lifts your ass in the air. He grips onto the flesh, holding it in his palms while he tugs them towards him in a big thrust. You let out a moan, face buried into the couch cushions, as he pounds into you.

Dick reaches deep into your cunt, watches you shake under him, the couch shakes, and the lamps shake. He holds both your wrists in his hands, pinning them behind your back, as he pushes himself faster, rougher, crazier than he did before. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoing throughout the apartment, mixed in with your strained whimpers and his throaty groans. "You like this?" He mutters.

This is so much better than he imagined. All the nights he spent with his hand wrapped around his dick in the shower and in bed. The thought of you crumbling beneath him, moaning out his name, becoming nothing but putty underneath him. The thought of him pounding into you relentlessly, feeling you bare and raw, the way your walls wrap around his cock. Imagination never could have prepared him for this, it's so much better than he imagined.

You're so wet around him. He fucks into you, in and out so quickly that you can't even grasp onto the feeling despite your cunt quivering and tightening around him every time he fills you. He lands a hard slap on your ass, only to rub over the red spot, roughly massaging and kneading the flesh. Suna continues to go harder, faster, more feral, moving both your hips to meet. Back is arched and he pushes you further down into the cushions, if that's even possible.

"You're no saint sweetheart," his hips stuttering, "you fucking love getting fucked dirty by a criminal." He rasps, tugging you up by your arms, whispers close to your ear sending a shiver down your spine. "Tell me how much you love it," he instructs. "Go on."

"I love it." You breathe out. Suna forcefully pushes you back down onto the couch, harshly pounding into you, "Fuck, so good."

"No one's ever gonna fuck you as good as I will. I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to corrupt you, I'll protect you." His voice falters at the feeling of you tightening around him, his cock twitching in response. "Fuck, you're mine. Mine only, and I'll fucking kill anyone who comes near you."

You listen to him, losing all sense of strength in your body. You're so close, he knows you are. "Rin, please keep going, I'm so close." You whimper, and he endures, picking up his pace and pushing into you faster, deeper, and harder until you become a limp mess, tightening around him, giving him the greenlight to release.

He cums inside you, white liquid filling you and dripping out as he pulls out. Your hips fall to the couch, as you flip over in time for him to collapse on top of you. If you didn't need a new couch before, you definitely need one now. His arms wrap under your body, he lays between your legs, head resting on your rising and falling chest, hearing your heartbeat in his ears. You brush your fingers through his hair.

He meant what he said. You're his, and he will fucking kill anyone who comes near you.

#suna rintarou #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu suna #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #suna rintarou x reader #suna smut #suna rintarou x you #suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarō #suna rintarou smut #suna rintaro haikyuu #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro fic #✰ workie works

340 notes · View notes

baronessvonglitter · 3 months

Text

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 4 🍒 "Ride Along"

pre-outbreak! AU!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 2.610

Summary: during your ride along, you and Joel become a bit closer.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, sexual innuendo, flirting, Joel openly gawking at you, you gawking at Joel's delicious biceps, mutual pining (though you're both too nervous to make the first move), you now have a song 🥰, age gap (reader is 18, Joel is 35), reader's race not mentioned, no use of y/n

Author's Note: this was one of the more fun chapters to write! It also brings us the song which (in part) gave me the idea for this story. Give it a listen and tell me you can't see yourself in Joel's truck on a sunny day, windows down, music blasting ☺️

Series Masterlist

The rest of the weekend you spend in daydreams, imagining scenarios that are unlikely to happen, if only to prepare yourself for what may actually happen. Joel is not likely to sneak into your room through your window, nor to approach you in a dimly lit corner at your job. But you like to think you'd have a handle on what would happen next. You like to think he'd be impressed by your maturity, that you're not like other girls your age.

But you have to admit that at the same time you realize you have no idea of the bounds you're crossing, of what lies beyond those daydreams that play out quite safely in your head. You cannot control Joel but it's very likely he can control you, and you're not sure whether that thought excites you or scares you.

Trevor is out of sight, out of mind. He hasn't even bothered to give you a call. Whatever he sensed between you and Joel at the party that night has obviously hurt him, and he's run back to Houston to lick his wounds. You are surprised that you don't think anything about him except mild annoyance.

Should it scare you that an older man is attracted to you? You could easily shut him out, cut it off before whatever this is branches into something uncontrollable. Right now you're safe.

But what if you're tired of safety?

You're living in your cousin's house, per your mother's permission, driving a car that was handed down to you, attending a school that everyone thought was best for you.

So what's wrong with taking a little something for yourself? Figuring something out on your own, even if you might get hurt in the process? Even if you might get rejected?

Curiosity killed the cat, so the saying goes.. But is there any quote about luck? Because it's purely luck that carries you as you catch up with Joel just before he leaves for work one sunny day. Dressed in a white tee with the sleeves rolled up, high-waisted shorts and your favorite Converse high tops, you catch up with him at his passenger window. "I'm coming with you today," you say with more confidence than you feel, now that you're actually face to face with Joel again. You're taking the initiative because he hasn't reached out. Too late you realize you may be an inconvenience.

Joel looks like a deer in headlights, and for a moment you find it so cute. "Oh.. really? I, uh.. sure, that works." He pops the automatic locks on his door and waits until you step in to turn the engine on.

You smile brightly, heart hammering in your chest. "Good, because I'm buying lunch for us later." You put on your seat belt. "Where are we going first?"

He eyes you as you make yourself comfortable in his truck, and it doesn't escape you that his gaze travels up your legs and to your thighs. You wonder if he's remembering how they feel around him. Then he clears his throat and begins to back out of the driveway. "Well, we got two more new jobs that need to be done, so we'll head to those first." His arm reaches across the back of your headrest as he maneuvers the truck onto the street.

"What kinds of sites are they? Residential? Commercial?"

Joel glances at you and a smirk crosses his lips. "You've done your homework on the contracting business, haven't ya?"

You blush with pride. "There's this beautiful thing called the internet," you remind him.

"Ah, that's a foreign concept to a dinosaur like myself," his deep, warm voice sounds serious but there's a twinkle in his eyes. "Actually, they're both residential jobs. New roofing on one, and the other..." he trails off and you realize he's lost in thought, looking down, obviously distracted by the point where the hem of your jean shorts meets the flesh of your thigh. "The, uh, other job.. is rebuilding a garage." You smile as he forces his eyes back to the road, your heart skips several beats.

"Maybe it's time for some music?" you suggest, as the tension is palpable, and you know he can feel it.

"Yeah, sounds good to me." He reaches over and turns on the radio. The end of an oldies song blasts from the speakers, and is followed by another, and you immediately recognize the bright guitar melody, it's the opening of "Cherry, Cherry". With a grin you start swaying along to the music.

"I love this song," Joel says, his expression one of wonderment. "What's a kid like you know about Neil Diamond?"

"Just that this is one of my favorite songs," you reply with a cheeky grin. "And now it'll remind me of this moment."

Baby loves me, yes, yes she does Ah, the girl's outta sight, yeah Says she loves me, yes, yes she does Mmm, gonna show me tonight, yeah

When he smiles at you there's a warmth in his eyes. "It'll remind me of this moment, too."

"Then I guess this is our song," you say with certitude, leaning back against the seat, the wind ruffling your hair. "Joel, can I ask you something.. kinda personal?"

It looks like he's mentally and physically preparing himself for what your question could be. "Sure. What's up?"

You pause, second-guessing yourself. "So, why don't you have a girlfriend? I mean, I assume you're single." Your voice shakes a little as you ask, and you wonder if he can hear it.

Joel reddens slightly. "Well.. I've just been really busy with work and raisin' Sarah. Never really had time to invest in a relationship before."

You want to ask about Sarah's mom. It's been a burning question ever since you've known him, and you haven't been able to get any information from Sarah herself, whose face clouded at any mention of a lack of female presence in her life. For now it doesn't feel right to ask, and you don't want to put a dent in the fledgling friendship between you and Joel. That's a question you tuck away into your pocket for a later time. Your expression turns playful. "I guess it must be harder as you get older."

He gives a little chuckle. "Yeah, as you get older it gets harder. Women start to want kids.. want to get married."

"Are you against getting married?" you ask, genuinely curious.

There's a long silence from him and you worry whether you've crossed a boundary, brought up a sore subject. "I don't know," he answers with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I get it. Honestly the odds are against married couples. Over fifty percent of marriages end in divorce."

"Yeah. I know a lot of guy who've been burned in marriage."

You wonder if he's including himself in that number and your eyes soften. You feel it's callous to prod him and give pointless statistics. "One of my best friends back home is getting married soon. Her boyfriend proposed on graduation day. He's going into the Marines.. I can't imagine getting married at eighteen."

"Well, I can't say I'd be totally against marriage, if it was with the right person." Joel's smile is nervous, and he focuses on driving.

You could ask him what the qualifications are, and measure yourself against them, but you highly doubt 'teenaged college freshman' is one of the distinguishing characteristics he'll mention wanting in a wife. So you gracefully change the subject as you see the job site up ahead. "I'm excited to see you in action," you grin at him.

"You're excited to see me in action?" he repeats. "Well get ready. 'Cause I'll show you how I do it."

Your heart skips a beat and your blush at his innuendo. Is it innuendo?

It has to be, because he continues. "If you want, you can be my assistant. I can tell you exactly how I want things done." He gives you a side-eye and smirks. He drives up to the site and parks.

You bite your lip, taking the bait. "I'm a fast learner." You're flirting, yes, flirting back.

"I'll show you everything you need to know.."

You wet your lips with your tongue, your face still red. "I'll bet there's a lot you could teach me.."

"There is," his voice is husky, almost strained. "I'd enjoy teachin' you."

There's a tingling in your body as the flirtation seems to have taken a serious turn. Your brain locks up, taking the safest route back. "You're funny, Joel." Your smile is forced.

There's a moment of quiet, a silence that is rife with tension. "I'm not tryin' to be."

You look at him. A new tension fills the air, something exciting and new. You swallow hard. "Think we should get out?"

His countenance changes abruptly, back to factory settings. "If you want. They're almost done here, so it shouldn't take too long."

"Trying to get rid of me that quickly?"

He smirks again and hands you a bright yellow hard hat. "Come on, it's hard hat time. Can't have you gettin' hurt while you're my assistant, now can I?"

You put the hat on and it's a little bigger than you need. Seeing that smirk on his face has brought out something within you, and the words bubble up in your throat. "Can't do it without protection," you smirk back.

"Very true," he says, and you admire him with that yellow piece of plastic on his head. "But there are certain times for exceptions."

"Really? When are those times?" You watch him blush. "Come on, you're the expert. You tell me."

Now out of the truck he eyes you again, and this time you let yourself bask in how it feels. "Am I dressed okay?"

He swallows hard and gives a curt nod. "You won't see me complainin'." Just then a hopeful look crosses his face, as if he's remembered something. "You doin' anything tonight?"

Your heart leaps and you shut your mouth tight in fear it may just jump right out and land at Joel's feet. "Um, I don't think so. Why?"

He rubs the back of his neck and you watch, enrapt, as his bicep flexes. "Well me, Tommy, and some of the guys are gettin' together for a beer after work and Sarah's gonna be all by herself. I'm not sayin' she needs a babysitter, but I know she'd rather spend time with you than alone. Would you be okay comin' over, or her comin' to you?"

Your smile is wide so as to cover the hurt you feel that he didn't ask you out, and then you feel foolish for having thought it would happen at all. "Of course, Joel." Though Sarah probably would have come over even without her dad suggesting it.

"Yeah.. thanks. It's just gonna be.. y'know.. catchin' up with some friends who are in town."

You raise your brow, silently wondering if those friends include women, older women who have more confidence and experience than you. "You gonna wear something other than this?" You playfully tug at his gray t-shirt.

His grin is infectious. He obviously likes your teasing. "You don't think it looks good on me?"

"You look good all the time," you reply, walking ahead, smiling, blushing.

You watch as Joel checks out the site, giving instructions to different workers. It's a side of him you've never seen before. You watch him when you know he's not looking, taking in the way his clothes hug him in all the right places, especially his biceps: round, thick and smooth, half-hidden under his t-shirt sleeves.

When you stop for lunch at a sandwich place, you both sit in the bed of the truck, enjoying your meal. "So tonight.." you wash down your food with some water. "Should I have Sarah at my place in case you bring someone home?" It hurts to ask, as if by simply suggesting that such a thing would happen, that it already has.

Joel only shakes his head, a little amused by your question. "I don't think there's much of a chance of that happenin', sweetheart."

He calls you 'sweetheart' and it's like a caress on your skin. You have to remember to breathe. "You never know. You're hot, you have to know that." At this Joel nearly chokes on his food and you chuckle, patting his back until he's okay again. "There are some women out there who prefer a no-strings attached kind of thing."

"No-strings-attached isn't my thing," he says solidly. "I'm gettin' too old for that kinda bullshit. I want strings attached."

His gaze upon you is piercing, liable to steal your breath away. "I guess that's how it should be. Just two people for each other."

"Yeah.. two people for each other." He finishes his lunch and so do you. "We should be headin' to the next site."

He has to be teasing me. It's just meaningless chatter to someone young and inexperienced. He's having fun at my expense because I'm allowing it.

On the drive to the next, you keep quiet, thinking deeply. Oldies play on the radio but you block out the details of who and what is playing.

"Looks like you'll finally be rid of me after this," you tell him once you're parked at the second site. You get out together.

He chuckles. "Yeah, finally. Some peace and quiet."

You smile back. "Aw, you'll miss me."

"Oh, I don't think I'll miss you for one second." Joel puts his hands on his hips, a silly, defiant stance.

You poke his chest. "If you say so."

He pokes you right back. "Yeah, I say so."

"Come on, don't you have a job to do?"

"Yeah, come on, sweetheart. Let's get to work." This plays out the same as at the first site. Your eyes don't even take in the architecture of what these men are doing. You just see Joel.

"I thought I might get to see you in action," you say once you're away from the builders. "I thought I'd get to see you hammering or sawing.."

"You want to see me use my muscles or somethin', sweetheart?" He steps close to you. "I don't think you can handle it."

"You don't know what I can handle," you tell him with a little attitude, your hand on your hip.

"Sweetheart, you're about half my size. I don't think you could handle what I'm packing." He wears a smug smirk. "But I'd love to show you."

Not for the first time you feel a rush of heat to your core. "I'd love to see it.."

He's even closer to you now. Your entire body sizzles. "Maybe it's time I show you exactly what you'd be working with, sweetheart."

Joel's phone chirps and he frowns as he picks it up. The mood, while not shattered, has changed and you're both back on Planet Earth. You can't help but feel a little bummed.

"I have an emergency I need to tend to. Is it okay if I drop you off real quick?"

"Sure," you smile. On the ride home Joel is on his phone, talking to one of the men on his crew, discussing the problem in question. Your thighs stick to the leather seats. Once you're home he gives a quick smile and wave before driving off.

As you walk through the door you get a text from Hailey, a friend from the cafe. party tonight! finally 21! come thru

You said you'd keep Sarah company while Joel is out, but maybe there's a way you can do both..

<- prev chapter

next chapter ->

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

#pedro pascal #joel miller #ao3 fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel smut #joel tlou #joel miller au #pre outbreak!joel #cherrycherry #pedro boys #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe

76 notes · View notes

harringtonstilinski · 4 months

Text

The Alchemy - Eddie Munson

Author: @harringtonstilinski Characters: Eddie Munson x Henderson!Reader Word Count: 5,165 Warnings: quick gif, fluff, angst, steve being an ass, Requested: no | yes; i hope this meets your expectations, anon friend!! <33 Smut: no | yes; A/N: Hi, friends! I either aged up Dustin, or aged down Steve, Reader, and Eddie. I guess I'll leave it up to your interpretation. I don't think the gif goes with it, but oh well. If you like this, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

eddie munson masterlist

eddie munson playlist

Steve Harrington. Hawkins very own it boy, and Hawkins High King.

Eddie Munson. Hawkins residential freak, and Dungeon Master to the Hellfire Club.

Then there’s you. Hawkins High Queen, and best friend to Hellfire’s Dungeon Master. You were crowned Queen when you and Steve started dating. Hating the title, you ignored everyone that referred to you as Queen.

You weren’t popular by any means. Just a normal girl that had her nose stuck in a book in the corner of the room. Steve had noticed you one day during Study Hall, thinking that you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

So, one day when you were in class, Steve had walked up to your locker in the empty hallway, asking you to meet him in between the gym and the building next to it, to which you had heaved an anxious sigh and walked to that meeting spot.

When you had arrived, he was leaning against the wall, looking just as nervous as you were. The two of you had talked about why he wanted you there; so that he could tell you about his feelings for you, and vice versa.

It wasn’t no secret that almost all the girls at Hawkins High had a crush on Steve. All he had to do was just glance at them and they’d all swoon and sigh at what they would call a small interaction.

Steve could’ve had any girl in the school, even Nancy Wheeler, but instead, he chose you. Mainly because you weren’t like the other girls trying to grab his attention. You would have cared less about getting attention, but it was one day in homeroom when he showed up late to school with his usual breakfast; a bacon, egg and cheese sesame bagel. He usually only had one, but one particular morning, after you had caught his eye, he decided to get you one as well.

Having overheard a small conversation you had with one of your friends, he smiled to himself and got a bagel sandwich for you; a plain bagel with a sausage patty in the middle. Pretty simple meal for a pretty simple girl. When he had placed it on your desk, you looked a little stunned, looking up at him as he walked by, a small smile appearing on your face as he disappeared from your view. From that day between the buildings, the two of you had been inseparable. It made your little brother, Dustin, happy to see that his favorite sister and babysitter turned older male best friend got together.

Although you were thankful that you were with Steve, it took your time away from your best friend, Hawkins resident Freak and Hellfire’s Dungeon Master, Eddie Munson, who had also turned into your brother’s other older male friend.

You loved Eddie, he made you laugh, made you feel comfortable when you would go sit at Hellfire’s campaigns reading your books, and he made you feel like the only girl in the world… until Steve came along and swept you off of your feet.

Now, as you were standing at your locker skimming over yesterday’s work to figure out what you need for today, you noticed from the corner of your eye a body leaning against the lockers next to yours. Sighing, you smiled a little, smelling the light scent of nicotine. “What do you want, Eddie?”

“What makes you think I want something?” he asked, crossing his arms and resting the bottom of his Reebox on the lockers he was leaning against, his leg bending at the knee.

“Because everytime you lean next to my locker, you always ask for something,” you said, looking into the depths of your locker to find the textbook for your next class, grabbing it along with a notebook and pencil before finally looking at your best friend.

“Like what?” Eddie asked, turning his body so that his shoulder was the only thing touching the locker door. He smirked a little before leaning his head down the slightest bit and off to the side.

“Like a lighter, notes from class, for me to sit at Hellfire to keep you company when you have Jeff, Gareth and Doug.” You closed your locker, hand resting against it as you looked him in the eyes with a soft smile. “I’m guessing you’re gonna ask about Hellfire.”

With his mouth agape, he couldn’t help but just stare at you before dramatically putting his hand over his heart. “How you dare think that I would-” Dropping his arms, he placed his hands on his hips, a semi-serious look on his face. “Yeah, I’m asking you to come to Hellfire tonight.”

You chuckled, looping your arm through his that he held out for you to take. “Okay. Let me see if I can move some things around tonight. I know that Steve probably has something planned-”

At Eddie’s sigh, you stopped talking, looking at his profile. “I just don’t get why you have to move things around for him. Just to hang out with me. I mean, I’m your best friend, for fuck’s sake.”

It was your turn to sigh, your footsteps halting before you gently pulled at Eddie’s elbow, his head quickly turning over his shoulder to look at you. “I know, and trust me, it gets a bit tiring having to talk with him about my hanging out with you. But he is my boyfriend, so I have to take his feelings into account as well.”

Sighing again, Eddie hung his head. “I just don’t like you having to pencil me into your schedule.” He looked back up at you, seeing the sad look in your eyes. “I wish it was different.” Looking above your head, he rolled his eyes and looked off to the side, the movement not going unnoticed by you.

With furrowed brows, you started to ask, “What’s wro-” before your body was lifted up, your feet coming off the ground as a squeal left your throat. When you were placed back down, you turned to see who it was, audibly letting out a breath at seeing your boyfriend, Steve. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You went to see if Eddie was still standing behind you now to tell him that you’d meet him at lunch, but at seeing his form retreating down the hall to the rest of Hellfire, your shoulders sagged a little, feeling bad for your best friend.

“Why were you talking to Eddie the Freak Munson?” Steve asked, lacing his fingers with yours to continue your walk to class.

“Because he’s my best friend, and he met me at my locker,” you said, the words coming out in more of a question than a statement. “He asked me a question that I need to talk to you about.”

Sighing, Steve brought his hand up to his hair, running his fingers through the strands. “What did he ask about this time?”

“If I could sit in at Hellfire tonight.”

Feeling a light pull on your hand, you turned to see that Steve had stopped walking, forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose. “We have plans tonight,” he said. When he looked at you, you could see a look irritation in his eyes. “We can’t cancel tonight.”

Sighing and rolling your eyes, you said, “I’m sure Nancy can reschedule.”

“Why the fuck would she reschedule? You’re the one who set this up.”

Taken aback, your eyes widened at his remark. “Uhm, newsflash, Steve, you and her set this ‘study date’ up. Not me.” Deciding to be defiant, you crossed your arms over your chest, caging in your books and standing a little bit taller. “You can go without me. I’m hanging out with my best friend.” “Your best friend that’s a freak?” Steve retorted, voice getting a little loud.

“Just because he likes to play a fantasy game doesn’t mean that he’s a freak.”

All Steve could do was let out a humorless chuckle. “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about this in the middle of the damn hallway.”

You sighed, not really wanting to hear anymore of it. “You’re the one who stopped, not me. You’re the one who decided to try and pick a fight, not me. I’m going tonight, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but look off to the side, seeing your brother’s somber eyes on you, sadness filling them as he had watched yours and Steve’s disagreement.

~~~

Storming into the drama room, you groaned exasperatedly while walking to the ‘throne’ Eddie had made for you. It didn’t register to you that there was a campaign going as you sat down and said, “I can’t fucking believe Steve.” Turning to face Eddie, mouth agape with a sigh leaving your lips. “He told me I couldn’t cancel plans that he made with Nancy fucking Wheeler. Plus, on top of that, he called you a damn freak!”

“That’s, uhm, frustrating, sweetheart, but–” Eddie said, but you still went on to interrupt him.

“I get enough of that shit from everyone in this fucking school and godforsaken town.” Reaching into your bag, you grabbed your book, opening it to the page you had set your bookmark to earlier in the day and leaned back in the chair. “I mean-” Closing your book, you sat up again, looking at your best friend. “Who the hell does he think he is?!”

“Your boyfriend?” Eddie said, more of a question.

You thought for a moment, looking above his head in thought before closing your eyes and shaking your head. “Yeah, but that’s not the point,” you said, opening your eyes. “You’re my best fucking friend. He knows that. His damn ego is getting in the way, and I won’t stand for it! He tried to argue with me about it after you asked, and then again in the parking lot!”

“Sweet–”

“No, no, let her go,” Jeff says in a whisper. “I want to see what kind of shit she says about her own boyfriend.”

With a deep voice, you said, “You’re not hanging out with Munson because all he wants to do is fuck you, and I think you wanna fuck him, too.” Groaning in aggravation, you tilted your head back some. “He’s such an asshole when it comes to you.” Pointing at Eddie with your elbow resting on the arm rest, you said, “You know what I think? I think he’s fucking jealous. Yeah. Uh-huh. He’s jealous. All because I want to spend time with my teddy bear of a best friend who is definitely not a freak.”

Letting out a huff, you opened your book back up, bringing your legs up to bend at the knee, your feet in the chair, letting your eyes scan over the words of your book. Waving towards the table, you said in a more calmer voice, “Carry on.”

“Ohhh-kaaaaayyyyyyy?” Eddie said, confused as ever. He was still stuck on the fact that Steve basically outed his feelings to you.

It was true. Eddie liked you. As more than a friend. Who could blame him, though? He liked you because you’re funny, smart, can match his sarcasm when needed, you listened to him ramble on about the latest campaign he was planning or the new heavy metal tape he had just bought. You made Eddie feel like the only man on earth, and he liked– no, no - loved you for it.

But what he and Steve didn’t know… was that your feelings for Eddie were reciprocated. You just acted on your feelings for Steve because you didn’t think Eddie felt the same way. It was a weird love triangle that you had found yourself in; liking two guys at the same time, but didn’t know who to choose until Steve answered that internal question for you.

Granted, you and Steve have been dating for the last six months, but still. The way he treated Eddie was bothersome. You didn’t like it, and every time you tried to voice your opinion on the matter, he didn’t want to have anything to do with it, not wanting to pick that fight. It didn’t feel right, the way Steve would dismiss your feelings on the subject, but you didn’t want to ruin this new thing you had with him, so you dropped it, hoping the next time it got brought up would be different.

With each passing moment you sat with the boys of Hellfire while they played their campaign, you couldn’t help but glance up at Eddie from time to time, and wonder how much different life would be if you were with him and not Steve. How much leniency he would give you to hang out with friends of your own.

Sure, being with Steve was great, but as the months passed, you realized that your feelings for Steve weren’t there anymore. They were elsewhere. They were for Eddie, and a lot damn stronger than you realized. It only took just now, watching him smile, and stand to playfully argue with his best friends for you to realize it.

It wasn’t until an hour later that you were walking with Eddie to the parking lot of the school, laughing at something that he said when you heard your name being called. Looking around, you spotted that maroon BMW that everyone in town knew was Steve’s, the teenage boy standing at the open door of the driver’s side. Even from where you were standing, you could see the scowl on his face.

Turning to Eddie with a sigh, you informed him that you had to go and that you’d either call him later that night or see him the following day at school, to which he looked at you with hesitance on his features.

He looked at up Steve, moving to the side a little to try and block Steve’s view of you… or that’s the way Eddie saw it as, but to you, you saw it as a way of protection; protection against Steve’s hard gaze on you, protection from those hazel eyes that you can feel burning holes into your skin.

“Listen,” Eddie said, so softly that only you can hear. Looking back down at you, he continued his words. “If you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me. You find a phone, and you call me. If Wayne picks up, you tell him where you’re at, and I’ll come get you as soon as he tells me.”

You could see the sincerity in his eyes as he spoke, not wanting any harm to come to you. Sure, Steve had never laid on you, but Eddie never knew if he was the type to strike at any moment for whatever reason he saw necessary, and you could see the conflicting emotions in his eyes.

Lifting a hand to rest on his cheek, you didn’t miss the way he sighed softly, closing his eyes as he ever so gently leaned into your touch before opening his eyes when you started to speak. “I’ll be fine. He’s never hurt me, and even if he did, you’d be the first person I call. And then Hop.”

Eddie nodded, closing his eyes on more time. Lifting his own hand to engulf yours, he turned to his head slightly, kissing the bottom of your palm before lowering both of your hands. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let me walk you to his car.”

Reluctantly, he let go of your hand, turning to start the small journey to Steve’s car, the latter sighing in impatience.

“It’s about time,” he breathed. “Come on. We’re gonna be late.”

Confused, you stopped at the front of the car, looking at him with confused brows. “Late? For what?” Feeling a hand on the small of your back, you relaxed a great deal, knowing it was Eddie who was trying to bring you comfort.

“The study thing with Nance,” Steve said, almost like it was obvious. “I called her and pushed the time back, which she was confusingly okay with.”

You knew the double meaning behind his words. It didn’t take the biggest nerd in school to see that his feelings, too, had shifted from you to Nancy. “Is anyone else going to be there?” you asked.

Shaking his head, Steve replied, “Nope. Just the three of us.”

“Okay, well, you can go alone and I can just go home,” you replied after thinking for a moment about it. “I’m tired anyway. I’ll probably just fall asleep.”

Sighing, Steve hung his head for a moment before picking his head back up, looking at you with so much dominance, it honestly started to scare you. “You’re going with me, and that’s final. Let’s go.” Sliding back into his seat, his gaze never strayed away from you, watching your every move.

It’s not that Steve didn’t trust you, he did. It was Eddie he didn’t trust. Steve could see it from a mile away that Munson had feelings for you, and that they weren’t going to go away anytime soon.

Sighing, you turned to face Eddie straight on, bringing a hand up to mess with the patch on his denim vest that was closest to you so that Steve couldn’t see… or at least you hoped he couldn’t see. “I think it best if I just go with him. Don’t want to have another disagreement about it.”

Eddie could see the disappointment and hurt in your eyes. He knew that whatever was going on in your relationship wasn’t good if it started to turn sour this quickly. “I mean it, sweetheart. You call me if you need me.”

Looking up at him, you could see adoration in his cynical eyes. “I will. Don’t worry. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being there. Being my be–”

“Come on, babe! We gotta go!” Steve interrupted.

Groaning quietly in frustration, you hang your head, eyes closed. “I swear, I’m gonna break up with him if he keeps acting this way.”

Sighing, Eddie wrapped his arms around your shoulders, bringing you in for a hug. Resting his cheek on the top of your head as you wrapped your own arms around his middle, he closed his eyes, not liking that you’re feeling this way towards your boyfriend. “Hopefully, things get better between you two. I don’t like seeing you like this.”

Hesitantly, you let him go, looking up at him. “I’ll call you later, okay? Or I’ll see you tomorrow. Whichever comes first.”

“Whichever comes first.”

You smiled at each other before Eddie kissed the area of your forehead where your hairline started. He turned and walked away, eyes cast in front of him as you watched his form get smaller and smaller.

~~~

The next three months were more or less the same; you wanting to hang out with Hellfire on their campaign days after school, Steve saying that you two had plans when you didn’t recall making any, you two disagreeing about it, etcetera, etcetera. When it was almost time to wrap up the school year, you were surprisingly excited, having been invited to Hellfire’s End of the Year party.

Eddie had recruited you to help him plan it out, and with the help of everyone saying they’ll bring certain supplies, you were more than excited about the party. It was all you and Dustin could talk about for weeks, the both of you asking your mother if the party could be held at your place, to which she happily agreed to.

When you relayed the message to Eddie, he smiled so big that you thought he’d split his cheeks into two. He had picked you up and spun you around, hugging your body to his in glee, until a throat being cleared stopped the happiness between the two of you.

Setting you down, your smile died, seeing Steve standing with his hands on his hips. “Hey, babe,” you said, almost stuttering.

“Let me walk you to class?” he asked, holding his hand out for you to take, which you did. Before you could say goodbye to Eddie, Steve had pulled you down the hallway, standing in an open spot by the bulletin board, pointing to the picture of the Hellfire club. “You’re not going to that party.”

Taken aback by his sternness, you raised your eyebrows in surprise, eyes widening a little before furrowing your brows in slight anger. “Excuse me?”

“I said you’re not going, and that’s final.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” you said, crossing your arms defiantly. “It’s at my house.”

“Then you’re not staying.”

“Yes, I am. Again, you can’t tell me what to do.” From behind Steve, you could see your little brother stop at the front doors of the school, watching the scene unfold before him, Eddie and Jeff coming up on either side of him, Eddie’s blood starting to boil.

“No. You’re. Not.”

Sighing exasperatedly, you turned your body towards the door, head thrown back in annoyance. “Oh, my god, you’re so annoying.” Quickly glancing at Eddie, your eyes met before it hit you like a freight train. “It’s because of Eddie, isn’t it? Well, I got newsflash for you, buddy; it’s just Eddie! The rest of Hellfire will be there!”

“Yeah, Eddie. The guy you just can’t stop talking about,” Steve retorted, growing more and more angry by the second while you were growing more and more defensive.

Bringing your head back in confusion, you asked, “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Eddie’s hair this, Eddie’s band that. Can’t hang out tonight because Eddie needs me at Hellfire.”

Laughing while pinching the bridge of your nose, you closed your eyes, just now noticing the jealousy Steve had toward Eddie. “You’re so ridiculous. If I hadn’t known about Robin, I would’ve thought the same thing.”

A quick moment of relief passes over Steve, his features softening as he goes to ask, “Wait, so–” before you quietly interrupted, “Eddie’s not gay! And neither are you, so stop. Hellfire is having an End of the School Year party and Eddie invited me. So fucking what? I told him the party is being held at mine and Dustin’s, so I might as well stay for a little bit since the invitation was extended.”

“Whatever,” Steve said, going to walk around you before your next words stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Then we can whatever this relationship.”

Steve turned back around to face you, a small audience now gathering as the three boys of Hellfire walked in to stand behind you. “What?”

Feeling Eddie standing right behind you, you spoke with the most confidence you could muster. “I’m tired of always fighting with you about me hanging out with my best friend. The jealousy is getting pretty annoying. I can’t stay in this if you’re always going to be telling me what I can and can’t do, who I can and can’t hang out with. This isn’t the Steve that I got together with. This isn’t the Steve that I fell in love with. I don’t know this Steve standing in front of me. The Steve I fell in love with would be accepting of my friends and of my hanging out with them. Not this Steve. This Steve is controlling, and jealous, and… just an asshole. I’m sorry, Steve, but I’m done. Maybe somewhere down the road in life we’ll find each other again, but as of right now… I’m done.”

With that, you turned and walked around Eddie and out of the school, Eddie just staring at Steve in disbelief. “You broke her, man.”

“What the fuck do you know?” Steve asked, taking a step forward. “You know nothing of our relationship.”

“I know you were an asshole to her,” Eddie said, calmly. “She came to Hellfire a few months ago saying that you were jealous about her wanting to hang out with us because I asked her to. When it comes to me, you’re fucking jealous and you know it.” Not wanting to add more fuel to the fire, but already doing so, he went on to add, “Oh, and she knows you’re fucking Nancy Wheeler behind her back, and have been for months.” After the kids the hallway gasped, he continued, “Study dates with just her and Nancy? Really? You’re better than that, man. Your reputation is better than that.” He turned to walk out of the school in search of you only to find that you were already gone.

~~~

It wasn’t but a couple of hours later that you had decided to call the Munson’s landline in search of Eddie. You figured since it was after school that you’d try his house first before trying Reefer Rick’s and Jeff’s house.

Wayne had answered and said that he hadn’t seen Eddie since the night before when he left for his shift at the plant, which you understood completely, knowing the older Munson man worked nights and didn’t see Eddie until the latter came home from school.

After calling Jeff’s and hearing that he was proud of you for standing up to Steve, he had relayed that he didn’t know where Eddie was and that he was sorry he couldn’t have been more help, to which you had told him to not worry about.

Calling Reefer Rick’s, you had prayed and hoped that he’d answer, knowing that he was always too high or drunk to answer his own damn landline. Relief washed over you when he did pick up, asking first and foremost if you wanted to buy from him, to which you politely declined.

You got straight to the point and asked if Eddie was over at his place, to which he said he was and that he looked distraught and angry, saying that Eddie was in the boathouse. After saying a quick thanks, you hung up the phone, the man on the other end looking at the phone in confusion before saying a quick, “Ohh-kay?” before placing the receiver back on the base.

Telling your mom you’d be back soon, you bolted out of the house, grabbing your bike and pedaling as hard as you could to Reefer Rick’s on the other side of town. You didn’t have a plan as you pedaled, just wanting to get there as soon as you could to talk to Eddie.

With luck you were having, you heard thunder, looking around you to see dark gray clouds lining the sky, the image making you pedal faster, and as you did, you only thought about Eddie, and hoping to God that he’d still be at Rick’s when you got there.

Rick didn’t bother to tell Eddie that you were coming by to see him, the man wanting it to be a surprise for Eddie, who was pacing slowly back and forth in the boathouse, a D&D die in his hand, the Dungeon Master tossing it in the air to catch it or rolling it around in his palm.

Hearing the thunder outside, he looked out of the window, seeing those same gray clouds you did, his nerves growing more and more with each passing second, not knowing that you were on the way.

Feeling drops of water land on your head and hands, you push yourself, your legs feeling like jelly as the rain comes down harder on you, the coolness of the raindrops cooling you off significantly. You welcomed it, tilting your head back for just a moment to let the rain pour down your face. When you recognized the driveway to Rick’s house, you started to slow down your pedaling, shouting Eddie’s name as you did.

Eddie looked out of the window of the boathouse, seeing your form jump off the bike and push it off to the side, shouting Eddie’s name again. He didn’t hesitate to jump from his spot by the window, running to the door and walking outside. “Sweetheart?” he said, voice loud enough to be heard over the rain. “What are you–” “Tell me you love me,” you said, standing just a few feet from him, your voice also loud enough to be heard over the rain.

“Sweetheart, come in–”

“Tell me you love me,” you repeated, your breathing heavy. “Because, goddammit, Eddie, I love you.”

“Then why were you with that tool?”

“Because I didn’t think you could love me the way that I love you. I didn’t think the feelings I had for you were mutual, but I came to realize that they were.”

Astonished, Eddie’s eyes widened for a second before scrunching again to not get the rain water in his eyes. “When did you figure it out?”

“That night three months ago after Hellfire,” you replied, remembering that night as if it were yesterday. “At first I saw it before we walked to Steve’s car, but when you kissed my hairline before walking away, I saw the look in your eyes.”

“Then why did you stay with Steve?”

“I wanted to see if what I saw was just a fluke, but the more I thought about it, and the way you picked me up earlier today to spin me around, I knew it wasn’t a fluke and that you have those same feelings for me.”

Eddie stepped closer to you, now just mere inches away. “I’ve had feelings for you for years, sweetheart. Not just recently.”

“I know,” you said. “You make me happy, Eddie. Happier than Steve ever did. You make me feel like I’m the only girl in the world. The way you make me laugh, the instant smile I get when I see you, just… everything about you made the feelings hit like a bus.”

Chuckling, Eddie looked down at both of your soaked shoes before looking back up at you. “You make me feel all those same things, baby. You don’t see me as a fucking freak like the rest of this damn town does. You see me for me. And that’s something I’ll be forever grateful for.”

Before you could give a reply, his hands cup your cheeks, bringing your lips to his, finally getting to feel the softness of your lips that he had been dreaming about. As your lips moved in complete and total sync, all you could feel was happiness; happiness that you finally got the boy of your dreams.

Pulling away, the two of you just breathed, loving the way your lips had just perfectly molded together.

“Come on,” Eddie said, lifting his head to look up at you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he smirked before feeling your fingers fan his jaw. “Let’s go back to my trailer. We’ll take warm showers to warm up, eat all the junk we can find and watch a movie together. How’s that sound?”

Smiling up at him, all you could do was look at him before picturing all of that in your mind before saying, “Sounds perfect.”

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

A/N 2: hi, friends! let me know what you thought! again, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox.

Additional Notes: i'm trying to add the character masterlists and playlists onto all my one-shots from here on out! let me know if it makes it easier for y'all to back and choose!

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

Italics wouldn’t let me tag!

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of The Duffer Brothers.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on June 7, 2024

#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson #steve harrington

104 notes · View notes

angryschnauzer · 9 months

Text

January 11th 2024

Yeah its been a while since i updated. I haven't had the energy to if i'm honest, but here we go.

Hubby had his brain surgery end of November '23. The tumour they took out was a nasty one, somewhere between the size of a golf ball and a kiwi fruit. The wound has healed well with little to no side affects apart from some double vision, but he was checked out for that and it is a common after affect of brain trauma and was remedied with an eyepatch for a few weeks.

We met with the Neuro Oncology team at Royal Marsden Hospital in London. They are one of the best (if not the best) cancer treatment centres in the whole country, and we worked through a treatment plan.

Just before Christmas hubby was also cleared to have shoulder reconstructive surgery (he broke his shoulder bone in the original seizures back at the end of October '23). There was a really small window of time between it being enough time after the brain surgery that he could go back under general anaesthetic, but also enough time to mostly heal before he started Radiotherapy and Chemo, so just 5 days before Christmas hubby was in and out of our local hospital in a single day to have that surgery.

Christmas was a quiet and subdued affair. I also herniated a disk in my back the day Hubby had surgery (i was clearing the deep freeze out ready for grocery delivery), so it meant both he and I were dosed up to our eyeballs on strong painkillers for most of the holiday, and Little Dude spent the majority of the break either playing video games or building his new lego sets.

Two days before Christmas i also had to have emergency dental work (i had been grinding my teeth and had previously cracked a tooth) and whilst i was in the dentists office some utter idiot crashed into my car. That was the last thing i needed but i simply handed it all over to my insurance company (who are aware of my husbands situation) and they arranged a hire vehicle and sorted repairs.

Onto the start of 2024. This is the first week of Radiotherapy and Chemo for Hubby. He is getting very tired and fatigued already from the Radiotherapy, but thankfully no nausea from the chemo as yet, but that could change over time. He is scheduled for a full schedule of 6 weeks of this dual treatment, where we are having to visit Royal Marsden every day Mon - Fri for the six weeks, and then he also takes the chemo 7 days a week for the six weeks.

He'll then have 4 to 6 weeks 'off' treatment for his body to relax and recuperate, but will have scans and MRI's during that time to gauge what further treatment will be, but its likely to be just chemo but a stronger dose, but no radiotherapy. The chemo is to be 3 weeks off one week on, so a 4 weekly cycle.

The one thing we have discovered isn't done is prognosis's. When we first got to Royal Marsden we were shocked as they started talking about years, and explained that although it was a really nasty tumour, it was found very early and whilst it was still relatively small for its kind. They've discussed things like 'this years treatment plan then we'll look at next years', and also for a while Hubby was being considered for a clinical trial which candidates who have prognosis's of 12 months+ are only considered for. In the end he didn't meet the criteria (his cholesterol was too high). The Macmillian Nurses also have been talking to us about Mobility Car assistance schemes where you can get govt assistance financially and get an adapted vehicle on a 2 year rolling lease. All these timings are reassuring in one way, but worrying in another - we have no idea what the future holds and it really does cement in stone that our time is limited and could end any moment, and makes it very difficult to make any long term plans. You don't realise how much of your life is preplanned until you end up in this situation and aren't sure if you can book your kid onto the school residential trip in 5 months time.

Should anyone want the mundane daily day-to-day life updates you can follow me on my personal instagram @simone_with_an_e its generally a load of utter boring bollocks, but i try to keep it updated daily with updates when i can as its a lot easier to do 1 short paragraph than a big update.

For me my mental health is a little better now that i've had time to process Hubby's diagnosis and that he is getting treatment. There are still days or hours when i fall apart, and it could be something as simple as listening to a song on the radio as i drive back from dropping Little Dude at school and i realise the song would be lovely at his funeral. I end up having to pull over and have a cry whilst switching the radio off. I'm loosing weight and aging quickly, my hair is turning grey from stress and i realised i've aged about 15 years in the last 3 from stress. My appetite comes and goes, and things like red meat now turn my stomach and i can't digest it. But i also haven't drunk alcohol since the day before Hubby had his seizure back in October. I feel like i need to stay 'alert' in case i need to rush him to the hospital for something. I don't miss it as such, but I miss the ability to fully relax. Its hard to describe but i feel like at the moment i've lost myself and am just functioning to care for those around me, going through the motions as such.

Anyway, this has been a long update. I do still lurk here, you may see me pop up in notifications liking something, but at the moment i don't feel its right to start putting fandom stuff back on here yet. I do hope to get back to writing at some point. I miss it and the unfinished stories plague my mind as i have such lovely plans for story arc's and really want to finish them.

Take care all,

Schnauz

xxx

101 notes · View notes

sunlightmurdock · 2 years

Text

My Future in You | 2.0 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader au

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, will be fluff eventually, will be smut so 18+, enemies to lovers kinda thing, time jump of a month and a half / two months

…

“Your sister is fucking insane.” Bradley grunts.

“Shut up and just lift your end,” Jake demands, straying under the weight of lifting his end of the couch. A soft sigh and the two of them lift again, hoisting more than their combined body weight’s worth of sectional sofa. “And she wasn’t crazy until you got her pregnant.”

“I can hear you!” You call back from the small kitchen. Sitting cross-legged on the black and white diamond shaped tile, surrounded by boxes and new plates and bubble wrap. Your system for unpacking is fool-proof and they’ll just get in the way if they try to help. That’s why you’ve had them rearrange the layout of the living room three times already.

There isn’t too much left in your life that you have control over these days. Graduating two years early, at the top of your class, and the only people there to be proud of you were your big brother and the guy who got you pregnant. Delaying your grad job, which you worked your ass off to get, until after you’ve given birth. Finding out you had been approved to switch to their Florida office in an email from your father’s secretary.

Moving to a place you’ve never been before, with a guy you didn’t even like up until recently. Carrying a child that’ll probably never have a name because you and Bradley barely agree on anything. Knowing that Jake, your only constant through this entire ordeal, is shipping off to basic training in a day and a half.

Everything’s hurtling forwards, you can practically hear the time rushing by like wind in your ears. Dragged along with it, no choice but to keep up, there’s a voice in your head that keeps telling you it’s okay to be scared. You just aren’t sure if it’s okay to be this scared.

He’s moving around more and more these days, growing stronger and bigger. His kicks are no longer butterflies in your tummy, but now pinpointed and real, which is terrifying in itself. More recently, you’ve been wondering if he can feel how afraid you are. You don’t want him to worry.

By hell or high water, you’re going to give this little boy all the love that you’ve got. Afraid or not, he needs you and you’ll keep going for him. Being good for him is just about all you can manage. That, and unpacking the way that you need to.

Setting the plates in a cabinet, stacking bowls, glasses in an overhead cupboard. Ignoring Jake and Bradley’s bickering to the best of your ability.

Florida’s even hotter than you were expecting. It’s the last day of May and the air conditioning isn’t getting fixed until tomorrow. Home is no longer an upstairs apartment or a cramped room on the first floor of a fraternity. It’s now an almost two bedroom downstairs unit on a quiet, residential street in west Pensacola.

Living room with fireplace, fully equipped kitchen with new stove and refrigerator. Dark brown, LVP floors and new paint throughout. You have your own Lanai and storage outside unit. Also includes washer and dryer. This northeast location is tucked away in a private dead end street but has easy access to the new University shopping area. It’s nice for a first place. The bedroom is a decent size, and the spare room will work as a nursery, even if its intended purpose was an office.

Your relationship with Bradley has turned into a type of Schrödinger problem. Neither together nor apart. Sharing a room, preparing to share a life, with little more in common than the future you roped him into. He seems excited now. He’s jealous that you can feel the baby and that he can’t. He’s looking forward to meeting his son.

But, as you turn your head and look through the archway, towards him wiping sweat from his brow in the living room, guilt surges through you. Wearing gym shorts and a backwards cap, those stupid roman numerals tattooed on his bicep as he sighs softly and leans his head back, he looks so young.

You’re younger, but this decision was yours. You wonder if he would choose this if he got to do it all over again. Certainly not. All those years of carefree fun, getting to be himself finally, figuring out who he is. Now, those years belong to your son. Swallowing softly, you turn your attention back to the only thing that you can control.

Arranging spices in the rack hung over the stove.

The afternoon hurtles by just as quickly as all of the other days have recently. The routine is the same. Jake takes the couch, glad that Bradley sprung for the corner sectional that’s just about as good as sleeping on the mattress. After a day of not really talking, Bradley slips into bed beside you.

It’s never awkward, but it probably should be. Sharing all of this. A lease, a child, a future, with someone that isn’t even really yours.

“Man, I am fucking exhausted.” Bradley mumbles as his head hits the pillow, exhaling slowly into the comfort of this new space. Your first night in your new home with him. So, you connect with him in just about the only way you ever have.

Even with this protruding, exceedingly rounded stomach, somehow he still wants to fuck you at every opportunity he gets. Looking in the mirror these days is getting harder. It’s not that you have an issue with the way you look now, you think the bump is actually kind of cute. It’s just that you don’t look anything like you used to, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ll ever be that girl again.

Running your fingers through his curls, you lean over and kiss his temple softly. He hums at the feeling, reaching out and resting his hand on your hip. He turns his head and waits for you to kiss him without opening his eyes. You press your lips softly to his, his fingers curling softly to press into the fabric of your shorts. You ask gently, lips grazing his, “Too tired?”

His lips tilt up into a soft smile as he runs his fingers along the waistband of your bottoms, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours, “Never been too tired for sex.”

Turning the two of you over, he settles between your legs, working his talented mouth along all the exposed skin that he can reach.

Curling his fingers into your roots, he moans softly into the curve of your jaw, pressing delicate kisses along your throat. Part of these past few weeks has been learning your cues, your sweet spots and your sensitivities. He’s getting good at it. It’s right as you hum and lift your hips eagerly against his that there’s a sharp jolt, a soft, dull pain as the impact hits your mid-section.

Bradley sits back quickly on his knees.

You groan in complaint, rubbing over the sore spot at the top of your developing bump. It’s only once you lean your head back to sigh in complaint that you clock the look on his face. Eyes blown wide, lips parted, staring at you like you just grew a second head.

Over the past few weeks, the little guy has been getting more and more active. Wriggling around a lot, you’ve been feeling him almost constantly the past few days. It has been ridiculously frustrating, suffering in silence, Bradley constantly frowning and telling you that he can’t feel anything. The realization comes quickly.

“Was that him?” Bradley breathes out softly, brows scrunching together.

You push yourself up on your elbows, lips quirking softly. The pregnancy websites said that Bradley should have been able to feel the kicks about a week ago, you were getting worried. Bradley reaches out again and tenderly rests his hands against the bottom of your rounded stomach.

The two of you wait patiently for it to happen again, Bradley’s lips falling into a disappointed frown as your baby stops kicking. He sighs, moving to lie down beside you and smoothing his hand over the top of your stomach as he kisses your cheek.

“I’m jealous that you get to feel him all the time, moving around in there,” He mumbles, shaking his head softly. “It’s like you’ve met him already and I have to wait three more months.”

You scoff, settling down onto the sheets that you had picked out, staring at the white ceiling, “I don’t think you’d be as jealous if he was kicking your bladder like he kicks mine.”

“Probably no—“ As Bradley speaks, your lips part, jolted by another soft kick. He raises his eyebrows as you grab one of his hands and place it over your stomach. Nothing again. He furrows his brows slightly, glancing up at you expectantly.

“Say something.” You prod him.

“Um… like what? — I don’t know what to say to a —“ His sentence stops abruptly, jaw hanging open as he feels a small but unmistakable kick against his palm. “Holy shit, that’s what you’ve been feel— He did it again!”

You giggle, resting your hand on top of Bradley’s as he beams at you, “I think he likes your voice.”

His eyes widen slightly, making him look even younger than he is. It’s hard to tell whether it’s excitement or fear on his face to begin with. He leans down and presses lips to your stomach.

“I am so,” he stops, kissing your skin tenderly again, hands cradling your growing bump. “So excited to meet you, little man.”

Your heart feels like it just about splits into two and you aren’t even sure why. It’s supposed to be a happy moment. You should be happy about this. Bradley feels a slight hiccup and glances up. Your eyes are filled with tears, stinging and threatening to spill out onto your cheeks.

“Hey,” Bradley says softly as he shifts up the bed and wraps his arms around you. “Hey… it’s okay. What’s wrong?”

You swallow, trying to hold in a sob that consumes your chest and strangles your vocal chords. Sniffling, you rest your head against his shoulder. “Do you wish that we weren’t having him?”

His brows scrunch together as he tries to piece together what about that interaction could have possibly given you that impression.

“Of course not! — Where’s this coming from?” He frowns, resting his cheek against the top of your head as he smooths his fingers along your back. You’re in your third trimester now, and the pregnancy websites said that your hormones might be kind of out of whack. But you got through graduation without a hitch.

It’s as the thought crosses his mind that you break in his arms. Hunching forwards, sobbing into your hands, covering your mouth so that Jake won’t hear you crying from the living room.

“Hey… did — did I say something wrong?” Bradley asks gently, face creasing in concern. He kisses your shoulder. “I’m sorry, I—“

You sniffle and shake your head. “Don’t say sorry. Please.”

“…Okay,” He smooths his palm tenderly along your spine once again, now totally lost. “Babe, I think you’re gonna have to spell it out for me here. What should I do?”

It’s not fair on him, any of this. You pull yourself together long enough to wipe your tear-stained cheeks and string together a sentence. “Just… if we could go back and do it all again, would you… do it like this?”

“I’d probably have suggested a plan B or something.”

You look up, eyes filled with tears, throat burning.

“I’m sorry, bad time for a joke,” He shakes his head quickly and kisses your forehead. “Look, we both know that this wasn’t planned. But it happened, it’s happening — and no, I don’t regret being here with you.”

You allow yourself to sink into his arms as he kisses the top of your head and squeezes you softly.

“Is everything okay with you?” His fingers graze along the nape of your neck and over your shoulder softly. “You’ve not really said a lot to me since graduation.”

He smooths his hand over your stomach, feeling another soft kick against his palm. It’s almost midnight now, he hopes that this kid isn’t going to be this much of a night owl once it’s born.

“Everything’s just moving really fast.” You say quietly as you settle back down onto your side. Bradley copies, laying on his side so that he’s facing you, his stomach pressed to yours. He nods slowly. “Jake’s leaving, and you’re starting work, and my parents still won’t talk to me. The baby doesn’t even have a name. I’m just scared.”

He leans forwards and kisses your mouth softly. “We’ll figure it out.”

A dry laugh escapes your lips, it’s a helpless thing, really. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and shake your head slowly, “How are you so chilled out about this?”

“I’m not,” He promises, voice quiet, something in the way that he looks at you so earnestly makes you soften. “I’m scared too. But we’ll figure it out.”

A silence lingers between the two of you. No more tears, no more lump in your throat, your heart rate slowing enough that you think you might actually manage to sleep tonight. Bradley leans forwards and kisses your cheek, then flicks off the bedside lamp.

You turn onto your other side and he presses himself into your back, wrapping an arm around you and resting it against your stomach. He’s been sleeping like this for the past week straight. It always settles his racing mind. Having both of you in his arms.

He’s warm. Lips press gently to your neck and he hums softly into the curve of your neck.

You exhale softly, shuffling back against his bare chest. This feels awfully grown up. Seven months pregnant, laying skin to skin, in your new shared home.

The next morning, it’s time to drive Jake to the airport. Basic training is three months long. The next time he sees you, you’ll be a mother.

“I love you,” He says softly, wrapping his arms around you. Your stomach bumps into his as you hug him. He’s still getting used to that. “I’m gonna be back before you know it.”

“I know, I know,” You breathe out, squeezing him tighter and then patting his back as you let go. “Just be safe. Don’t do anything stupid.”

…

@thedroneranger

@chaoticweirdogeek

@alanadetigy

@itsmytimetoodream

@oldnatgwenaccount

@khaylin27

@bioodforbiood

@luckyladycreator2

@mizzzpink

@mak-32

@cherrycola27

@unordinare

@shanimallina87

@marvel-f1-and-more

@heli991113

@pauv-0414

@ghxst-heart

@momc95

@asteria33

@lilyevanswhore

@diamond-3

@galaxy-moon

@shawnsblue

@jostyriggslover96

@forgiveliv

@shawnsblue

@little-wiseone

@lovemesomevesey

@alm334

@slutfordw

@averyhotchner

@diorrfairy

Jake chuckles, giving a quick shrug as he picks his bag up from the floor and slings it over his shoulder. His attention turns to Bradley. “Take care of my sister, Bradshaw.”

“Always.” Bradley answers. You turn your head and scrunch your brows slightly as you look up at him. He drapes an arm around your shoulder and offers Jake a sincere smile.

As Jake turns and heads towards his gate, the two of you are left together. Him still leaning into your side. Always. You stare at him. Flushed skin, wearing a faded grateful dead t-shirt and blue jeans, smiling at you.

Just you and him. Alone, in a new state. Him swearing always and you staying up at night and wondering if there’s even a tomorrow between the two of you.

Ten weeks left until your due date.

…

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut #miles teller #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #my future in you

608 notes · View notes

smoochkooks · 1 year

Text

—chapter nineteen: illicit affairs

this is a part of my an ode to a broken heart drabble series.

pairing: jeon jungkook/reader genre: unrequited love, best friends to (?), heavy angst, smut word count: 1.6k words summary: it dies a million little times...

previous || next

Five months later

There is a park nearby your apartment, sandwiched between the residential buildings. It has been here way before some chaebol had decided to buy this land and transform it to yet another wealthy neighborhood in downtown Gangnam. It looks almost surreal – tracts of green among concrete. There’s not many people here today. It feels like a scene from a movie: remote, run-down bench by the pond standing directly underneath the only magnolia tree in the park, and the girl sitting on it with an unreadable expression. What's going through her mind? What, or who, is she thinking about? She's clutching the phone in her hand in a death grip – the only sign she's feeling any emotion right now. Nightingale sings somewhere in the far distance, the sound breaking the deafening silence. Then, a phone rings. Once, twice, three times.

You pick up.

“I told her.” Jungkook waits a beat and then adds, “She wants to speak with you, in private.”

You wonder if he can make out your ragged breath through the speaker. It's the only thing you can hear now, as if the whole world has gone quiet just to listen to your conversation.

“I gave her your number. Is that okay?”

It was all your design to come clean, to free your conscience from the burden that's weighing you both down day by day. You agreed to do this, but he still makes sure if you're ready. A single magnolia petal lands on your thigh. You stare at it, transfixed. He calls your name. So softly, so gently and you break a little.

“Okay.”

The line cuts off. No one says goodbye.

Soojin contacted you soon after that. She sent you a message, asking whether you would have time to meet with her on Friday. She had chosen a coffee shop in SNU’s neighborhood where she had met Jungkook all those years ago. When you googled later the address you found out it's one of those places designed to serve both as a coffee shop and bookshop. How ironic. There's no doubt your book will be sitting on the bestseller shelf, mocking you as your best friend's wife is confronting you.

You arrive almost fifteen minutes earlier. Your heart is beating so fast it's borderline painful, your entire body trembling from anxiety. You don't know exactly how much did Jungkook tell Soojin, so have no idea what to expect from her, which makes you even more uneasy. She has the upper hand here. You notice a stack of ‘An Ode To A Broken Heart’ copies laying on one of the tables and avert your eyes somewhere else.

You try to pass the time by swiping through social media but it's too hard to focus. You keep re-reading sentences because you can't make out what they mean. You've never been good with handling stressful situations, ever since you were a child. You envied kids who didn't worry about tests and exams. Growing older, you managed to control your nerves a little, once you realized you couldn't possibly continue living like this forever. In high school your parents took you to a therapist and that, along with anxiety medication, helped you survive finals and college. However, today you can't help but feel like the girl who couldn't sleep before a math test all over again.

Soojin enters the coffee shop on time. She looks flawlessly, just like during her wedding day. Her silky, black hair is styled in pretty curls and she's wearing light make-up accentuating her features. She’s dressed in a formal attire, a white button-down blouse and beige pants, so she’s probably here on her lunch break. Not much time for a private conversation it is, then.

She orders her coffee to go and looks around. She smiles when she spots you but you can easily tell it’s not sincere, more of a courteous manner. “Hi,” she says and takes a seat in front of you. “Have you ordered something yet? They have amazing lemon tarts here.”

“I’m fine with just coffee.”

“I’d love to eat something sweet but I’m currently trying to cut down on sugar, so just coffee for me, too.”

You nod, not knowing how to respond to what she said. It has always been hard for you to talk to her, ever since Jungkook had introduced you two together. She doesn’t really speak down to you but she carries herself with such superiority it’s making you feel self-conscious.

Soojin was born into an upper-middle-class family from Seoul. Her father owns a prospering business, so they’ve never really had to worry about money, as far as you recall what Jungkook had once told you. She used to attend ballet classes but dropped out of dancing school before entering university. That’s probably where her poise comes from. Thinking about it makes you straighten your slouching pose.

“Are you working around here?” you ask, trying to ease yourself into the conversation. She hasn’t moved straight to the point yet, so you’re panicking a little.

“Yeah, the company I work for has office nearby.” Soojin answers courtly. She takes a sip of her coffee and in a flash, the polite tilt of her mouth vanishes. “You know I’m not here to chit-chat with you, though.”

There it is.

“I’m aware.”

“What did Jungkook exactly tell you?”

“That you want to talk.”

Soojin raises a brow. “That’s all?”

“I’m assuming he didn’t want to intervene,” you say. “He only told me you know about the book.”

Or was it the only thing he meant? Did he perhaps tell her about the New Year’s Eve kiss as well?

“Weird situation, isn’t it?” she asks. “I just found out that the book I liked so much is actually about my husband and his childhood best friend. I sympathized with someone who’s been in love with him for twenty years. Can you believe it?”

Irritation laces her voice already but you remain calm. “He didn’t know. If he didn’t read the book, he would have never realize it. Don’t blame him.”

“I’m not blaming him. I actually believe he had no idea about the book. Maybe he did suspect something about your feelings but he decided not to do anything about it. He married me after all, right?” Soojin says. “What bothers me though, is you writing a whole goddamn book about your silly crush.”

You frown. Silly crush? You wouldn’t go to such great lengths if this was just a crush. And Soojin knows it too, she read the book after all. But she’s not here as a reader who enjoyed your work. She’s here as a wife whose husband you’re in love with.

“I published it under a pen name,” you counter. You’re hoping your voice doesn’t tremble too much. Soojin would gladly use your weakness to her advantage. “I changed names, locations. No one beside me and Jungkook would have known it’s about us.”

“What gave you an impression that you could just use someone’s life like that?”

“It was my life too,” you respond firmly. Jungkook was mad at you because you didn’t tell him about your feelings and now Soojin is going to be angry in his stead for writing a book about your relationship with him? “I talked to Jungkook about it after he had found out. I already apologized and he said he doesn’t mind that–“

“Of course he won’t hold a grudge against you. You’re his best friend.” Soojin snorts.

You sigh heavily. This is going nowhere. It’s crystal clear why she wanted to talk to you but for some reason, she won’t say it directly. Maybe it’s a matter of pride for her, or she’s afraid to admit it out loud.

“I’d like to apologize to you too. I’m sorry for using your relationship with Jungkook for my book, however I am not going to apologize for the way I described it. I didn’t write anything malicious or improper about you. I put on paper what I had seen as a mere bystander,” you say. “I know you’re probably worried now that since everything is out in the open that I am going to act out on my feelings but I can assure you it’s not going to happen.”

Soojin chuckles. “Oh, I’m not worried about that.”

Maybe she shouldn’t feel so sure of herself, you think. It’s not your place to tell her about the kiss. If Jungkook chose to lie by omission, that’s on him. You can’t carry the guilt on your own.

“Because you will, from now on, refrain from hanging out with him,” she continues. “You won’t meet up as often as before, you won’t text him about your mundane life, you will contact him only if necessary.”

Your heart skips a beat. “What?” you croak.

“I don’t want you near Jungkook anymore, it’s as simple as that. I don’t trust you.”

She has all the rights to feel displeased. You’re in love with her husband, after all but forbidding you from seeing him? She cannot control your lives like that.

“Does Jungkook know?” you ask.

Soojin’s rose-tinted lips stretch in a smile. “No, he doesn’t know yet because you will be the one to tell him so,” she replies. “You will tell him that you don’t want to be as close to him as before, that you need distance. If he asks to meet and talk, you will ignore him. If he asks about our conversation, you will say that you apologized to me and I decided to move on.”

“And if I don’t?”

Soojin’s expression is almost triumphant. She got what she wanted at last: you, finally out of Jungkook’s reach.

“Then the world will find out who Magnolia May really is and how she seduced her best friend and made him abandon his wife.”

#jungkook smut #btswritingcafe #networkbangtan #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #bts smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #an ode to a broken heart

301 notes · View notes

girlactionfigure · 8 months

Text

Israel journalist @Roi_Yanovsky just published an amazing piece in Hebrew about what Gaza is REALLY like, based on his personal observations there. Here is an English translation that you NEED to read🧵

100 reserve days officially ended yesterday. Some initial insights:

1. Gaza is seen as a backward area, the "most densely populated in the world" which has been under Israeli "siege" for years. There is no bigger lie than this. Gaza is a modern, beautiful, developed city, with large modern houses, wide boulevards, public spaces, a promenade

by the sea and parks. Looks much better than any other Arab city from the Jordan to the sea, much more similar to Tel Aviv than to Kfar Qasim or Umm Al Fahem. And of course it is very far from being "the densest in the world".

2. If it's a siege, let me live in a siege. the houses are bursting with goods and food from all countries of the Middle East, latest furniture, electronics and whatnot. There are also luxurious mansions that wouldn’t embarrass Savion and Kfar Shemariahu (rich areas in Israel)

There is absolutely no shortage of wealth in Gaza. In general, most of the houses I've been in were much bigger than the apartment I live in in Tel Aviv. The sentence "If only they had a chance for a good life, they wouldn't fight in Israel" is simply not relevant to Gaza.

3. The most common thing in the houses of the Gaza Strip: a map of the Land of Israel the heading "Map of Palestine". There is no mention of Israel or Israeli towns in general. And it is found in almost every home, in every school and in every public institution, the goal of

erasing the State of Israel is neither hidden nor suppressed, it is almost everywhere. The historical distortion of this map which is taught from age 0 is a topic for another discussion that only emphasizes the distorted perception of reality by the residents of Gaza.

4. In all the neighborhoods we were in, there are ready-made Hamas combat complexes - weapons, tunnels, charges, launching complexes, all inside residential houses, some of which are also prepared with openings in the walls for passing between buildings and what not.

The residents of the Gaza Strip who live in the combat zones know this, they have received countless notices to evacuate. Long before the IDF entered. IDF announcements are still there everywhere. Those who decided to stay in the fighting areas are either Hamas members in

various positions or people who consciously decided to stay in the areas used by Hamas for fighting, for their own reasons.

5. Hamas members rarely walk around armed. They are neither stupid nor suckers. They know they won't be shot if they go in "civilian" guise.

They prepare the weaponry ahead of time at the entrances to the buildings and arm themselves just a moment before they attack. That’s why the fighting is much more complex than any other arena. those judge from the outside why soldiers shot X or didn’t shoot Y -

enter Gaza for a week or 2 and you’ll return with insights. 6. The circle enabling Hamas is much larger than its tens of thousands of terrorists. The ideology of Hamas is found in almost every home, in pictures, in propaganda materials. Hamas in Gaza is like Messi in Argentina.

7. The strengthening of Hamas at this level requires active assistance of a population. There is no way that the residents of the compounds where we located rockets and weapons did not know that the place is used as a launching complex where they try to massacre Israelis daily.

And I find it hard to believe that the parents in the kindergarten where there was a tunnel shaft do not know this. Who chooses to send their children to a kindergarten that serves as a terrorist infrastructure?

8. Hamas's strongest weapon is lies and propaganda. It's his fuel. This is how you will maintain the "siege" lie for years, this is how they are doing now with the photos of the innocent victims and the killing of the "journalists" who turn out to be terrorist operatives.

Gaza is the only place in the world where 500 deaths are reported half an hour after an explosion. Even in earthquakes and heavy disasters it takes the rescue forces a few days to identify and estimate the number of dead, but the Palestinian Ministry of Health already knows

a minute after the explosion what the damage is. This is ridiculous and the world media quoting the numbers as living words of God is pathetic. I would attribute the same level of credibility to the reports this week about "hunger" in Rafah.

Unroll available on Thread Reader (Hebrew)

ShipofTheseus

@JewishSpaceLazr

#Israel #October 7 #HamasisISIS #Gaza #Reality

95 notes · View notes

lokisprettygirl · 8 months

Text

Deadly Locks (Detective! Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon Au) (Dark )

Read Chapter 1 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Summary: Daemon tries to put the clues together to capture the barber killer. Amidst all the torture all you could think about is him.

Trigger Warning: Rape and torture, 18+ , smut, It's a crime thriller so there would be some squeamish dark stuff, read at your own discretion, mention of rape, assault and murder, Speeding and driving under the influence, Reader has long hair, Daemon's hair is up for imagination, Cigarette consumption, some geographical errors

Note : I changed the name of the fic

“How do you know her?” Daemon asked the man sitting in front of him. Pierce Madej was the last man on your call history.

“We teach at the same school” Pierce told him, he was a tall man, with fluffy hair and hazel eyes, you certainly seemed to have a type. He knew he'd have to keep his personal feelings away from this case, any mistake and he'd be taken off the case since he knew one of the victims.

“And you were calling her at 2 am to discuss grades?” There was a snark in his voice as he questioned the visibly nervous man in front of him.

“No it was her birthday, and..uhhh-”

“And?” He raised his brow as Pierce stuttered on his words.

“Well she had finally agreed to go out on a date with me and we were making plans and now she's uhhh—”

His eyes teared up as he thought about you which made Daemon feel conflicted. Did you like this guy? If yes then did you feel anything more for him than just attraction?

“Did she say anything in regards to being stalked or followed? Anything that stood out in the past week or so?”

“Yeah..well last week she mentioned very casually that she thought a vehicle was following her but she didn't seem very nervous about it–”

“Always have been that way..her own safety wasn't really her top priority “ Daemon mumbled under his breath so Pierce stared at him awkwardly,

“You guys will find her right?” he asked Daemon but didn't get an answer in response. Daemon wanted nothing more than to find you but he had reached a dead end again, the killer he was dealing with was too clever.

“Did she happen to mention the type of car she thought was tailing her?”

“Blue Honda i think.. ..she said it seemed very old and rusty as if it hasn't been serviced in a long time”

“Thank you for your cooperation ..stay in the city for a few days” he nodded as Daemon dismissed him.

His day only got worse when he was informed that a woman named Rebecca Malone who lived in the Holywood area has been missing since last week, she didn't have many people in her life and was used to missing work for days before so nobody really cared about reporting it until now. A lock of her hair was found near her residential area, two abductions in a span of a week? That seemed bolder even for him. All of his previous three victims were found a month apart from each other.

“There has been hysteria going on .. beautiful women in their early thirties are cutting their hair short”

Jake said to him which made Daemon chuckle in response.

“Well that's a smart thing to do isn't it?”

Perhaps what you should have done as well.

**********

You opened your eyes and for once there was light in the room and you weren't on the concrete floor but you were on a bed of sorts, your hands were cuffed, they were cuffed. As the man wearing a robbers mask leaned over you, you closed your eyes and tried to disappear in your head again.

“Did you bring it officer” as soon as Daemon entered your bedroom he found you on the bed, you had a very sexy lingerie on and you seemed very much in the mood. You had been begging him to bring the handcuffs home from work for days ever since he had been promoted to the police officer post.

“You're a very naughty girl, you know that?” He asked you as he took his official jacket off, he looked so good in the uniform, so strong, so magnetic, you felt turned on by him every time you put your eyes on him. That's not how he saw himself but you did, he was the prettiest man you had ever known, inside out.

“Well I haven't exactly been following the law.. officer” he smirked as you said that, you lifted your fingers up to shove aside the hair that fell on his forehead but he grabbed your wrist and handcuffed you immediately.

“Ooooh” you let out an yelp as he attached the other cuff to the bed post

“You have the right to remain silent mam” he mumbled playfully to get into the roleplay but there was a mischievous smirk on your face.

“Mmmmhmm..but i didn't really ask for the cuffs to use it on myself…officer”

Eyes stung with tears as you came back to your reality, you could feel the cold air hit your skin as there were no clothes on your body anymore and you could feel him slathering the lotion all over your skin. Again.

“Mmmm i love your skin..it's so soft..you take care of them don't you” his voice gave you goosebumps, you had read about him in the news, you knew he didn't have any good intentions for you and you definitely knew that he intended to kill you at the end, in a very inhumane and brutal way. The last time you struggled against him, he had made you bruise up from head to toe so this time you stayed calm for your own sake.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why why why? You all ask the same question..I hate that you know” his voice came out all whiny, he took his clothes off but the mask stayed on his face, you couldn't see his face but you saw his eyes, hazel eyes, the little detail made you think of Daemon again but the man that was going to rape you wasn't the man you loved. He never would have hurt anyone like this.

“Is that your mother..that woman?” You asked him calmly and he started to laugh,

“Yeah my mother, i love her, do you like her y/n? Do you think she's nice? You have met her quite a few times i assume”

Quite a few times? You had met her twice while she came and sang you a creepy lullaby before she pricked a needle inside you to keep you dazed and confused.

“Not really”

His eyes flickered as you said that, a scream escaped your lips as he entered you with no warning, you were dry as you could be so the penetration really did hurt.

You wanted to hurl, you closed your eyes as he raped you until he was done with his release, you didn't even know how many days it has been but you had been through this two times already and you weren't sure how long he was planning to keep you. Once he was done he used a disinfectant to wipe you down from deep within, he didn't want to leave a single strain of his DNA on you,

“Who's the other girl ..I hear her” you mumbled between your tears so he chuckled,

“You do take it alot better than her..she screams and screams, might as well have to cut her tongue out” he gave you a smile that gave you chills “Or i send her in here..you could be besties with each other, do what girls do huh..Ask her to be quiet when I'm fucking her..that if she's willing to keep her tongue”

He untied your hands and picked up a long dress he had brought with him and dressed you up, it seemed old, perhaps it belonged to his psychopath mother. Then he dragged you towards the corner of the room to chain you up like an animal again.

After that he was gone, the lights went out as soon as he had left the room and you were forced to sleep on the cold hard floor again, your thoughts kept drifting towards Daemon, oh what you'd have done in the moment to find yourself into the warm and safe bed and in his arms.

You felt the weight on the other side of the bed so you turned around to look, he was finally home, ever since he was promoted he didn't really have much time on his hands and you missed him badly.

“Hey there pretty boy” he turned his head and gave you a smile, he seemed exhausted and you could smell the sweet scent of the body wash he had used in the shower.

“I thought you were asleep” he slipped under the duvet and got on top of you to kiss you sweetly,

“I was..but you woke me up”

“Ouch..sorry” you smiled as he said that

“Mmmm you're worth losing sleep for”

“Fuck I'm exhausted my love ..”

“I know.. sweetheart..you want to sleep?” your voice was a melody, melting in his ears like a symphony.

“I want to be inside you..i want to feel you all around me love”

You bit on your lower lip as he said that

“Mmhhmm?” You pulled his cock out of his trousers while he slipped your panties down from under your silk night dress, he moaned in your ears as you rubbed his length over your slit, coating the tip of his cock in your wetness.

He slipped inside slowly until every inch of his cock was stilled deep into you,

“Mmmm ohhh i have missed you my pretty baby ..”

“I love you so much..don't ever leave me” he whispered in your ear as his hips moved in and out of you slowly. His cock was hard and pulsing inside you but his demeanor was always gentle, he was so soft with you, not that you didn't enjoy it when he was rough but more often than not he was so delicate in bed with you, treating you like a queen and you loved that about him, you loved this man who seemed so tall, scruffy and intimidating but deep down was just a boy who needed love and plenty of it.

His movement halted slowly and then it stopped, and that's when you knew he had fallen asleep so you wrapped your arms around his neck which woke him up and he started moving again

“Hey stop ..you can sleep baby i promise..it's okay..it's okay” you cooed softly so he placed his head between the crook of your neck,

“Let me stay in please” his voice was pleading and it made you feel warm in every possible way.

“I'd love that”

You stepped out of your daydreaming as you heard the cries of the woman, she was probably in the room next to you. And then she screamed, as loud as she could. You pressed your hands up to your ears to ignore her wailing but it was in vain, you could hear everything that he was doing to her.

***********

“Mary I need a favor” Daemon said on the phone as he stepped out for his smoke break,

“I am at work Dae, you'll have to wait until the night” she flirted with him and perhaps he would have indulged her if it wasn't for the fear he was living in all the time. Fear of losing you. Fear of never being able to see you again.

Mary was a crime journalist in the Belfast news, he had met her a few months ago because they were working on a case together. One night she had invited him to her place to discuss the case but they ended up having drinks and sex instead. However right from the start he was clear to her about what he wanted, he didn't want a relationship again with anyone else, it wasn't for him, it wasn't going to work like it didn't work with you so their arrangement stayed sexual.

“Mary he has her..I need to find him..i can't –” he took a deep breath in to calm his nerves.

“What do you want me to do? This guy is like a ghost, all the suspects you had your eyes on are not him..he has no record, he leaves nothing behind”

“Blue Honda ..one of y/n’ s friend slash colleague told us that a week ago she was talking about a blue honda following her..it's weird..none of his victims ever mentioned that”

“Yeah because they're dead Daemon “

“But if that was the case at least one of them would have said something to their friends or family prior to the abduction.. none of them said anything about being stalked”

“Alright..what are you thinking then”

“I need to find that vehicle..anyhow”

As soon as he hung up the phone it rang again and it was his mother this time. Again.

“What?” He snapped at her as soon as he picked up.

“That's not how you greet your mother” he chuckled bitterly as he heard the response.

“Well I'm busy right now, do you need something?”

He asked her in a nonchalant manner and then she told him everything she needed from him. When he got inside he was told that your mother was waiting to see him. He wasn't in the mood to see mothers today.

“Daemon” she immediately ran towards him and hugged him, everyone around him stared at him so he pulled the weeping woman away from him and took her to his desk.

She was inconsolable which was given considering the situation. She begged him to find you before it would be too late, the thought of her daughter succumbing to the same fate as those other victims kept her up all night long. She didn't come here to see him as the detective who was handling the case but as the mother of the daughter who had been with him for five years. That was five years of birthdays and festivities that he had spent with you and your family.

She still considered him her family.

Around 10 at night when he stepped out of the precinct the press from several publications cornered him and probed him for information but he didn't have anything to tell them and even if he did he wasn't going to share it with them.

His mum had invited him to dinner and he needed to buy things for her before he could go see her so he drove towards the nearest Tesco. On the way out of the store a man walked past and bumped into his shoulder with an unwanted amount of force which resulted in him dropping the groceries bags.

“Watch out you rascal” he yelled at the man but the man didn't even look back at him, he just kept walking away. Daemon went down to pick up the bags and that's when he noticed the car that pulled out of the parking lot. Blue honda..rusty and unkempt..

He immediately ran towards the vehicle to get a better look but it was too late and he had already sped away, he didn't give up though, he got inside his car and chased the car but he wasn't able to keep up with it. The frustration he felt in that moment was indescribable.

“God dammit” he punched his fist into the steering wheel ..his instincts screamed at him that perhaps he had found the lead that he was looking for.

He went back to the store and looked for the CCTV footage but the killer had his hood up and a mask on his face, even his eyes were covered by glasses. He enquired about his purchase list and all he had bought was a woman's body lotion and a pack of cigarettes. Same ones he got for himself. The cashier wasn't alarmed by that because it was just one bottle. He was clever. Very clever.

He got the footage taken and sent it out for BOLO immediately before he went to his mother's.

She was at the door to hug him and as always he was cold in his response, he forgave her but he didn't forget what she had put him through all his life.

“Oh my babyy what did you do to yourself?” She asked him as she looked at his bruised knuckles but he just shrugged in response and stepped away from her to keep the groceries down on the kitchen table.

“I got everything you asked for..I'm gonna go now”

“No stay for dinner.. please..we will watch a movie”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as she said that but he obliged. After his father passed she was all he had in the name of family and then he met you. His scrappy girl, there had been a time in those five years where he took you for granted because he thought you'd always be there with him, maybe that's the mistake he shouldn't have made.

It cost him you.

*********

You cowered in the corner as the door opened again, the psychotic mama entered and she sang you a lullaby like she had done from the past two days.

“You need to stop him, he's your son, how could you let him do this to innocent people?”

You asked her so she gave you a sinister laugh and then she left, about an hour later the man entered with a tray of food and a bottle of water.

“Eat and hydrate, I need you to stay hydrated” he grabbed your chin and shoved a water bottle into your mouth so you had no choice but to drink.

“Daemon Targaryen..he's your lover isn't he?” Your eyes widened and then welled up at the mention of his name “Marlboro reds…this is what he got..was keeping an eye on him” he took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket to light one up. In a weird strange way the smell made you feel comforted. You closed your eyes and pretended that he was there with you.

“Can I get one?” You asked him so he started laughing in your face while he blew the smoke.

“It's not good for that perfect little skin you got” Your breath shuddered again as he reminded you what he was planning to do to you.

“What is it with you huh? Mommy issues?” your voice was filled with anger and disdain as you spat at him.

“Don't shrink me you fucking bitch” he brought the burning top of the cigarette right near your eyeball but instead of squeezing them shut you just stared right at it.

This couldn't have been your reality right? Once he was done smoking he made you stand up and took your clothes off before he placed you on your stomach against the wall, he doused you in a bucket of water and he scrubbed every inch of your skin with soap.

After drying your skin he did his routine, he covered you in lotion and then he raped you, you didn't scream ofcourse but she did scream.. again. The other woman he had been torturing, she screamed like you thought you'd have, that's the kind of person you had always been, that's why Daemon called you his scrappy girl.

Then where was the fight in you? Why had you given up so easily? You got up from the floor and looked around but the room offered you nothing but a bed that was out of your reach, you couldn't have done anything even if you tried.

********

“I knew you'd come” Mary smirked as she opened the door to a slightly tipsy Daemon.

“I'm not here to fuck..”

“Sure” she crossed her arms so he glared at her,

“I think he bumped into me on purpose”

“What?” She looked at him shocked as he said that.

“That fucking wretched maniac, he bumped into me on purpose, he's taunting me”

“Hang on Daemon..how do you know it was him?”

“I just know..it's an instinct, it's always been with me, how do you think i went from a traffic police to a homicide detective in seven years?” she gave him a smile as he said that. He surely was something, she couldn't deny the pull she felt towards him and she also couldn't deny the genius that he was in his field.

“What did he look like?” She questioned him as she passed him a glass of wine.

“Like a man, he's tall..he didn't turn around when I hollered at him..but I saw the Blue Honda..old and rusty”

“That doesn't mean he's the killer Daemon..don't get your hopes up”

“Geee thanks for the support I guess”

She placed her drink down on the table as stepped closer to him.

“You need to dial down on the emotions Daemon..you know you can't get your emotions involved –”

“I know that” he looked at her and they had a moment of silence before she leaned into him to kiss him, he was distraught and exhausted and a woman's touch felt nice so he kissed her back but then he thought of you, thought of you being scared and all alone, probably tied and hurt and whatever sexual frustration he felt was gone instantly.

“I can't..I just can't..not today”

“And why is that?”

“Don't ask me dumb questions darling”

“Isn't she the one that did a number on you?”

“Your point?” He glared at her as he pulled her way from him, he did despise you at times for leaving him the way that you did but he didn't hate you, he could never.

He went home that night and looked at every report, every evidence they had found on the victims and the site of the abduction, he surely was missing something but he didn't know what.

And suddenly it clicked. First victim Shonda beau was from Malone, Second victim Nyra Michals was from Ormeau, Third victim Dennis lived in The Holyland, Rebecca was taken from Holywood and finally you Edenderry

Perhaps he was reaching in his assumption but the initials of each area where he found his victims from made an incomplete word --

“Mothe-”

He knew where he'd find the killer next.

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Taglist

@daddylokisqueen @iamavailablesstuff @123forgottherest @mcufan72 @shuichiakainx @avalyaaa @ajthefujoshi @tatertati-fangirl @urmomsgirlfriend1

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x reader smut #daemon targaryen x reader angst #daemon targaryen x reader fluff #non canon au #modern day au #modern daemon targaryen #tw kidnapping #tw rape #dark fic

95 notes · View notes

plague-of-insomnia · 11 months

Text

Six Sentence Sunday: New AU Snippet

So this is quite a lot longer than 6 sentences, but since I haven’t posted any snippets of anything in a few weeks I thought I’d go ahead and share this.

This is for the sebard AU I’m hoping to write for the holiday season, with Firefighter Bard and Priest Sebastian.

Just my favorite recipe of two broken people coming together to heal, with the added kinkiness of one being a Catholic priest, bc priest Seb is always hot, right?

Keep in mind this project is in the early stages so things are subject to change by the time it’s ready on AO3.

The witching hour, and as usual, Father Sebastian couldn’t sleep. So instead of lying in bed staring at the same cracks in the rectory ceiling for hours, he was in the sanctuary, cleaning and tiding up.

It wasn’t necessary, of course. The widow who helped him manage the church also took care of the maintenance, since he didn’t need her to cook. But idleness, Devil’s invite or not, had never suited Sebastian.

He gathered up the box of candles and went and replaced all of the plain ones around the altar before moving on to the prayer candles, some of which still glowed from the parishioners who’d lit them the day before.

Out of habit, once he’d replaced any that had burned away to a pile of wax, he lit one of his own, murmuring an “Our Father” in rapid Spanish before doing the sign of the cross.

He didn’t have anyone specific in mind when he did this ritual, and sometimes wondered if he lit the candle for himself. It was pathetic that a priest felt he needed a light to guide him to God’s help, and yet here he was. Again.

He sighed and gathered up the cleaning and other supplies to carry back to the sacristy to store them away until tomorrow night, when he’d likely repeat his vigil again.

Despite having to rise early for morning mass each day, sleep often eluded him, and he had become so used to making do on only a handful of hours of rest each day that it had become normal.

After all, the fatigue weighing heavily on his shoulders was a pleasant distraction from the emptiness within him he had tried and failed to fill with God.

He had just re-emerged from the sacristy when he heard the creak of the large wooden doors at the front of the church, which led into the narthex, just before the main worship hall, or nave.

Sebastian hadn’t yet locked up completely; it was rare for anyone to wander in so late, especially since his church was located in a quiet, peaceful residential area. And yet, despite this, Sebastian had felt it wrong for him to be awake and not keep the doors open for anyone who might seek shelter or guidance in the wee hours.

The man who entered was blond, broad and muscled, hands jammed into his pockets, wandering in as if he were lost. And perhaps he was, in more ways than one.

Striding closer, Sebastian greeted him. “Welcome, my son,” he said. “May I help you?” his voice echoed in the large, empty space, magnifying the lilt of his British accent, a corruption of the public school manor of speaking he’d picked up as a child, mangled with his mother’s Spanish flavor and years of living in Texas.

The man seemed startled, glancing around and blinking as if waking from a dream. He cleared his throat. But didn’t answer.

Now, Sebastian recognized him. Bardroy Simms. Though it had been more than five years, this man had been a part of his congregation, faithfully coming to 9AM mass every single Sunday with his wife and son, excepting the days he was on duty at the fire station.

Sebastian hadn’t been assigned here long enough to marry the man and his wife, but he had baptized their son, and given him his first reconciliation and communion, the first steps for any Catholic on their way to being a full member of the faith.

. . . And he had also given them last rites in the hospital, before the hard decision to end life support was made.

And, of course, he had presided over their funerals.

Sebastian still remembered the heat of that day, the hot sun burning into his black cassock. How Bard had stared blankly without shedding a single tear as his wife and son were laid to rest.

Until today, Sebastian had never seen the man again once the dirt was shoveled and the mourners had left. He had tried to reach out, but what could a priest who had never married—let alone had children of his own—know about the grief that man was enduring?

Sebastian’s job was supposed to be the people’s connection to God, to counsel and to guide when they needed him most, and he had failed Bard.

Bard didn’t sink into a pew, simply stopped halfway to the altar, to Sebastian. Now that he could see him better, his face was unshaven, golden stubble catching the light from the candles, dark bags beneath his eyes, his short hair disheveled.

He scratched his cheek absently, swallowed thickly, before saying, “Saw the lights were still on. Figured this’s better than falling into a bottle again.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply, took a few steps closer. “Why don’t I make you some tea and we can talk. I’m a good listener.”

The man seemed confused but simply nodded. “Thank you, Father.”

Sebastian wanted to say he was only doing his duty, helping a parishioner in need, but that wasn’t the truth. Not really. It was selfish and prideful and he’d need to do penance for it later, but the reality was he wanted to make up for his past failings.

His shoes clicked and echoed as he walked toward the front doors.

Sebastian had an idea why Bard was here suddenly after so many years’ absence. He had read about the recent apartment fire that had killed half a dozen people, including a boy of around seven. His photo and family had been all over the news.

Bard was a hero who had saved many lives that day, but Sebastian knew the boy’s death had to be haunting him. He even looked a little like the son he’d lost all those years ago.

Securing all the locks on the main door, he did a quick sign of the cross, kissing his fingers before turning back to face the altar.

Bard stood, staring up at the large crucifix that hung on the wall beneath the stained glass as if hoping for divine revelation. Or perhaps a bolt from the blue to put him out of his misery.

That was certainly a feeling Sebastian could relate to.

#black butler #黒執事 #sebastian michaelis #sebard #bardroy #priest!sebastian #six sentence sunday #firefighter!bard #modern au #bard #snippet #poi writes #human sebastian michaelis #honest man au

69 notes · View notes

saltsicklover · 9 months

Text

Title: Joy in Shattered Glass

Prompt: Nativity

Written for @sailor-aviator 's Christmas Writing Challenge! You can find the rest of the list HERE

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2700+

Rating: R

Warnings: Swearing, Sexual Themes, Talk of Religion, Hurt and Comfort, Fluff, slight Angst. Established Relationship, Wife Reader nicknamed Dottie.

---

Bob Floyd has gotten used to coming home to find his wife in many, let's say, precarious situations. From trying to hang up art behind the couch on her own, to balancing on the top of a ladder to paint the wall that lines the stairs. His favorite ones involved her on her knees, an occurrence that no longer catches him by surprise anymore. It's not that he is no longer excited to see her that way, peering up through her eyelashes as the tip of her tongue drags impossibly slow over the fullest part of her bottom lip. It's just that, as their relationship has progressed, the scene became less surprising, but no less unexpected.

The front door swings open a quarter to six, just like it always does on the days he is stuck in the classroom instead of in the air running hops. Frustration has pulled muscles throughout Bob's body tight, his limbs aching as his large ruck falls from his shoulder and onto the floor.

Though he'd never admit it out loud, today is one of the days he wishes that his lover would have been there to meet him. Positioned their on the softness of the rug, pillow already positioned under her knees. He'd even left his flight suit on, know just how much she enjoys slowly tugging the impossibly long zipper down his body. That thought alone has had him half hard and well past needy since he pulled himself into the cab of his truck a half hour ago.

Bob's day inside the classroom has felt endless. It's his go around with the new Top Gun students, most of whom don't respect him as a WSO. They've spent the better part of the last week pushing all of his buttons, ragging on everything from his birth control glasses to his accent. They made sure to remind him of his inability to teach pilots with every other snide comment, and now it's Thursday and Bob has just about had it.

Dottie has had a day of her own, though she'd never complain, not in the slightest. It would be hard to complain when Bob has given her time to live out her dream of being a house wife, even if it's only temporary. Dottie packed up and moved to California at the drop of a hat, really. The moment Bob found out his detachment had been made permanent she had already started packing her bags. Though Bob has been wrapped around her finger for the better part of ten years, Dottie had all but belonged to Bob since their time in high school... well, rival high schools, and would follow that man to the ends of the Earth if it meant that she would get to be there when he got home at the end of the day.

The pair had met at a football game, stuck out in the snow with too little clothing and not enough seating on the HOME bleachers. Bob had arrived late and been banished to the AWAY side of the field, but what had seemed like a tragedy at the time became the start to their relationship. He was a sweatshirt of forest green in a sea of yellow and burgundy, but with Dottie cuddled up to his side, he found himself liking the color scheme.

Today, Dottie and Bob share a small home in the middle of a residential community. They are the odd pair out, no children. The moment the detachment became permanent, Dottie packed her things and made a home with Bob in Miramar, just north of their last base and the little house they couldn't stand. This time, however, has been the first time she has struggled to find employment, which has lead to their six week deal.

For six weeks, Dottie would get to play house wife. Cook, clean, and be a home maker like it was the 1950's again. After all, no one is hiring during the holidays anyway. She had spent the first few weeks just getting their lives in order, her move having taken place a few months ago. There had been boxes stacked around the house and everything had been in desperate need of a deep clean. Bob came home to cooked meals and his wife smiling like he hadn't seen her before. The stress that had been present in her was now gone and it's something Bob could get used to seeing.

Today, Dottie put the house together for the holidays. The Christmas tree stands in the corner of their small living room, decorated to the nines with reds and golds. The whole thing seems to glitter from all angles, the lights strung around it with expert hands. Dottie had baked cookies and started wrapping presents. The holidays season suddenly alive and well in the Floyd household.

She had even taken care of setting up the delicate Nativity set on the sturdy table near the front door. That thing had followed the pair around with every move, had seen more of the country than her, in fact, as Bob has had it since he turned 18. Dottie has never know Bob to be religious, nor is she, but that damn Nativity set is erected each year in a well visible place. It's tradition after all.

When Bob walked in a quarter to six, his heavy bag hitting the floor makes Dottie jump a little. With a furrowed brow, she rounds the corner. Her eyes meet an exasperated looking Bob, his hands already messing through his too neat hair.

"Hi Bobby," Dottie speaks just above a whisper, padding closer to her husband.

"Hello sweetheart," The greeting is all too sweet, though she can tell just how out of it her husband is. So, Dottie continues towards her husband. The moment she is within reach, Bob is pulling her body flush against his own, folding her into his arms. Dottie's fingertips graze over the back of his neck and up into his hair, scratching at his scalp.

"How was your day?" The question is a bit hesitant coming off her lips, but she doesn't stop it.

"I'm so sick of these damn kids," He huffs into her neck. Her laughter comes easy, from the mix of his breath against her neck and the silliness of the phrase.

"Bob, they're not much younger than us,"

"Youngest is 25," He mutters with roll of his eyes, "Fuckin' kids,"

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse," There's a bit of a smile in his tone. His arms snake around her just a little tighter, grounding himself with the feel of her body against his.

"Anything I can do?"

"Not unless you can make them actually respect me," The shrug of his shoulders maker Dottie frown. She can't imagine someone not respecting her husband. She knows he may be unassuming, but Robert Floyd is a force to be reckoned with, even if they can't see it. Even if he can't seem to remember.

"Oh, Bobby, I can think of a few ways," She presses kisses into the plain of his neck, a shudder quickly running through him. His mind is wandering back to the image of his wife on the floor and suddenly he can barely feel the tension in his limbs.

"What're those, sweetheart?" Hands slip down her body, fingers hooking through her beltloops.

"First off," The words are punctuated with further presses of her lips to his hot skin, "I was thinking that I could leave behind a few strategically placed hickeys. Something just visible over your collar, something to keep their attention towards the front of the room,"

Hands begin to wander, Bob's chest rising and falling faster as his wife continues speaking.

"Then, you can fuck me in all your favorite places, and we can finally christen this house correctly," There's a little chuckle with her words, but Bob is too busy taking in every touch of her hands against his clothed body.

"And, if you're feeling really feisty, we can have a repeat of that little incident in Virginia Bea-," The words catch in Dottie's throat as he picks her up without warning. He spins them around before dropping her onto the table near the front door. It isn't until her ass is connecting with the table that she realizes where she's at. The chorus of rolling ceramic and breaking glass make's her freeze. Bob stops quickly after, his eyes searching her worried expression.

"Oh my god," The color threatens to drain from her face, though her chest is burning.

"What is it, sweetheart?" He looks from her to the broken glass scattered around the floor, "What broke?"

"It was your- oh my god," Dottie covers her mouth with her hands, tears quickly welling in her eyes.

"What was it?" Bob's expression is so soft, even with his eyebrows screwed together in confusion.

"It was your Nativity set," Dottie's confession is barely audible, so he prompts her again.

"It was your Nativity set, Bobby, I'm so sorry," It takes Bob a second to realize what she's talking about, and it isn't until she is pushing him back and sliding off of the table that he lays eyes on the set, or what's left of it.

"You decorated?" He asks, his expression going fully soft.

"I did," Dottie wipes at a fallen tear, "I wanted to surprise you but I should've warned you, I guess,"

"Oh, sweetheart, it's alright," Bob takes her hand, running his thumb along her knuckles.

"No it's not Bobby. If I would have warned you this wouldn't have happened. Or maybe if I had been working instead of being at home. If I would have been working then I wouldn't have had the time to set all this up and then you would have been here to help me and then the Nativity set would have been somewhere more safe and it wouldn't have gotten broken. God, Bobby, I am so sorry," Dottie rambles all while Bob listens to her carefully though he has already made up his mind on what to say next.

He pulls her into a hug, shushing her gently while he rubs her back in an attempt to keep her from getting too worked up. It isn't until she calms down a little more that he finally decides to speak.

"Can I let you in on a little secret?" Bob asks, his voice low in her ear. All Dottie manages is a nod, but Bob continues diligently.

"I fucking hate that thing,"

"You what?" Dottie sniffles a bit, her voice muffled by his flight suit.

"I hate that thing!" Bob repeats himself, louder this time. There is a laugh that follows right out of his lips. Dottie pulls back, looking at him with wild eyes.

"Are you telling me that you've been hauling that thing around for over a decade even though you hate it?" Her mouth hangs open when he laughs harder, eyes squeezing together behind his glasses.

"Yeah. I'm glad we can finally get rid of it!"

"So, let me get this straight, you've been hauling it around, and we have been setting that stupid thing up for years and you've wanted to get rid of it this whole time?" Dottie looks like she is trying to solve a cold case behind flushed cheeks and wet eyes. The expression just makes Bob laugh harder.

"My grandmother gave me that," Bob manages to explain between deep breathes and lingering laughter.

"You're making me feel worse," Dottie crosses her arms over her chest, but never lets go of Bob's hand. He just pulls her closer, wrapping her back into his embrace.

"I'm not trying to, sweetheart. I'm trying to explain,"

Dottie looks up at him, through her lashes expectantly. Bob continues with a sigh, doing his best to ignore the light sheen still clinging to her cheeks.

"Remember the Christmas Pops brought my sisters and I to see my grandmother before I went to the academy?" Bob inquires with a gentle voice, maintaining eye contact with Dottie as he does. "Well, she gave me that Nativity set. She said that every proper home needed one, and since I was going to be in my own home I needed to have one,"

"That's kind of sweet," Dottie mutters.

"It gets worse," Bob promises, a wry smile on his lips.

"She knew that I wasn't raised religious, and didn't agree with her view of religion being a necessity. She also knew that you weren't religious, and that made her dislike you. When she gave that thing to me she said some backhanded comment about how you weren't wife material because of you lack of religious background,"

"That bitch,"

"My thoughts exactly," Bob chuckles, "She was a racist old bitty too,"

That gets them both laughing. Dottie's head comes to rest on Bob's shoulder, her face flushing as she grins.

"Then why did you keep it?" She asks finally, after they calm down.

"I dunno. I guess I felt bad for even wanting to get rid of it that I just couldn't without feeling sort of guilty about it. However, every time I moved I hoped it would break or that the box would get lost so I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore," The confession is spoken with a laugh and the feeling of being a hundred times lighter takes over his once aching limbs.

"Geez, Bobby," Dottie starts with a heavy sigh, though the tension seems to release from her shoulders as she exhales. "I'm glad that you aren't too hurt over the whole thing. Guess I'm just sad it ruined the mood,"

There is a shrug of her shoulders before Bob is placing a widespread hand on her stomach, pulling her frame back into his firm body.

"Oh Dot, sweetheart," Bob nuzzles his nose into her hair, "We are still just getting started."

He spins her body in his hold before picking her up. Legs wind themselves around his midsection, hands cradling his neck before venturing north into his too neat hair. They kiss with a needy heat, one that is just beginning to burn as Dot pulls back.

"Wait," Her breath fans over his skin, his fingertips digging into the fullest parts of her thighs, "The glass, we can't just leave it,"

The bridge of his nose runs along the slope of her jaw, her lower lip making a home between imperfect teeth.

"I'll tend to it later," It's a whispered promise, "But you're the only dangerous thing I want to deal with right now,"

"Me? Dangerous?" The words slip past her lips as Bob deposits her down onto the kitchen counter, allowing himself to settle between her legs.

"Absolutely. I mean, if we weren't destined for hell before, breaking that little scene while getting up to some nefarious business has to of dammed our souls for sure," There is an air of humor in his voice, even as Bob tries his best to keep a straight face as he places kisses down the side of Dottie's neck.

"Robert Floyd!" There is a little squeal that accompanies his name, just as he digs his fingers into the squishy flesh at her sides, tickling her.

"Yes, Mrs. Floyd?" He asks over the choir of her laughter, his own breaking past his smile, "Do you disagree? Even though you were the one to proposition me?"

"You kissed me first!" It's a weak argument, but it's the best one she's got. His tickling hands come to rest on her waist, heavy and warm.

"After that little proposition you made. What was it? Christen the house by letting me fuck you in all of my favorite places?" One of his hands comes up to cradle the side of her face, a devious smirk on his own. Dottie makes to attempt to shy away from her husband's heavy gaze. Instead her eyes trail down the slope of his nose and over the ridges of his cupids bow. She plucks his glasses from his nose to get an unimpeded look at his sea glass irises.

"About that..." His glasses clink against the cool stone of the countertop, his eyebrows raising with curiosity.

"Where to first, Mr. Floyd?" The devious smirk never leaves Bob's face as he pulls her in closer, closer, closer.

"Oh, sweetheart, we're already here,"

#bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick fanfiction #robert floyd fluff #robert floyd hurt comfort #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd fic #christmas writing challenge #merry robert floyd #bob floyd angst #christmas writing prompts #saltsicklover #saltsicksubmission

37 notes · View notes

whowilllbringtherain · 19 days

Text

OUR LOVE IS BORN

Masterlist

Chapter 2 ~ Awestruck

Content Warnings: Nightmares, descriptions/memories of car accidents, anxiety, self-doubt, overstimulation, (trauma response/ PTSD if you squint) teenagers being annoying, angst, fluff.

The car was speeding up, plowing down the city street and swerving through lanes, past all traffic and towards the crossroads.

I wasn't in the car, but I could see it. It was like a vision, I could feel it coming towards me. We were moving slowly, plodding down our residential street.

I could see it again. The car was black. It looked angry. Demanding. Sweat coated the back of my neck and my hands gripped the seat I was on.

The car was getting closer, it wasn't slowing down.

I squeezed my eyes shut, I knew what was coming, but the driver didn't and it was too late to stop him. Nearer and nearer we drove, and the crossroads were in view now.

I could feel my heart pounding in my ears as fear creeped through my nerves and settled in my stomach.

I could see their headlights now, as they pummelled down to the intersection. Faster and faster. Any second now.

Gasping for air, I ripped my eyes open, my arms flying out to grip the sheets of my bed. I stared up at the dark roof above me, panting like I'd just ran a marathon. I reached the back of my hand up to my forehead, wiping a layer of sheen sweat from my skin, before sitting up and taking in my surroundings.

The nightmares weren't uncommon, but waking me up with such a start wasn't as normal. Taking a deep breath, I looked over at the time on my phone, which read 4:32am. Knowing I wouldn't be getting any more sleep for the night, I ripped off my bed covers and let my feet land on the plush soft carpet below me.

Today was the first day of school, and I couldn't be any more nervous. It was abundantly clear that I stuck out like a sore thumb in America, and being such a small town, there was slim chance I would go about unnoticed.

I had spent the last few days leading up to schools start with Josh, Sam, Jake and Danny, mostly messing around in their garage and taking trips to the store to splurge on processed sugar foods. I quickly saw the boys as my friends rather than neighbours and it comforted me deeply to think they might feel the same.

I flew through my morning mindlessly, showering, changing, packing a bag and eating, before plopping myself onto the couch and scrolling through my phone to pass the lengthly amount of time I had left over, thanks to my nervous start.

Luckily, Josh and Jake recently passed their drivers tests, so they vigilantly offered to drive me to school along with Sammy and Danny who I learnt were only a few years younger than us.

After pacing around the room and double checking my bag had everything I needed for the eighth time, I heard a light knock on my front door. Mum had left for work hours ago, and Dad was still in bed as I lightly padded over to the front door, swinging it open to reveal Josh with an excited smile on his face.

Dark bags gloomed under his eyes, likely from the unfamiliarity of waking up so early, but it was nothing compared to his lively and upbeat energy.

"Morning sunshine!" He practically shouted, and I winced, "Ready for your first day?" I gingerly swept my bag over my shoulder and shut the front door behind me, the cold nipping at the tip of my nose.

I had decided I wasn't going to hold anyone back today, not let them worry or coddle, and brave it on my own. I was sick of bearing my parents down, and if I could do this with no help, then maybe I could stop being such a burden on everyones life.

"Yep" I said popping the 'P', "Very excited," I strained the most genuine smile I could muster, Josh smiling back at me kindly.

I then stood dumbfounded as he reached his thumb and pointer finger out towards my face, before quickly pinching the tip of my nose, momentarily flooding it with heat. "Cold?" He asked.

My whole face flushed the same red as my nose, but I was spared by the loud and impatient beeps coming from their car on my driveway. Through the tinted glass, you could see Sam awkwardly bent over form the backseat and smashing the heel of his palm on the steering wheel, urging us to hurry up.

Josh sighed and hopped down my porch steps, me following shortly behind him. I pulled open the backdoor to see Jake, Sam and Danny crammed into the backseats together, all smiling brightly at me. I frowned and turned to Josh who had the passenger door held open for me, a hand in front of him to help my climb into the car as he said "M'lady."

It was kind of them to offer me the passenger seat, especially due to the fact that none of them knew how much I hated sitting in the back seat. They were making me feel genuinely happy. Genuinely cared for.

Looking back at the boys bashfully, I mouthed a sorry, took Josh's hand, and climbed into the car, waiting for Josh to hurry round and clamber into his seat. Sam's nimble fingers tapped my shoulders, and I turned to look at him in the back seat.

He raised his eyebrows at me, "Have the nerves kicked in yet?"

"A little bit.. how many people are in our year again?" I asked looking towards Jake.

He reached his fingers to his chin, "ehhh probably about 80, not too many." I sucked in a tight breath and smoothed my sweaty palm out flat on my jeans.

Josh peeked at me from the corner of his eye before clearing his throat and switching on the engine. Josh howled as the engine roared, clapping his hands and shimmying his shoulders.

"Fuckin' love this car," he grumbled through his teeth, before, to my utter surprise, leaning over me to reach into the passenger door pocket. His head hovered dangerously close to my chest as he fiddled around with a few CD's that sat in the small space.

The tight curls of his hair ticked my chin and his smell invaded my senses. Finally, he chose a CD and withdrew from my side of the car, smiling at me cheesily before opening the case and sliding it into the receiver.

After a short pause, the familiar buzz of a guitar played through the speakers, One of these days by Ten Years After started on the stereo and I couldn't contain my grin.

I only looked at him, to find him already glancing at me side on, pride written all over his face. Facing back to the road ahead, he began to move off. The boys in the back started chatting loudly between themselves, leaving Josh and I to talk amongst ourselves.

I laughed, "I love this album."

"Have you listened to their self titled album too?"

The talk of music lasted the rest of the drive to school, which wasn't longer than 10 minutes due to the size of the small town. Josh pulled into an empty space at the school before yanking on the hand break, putting the gears into neutral and twisting the keys, cutting off the persistent hum of the engine.

I opened my passenger door, and slid out carefully, in attempt to save the car next to us from Josh's wonky parking. I swung my bag over my shoulder before shutting the door and walking to the back of the car where the boys had all conjugated.

Teenagers surrounded the parking space, some walking into the building, while others meandered around the car park. A few people looked our way, but none outwardly stared. I let out a sigh of relief.

My mind had been manifesting a scenario of fear and anxiety for my first day, expecting attention, too much attention. But to my delight, nobody seemed to care.

"Shit parking, Josh," Danny commented, gesturing towards the car which sat out of place between the white park lines. Josh only smiled sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders.

"At least I got you guys here in one piece," he joked, before joining his brothers in sauntering off towards the front doors. Swallowing heavily and trying my hardest to not think too deep into his comment, I followed in suit, through the front doors and into the building.

There were two long corridors separated by a row of lockers, leading to a large window, where the isles branched off to the sides. Some teens stood by their lockers, taking out books and stationary, and others filed past us towards classroom doors.

Kindly, Josh offered to take me to administrations office to get my timetable, where he would then show me to my classroom. I couldn't describe my gratitude for him, knowing that if he wasn't there to help me, I probably would have chickened out and gone home by now.

After a short walk, we reached the office, a comfortable room with couches and a coffee table in front of the large desk at the end of the room. The heat of the room mothered the ache in the tips of my icy fingers. Two office ladies sat at the desk, looking down at papers and scribbling furiously.

I walked up to the front desk nervously. "Hello I'm new here, my name is Layla... I was wondering if I could get my timetable?" I chirped politely, my voice coming out an octave higher than I'd anticipated.

The lady, who had to be no older than 50, peered down at me above her spectacles, "Last name?"

"King," I replied, shifting on my feet, which were getting sore from my tip-toe position.

Without another word, she turned to her computer, the clicking of her acrylics against the keys being the only sound in the room. Josh, who stood beside me, stifled a laugh at the akwardness.

"Hmm," she drawled out. "Wait here." I watched as she waddled off to an extension room and out of sight.

Giving my feet a rest, I dropped them flat onto the floor and turned to Josh. "What if we don't have any classes together?" I asked nervously.

"I'm sure you'll be fine. Plus, Jake and I have barely any classes together so you're likely to be put in his if not mine," he reassured.

I watched a muscle in his jaw tick, before he turned back to the desk where the receptionist was emerging, holding a folded piece of paper. She only spent a moment explaining the abbreviations and room numbers to me before handing it to me and returning to her work.

"Thank you!" I said before walking out of the room, Josh close behind.

We spent the next few moments in the hallway, reading and matching each others timetables to see which classes we had together. It turned out I had three out of six classes with Josh, one with Jake, and the remaining two by myself. We had history together first, so Josh showed me the way to our classroom.

"Mr. Marmos is kind of a dick, so don't take anything too personally," Josh warned me, as we turned the corner into the empty classroom.

We took two seats across from each other near the middle edge of the classroom, and I anxiously took out a notebook and pen. Josh plodded a textbook on my desk too which I thanked him for, while watching the rest of the class file in through the front door.

Eventually, a man in his mid-fourties wandered into the class, placing his briefcase on his desk and addressed the class.

"Welcome back everyone, how was your winter break?" He asked. There was a hum of responses while he opened his briefcase and took out a few essentials, squinting and readjusting his glasses as he looked at one paper in particular.

"It seems we have a new student joining us from Australia today," he said scanning the room. My heart thrummed in my chest. The last thing I wanted was to be put on the spot. The class erupted in whispers and murmurs as everyones eyes landed on me.

"Welcome to Frankenmuth, Layla, it's nice to meet you," Mr. Marmos said to me politely with a curt smile on his lips.

"Thank you," I said, letting my hair fall over the sides of my face in an attempt to conceal it from prying eyes.

"What part of Australia are you from?" He asked. I took a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to get on with the lesson.

"I'm from Sydney, in um New South Wales," I replied shyly.

One of the boys in front of me, who was twisted in his seat to look at me laughed obnoxiously, "G'Day mate." His friends all laughed loudly too, adding other embarrassing comments, "Yeah, can you say shrimp on the barbie?"

The only humerus part of their antics was the ridiculous sound of their Michigan accents saying typically Australian sayings. "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie," another boy yelled out. My face burned and my nails dug into my palms as I tried to distract myself, willing the colour to leave my face to not further my embarrassment.

I literally wanted to curl into the smallest ball and decompose into the earth below me. I wanted to be sucked into a black hole and taken to the depths of the universe. Anything. Anything if it meant getting out of this horrendously embarrassing interaction.

I knew that coming to another country would not only be strange for me, but for the locals, however as kind as their intentions may be, their jokes were mortifying.

I sat quietly a tight lipped smile on my face, peeking at Josh who looked at me with concern.

"Alright, alright thats enough," Mr. Marmos called out, effectively silencing the class. The boy in front of me shot a cocky wink my way before twisting back in his seat and listening to the teacher.

"Australias' involvement in the First World War is very interesting actually, the ANZAC's..." Mr. Marmos started.

As the rest of the lesson droned on, I shook out my aching hand, momentarily breaking from my furious note taking. We had covered World War One back home already, but there were case studies and specifics that I was positively lost on. I sighed, knowing I was going to have a lot of homework to do.

The bell rang throughout the classroom, and I copied as students clambered their things together, and rose from my seat. Josh joined my side as we walked towards the classroom door, "Thanks Sir!" I called out before exiting.

"Very polite of you," Josh said, looking at me funnily.

I furrowed my eyebrows "Oh, is that not normal?" I asked nervously.

He chuckled, "No, not really.. but I'm sure he appreciated it." I took a deep breath and shook my shoulders out. "So, what did you think? How was your first lesson? You sure are popular already," he joked, nudging my side as we walked own the corridor towards the lunch hall.

I ran a hand own the side of my face, "Yeah, it was alright, I've just got a lot of stuff to do when I get home... and that whole thing at the start of the lesson was soo embarrassing," I said nudging him back with a little bit more force. He stumbled to the side a bit, smiling widely at me.

"You might have to get used to it, New Girl," he nudged me harder and I stumbled to the side, tripping into a taller girl who looked about our age. The books and papers she had cradled to her chest went flying onto the floor on impact and I immediately dropped to my knees to help pick them up.

"I'm so, so sorry, are you okay?" I asked, looking up at her. Her thick, dark fringe was framed by her wavy bangs, locks of hair falling around her tanned shoulders. She was a very pretty girl, and she smiled when she looked up at me.

"No you're okay, I'm fine! I haven't seen you around, are you new here?" She asked, gathering her things into a pile in her hands.

"Yeah I am, it's nice to meet you, I'm Layla," I said smiling brightly. It was probably very obvious to Josh, who was hovering next to us, that I was trying very hard to make a friend.

"I'm Aanya," she replied, "I'll see you around, Layla." Next thing I knew, she was wandering off down the halls again. Looking back at Josh, he smiled and threw his arm over my shoulders, leaning in close to my ear.

"Very popular," he drawled out. His voice sparked a twist of feeling in my stomach momentarily, before I shook it off and followed his lead to the food hall.

The rest of the day played out exactly as I'd assumed. Each class started with some recognition of my nationality, before everyone lost interest and I was bombarded with far too much work to catch up on.

Piles upon piles of past papers were given to me by teachers, along with strict instructions of how much of each syllabus point I needed to catch up on. My bag weighed a ton, and I had almost 6 textbooks cradled in my arms as I went about my day.

Thankfully Josh met me after every class to walk me to my next one, including those that we didn't have together, and the one time he wasn't there, Jake was instead. I appreciated the support immensely.

By the end of the day, I was positively burnt out. My feet dragged as I slumbered out of the building towards Josh's car. All four boys were already there, waiting for me as I climbed into the passenger seat.

Pain radiated through my left thigh, which only got worse throughout the day as my bag got heavier and classes got longer.

Exhaustion from socialising and the mental stress of schoolwork hit me as I buckled my seatbelt, wanting nothing more than to go home and sleep for the rest of the year.

"Long day?" Jake asked, his head leaned so far forward, it was practically on my shoulder. I couldn't even find it in me to be surprised at his proximity. I only groaned and slumped further in my seat, rubbing my thigh with my thumb in attempt to ease the tension in the area, but I knew the ache was so deep that I could never aid it without some kind of pain relief.

"So tired," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes with my other hand. Paired with the overwhelming day, getting up as early as I did in the morning from a nightmare did not help.

I heard Josh get into the drivers seat beside me. "I'm sorry, I'll come over to give you my notes tonight, hopefully that helps... And if you, uh, need any more help...with anything, you can just text me and I'll come over," his voice sincere.

There was a beat of silence, broken by someone clearing their throat in the backseat. I peeled my eyes open and watched as Josh started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Thank you," I said. He looked over at me and I could have sworn that the smile he wore looked slightly pained.

Josh walked me to my door once we stopped at my house, and wrapped me in a bone crushing hug, swaying side to side at the threshold of my front door.

I felt mildly embarrassed. It must have been blatantly obvious how exhausted I was.

"Have some rest, I'll see you later tonight to give you my notes from last year," he said letting go and smoothing down some hair on the side of my head.

That familiar feeling returned in my stomach, "Thanks, Josh, you really helped me today," I said, offering him a quick, sincere smile. "See you in a bit."

Returning the smile, he wandered back down the steps and into the car to drive a measly 10 metres down the road.

I stepped into the house, shrugging off my coat and shoes by the threshold, before walking down to the living room, where the back of Dads head was visible over the couch.

"Hi Dad."

"Hey sweetie, how was your first day?" He asked twisting towards me.

I contemplated my response for a few moments, "Yeah it was great, lots of...fun" I cringed slightly, hoping my lies weren't noticeable.

"I'm glad," he replied, turning back to his phone, and I took that as my cue to head upstairs.

I took a long, warm, comfortable shower, before climbing into my warmest pyjamas. The weight in my limbs was unbearable, and I had little to no memory of unpacking my bag, switching off the light and climbing into bed.

A long day. Thats what it felt like. That's all it was. Nothing inherently went wrong to make it a 'bad day' but it was just long. I missed home. I wanted to go home.

The taste of salt on my lips was the first indication of my silent tears, which I hadn’t even feel fall. And as I lay there, cradling my sore leg, I allowed myself a moment of selfish pity and released the flood gates, sobbing silently into my pillow.

I was an absolute wreck. An awestruck wreck.

I had never responded to a girl this way. I mean, yes, I'd had silly crushes and things but I'd never felt so strongly for anyone.

Her laugh was like the music I yearned for, sweet and melodic, and every inch of me wanted to write it as a song. The song of her voice and her mind. So beautiful.

Every time our hands touched, tingles, like a pleasant version of pins and needles erupted in my palm. I couldn't tell what was weirder, finding small ways to touch and hold her hands, if even for a moment, or my quick retraction when I caught my own impulsivity.

My mind was running in circles and it was killing me. I couldn't stop thinking about her. I thought of her when I woke, when I ate breakfast, when I wrote and played music, and she was always the last thing on my mind before I slept.

Not that I had been getting much sleep anyway, I was up nearly all night, every night, looking for the words to an unwritten song. Her song.

Rushing into my room, I spared no words to my family and began rummaging through my desk for all my past papers and notebooks. After attaining a large pile, I skimmed through the pages, cringing at my messy handwriting and comparing it to her neat ones I saw in class today. It would have to do.

I knew she was tired and most definitely burnt out. It was the only way I knew how to lesson her load.

I peeked out my bedroom window through to hers and was met with the usual warm glow emanating from her thin, white curtains. I eagerly hopped down the stairs and sauntered to the front door.

"Josh honey! Where are you going, you just got back?" Mums voice cut me short.

I held up the notebooks and waved them in the air, "Dropping off some school stuff at Layla's."

She eyed me suspiciously, a smirk playing on her face, before raising her eyebrows, "Okay...tell Layla I say ‘hello’..."

I rolled my eyes, sighing as I cocked my head to the left, "Mum, please."

She feigned a look of shock and offence, putting her hand flat to her chest, "I didn't say anything!"

Huffing, I walked out the front door, hugging my jumper closer to me in reaction to the cold bite of fresh air. It was particularly cold this winter, and I had researched the weather in Sydney after Layla left the day I met her; I didn’t think I'd ever know how she managed to change such dramatic climates so quickly.

The sun had began to set, leaving the sky a greyish blue with a purple hue. Usually it would take much longer to get dark, but being winter, it felt like you could only blink after waking in the morning, and it was night again.

Once I'd made my way up the short path to her house, I rapped my knuckles on the front door three times and waited patiently for a response.

The door swung open to reveal Layla's Dad, a tall, stocky man. He had stubble coating his jaw, a bit of a beer belly, though he was still a very kind man. But, I could tell that if he wanted to, he could beat the crap out of you.

"Hi Mr. King, I'm just here to drop off some notes for Layla, she should be expecting me."

He scoffed, "Call me David please, you make me feel like an old grump with that Mr blah blah." He shook his head, clearing his throat, "But yeah she should be in her room." I smiled politely, waiting for him to make way for me to head to her room, but he hesitated.

We stood there, face to face for another moment before he spoke. "Thank you Josh, for being there for her and.. helping her like this. I don't think you understand how much it means to have someone there for her.. thats not, you know, her Dad," he let out a short laugh.

Relief flooded through me at his words, "Of course. Layla is amazing, you raised a great woman," I replied. He smiled warmly at me, pride overtaking his attitude before opening the door wider and stepping aside. I gave him one more smile before stepping into the house and looking up the dark stairway .

I hugged the books closer to my chest with my left hand, my right clinging onto the railing in the dark. As I clambered up the steps, the second level came into view, and consistently, no lights were on there either. Only a small warm glow from inside Layla's room.

Expecting another step and tripping slightly at the feeling of flat round, I regained my composure and began making my way down the dark hallway, following the illuminated doorway to her room.

Once I was at her bedroom door, the sight I beheld stopped me in my tracks. A few boxes still littered her bedroom floor, but otherwise, her room was practically set up. In the corner, Layla lay on her plush white bedsheets in a deep red sweater and a blanket tucked up to her waist. Her whole body was wrapped around a single pillow, cradling it tightly and fast asleep.

Soft purrs left her lips in her slumber, as my eyes immediately narrowed down on the tear stains marked on her cheeks. My eyebrows furrowed at the sight and I felt my heart ache painfully. We had only been back from school for 20 odd minutes. Did something happen?

I gingerly stepped towards her vanity, painfully aware of the noises my jacket was making with every twist my body took, until I slowly lowered the books down onto her desk.

On my right, Layla sniffled and my head whipped towards her, the rest of my body going deathly still. I watched, strained as she pursed her lips and shuffled in her spot, melting into her pillows. The left side of her body hung out of the sheets and I could see the faint trickle of goosebumps on her wrist where her sweater had rolled up.

I stretched my empty palms out beside my and sighed deeply, reaching over to her bed to stretch the duvet cover over he body completely. I made sure it was snug against her sides and there were no gaps, before wrapping another fluffy blanket that she had piled at the bottom of her bed over her too.

Pulling away, I fiddled for the switch of her bedside lamp before feeling the plastic in between my fingers and switching off the light.

Finally, I made my way to her bedroom door, looking back at her one last time, her face now only seen by the glow of the moonlight outside. So beautiful. I felt my stomach churn and I cringed at the thought of her crying. Crying herself to sleep. Alone.

Blowing out a breath, I stepped out of the room and pulled her door closed, not bothering with clicking it the full way in fear of waking her.

As I bid my thanks and goodbye to Layla's Dad and made my short walk home, a caravel of worries and thoughts flooded my mind; I knew what I needed to do.

13 notes · View notes