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endearng · 16 days ago

Text

About you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x ex!reader Summary: You know a place that you go to remember Spencer Reid's face. You never thought you'd get to actually see him again. WC: 4.6k Warnings: brief mentions of Spencer's trauma (childhood, addiction); hints at poor coping mechanisms/mental struggles; miscommunication; running away. A/N: This is a mix between canon events and some things are fiction (mostly when it comes to the timeline of the show) and I picture later seasons Spencer. This is based on many songs from ttpd, but this fic came to mind when I was listening to 'About You' by the 1975. I really hope you guys like it. Feedbacks are always welcome and appreciated <3 masterlist

You sat on one of the park benches. Actually, it was on the park bench, near a tree, you used to occupy with Spencer after getting your favorite treats from the coffee shop nearby.

It was your first date as boyfriend and girlfriend and he had started reading to you once the chatter had died down a little bit. He looked beautiful that day, eyes leaving the book pages every now and then so he could catch a glimpse of you. Every time he did, you smiled at him. You were so enamored by his eyes that you didn't care if you were perceived as desperate or too lovestruck when he looked at you. You felt warm inside and for a moment, you thought it could last forever.

From that day on, whenever you could, you'd always go to that park and sit on that specific bench. You even carved your initials in it.

Now, as you caressed the old indentation, dark from all the time that had passed, you were all alone. A hole in your chest.

You were living in Virginia, about to get your Master's Degree. It was the time of the semester when everything seems to be piling up and you can never get the time to take care of it as you should. As you walked home at night, you witnessed a young couple walking into a dark forest, but you didn't mind — horny kids were everywhere and you were glad they had a nice way to let off some steam, not being one to judge someone’s kinks.

The next thing you knew, the FBI wanted to see you. They sent a cute, awfully young agent to your apartment, who introduced himself as 'Doctor Spencer Reid' and waved at you once you answered the door, telling you you had been the last person to witness that young woman alive. You froze, unable to look away from him, sheer shock crossing your intriguing, mesmerizing features. Spencer Reid took more than a minute to try to calm you down to have you answer his questions. Despite your head going miles per minute, you tried to help out as much as you could and were able to describe the man as you managed to recall some of his features.

Then, you had gotten Spencer's number to keep him posted if anything happened, since that unsub was kidnapping and torturing girls from your university. When they wrapped up the case to go home, Spencer went to your building to tell you they were returning to Quantico. You had grown fond of him, his presence a warm embrace compared to the chaos around you, so when he broke the news, you did feel a little disappointed, even though you knew that he would eventually leave. He was sensitive to the matters around him, doing everything in his power and using his intelligence to help everyone around him. It made you grow a sense of hope in other people you haven’t felt in a while.

You took your study break a little earlier that night once you saw him at your doorstep, deciding you'd give him your time. A low "So, you're leaving..." escaping your mouth once he told you why he went to your place. To say goodbye. You couldn't conceal the sadness in your voice.

"Yeah. I just wanted to say goodbye. And to thank you, of course, you helped us a lot." He said, eyes never leaving yours.

"Anytime, Doctor," you joked. "I'm gonna miss you. Even if we've just met. Even if you had to be aware of something so terrible." You confessed. His eyes widened at you in surprise.

His eyes. Big, doe eyes glancing at you like you held the answers to the whole universe.

In that moment, you did. Not his education, not PhD's, plural, not anything he learned from all the books he read and certainly not his time in the bureau. You held the answers.

He chuckled, a little shy. Unable to tell you, verbally, that he would miss you, too. His eyes did the job, though. "Yeah, yeah. It was nice knowing you."

"Yeah, it was," you agreed, coming a little closer to him. You gave him a kiss on his cheek. Soft, warm skin against your lips making butterflies swarm in your belly. He smiled, widely, sincerely.

You wished he was yours.

You also wished he knew that you meant that, 'besides the bad guy and all the terrible things, it was fun meeting you because you are full of light. A masterpiece.'

"Take care, okay, doctor?" You whispered, slowly pulling away from him. “I’ll see you around.”

"Be safe,” he wished, “I hope so, in better conditions."

A few days passed and you got your first call from Spencer, which turned into a second, a third and when you noticed, you were scheduling hang outs. Those turned into dates when you started to go out more frequently to every new place you wanted the other to know. All of that and touching each other more often, more carefully, more passionately than regular friends did.

You simply sat there, your memories the only thing keeping you company, haunting you, besides the tears that pricked in the corner of your eyes. You missed him so much. You missed the time you had with him.

Two years into your relationship, things got more and more complicated. You struggled to keep up with his life and more often than not you seemed to keep much to yourselves instead of sharing things with each other. You never thought you'd share (funny wording) such a distant relationship with someone, let alone one you knew for sure there was so much love and respect. During your time together, you learned about Spencer’s past and some pieces fell into place; he was somehow explained by everything he had faced as a child, teenager and now as an adult — his mother’s condition, his dad walking away, the bullying, being abducted and its consequences. You held him through it all, when the memories and feelings of powerlessness washed over him.

Then, Spencer started to be away more often and the physical distance, enforced by the emotional one that slowly grew between you two, made you feel like you were an intruder in his life. So, you gradually started to hold yourself back from starting conversations. You rarely had his attention and you figured it was because his mind was always elsewhere.

Yours was, too. Back in a time when things were simpler.

As time went by, being around him, too quiet and far out of each other’s reach, simply floating in his orbit, felt like a heavy burden you had to carry in order to keep him in your life. He never opened up and since you didn’t either, you felt like you didn't have the right to suggest you two should fix things, so you let him be. Coexisting together in the same space, oceans apart from each other’s lives and struggles, never touching the subject. The result, of course, was that you grew apart.

It all ended, officially, when you decided to move away to get your Doctorate as an excuse to run away from the hard conversations that you knew would take place if you confronted him about where had things, where had you gone so terribly wrong. You were hell-bent on trying to turn your heartbreak and deception into something, into an achievement. Then, you both decided, albeit reluctantly, that breaking up was the best choice for you, since you’d move away. The part that there was already a huge gap between the two of you remained unspoken. You tried convincing yourself that it would be easier, since you’d never have to see him and you'd be okay being in past chapters of Spencer’s life.

Funnily enough, it wasn't that simple.

You see, the heart is a tricky machine. The wording here is not random: it works, of course, to primarily pump the blood through your veins to make sure you are getting enough oxygen around your body and deliver waste objects, like carbon dioxide, back to the lungs, to be removed — Spencer had told you so once when you told him your heart beat for him in a corny deliver of a joke. Despite the fact that he was right, you can never anticipate how the heart will react once it has no access to the aim of its affections, after being cut off from their life. Worse: after being slowly dragged away from the one it was sure it would be able to adore for the rest of its pumping-function life. You figured that, maybe it would continue working for as long as it needs to, but not with the same devotion it once knew and now was deprived of.

That was how you passed the last few years of your life.

After Spencer, you weren't really interested in anyone. You tried to put yourself out there, made new friends, tried dating some people, traveled abroad, discovered more about yourself. Nevertheless, in the back of your hopeless mind and dejected heart, you held the memories you had created with him close to your very soul. When things got too quiet, it was him that you thought of. On a train, on the way home or to somewhere new and/or special, in the lazy mornings you spent by yourself, in the nights that got too lonely to bear by yourself, during your lunch breaks that you always seemed to remember how much he loved sharing those with you — stealing food from his plate, even if you didn't like whatever he was having, just so he could steal your dessert to make sharing equal. He got a sweet tooth after dating you.

Now, though, something felt off. You had spent years of your life pining and longing and hoping that you'd find your way back to each other in the end that now you didn't have the guts to search for him. You kept an eye on his life and could remember a thing or two of all his achievements and papers that were published in science magazines, a brief abstract ready to roll off your tongue if someone asked you about it. You tried keeping up with his professional life in order to feel closer to him, but the thing was, you didn't know if he had someone else, if he had moved on more easily than you (not that you had), if he had learned to cope a little better with the hardships of his job. You always said he needed some rest for his noisy mind.

Even the air in your hometown made you think of him. Felt like him: distant, missed and still plaguing your thoughts. It was the aftermath of running away for some time.

In hindsight, perhaps you had only shared fleeting moments with Spencer and it was a frail affair, doomed from day one, knowing how different your lifestyles were. When you got too fed up with your longing and inner romanticism over this relationship, you would try to convince yourself that you were better off without him. That being alone was better than to be by yourself in a relationship that you only kept for the sake of calling him yours.

Still, there was something missing. You didn't know what it was, but you were tired of wasting your time, waiting for a bus that never showed.

From afar, Spencer watched, dumbfounded, a figure that resembled someone he once loved so much, sitting on the bench he used to share with you. He still does love. Or maybe he doesn't. He doesn't know, really. He's been through so much, losing loved ones, losing his mother and enduring several trauma after leaving the FBI, never having the time to properly take in the happenings in his life. Could it possibly be you? He could never forget your form, no matter how many years passed and how hard he had tried to do that. His heart started slowing, oxygen lacking in his lungs. He felt dizzy. Was it a mirage?

Or maybe it did, and perhaps you had missed it.

Memories started to flood his mind and he was unable to move.

Daylight faded, announcing the beginning of the evening. Spencer listened as you read to him one of your favorite novels, The Hour of the Star, a Brazilian novel by Clarice Lispector. It definitely wasn't romantic, but you always made sure to use the correct tone whenever you were reading the characters' lines, and you paused every now and then to make comments and listened when he had one of his own. Those were precious, rare, quiet moments in his hectic life. He cherished them because of that, of course, but most importantly because you were with him.

Once you finished the chapter you were reciting, you noticed how dark it already was and that the lights of the city were already on, casting a soft glow over Spencer. He looked exceptionally, effortlessly beautiful that night. You smiled at him. "Shall we go home, Spence?"

"Yes," he accepted, helping you up. You thanked him with a kiss to his cheek, which made him flustered.

Years together and he could never get used to the effect your touch had on him, always wishing he could have more, more, more.

As you walked home together, he took your ring, a gift from him that was usually placed in your left hand, and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. Your reply was to kiss him senseless in public.

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him when you abruptly broke the kiss, looking back with a mischievous, happy expression on your face. He trailed after you, one single thought in mind: I'll never let you go.

The woman — he didn't want to deceive himself if she wasn't you, he was staring at her back, after all, so he thought it was better to be careful with his hopes —, had longer hair, fit better into her clothes, but her movements were scarily just like yours. From the way she looked around to the slight tilt of her head when you'd contemplate the park all those years ago. Spencer felt his thoughts clouding with the need to approach her, curiosity driving him to work on this instinct, but as soon as he moved to walk, he instantly halted his movements. What would he say?

"Hello?", "Is that you?" "Are you back?" "Are you real?" "Have you forgotten about me?"

The questions swimmed around his head like he had no control over his own mind. If there was a monitor to show every single thought running through his brain, it would definitely collapse, smoke clouding the air, telling how overwhelmed he felt. He decided on approaching as a passerby, walking as if he didn't want anything by it, acting nonchalant. He made his way closer to the bench, to the woman.

She heard footsteps behind her, not too close, but still turned to search for the source of the disturbance, out of her daydreaming. You looked at each other for a moment that felt like an eternity — time stopped, the children stopped playing and the passersby stopped breathing.

As you turned around, your eyes found Spencer. The love of your life. You took in his appearance. His hair was long, unlike how it had been when you last saw him, and he didn't care about styling it as much as he did when he was younger, his curls unruly and a little messy, a little stubble growing on his face. His expression looked harder now, more tired, ripe. You couldn't quite know how to describe him properly. For a moment, you considered that he had hardened over the years, opposite from the caring, soft man you've met and loved ardently once.

On a surface level, looking at him made you feel like you've been loving a ghost. A memory, something that could never return.

Your mind suddenly felt empty. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"You?" You heard the question, uncertain, leave his lips in a low voice. Was it in your head or did you sense hurt?

Again, you wanted to speak, to say something, greet him, tell him you've missed him, ask him if he was okay. Nothing came out. Everything seemed inappropriate. Again, he beat you to it, coming closer to you, voice firmer. "What are you... I thought you'd left."

"I did."

"I know."

Silence. He got closer, moving to sit beside you.

"Yeah." Silence. Still looking at each other. "I came back a couple of months ago. Started visiting exactly three weeks ago, today." You revealed to break the silence, even though the idea that everything that came out of your mouth was improper still plagued your mind.

Spencer felt baffled. You looked different, more mature, even your style had drastically changed — you once wore colorful, baggier outfits, full of life and bright shades matching your personality (you even went shopping with Penelope and you exchanged fashion tips), but now, you wore more sober, neutral tones. Instead of the usual sneakers, or the Converse you both loved to wear together to match your outfits — his black and yours blue —, you wore black boots with heels. You looked grown. And it fit you. Still, your face was the same: your eyes held the same glimmer in them from all those years ago, your lips still as inviting as it ever was for him.

He licked his own, realizing his mouth was dry. "I come here every now and then when things get too heated." He confided, eyes never leaving your figure.

You smiled. A hole in his chest, desolation invading his being. The simple act still makes his machine of a heart ache and speed to reach its full capacity. Of breaking for you. "It's peaceful."

You knew that he seeked solace from whatever was happening in your memories together in that place. At least, you hoped so. You hoped, selfishly, that he thought of you as much as you thought of him, of his ghost. That he ached for you as much as you ached for him.

"Yeah."

Awkward silence engulfed the two of you. You didn't know where to look, but you could never stop scanning his face, taking in his features with care. "I like your hair. It fits you," you said.

He got closer, less than an arm's length between the two of you. Almost itching for you to touch his hair, eyes pleading for some mercy on your end. You've been awfully quiet and if meeting him maim you, you certainly have improved your poker face skills. "You've changed," he retorted. "I never thought I'd see you so different from, you know..."

You didn’t remember Spencer at a loss of words.

Too close. "I hope for the better."

"Why didn't you call?" He asked, brows furrowing.

Come to think of it, it was an excuse you had rehearsed quite a few times when you imagined this scenario, “I was settling, still trying to contact everyone, still finding my way around…”

“And you didn’t think of me?” His tone was wounded. He certainly dreamed you’d come back and was positively sure that you’d reach out to him. Of course, he was wrong.

He didn’t know what to say. Of course he would pick up, but there was no way you could know about it nor trust him if he said so; why would you? You had left him because he built walls around him, cutting you off from his life, torturing you, slowly dragging the end of your relationship and he couldn’t explain why. Once you left, Spencer delved into his work life like never before. He flirted with women and even slept around, which he was aware was a poor coping mechanism, all to outrun the desertion of you, desperately wishing he could forget that he could feel alive in your presence. He even tried having a relationship. It was nice having someone around, now that he was grown and had made peace with some of his demons, but it was never like you and it was all that she was to him: someone around. He never felt that spark with her like he had felt with you, never again having a taste of the sensation that ran through him whenever he stumbled excitedly into your apartment when you invited him over, seizing the rare opportunities to be with you, happiness bubbling inside him. With his new girlfriend, it was quiet. He mistook it for the calmness he lacked within himself when he was with you, but it was just bland. Needless to say, he felt awful about straight up using a person to keep his mind off of you, but it was nice while it worked. He started longing for something he couldn’t even describe what it was.

“Of course I did. I just thought you wouldn't pick up,” you replied.

One day, you guys met halfway, between the two cities you were both in. It was raining and you launched yourself into his arms once you recognized him. You had kissed him like a soldier's wife, for you sure definitely missed him like one — he had been away on a case which took longer than usual. “Hi,” you greeted, shyly, after giving him the hottest kiss of his life.

“Hi,” he smiled, a little flushed.

“I couldn't wait to get to you, Spence,” you confessed, arms pulling him back to hug you once again, his own engulfing your figure. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too. I miss you all the time.” He said, burying his face into the crook of your neck, wet hair prickling on his skin. He peeled himself away from you, taking a deep breath. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

The squealed “Yes!” before you kissed him ardently once more was forever ingrained into his mind.

Amidst his reverie, you stood up from your seat. The wind tousled your hair slightly, so you used your left hand to tuck it behind your ear. The street lights reflected their light on a ring you had on your left hand. He recognized it instantly. “I should go,” you murmured, slightly graceless.

“You still have it.”

You looked at him, still sitting and nodded softly. You were hit with the realization that he also remembered you. It didn’t matter that it was such a small thing about you, relief flooded your veins at the very thought that he thought of you. “I do.”

You waved at him, your lips turned upwards shyly. You turned your back and started walking away from him. Again, he thought. And again, he let you, without putting up a fight, which he was aware that he should have done. The elephant in his chest was a light weight compared to the heavy truth dancing around in his throat. Said truth would become much bigger, a heavier burden for him to carry, once it made its way out of him. Speaking made it real. He knew it because every memory that he kept of you, in a sacred, untouched area of his own consciousness, was full of comfort after sharing uncomfortable truths.

It was like his heart screamed at him to keep searching, to keep trying for the person who made it beat faster. But his brain, foggy with all the logic and terrible, horrid things he had to face, decided it was best to keep himself away from you, to save himself the trouble of being the target of pity, or worse, being another person who left him.

From that day on, you’d casually visit the park, secretly wishing you could see him more. It didn't take too long until your wishes were granted, no matter how private you thought they were. Perhaps they were all over your face and he could still read you so easily. Despite the apparent capacity of reading your wants, you were positively sure that Spencer didn't know what to say, just like you. Everything, including him, felt as distant as you had left it. You weren't sure if you could go back, but running away was just as troublesome: you had to adapt in order to survive, but everyone else surrounding you was already fit to the environment. You stuck out like a sore thumb, unable to connect with anyone but the protagonist from past memories of what once was a happy relationship.

Every time you were there, you sensed someone looking at you shortly after your arrival. It was like an unspoken agreement between the two of you, to try to talk things through without rushing into anything, trying to conquer the other's forgiveness by sharing both ordinary and big moments you had during your time apart. As you sat down and talked and shared, you realized that you'd never stop loving him, not even for a second, not even if you could. You had tried and failed, and kept coming back for more to fall in love with the same person over and over.

These encounters quickly turned into the best moments of Spencer's weeks, getting to be filled in on the things he had missed in your life. You had shown him photos, your new degree, new friends, discussed details about your job and how things were in your family. All of that wrapped in intricate, subtle details on how much you'd turned into a person he was already feeling proud of. You had grown into a strong-willed woman who managed to keep your heart as pure as the day you had met him. You still had the traits that made you fall in love with him.

One day, you two were sitting on the bench and you pointed to your initials on it. “Heh, I remember that day. You kept worrying someone was going to show up and stop me from doing it.”

He smiled. “I'm glad no one did.”

“It's funny, isn't it?” You asked, eyes on the indentation, not expecting him to answer due the lack of context. He frowned. “I mean, us. Acting like we don't know each other just for the sake of spending time together.”

He thought for a moment. With your shameless comment, you were definitely daring him to say something. Daring him to make things real, but better this time. “I like that idea,” he said, getting you to look at him. “Don't you? We get to meet each other again. I get to meet you again and I get to make sure that, this time, I'll never let you go.”

“You still don't know me enough to say that with such sureness,” you said, feeling bashful all of a sudden. It was also one of your behaviors that got him so enthralled, once again. Your capacity of saying something and then act coyly, as if you didn't know what he was talking about. Almost backtracking on whatever you had said that was a little more risky than the usual chatter.

He wouldn't let you.

“I want to.”

His tone made you speechless. Your expression turned into one of sheer, pure enchantment. It told him everything he needed to know.

Everything bad was now under the bridge and you could finally have each other back after being so patient.

He now remembered what it was that he missed so dearly in his life.

You.

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harrysfolklore · 2 months ago

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omg i have a question for the bitchy carlos fic -

so nicole piastri came on red flags podcast recently and spoke about oscar and his childhood, what if there’s an au segment of her talking about older piastri & what would his reaction be

okay this turned out being way longer than intended bc i added the scene of carlos and nicole meeting bc why not, i hope i'm not annoying you with too much little bitch content, i'll promise i'll post for other drivers now READ LITTLE BITCH HERE

Host: "So, Nicole, we've heard a lot about Oscar's journey to F1, but what can you tell us about his relationship with his sister, YN? She has quite the personality online, doesn't she? Can you tell us about their relationship growing up?

Nicole:"Oh, those two. They've always had such a special bond. YN is a few years older than Oscar and yes, she's known as the Piastri who fights people online, but she's always been fiercely protective of him. From the moment YN first held Oscar as a baby, she appointed herself his protector. It was adorable and sometimes a bit much, but always came from a place of love.

Host: Can you give us an example?

Nicole: "When Oscar was about six and YN was maybe nine. Oscar had just started school and was having trouble making friends. He was quite shy back then, if you can believe it. One day, YN overheard some kids teasing Oscar in the playground."

Host: "Oh no, what happened?"

Nicole: "Well, YN marched right up to those boys and she told them off in no uncertain terms. She said, and I quote, 'My brother is going to be a famous race car driver one day, and you'll all be asking for his autograph. So you'd better be nice to him now!' The boys were so shocked they just stood there with their mouths open."

Host:"That's amazing! Did it help Oscar?"

Nicole: "It did, actually. Oscar was so impressed by his big sister standing up for him that it gave him a confidence boost. And you know what? Some of those boys ended up becoming his good friends. They still joke about YN's 'prophecy' coming true now that Oscar's in F1."

Host: "That's such a heartwarming story! It's clear YN has always been protective of Oscar. Now, speaking of relationships, we've heard that YN is dating Carlos Sainz. Can you tell us a bit about how that came to be?"

Nicole: "Oh, that's an interesting story! YN actually told us she was dating Carlos a while back, but we weren't surprised at all. We knew she liked him since that time in Singapore last year when our family visited. YN was trying so hard to act mad about Carlos' win, but it was obvious she was impressed."

Host: "So you had suspicions before they even got together?"

Nicole: "Absolutely! Even before that Singapore trip, YN used to go on these multiple rants about, in her words, 'this arrogant Spaniard' who kept pushing Oscar off track. She called him something I won't repeat but I'm pretty sure everyone knows it, it absolutely irritated her. But you know what? We all knew that deep down, she had a crush on him."

Host: "That's quite the turnaround! Have you met Carlos — as YN’s partner this time — yet?"

Nicole: "I haven’t, actually. I’m hoping to do that in Baku after the summer break. But I can see Carlos brings out a softer side of YN that we don't often see in public. Don't get me wrong, she's still fiercely stubborn and outspoken, but with Carlos, there's this gentleness that comes out. He seems to really understand and appreciate her passion, and he's not intimidated by her strong personality at all. In fact, he seems to admire it."

Host: "It sounds like they complement each other well. How has Oscar taken to their relationship?"

Nicole: "Oscar's been very supportive. I think he appreciates seeing his sister happy, and of course, it doesn't hurt that Carlos is someone he respects on the track. It's actually quite funny to see YN now, cheering for both Oscar and Carlos during races. She's always torn between wanting Oscar to win and not wanting Carlos to lose."

Host: "That's nice, Carlos sounds like quite the gentleman. Has YN picked up any Spanish since they started dating?"

Nicole: "Oh, that's actually a funny story. We love to tease YN about this. You see, she failed Spanish in high school - couldn't conjugate a verb to save her life. And now here she is, dating a Spaniard! Carlos has been trying to teach her, but let's just say it's a work in progress. She can now order a beer and ask where the bathroom is, so I suppose that's progress!"

Host: "That's hilarious! I'm sure she'll be fluent in no time."

Nicole: "Bless her, she's really trying. She's determined to have a full conversation with Carlos' parents in Spanish by the end of the year. We'll see how that goes!"

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 498,646 others

ynpiastri our queen is here !! and no one is ready

tagged: nicolepiastri

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username1 NICOLE PIASTRI IS THE MOMENT

username2 SLAY THE HOUSE BOOTS DOWN

mclaren Icon 🧡

lilyzneimer the besttttt 💓

username3 IS SHE MEETING CARLOS ??

username4 oh i can’t wait to see our queen giving carlos a run for his money again

landonorris Coolest ever

↳ ynpiastri her favorite will always be yuki don’t even try it

↳ username1 HEEEELP

yukitsunoda5511 Nicole is brat

↳ username2 I LOVE THEM 😭

oscarpiastri I’m ready, your boyfriend however…

↳ username3 LOOOOORDDD

↳ username1 POOR CARLOS

↳ ynpiastri leave him alone 😤😤

Baku had a special energy during race weekends. The tight streets and high-pressure atmosphere gave you a mixture of excitement and nerves, but today, the butterflies in your stomach had nothing to do with the Grand Prix. Instead, it was about the lunch you were about to have, where Carlos would meet your mom—officially, as your boyfriend this time.

You walked through the paddock with Carlos by your side, his hand wrapped around yours. Oscar was a few steps ahead, casually walking toward the hospitality area where no other than Nicole Piastri waited. She had met Carlos briefly before, like many of the other drivers, but this was different. He wasn’t just a name on the grid anymore—he was the man you were dating, and Carlos seemed to be nervous about the meeting.

"You think she likes me?" Carlos adjusted his hat for what felt like the hundredth time, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Carlos, she’s going to love you," you couldn’t help but smile at his nerves, "She already does. But, you know... as a mum, she's entitled to give you a little hard time."

"That’s what I’m worried about," Carlos chuckled, but his smile was still tight, "I just want to make a good impression, you know?"

"You will," you assured him, squeezing his hand. "Just be yourself."

Oscar slowed down, overhearing your conversation and grinning like he already knew how this would play out. "Mum’s gonna grill you, mate," he teased, throwing a glance back at Carlos. "She’s been waiting for this."

"Not helping, Oscar," you muttered, giving your brother a playful shove. He just smirked, clearly enjoying himself.

When you finally reached the hospitality tent, your mom was already seated at a table, smiling warmly as she saw you all approach. She stood up to greet you, wrapping you in a familiar hug before turning to Carlos with that same welcoming smile—though you knew there was a glint of mischief behind it.

“Carlos, it’s so good to see you again,” she greeted, shaking his hand.

"It’s great to see you too, Mrs. Piastri," Carlos said, his polite smile fixed on his face. His Spanish charm was dialed up a notch, but you could still feel the slight tension in his grip as he held your hand.

“Please, call me Nicole,” she said, taking her seat again. “I’m not that formal, especially not with my daughter’s boyfriend.”

As you all settled into your seats, you couldn't help but notice the amused glances Oscar and your mom were exchanging. You knew that look—they were up to something.

"So," Nicole began, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "how long have you two been together again?"

You glanced at Carlos, who seemed to relax a bit as he answered, "About two months officially, right, cariño?"

You nodded, but before you could add anything, your mom raised an eyebrow. "And unofficially?"

"Mum!" you said as you felt your cheeks heat up.

Oscar, who had taken a seat across from you, let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying the show. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching the dynamic unfold.

"That’s what I thought," she teased, making Oscar let out a loud laugh.

You felt your face grow even hotter as your mom's implications hung in the air. Carlos, to his credit, managed to maintain his composure, though you noticed a slight redness creeping up his neck.

"Well," Carlos cleared his throat, his accent a bit thicker than usual, "I think it's safe to say we've known each other for quite some time now."

"Oh, I remember. You two weren't exactly friendly at first, were you?"

"That's putting it mildly, Mum," Oscar snorted, "Remember the time she came home absolutely fuming after a race? She was ranting about 'that little bi—'"

"Oscar!" you cut him off, "We don't need to relive that."

Carlos squeezed your hand under the table, clearly amused. "No, please, I'd love to hear about this."

"Oh mate, you should've heard her," Oscar spoke again, "'Carlos this, Carlos that.' I swear, she talked about you more when she hated you than she does now."

"I did not!" you protested, but your brother's knowing smirk told you he wasn't buying it.

"It's true," your mum added, her eyes dancing with laughter. "I remember thinking, 'This girl protests too much.' I had a feeling even then that all that anger was hiding something else."

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "I can't believe this is happening."

Carlos wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "It's okay, hermosa. I love to hear these stories."

You looked up at him, seeing the warmth in his eyes. It was hard to believe that those same eyes had once glared at you across the paddock.

Nicole smiled, watching the two of you with that familiar mom look—part teasing, part proud. "Well, now look at you. I guess all that bickering was just a cover-up for how much you liked each other."

"You’ve gone soft," Oscar rolled his eyes dramatically. "I kinda miss the days when you’d call each other names."

"Don’t worry," you muttered, giving Carlos a playful glare. "He’s still a little bitch sometimes."

Carlos laughed, his arm tightening around you as he kissed the top of your head. "And you’re still my favorite enemy turned girlfriend."

Your mom let out a satisfied sigh, leaning back in her chair. "I knew it all along."

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mockerycrow · 1 year ago

Text

Emergency Contact (1/2) (Ghost x GN!Reader)

>> emergency contact concept here << PART TWO HERE!!

Summary: Simon is your roommate, and you haven’t seen each other in months, considering Simon’s job. An unfamiliar number pops up on Simon’s phone, and answering it makes his world turn upside down.

A/N: How you two moved in together is very vaguely inspired this ghost fic right here. please give it a read! If you finish the song above, I highly recommend listening to the entire album while reading. i’m not the happiest with this, but i’m happy enough to post!

[WARNINGS: Blood and injury, traumatic events/trauma brought up, gore, little comfort, medical inaccuracies, tbh ooc simon but it’s ok.]

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since he’s been home, since he’s seen you. That’s how long he’s been stuck on base, or thrown into a foreign country to complete some mission, or to gather some intel, or to kill someone, just somewhere, anywhere but with you.

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since you softly asked him to stay as safe as he can, and to come back alive, and to come back with at least eight fingers. It was a running joke between you two, a way to relieve the terrifying reality of his job; as long as Simon came home alive and with majority of his fingers, he could consider it a job well done. You didn’t know much of his job, of course—only that he’s military, and he’s gone a lot. You already guessed it was a lot of classified stuff, probably down top secret government type of things. That did make you scared, though. You didn’t want the day to come, the day where people in fancy uniforms show up at your doorstep like you’re some widow. The thought of someone informing you of Simon’s death makes your stomach twist.

Eight months is admittedly a long time. Simon.. he missed you, but he’s rather die that verbally admit it, but he sure as hell felt it. He missed the way he could hear you walk through the house, the weight of the floorboards creaking up your feet. Simon missed walking by the bathroom and the air vaguely smelled your shampoo and body wash, a clear indicator you had just taken a shower. Simon missed the way you carelessly have your shoes next to the shoe rack, not even on it, and despite his annoyance of your laziness? He misses it every single time he’s away. He never really realizes the difference of living on base versus being home with you, and he’s comfortable in both environments for completely different reasons. Simon is comfortable with you because you’re safe, you aren’t associated with anyone he has to deal with on a near daily basis. You don’t scan the kitchen to see which household items could be potential bombs in the vicinity like he does. On base, Simon finds comfort in the familiarity of being constantly on alert, the need for a gun to be against his hip—it’s not the best, considering he’s in fight mode majority of the time, but it’s comforting. It’s familiar. It’s.. home, in a way.

You and Simon call at least once every three weeks—it’s not more because you’re both busy, you have your life to tend to while he has to do something like protecting an American Embassy, or sneaking into a compound to retrieve some vital information. You two talk about all kinds of things; you complain about the neighbors for the nth time, or you talk about your job, just something that he hasn’t heard about in a while. Simon.. he’s limited on what he can talk about—what he wants to talk about. It’s a bit difficult, keeping details of his job hidden away from you. He also keeps you hidden away from them; his team. Price vaguely is aware of your existence, but all he knows is your name and your phone number—someone to alert when he eventually would pass away.

It surprised Price when he requested access to his own file to make a change. Simon went for years without anyone in that section, leaving it blank—and then suddenly ‘[Name] [Last Name]’ is written down, along with your phone number. Simon doesn’t want to die somewhere and then you sit at home, dreading the fact that you haven’t received a call from him for over six months. Other than that, no one is aware of your existence and he wants to keep it that way. It keeps you safe, and he doesn’t want the one thing he has going in his life to be taken away from him—not like everything else has been.

No, you and Simon aren’t together. You just are the one constant he cannot allow to die. How you and Simon became close was rather funny, really—before you were roommates, you bumped into each other at the local stores, the bank, even several public spaces like parks and such. You didn’t see him too often and you weren’t aware on why, but you didn’t really wonder why either. By this point, you knew each other for a couple of months. He introduced himself as SR—not Ghost or Simon, but as SR. You didn’t bother to question it because this tall, bulky man seemed like he was trying keep himself as anonymous as possible. Without fail, you always saw him wear dark colored clothing that hid any identifiable markings—tattoos and scars, that kind of thing. He usually has his hood up with a black face mask covering his nose down, but you do know one thing—he has to have bright blonde hair. Why else would his beautiful eyelashes and eyebrows be that bright? It would catch your eye every time you’d see them. Sometimes you would see him with a beanie on and the mask, with his hood down. This wasn’t too often, as it exposed some scarring he has on the back of his neck, as well as his forehead. This also silently lead you to believe he has a tough past of some sort, which is confirmed when you run into him somewhere you never expected to—your therapist’s building. You bumped into him right outside, and you apologized profusely before looking and going silent as you made eye contact.

A silent agreement was made between you two that day, one that you could never put into words. Something in that moment that dragged you two closer together. You had been through some shit in your life, shit that had permanent effect on you, shit that you wanted to work through. It was horribly tiring, but you knew you needed to work through it—so you could live a life you felt was worth living. Simon, was on the other side of the spectrum. He didn’t want this. He never wanted to tell anyone about anything, but Price, Price fucking made him. Simon spends his days and nights plagued with nightmares and memories—he’s woken up in the middle of the night enough times to know that he needs help, but he was so adamant about not talking to anyone about it. But seeing you there? Someone who he hasn’t known for long, someone who had always greeted him with a smile on your face, laughter spilling from your beautiful vocal cords, and someone who doesn’t touch him without permission? It made him so angry and hopeless about this world. Not even you, a stranger who he sees as the best human being he’s known in a while—despite not knowing you for long—could escape from the cruel and sharp jaws of the world. You found out you two accidentally scheduled the same days, so it became an unspoken agreement to wait for the other outside of the building so you can both go in. Even when you weren’t sure when his next appointment would be, you’d be right outside of that building, waiting for him. You would always be right there, and that’s something he quickly learned.

You lost your house to a fire, everything went with the burning embers that raged inside of the 4 walls of your previous home, the structure collapsing in on itself. You had gotten out in time, and you numbly watched the fire roar, the crackling burning it’s memory in your ears. The piercing sound of different sirens were approaching, but all you could do is stand there with your phone in your hand, watching the home you worked so hard for burn to the foundation built years ago. You felt a hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t bother to turn to see who it was. Everything was going so slow, almost like a movie scene in the worst way possible. Your nostrils burned from the smell of burning wood, drywall, and installation. The hand squeezed your shoulder and you slowly looked at who it was—and was him. Simon. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes ever so slightly panicked and it was obvious he was asking you something, but you didn’t hear him. All you could focus on was that he was here. You blinked rapidly as your eyes began to burn from the smoke and from that choked feeling going from your chest to your throat. “I..” You croak ever so slightly. You couldn’t hold it back—you quickly grabbed onto Simon desperately, letting out a heart-wrenching sob because you just lost everything you owned, every memory, every piece of furniture, everything.. but he was here. He was the only thing was wasn’t crumbling away from your grasp, the only constant. Once you clung to him, Simon’s senses were flooded with you. Fuck, your touch burned, just like everyone’s else’s but he liked—no, loved how it felt. Despite the image of a burning house in his wake making dread bubble in his gut, your sobs and touch were the only thing he could focus on. Simon hesitates for only a second before pulling you into his personal space, his arms wrapping around you and weighing heavily on your body. Neither of you spoke, he just let you scream into his chest and sob, your fists gently banging against his chest—the anger, the sadness, everything was too much. Simon knew exactly how you were feeling, so he didn’t mind the twinges of pain your hands produced. Simon was the one who helped you while you chatted with the paramedics and the police. He was the one who helped you find your words when you had none left to share, the smell of the smoke imprinted on your clothes.

Without question, Simon took you to his house. He did not have another bed set up, so he had you sleep in his room while he slept on his couch. He hated the hollow look your eyes held, the way you were delayed with your answers, the ways your hands shook. Your everlasting smile had dissipated into a wobbly frown and he.. Simon couldn’t handle it. He grabbed you some of his clothes and helped you into his bathroom, quietly telling you to take a shower. He’ll take care of your clothes. Simon left you alone, and you showered for a long time. He didn’t count, but it was over an hour and a half. Simon didn’t say anything about you possibly racking up his bill, how could he when you had just lost everything? He wanted to.. to help you, and he wasn’t sure why. Even when he found himself scrubbing your smoke and tar covered clothes in his kitchen sink, he couldn’t find an exact reason why he wanted to help you. Maybe it’s because you made him feel human when he needed to be, maybe you were the one thing that kept him coming back to this town, the one thing that kept him from completely pulling away from the civilian world. You had found him in a corner like a dog, lips curled back and snarling—sharp teeth clashing together, and without a word, you gave him reasons to trust you. Although they may not be.. normal reasons to the regular eye, but they were enough for Simon.

You’re enough for Simon. He scrubbed your clothes until his arms burned, and then some.

That’s when he found out that you too, were also someone who could not stay asleep for long. When Simon awoke with his adrenaline pumping from the muffled sound of vomiting, he had to calm himself down because he’s safe, and you’re safe, most of all. Simon isn’t sure when he began to think that way, but it’s one of the many things he’s decided to not question—which also new for him. Simon is man who demands answers, yet with you? it’s like everything naturally falls into place, which is why he doesn’t complain when your stay at his house—which you swore would only be until you gathered enough money for an apartment—turned from a two week stay, to Simon carrying in an IKEA bed frame to put and assemble in one of his empty rooms. Many sleepless nights came and went, and each and every one you spent them with each other, sitting by a windowsill together, other times spending it in the backyard and looking at the sky. Sometimes you would wake up first, sometimes it would be him. You somehow always knew when he had woken up from a nightmare, his heart pounding in his ears—until your hands grab his and squeeze, to ground him. You burn him, and he welcomes the tickle of your ever-glowing flame. A year into this arrangement, Simon finally shows you his face and he appreciates that you don’t look at him any different. He usually hates the searching eyes, trying to memorize every inch of his face—but he’s greedy when you do it. When your eyes roam over every scar and acne scar, when you point out his messily cut hair and half-assed shaven stubble, he doesnt get angry. Simon doesn’t feel suffocated by your glances. He doesn’t wear his mask at home anymore, not when you’re there.

Then Simon gets the notice about his three month leave ending soon; and he knows that you need to know about his job. Or at least, the bare minimum you need to know. In reality, it’s how much he wants you to know, but he doesn’t want to admit that. He sits you down one morning, a cup of tea in his hand and he had a mug of your favorite morning drink on the other side of the table he had bought a few weeks you started staying here. Simon explains that he has a job in the military, that he can’t tell you much, but it means he’s going to be gone for weeks, even months at a time. You’re at a loss at first, because who is going to have an extremely positive reaction to “by the way, I work an extremely dangerous job and I can’t tell you anything and I’ll be gone for a while.. Oh yeah, you likely won’t know if I die!”? Despite your initial reaction, you grow to be okay with this situation. Or, we’ll, as okay as you can be with it. You also find out that he was here for way longer than he originally is, due to his boss demanding him to take a break—AKA, “go to therapy you dafty”.

For a little over two years, you two fell into a good rhythm. A call every three weeks, him coming home and you becoming the safest space he’s ever had in his life.

Which is why when his personal cell phone begins to vibrate in his pocket during some fuck-all meeting, his eyebrows furrow. The number is unfamiliar, but the area code is not. Simon quietly excuses himself from the extended round table, taking his call outside of the meeting room. Price’s eyes follow his figure as he exits, noticing it’s his personal cell phone in his hand. Simon answers the call and presses his phone against his masked ear, muttering a low, “Hello?”

A high-pitched, soft yet serious voice filters through the speaker, a woman. “Hi, is this Mr. Riley?”

Simon pauses, and so does his heart. “Who’s asking?”

He honestly regrets asking that in the moment—one part of him genuinely wishes he never answered this call, and the other part of him is glad he did. “I’m a nurse from Northern Manchester Community Hospital, you’re written down as [Name]’s emergency contact. They’ve been a victim of a hit and run situation, sir. They’re alive, but they’re in the ICU.” The nausea that suddenly bubbles inside of his guys, the stomach acid mixed with whatever he had eaten previously, threatening to travel up his esophagus, burn every inch and then exit with a horrific sound. Simon’s head began to spin—he’s your emergency contact? A hit and run, you were fucking hit?? By what, a car? A pick-up? A semi? God, Simon has seen the most horrible, gruesome, fucked up shit you would ever see in his entire life, yet he isn’t sure if he can handle the image of you spread out in a hospital bed, with one too many tubes circulating around you. His mind plagues him with intrusive images, ones he never wants to actually see played out. Fuck, his head hurts. It feels like someone is physically shoving a knife into his chest and twisting it, like God is laughing at him and playing with Simon’s pain for his own gain. How could he not think that, especially with everything that has happened to him? His friends, his family? His old CO? The fucking abuse he endured??

It’s like Simon lost his hearing for a moment, because he cannot bare fucking losing you, too. There’s a vague ringing in his ears, almost like there was an explosion and he stood too close. And then suddenly every sound comes rushing back to his eardrums, and everything suddenly everything is so fucking overwhelming. “Mr. Riley?” The nurse calls over the phone, her tone laced with worry. He clears his throat and when he speaks, he sounds wrecked, which he fucking hates. “I.. I’ll come as soon as I can.” Simon hangs up, not giving the nurse a moment to speak. He drops his phone and if he doesn’t sit down, he’s going to fall over like a tree that’s been cut down. Simon lets out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the way his stomach is screaming and twisting as he puts a hand on the wall, and he crouches down. It’s the first time he doesn’t look around to see if anyone is watching his sudden display of emotion. When he’s suddenly rocked with the feeling of home at work, especially with the news that you’re fucking injured—he’s overwhelmed and twisted all over the place. Simon finds himself stumbling back to his barracks.

Price finds his way to him after Simon never returns to the meeting. He knocks on the door, but his knuckles pause before they can knock against the door for the third time as he discovers the door is open—which is very, very, odd. He slowly opens the door while calling for Ghost, and is met with the sight of Simon shoving some of his clothes and belongings into a duffle bag, as well as his military travel documents. “Ghost?” Price questions, who stopped in his doorway to watch Simon lose his mind while packing. Simon doesn’t respond as he practically rips his phone charger out of the wall and stuffs it into the bag, zipping it up. He slings it over his shoulder and he turns around, pausing when he sees Price. Simon’s eyes tell everything he’s feeling—that something’s happened, something bad, and he needs to leave. Price bites his lip and quietly exhales, his fingers rubbing at his chin. “I’ll approve your leave. Just shoot me a text of how long it needs to be, yeah?”

Simon makes sure to note to send Price a thank you of some sort, because within the next two hours, Simon is boarding a plane, heading for Manchester, wearing some black clothing, a jacket, a black face mask, gloves, and his beanie. The entire time, he could not stop thinking about you—and how you could possibly die before he got there to send off his final goodbyes. Is that something he would actually want to do, though? See you in the hospital, knowing it’ll be the last place you’d ever be alive in? Go home, see how you left the house exactly as you left it? A house, but without his home in it? Simon stares out the airplane window blankly, his hands curled into fists, and his nails would be digging into his palms if he didn’t have gloves on.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

The next part for Simon, it’s a blur again. Got off the plane, got his luggage, provided documentation, blah blah blah—he didn’t give a fuck about any of it. His focus was you. He didn’t bother to stop home to drop his stuff off, he took an Uber straight to the hospital from the airport. It was a fairly expensive Uber too, but he could worry about the costs of everything later. It took another half hour to get there.

His heart began to hammer in his chest as the sight of the hospital’s signs began to pop up on the road, the anxiety taking hold in his stomach and his head begins to hurt again. Simon quietly thanks the driver, tips them, and exits the car with a swiftness once they pull up. Simon walks through the main entrance’s sliding doors, going up to the desk. A woman behind the counter hangs up the phone, murmuring a goodbye, and then she looks at Simon with her pretty blue eyes. “How can I help you, sir?” She murmurs sweetly, noting how anxious he is. She can see the sweat on his brow line. Simon clears his throat, his voice rumbling in his chest when he speaks. It takes everything in him to not yell at this innocent woman and get thrown out. “My.. My name is Mr. Riley, I was called ‘cause my friend is here,” Simon manages to push out. “[Name] [Last Name].” The woman turns to her computer and clicks the couple of buttons and types a couple of words and holy fuck, Simon just wants to go to your wing already—“Ah, yes, I see you’re listed as their emergency contact,” The woman grabs a sticky note and writes with a pink pen your room number and elevator floor, handing it to Simon. He barely gets a “thank you” out before he nearly jogs to the nearby elevator. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283—it’s the longest minute long elevator ride in his entire fucking life.

Simon changes face masks whilst facing the wall, and then he finds your room number—and his heart is beating out of his chest. There’s cops standing outside of your room who stop him from entering. Simon’s anger flares up so quickly, he nearly makes a scene until a doctor exits your room. She’s wearing her usual blue scrubs, her coat, and she’s dawning a N95 and some sterile gloves. She’s holding a clipboard. “Mr. Riley?” She questions, holding the clipboard close to her chest. Simon nods without hesitation, and she responds, “I’m sorry, but due to the nature of this case, you’ll have to provide some identification for me and these officers.”

Usually, Simon would hesitate—he gives anyone outside of his team the bare minimum, hell, he only introduced himself as SR until he knew you for a while. This time, he takes out his military ID and shows it to the officers. He ignores their looks of surprise, and ignores the murmurs that come from them. Simon puts his ID away and he holds back the urge to shove them out of the way as he glares down at the doctor on accident. “Come in,” The doctor opens the sliding door and steps into the hospital ICU room with him. Simon follows behind her and he immediately smells the sickening smell only the ICU gives off. There’s a small wall blocking his view from you that he hasn’t past, and he can already hear the machines working. A heart monitor, a ventilator, combined with other machines he doesn’t know too well. The doctor flips through the papers pinned to her clipboard. “They were hit by a vehicle of some sort, the scene suggested they were walking home from the local corner store. [Name] has multiple broken bones and fractures, a punctured lung, a fractured jaw and internal bleeding. They lost a lot of blood at the scene.” Simon doesn’t respond as he slowly walks forward, and he finally lays his eyes on you. It’s.. traumatizing, to say the least. You were never supposed to be in a hospital bed like this, hooked up to machines he can’t even name. He slowly walks over to you, dropping his duffel bag somewhere on the floor. He doesn’t care to look where. Simon barely pays attention to what the doctor is saying—his hands tremble as he stands by your side, his heart thumping harshly in his chest. Fuck.

He drags over one of the chairs next to your bed. Simon takes off one of his gloves slowly, and then he tears the other one off in a frenzy. He feels so unlike himself, so.. different.. human. He reaches over to your hand and his fingers grab your wrist, so gentle as if you’re glass. Simon presses his fingers against your pulse point, counting your heartbeats despite the monitor. The thumping under your skin makes it more.. real. Feeling you, your heartbeat, your warmth and your skin—it’s comforting. Simon clears his throat and fights the urge to vomit once a gain, watching your chest rise and fall, produced by the ventilator.

He moves his hand to intertwine with your fingers and he uses his other hand to feel your pulse. Simon closes his eyes, muttering the beats per minute under his breath.

At least you’re alive—you’re here, you’re alive, and you’re with him. And that’s all he asks for.

tags;; @alwaystired--neversleeping @handsomeunderwear-art @indefenseofkara @kaysav608 @1-is-loneliest-number @rosee-sensuelle @kitty-satan1 @k4marina @rahmown @royalty-purple @bowtruckleninja — if you are not tagged, it’s not allowing me :-)

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 8 months ago

Text

Golden Walkway

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader (Reader is a teacher in Jackson, has long hair.) Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: It’s your birthday, Joel takes you out to the Tipsy Bison, kisses (and does more to) you in the rain, and takes you home to give you a gift (it's sex, the gift is sex). Also, the thought of Joel spitting whiskey in someone's mouth happened and I had to write it out. 🤷🏼‍♀️ Warnings: smut, drinking, consent first, degradation second, followed by so much praise, hair pulling, spitting, Joel calls you a slut, fingering against a brick wall, F receiving oral, I watched that doggy style Narcos gif (for research) a lot, unprotected p in v, apocalypse birth control (pulling out), Joel’s canon age, Reader’s in her 30’s. Words: 4,300 A/N: Hi! Welcome to my first published fic. I'm currently working on a grander scale fic with these two, I hope to have the first chapter out within the next couple of weeks. I just really wanted to get this out there! Thanks for reading and a big thank you to @ohheypedrito for all of her help and also to our phones for not overheating when I send 40 texts at once with ideas for fics. Hope you enjoy, can't even blame the feralness of this on the full moon.

Edit: I posted the Masterlist for Elks, my work these two are included in.

***

“Was turning 21 as fun as they’d show in movies back then?” You’re cuddled in next to Joel on his couch sketching in your notebook while Joel reads a book about Native Americans that you found him. You always do this, a random question or thought to break the comfortable silence.

“Not for me, bought a 12 pack of Bud Light and split it on my porch with Tommy. Sarah was only a toddler then and I had work in the morning. Didn’t have the money or the time to go to a bar. ‘Course I don’t think a lotta people did anything the way they’d show in the movies.”

“I always wanted to have my 21st birthday at a bar, ya’ know? Wait until the clock strikes midnight and order a weird named shot.”

“Well, I reckon we could do that at the Bison tomorrow night. Might not be your 21st but I’ll get you whatever you want to drink, and the best part is you can drink before midnight.” Joel pulls you in closer and kisses your forehead, “What do you say, let me take you out for your birthday sweetheart.”

“Yes, please,” you sigh into his shoulder, “sounds amazing.”

“Wear that little blue dress I know you have hanging in your closet.”

The drinks flowing through you making you downright giddy, alcohol making you bolder, your body and your inhibitions becoming looser, your hands becoming addicted to touching Joel, first his leg, then his thigh, now his lower stomach, right at his waistband. You haven’t been this tipsy in a long time, your face feeling flushed and red more from your desire than any drink you’ve had tonight.

“You better knock that off before I take you outside in the rain and fuck you against the building, darling,” Joel huffs into your ear. His fiery warning massaging your neck causing your heart rate cooled by your inebriation to pick up.

“Sooo, keep going?” You slur back.

“If that’s what you really want,” Joel puts a forceful squeeze on your upper thigh, a layer of your dress laying between his skin and your skin. If you weren’t both sitting at the bar, and maybe in one of the more darker corners of the saloon you’d surely hike your skirt up and let him learn just how bad you want him.

It feels so good to let go with him, to giggle openly at his jokes, stare at his profile as he talks with a friend or two who stop by to say hello, or place your hand on his broad back just because you want to touch his soft blue denim shirt.

You watch as his tongue darts out and licks the leftover whiskey off his top lip, Joel’s movements becoming a little slower thanks to the amber liquid he’s been drinking all night. Some droplets glisten on his mustache, you fight every urge inside yourself to not lean over and lick them up.

“It’s what I want,” you respond as you move your hand back and forth across his waistband.

“Jesus Christ, I’m about ready to throw you over my shoulder and run home,” Joel says as he takes your hand into his and pulls it away.

“Not so fast. You told me you’d fuck me in the rain, that’s what I want for my birthday,” you whisper into his ear with a breathy giggle.

“Can’t fuck you out here in public. Small town ‘n all, but I’ll make you feel good,” Joel takes a last swig of his drink, puts the glass down and knocks his fist on the bar to let the bartender know you two are leaving. He leans forward and drawls into your ear, “Now finish your drink if you want me to show you just how happy of a birthday I can give you.”

You nod and gulp your drink down. You’re so wet, you don’t know if you’ve ever been this turned on before. Joel grabs your arm with the perfect amount of pressure, you’ve never been so happy to get outside into the pouring rain.

——

It’s absolutely storming outside, your footsteps sloshing in the puddles on the ground. The rain pelting your’s and Joel’s bodies as you walk through late night Jackson. It feels like you’re the only two people in the whole town as you make your way farther away from the bar. The bulbs of the string lights reflecting off the water gathering on the sidewalks making your path towards Joel’s house golden. You don’t rush, the two of you not scared away by the downpour, the drops cooling your burning skin. Joel turns down the street before his, pulling you behind one of the storage buildings, it’s darker back here, practically pitch black thanks to the rain clouds blocking the moon and the nearest light source being three buildings down. You’re pushed up against the brick, Joel’s hand gently cradling your head to block it from hitting the wall, he’s such a gentleman.

“Happy birthday baby, I need you to tell me you want this, ‘n you’re okay with this, I have plans for you and I need you to tell me you want it.” Joel instructs you, all you can see is his eyes and the faint lines of his facial hair, the rest of him camouflaged by the darkness surrounding the two of you.

“I want it, more than anything. Please,” your voice straining as you beg.

“Tell me you want me to have my way with you,” Joel speaks into your slack mouth as he rubs his arched nose against yours.

“I want you to have your way with me,” you moan against his wet shirt, “so bad.”

“Good girl, now, m’not gonna fuck you here, because I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop and I need to have you in my bed tonight.” Joel starts to move his hand down your body lifting the hem of your dress. “But, you are going to cum for me right here.” Joel captures your mouth with his. His hand starts to trace the outline of your panties, you mew out a cry as his fingers slip through and begin to pet you right where you ache the most. His hands are so big, his fingers so long and thick, always putting the right amount of pressure, moving the way you need him to move. Joel Miller is a capable man, everyone knows that, but nobody, except for you, knows just how capable he is.

Joel sticks a finger in you, though his finger is thick and feels so good, you need more to fill you.

“Another,” you instruct in between fevered kisses. Your pussy clenches as Joel pushes another finger in you. “Yessss,” you moan out against his lips.

“That’s my good girl, gotta get you stretched out f’me.” Joel begins to kiss his way down your chin and neck stopping at your chest, your hard nipples jutting through your wet dress. Joel takes one into his mouth, sucking the fabric and your tit deeper into his mouth. The sloppy wet sounds of Joel’s suctions making you want him more.

“Another finger,” you shudder out. “Three? You really want it tonight, don’t you?” Joel mumbles against your chest as he sticks a third finger in. It burns, it burns in the best way. You’re ready for him, it’s what you’ve been waiting for all night. You bite down on your lip as your legs begin to shake, Joel can tell you’re right on the edge and twists his fingers inside of you as he finger fucks you harder.

Your orgasm bursts forward your whole body going stiff as you try not to wail out into the night.

“That’s iiiiiit baby,” Joel pulls his fingers out of you and softly pets your pussy from hole to clit.

He removes his hand from between your legs bringing it up between the two of you resting his finger tips against your lips, you open your mouth and begin to lick. His tongue meeting yours as you both clean his thick digits covered in you. He takes his hand away leaving just your mouths to taste each other. His kiss turns tender, your kiss turns desperate.

Joel pulls away resting his forehead against yours. “My beautiful birthday girl. Let’s get you home, my gift’s not done.”

——

Your body practically chills with the promise of what is left to come. Joel grabs your hand and you take it depending on him to lead you to his home. Every step you take you feel your wet core heavy with lust, you’re soaked from the rain and from Joel, if you could drown like this, you would go down with the sinking ship. His house comes into view, your body tingling in anticipation at the site as the both of you speed your footsteps up in perfect agreement.

He throws open the gate, you’re following so close you almost trip on his heels making your way up the walkway and steps. He fumbles for his keys and unlocks the doors, you take the opportunity to run your hands all over his back and sides, rubbing the wet cloth of his shirt as it molds to his body. The door swings open and you both shuffle into his living room gasps escaping your mouths, both out of breath from your dash home and your mutual want for each other. You step out of your wet shoes and shake your hair out.

“Take your dress off, right now.” Joel huffs out as he tosses his keys on the console table and begins to kick his boots off.

You strip yourself of your baby blue frock as fast as you can. You’ve never had a reason to wear such a revealing piece of clothing. You don’t know why you held onto it, let alone grabbing it from the communal clothing rack, never thinking anything, or anyone, would be worthy enough for you to dress up for. Joel’s worthy, so worthy.

“Feel like I’m a little underdressed here…” your words grab Joel’s attention as he moves his hands up to his chest to begin to unbutton his denim shirt. He gets one button taken care of before he rips it open. Shame, it’s your favorite shirt, you'll have to fix it for him later. You watch as a button rolls underneath a table, before you can note where it lands, your attention turns back to Joel to find him stepping out of his jeans and underwear leaving him completely naked.

What a sight, what a fucking sight. There’s only a lamp on in the room, Joel’s body being cast in amber color and shadow, one side of him on full display glowing in the light, the other more difficult to discern. He moves forward stalking you. “Now I’m the underdressed one here. Take them off for me,” he says as he moves to pick up a bottle of whiskey from his shelf.

You follow his instructions shucking your underwear down your legs and leaving them pooled at your feet.

“Good girl,” Joel says as he begins to walk towards you unscrewing the lid off the bottle. He stands in front of you and takes a drink. “Open your mouth,” he orders as he grabs your hair and tips your head back. He takes another pull from the bottle, this time he raises his mouth over your mouth and begins to dribble drips of whiskey down from his mouth into yours. A moan raises from your throat, causing Joel to tighten his hold on your hair and arch your head back even more. He spits the rest of the whiskey straight into your mouth, you happily swallow his spit and liquor down. He unwinds his hands from your hair, takes another drink and kisses you, the whiskey and his tongue spilling into your mouth. Joel pulls back and takes his last swig before resting the bottle on the table. “Get upstairs.”

You don’t think you’ve ever run so fast in your life, tripping over your feet as you rush your way up, Joel’s naked form hunting you like prey up each step.

The sight of Joel’s bed brings a new wave of goosebumps to your skin.

“Bend over on the bed darlin,” Joel turns on a lamp in the corner and pulls it closer. “Need to lick and fuck you with my tongue.”

You move over to Joel’s side of the bed and bend forward, your ass sitting high in the air and your face in the sheets, you inhale the smell of Joel on his sheets. You swing your hips in giddy anticipation of what’s about to happen.

You feel his body lean over yours, his erection laying over your lumbar. “Okay baby, once again, need you to tell me you’re good with me having my way with your body,” he tempts into your ear.

“Fuck, y—yes, fuck, of course I am good. So good.”

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s heavy body lifting off of yours as he kneels between your legs. You feel his hot breaths on you where you’re aching for him the most, you widen your stance egging him on to touch you. “Look at you,” Joel licks your thigh, “so fuckin’ wet you’ve spilled out into your thighs.”

You scream a pleasured yell as Joel’s teeth bite down into the flesh of your thigh and sucks your skin into his mouth. The pain is perfect. He loosens his bite, kissing and licking the spot, the sensation making your body quiver.

“Okay baby?”

“Y-y-yessss,” you answer.

“Whaddo you need sweetheart?”

“Lick me,” you beg out, “please.”

“‘Course. Where do you want me to lick you?” Joel questions as he nuzzles his head against your ass cheek, giving it a small bite.

“My pussy. Pleeeaaase,” you’d say you sound pathetic but you couldn’t care less, your lust overshadowing any type of pride.

“Mm, you sound so needy baby, you sound like you really need my tongue on you, huh?” His teasing drawl drives you crazy, your body won’t stop moving, absolutely radiating tensity from your want.

“Please,” you implore, sobbing out.

“Alright baby,” his hands grab your cheeks and spreads them, widening his view of you. “Prettiest thing I ever seen, love your pussy.”

This act feels so depraved, everything on display for him, legs and cheeks spread wide, your pussy exhibited for him like it’s an art piece.

You literally scream into the bed, biting down on Joel’s comforter as his tongue finally meets your core. This, thiiiiiiis is what you’ve been wanting all night. Joel moans against you, not being able to hold himself back as he tastes you, his fevered licks exploring your cunt, his large tongue mapping every inch of you. He’s absolutely conquering you, the noises of his lips and tongue smacking against your wetness soundtracking his journey.

He can feel you getting close your hips beginning to cant as your orgasm begins to crest. You knew it wouldn’t take long, between the alcohol buzz and Joel’s tongue lapping up your wetness and cum from earlier, you knew you’d be a goner.

“Mmf, cum for me,” Joel speaks against you, his mouth full of you, too busy to pull away to clearly speak. You don’t think he can get any closer to you, his tongue working your orgasm up in intensity with each swirl and dash against your clit. You feel it, it’s here. Your legs instantly collapse, thankful that the rest of your body is resting on the bed. Your eyes tightly squeeze shut and then begin to rapidly blink as your orgasm shatters through you. Joel flattens his tongue against your clit as it pulses. You’re too turned on to make a noise, Joel stepping in for you and groaning as your juices seep out of you.

“Did so good baby,” Joel says leaving one last kiss on your clit before standing up behind you. You want to flip over to look at him, you haven’t seen his face since you laid down on the bed. You have no energy, you’re just a shell of a woman, the only sensations you can feel is the pool of wetness in between your legs and your light inebriation.

Your attention gets pulled to the sound of Joel spitting in his hand, followed by a hiss coming out of his mouth. When you realize exactly what he’s doing, you summon the strength needed to turn over. You flip over, your back thudding on the mattress your legs still spread wide, feet resting on the floor. And there…. there…. THERE he is, standing in the middle of his room, one large hand wrapped around his hard cock softly stroking as he watches you with hooded eyes. You know you just came, but the sight makes your pussy clench with desire.

Joel jerks himself off as his eyes roam your exhausted form. “Been thinking ‘bout this all day. You all laid out in front of me heaving for air after cummin’ all over my tongue,” slow strokes matching his lazing words. “Just about canceled our night out when you opened your door in that little blue dress, looked like you were wearing the sky, baby.”

You bite your lip as all of your senses are so overtly overwhelmed by lust. The sight of Joel’s handsome face watching you, the hazel flecks in his eyes twinkling in the golden light of the lamp. The smell of the rain on your skin mixed with the heady scent of your arousal and Joel’s sheets. The taste of Joel’s whiskey tongue still in your mouth. The sound of Joel’s fist pumping along his hard cock. The feel of the aftershocks of your orgasm still quaking your body. It’s so fucking much, you need Joel inside you. The thought of feeling him stretch you causes a whimper.

“Yeah baby? Havin’ a hard time over there?” Joel stops stroking his hard length, his hand pauses on his shaft. “You want me to fuck you now?”

“Pleeeease,” you keen out.

“Alright sweetheart.” Joel confidently strides over to you, dick still in hand. He stops right at the edge of your feet. “Turn back around ’n get on all fours in the middle of the bed f’me.”

You follow his instructions eager to please. The sooner you get this done, the sooner you can feel Joel enter you.

“Good girl,” he praises as the mattress dips lower with his weight behind you.

Your heart is pounding so loud, your whole body thrumming, you gulp down a breath of air trying to calm your need. You feel Joel’s cock brush against your ass cheek, he’s so close to fucking you.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck you real good and hard now. Happy birthday baby.”

And just like that, Joel buries his cock inside of you, you’re absolutely stretched around him. Your clit already worked over by Joel’s tongue, now your hole deliciously stinging while it flutters around his cock. He begins thrusting, tender and slow full strokes. Entering and exiting, swirling the head of his cock right at the entrance before plunging back in because he knows you love the feeling. Joel’s groans and your cries join in song as he begins to pound faster, the sound of your bodies slapping together match the rhythm.

“Feel so fucking good, always so perfect for me. S’a good girl, always take it so good,” Joel grits out.

He grabs your hair and wraps it around his fist as he pounds into you. “No one knows how fucking slutty you get for me behind these walls. They think you’re one of those innocent little teachers.” Joel pulls your hair harder causing a scream of ecstasy from you. “You love this, don’t you?”

You do. It’s so rough, so different from how gentle he always is with you. It feels like a luxury to be treated this way by him.

“Y-y-y-yes, God I love it,” you whimper.

“That’s right. That’s what I like to hear. So pretty so smart. So much smarter than me, now I’m makin’ you stupid with my cock, right baby?”

Everybody knows Joel Miller as the strong, silent type, a man of few words, somebody who doesn’t do chit chat. But with you in his bed naked and wailing as he slams into you, Joel Miller won’t shut up.

“Doin’ so good for me. So pretty, so perfect f’me. So wet for me.”

“You made me so wet earlier, I was afraid I was going to leave a mark on the barstool.” Your words coming out as tortured weeps, so lost in your ecstasy you struggle with every word spoken.

“Fuuuuuck.” That got him good. He pounds you even harder, the bed frame shaking violently against his wall, your body and cunt acting as if it’s the only barrier between Joel knocking a hole in the plaster. “Had I fuckin’ known I would have made you stick your face on that chair and made you lick yourself up as I fuck you against it.”

That’s it, that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. Joel’s deep timbered accent grunting those deviant words as he grabs you and begins to roll his hips into your cunt. Your body is strung so tight and rigid in all places besides your hips and core, pumping and rolling along with Joel’s as he fucks you. You’re close again, your panting breaths letting Joel know.

“Baby, if you gotta cum, cum,” his grip on your hips pressure into you.

“Going … going.. going to,” the only words you can say as your third orgasm radiates out of your body, your pussy is the epicenter, tingles firing through your veins, your hands fisting the blankets at your detonation. Slack jawed and fucked senseless you rally the strength to not disintegrate and fall into Joel’s bed. Your world has been shattered by Joel, but your body survives for him, your legs and arms shaking under gravity and your weight as they deal with the fallout.

“C’mere baby, lemme help you.” Of course he can tell you’re struggling. He reaches his hands around, clutching your stomach and pulling you up against him. Your back up against his chest, his hand seeking out your breast, the other wrapping around your torso and clutching you to him. He holds you as he fucks into you, his nose brushing against your ear as he puffs and grunts against your neck. “Fucking. Love. You. So. Much.” Each word matching a thrust into you. Your hands find his and grip them, you’ve never felt more loved and protected. Joel Miller has got you.

You feel the familiar shudder in Joel’s movements as he edges close to his climax. His labored breaths getting louder and more fevered against your neck. You’re absolutely wrecked, but the angle of Joel’s cock inside of you mixed with the feeling of the shudder in his movements as he edges himself brings forth another orgasm. Words are gone, just sounds, whatever your throat can muster up and out of your mouth.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it,” Joel repeats. His hands squeezing yours so tightly, his chest heaving against your back, his strong thighs straddling yours, his nose pressing into your ear. You feel his body tense as he pulls out. His release coating your pussy as his whole body surrounds you. Hot breaths huffing against the side of your face in between featherlight kisses. “Love you,” a whisper in your ear so delicate and sweet as he lets go of your hands. Your body falling forward without his support, your arms catching you before crashing down on the bed. Joel gets up with a groan as you lay yourself down on your stomach, taking the opportunity to stretch your legs out before rolling over on your side to watch Joel. He stands arms akimbo in the middle of the room. He’d look like a Greek statue if his shoulders weren’t rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath. He’s gorgeous and he looks just as wrecked as you feel.

“Probably shouldn’t have gotten up as quick as I did,” he chuckles. “Damn well feel like I’m standing in the middle of a earthquake.” You love the casual banter he puts forth seconds after being deep inside you, his cum still covering your core. This is love.

You smile at him, your cheek resting on your hand as a makeshift pillow. You’re exhausted… the whole night and your four orgasms catching up with you. Eyes feeling heavy, matching your limbs you begin to drift off.

A wet sensation in between your legs jerks you awake. “Sorry baby, just want to clean you up,” a whisper just as light as Joel’s tender attention as he washes you lulls you back to sleep.

——

“Baby,” Joel’s low voice gently wakes you up along with a soft kiss to your forehead.

You groan as you stretch your sore muscles under the sheet, opening your eyes to find Joel gazing down lovingly at you. He’s backlit by the filtered morning sunlight shining in through his bedroom windows. What a way to wake up. “Happy birthday sweetheart, I’d let you sleep all day but I need to give you my present.” His face is so bright and cheerful, a boost in your confidence provided by just how happy he looks when he’s with you.

“Thought you gave me your present already last night,” you yawn.

“Sweet girl, that was a present for both of us. Now come on, get up.” You grab his offered hand and reluctantly get out of bed. Joel wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, his hands splayed across your back as you nuzzle your face in his warm chest. “Happy birthday.”

A/N: THANK YOU for reading my first ever fic. My inbox is always open. :)

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #elks #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal

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aemondwhoresworld · 4 months ago

Text

WITH WIRED

pairing: ewan mitchell x fem!reader

summary: in which ewan and y/n doing their first interview as newlywed with wired

words-count: 1,3k

warning: fluff, maybe abit cliché?, use of y/n, ewan and y/n being a newlywed couple, reader is quite sensitive, does not have any specific descriptions about y/n and ewan's appearance.

mae: english is not my first language, i do used google translate a few part in this one-shot. also this is my 2nd fic, im a long time reader but im a new writer, haven’t wrote any long imagines before. please forgive me if there was any mistakes. thank u!! maybe a part 2? idk

ASK | SUBMIT A POST | ARCHIVE

you and ewan had the opportunity to meet each other at a new movie premiere few years ago, at the event ewan participated as the main actor and you were a guest invited by the director of that movie.

at first you were quite hesitant about being the one to make a first move to go over to talk to ewan, people would wonder what was the reason? well of course, because you’re attracted by ewan’s charming appearance, but also by how the way he treated his colleagues, or anyone he met.

and then today, at this moment, you both received an invitation from wired to come here for an interview as newlyweds… yes, ewan and you have been married for 3 months now and both are extremely excited for the upcoming interview

it can be said that since you got married, or to be more precise, since the announced, the news has caused the fan community to react extremely positively, of course, negatively as well. yes but mostly positive

—

and 3… 2… 1… the interview begin, camera start rolling

"hi! this is y/n, y/n mitchell" you introduced yourself with a small smile while looking at the camera, then raised your left hand to show off your wedding ring you were wearing on your ring finger at the same time you look over at ewan, ewan now looked at you with this “husband proud smiley” smile

“and, i’m ewan mitchell, husband of this beautiful woman sitting next to me” ewan introduced himself, and then he repeated the same gesture as you, at this moment you heard a few people behind the camera, giggling and enjoying themselves

“we're here with WIRED, answering the most asked questions on google” ewan continued

“but newlywed edition” you and ewan both said at the same time

then a staff member brought out a large copy, with the questions partially hidden. you were now extremely nervous, then turned to look at him and asked softly.

“are you ready to answer these questions” you asked

“always” said and then ewan smiled slightly

"okay, first question for you my dear" you said and then gently pulled the sticky note off with your hand to make the question appear, then you continued to read

“how did ewan and y/n meet?” you read the question, then looked up at ewan and continued, "hmm, do you remember how we met, husband?" you asked ewan

“how could i forget it, the first time we ever met” ewan said while looking at you smiling, he sat thinking for a moment then he continued

"y/n and i met at this movie premiere, well… i was the main character, actor and she was invited by this great movie director, john, as a friend" ewan said, then used his hand to stroke his chin and continued. “while i was you know doing those interview, i saw her was looking at me so after the premier, we have like a little after party, i was just enjoying myself you know…” he laugh “erm.. and i-i saw this pretty lady slowly walking towards my direction and started conversation with me, and after a few minutes of talking, i thought wow she’s kinda nice to talk to, yeah.. that's… that’s how we met” and now you just sit there and giggled, flashing back all of those memories the first time you met him

“great job husband, it's so surprise to know that you still remember the first time we met, cause you never mention it ever since” you laughed and then continued “you know, to be able to date this guy, ewan mitchell, it's really a journey for me. to be mrs. mitchell is a long way" as you said, you used your thumb to point at ewan. at this time, ewan just looked helpless and shrugged his shoulders

from where you sit, you can clearly see the surprised faces of the staff member behind the camera about the fact that how hard it is to get close to him

“it's your turn” you said as ewan tore lightly to see the next question

“are ewan and y/n expecting?” Both you and ewan seemed quite surprised after hearing this question

“really, is this really the most asked question?” you laughed and giggled, “asked google?! this is crazy” you were extremely surprised by this question

“well y/n and ewan ARE NOT expecting… yet, and if we are, we will definitely announce it and share the joy with you guys so there is no need to ask mr google” you laughed, then you tuck your hair behind your ear

“we are not planning on having baby anytime soon and yes we do talk about it more often now since we’re married, you know we both love to build a family of our own but we both think this is not the right time” ewan said, you nodded with agreement with that ewan said

“next question” you looked at ewan, saying “oh i see this question seems long, it might be quite interesting!”

“the question is, have ewan and y/n ever been in a movie together?” you read the question, then you both looked at each other, you asked ewan “we talked about this a few times, aren’t we?”

“oh we literally talked about it yesterday before bed too…“ ewan chuckled then he continue “even though we have never worked together on any movie before, but we both talk about hoping that in the future we will have the opportunity to work together” ewan explained.

“yea…, there's a funny thing that if we both have the opportunity to be act in the same movie, we’ll both hope to be each other's villains” you laughed then ewan continued.

“you know, it's funny when viewers hear y/n and me's names and they might immediately think we're going to play happy married couple but no, there is not lovey dovey birds”

“but i think it's quite interesting, don't you guys think so too?” you turned to look at the camera in front of you, asking the people whom watching (after this interview video was posted).

“I'll let you answer this last question, baby” you said then let ewan remove the last sticky note to read the last question for today's interview.

“how have ewan and y/n enjoyed their marriage life so far?” ewan continued reading the last question and then he continued to answer

“who would ask this question on Google? how would Google know?” ewan replied

and you both sit there and laugh like an idiot because of how stupid this question is. really, how can Google know what your and ewan's married life is like? You laugh until you cry because of the absurdity of it

“how was it, my husband?” you asked ewan with a curious expression, wonder if he liked married life with you or not, making ewan partly amused and partly pampered, looking towards you, while you sat there patiently waiting his answer

“honestly, i am extremely happy and enjoy this married life with my wife. in short, i’m extremely satisfied, i mean who wouldn't, when you marry the person you love, so do i and especially y/n always makes me feel like i’m the luckiest man is marry to y/n, the woman i love the most" ewan replied a bit shyly because you know he rarely shows affection in front of the camera or in public

“ewan, you're going to make me cry” you smiled and used your hand to gently wipe away the happy tears at the corner of your eyes.

ewan then turned to see you so moved and pulled out a small handkerchief from his pocket and wiped your tears.

“i love you” ewan whispered to you while wipe the tear off your eye but he didn't know that the microphone attached to his shirt caught his all his words.

“i love you too but we have to say goodbye to the audience watching this interview first” you said to ewan and then burst out a small laughed

“and these are all the most asked questions on google” you said with excitement again, turning to look at ewan

“thank you WIRED for inviting us, and see you next time” ewan said “goodbye” both you and ewan raised your hands and waved to the audience

WIRED just made post

liked by y/nmitchell and others

wired #EwanMitchell and #Y/nMitchell Answer Most Asked Question On Google (Newlywed Edition)

Now available on WIRED! check out the link on bio

tagged: y/nmitchell

View comments

user1 cannot believe they haven’t had any movies together. that’s a need

user2 my fav couple

user3 i can feels ewan head over heels for her, like even more than before

user4 his eyes always had this bling bling whenever he look at her

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 days ago

Text

Get Lost

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get caught in the corn maze after dark but you don’t think those footsteps belong to someone trying to help you find your way out.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: this is the fifth and final of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Jaden points across the dash, receiving a swat from Alexandria as she tries not to veer.

“Hey,” she cries out, “don’t do that. I can’t see over your ugly sweater.”

“Oh, whatever, Lex,” he snips, “I was just trying to show you that.” He points again, this time without blocking her view, “you see that sign ahead?”

“Sure, I see it,” she leans over the wheel as your nail taps across your phone screen. You huff. You wish they’d stop arguing for one moment. “A maze?”

“A corn maze. Doesn’t that sound fun? I haven’t been to one since I was a kid.”

“Of course, you haven’t,” you scoff and let your phone hang carelessly in your hand. “We’ve all seen that movie with the evil kids. Who wants to go running through a field?”

“I do,” Ashton says, “better than driving around looking for those shoes that don’t exist.”

His girlfriend, Samira, laughs and leans into him. You blow a raspberry.

“It’s all the way out in the middle of nowhere,” you sneer.

“Well, Mrs. Xanny, you never want to do anything so your vote counts for nothing,” Jaden retorts.

“Excuse me,” you roll your eyes.

“I’m up for it,” Ashton raises his hand.

“Me too,” Samira mimics him.

“Me three,” Jaden declares. “So looks like you two are outvoted.”

“Whatever,” you mutter and Alexandria sighs.

“Fine, but nobody better leave me behind. I’m not getting lost because of you idiots,” she growls.

“Don’t worry, Lexi, I’ll hold your wittle hand,” Jaden teases.

The others laugh and you go back to your phone. You’re more interested in the new heels at your favourite boutique than some dirty and scarecrows. Alexandria steers on as she continues to snap at Jaden to stop distracting her. Her driving is a lot scarier than anything that might be hiding in the maze.

You swipe and tap and tune out the world around you, especially the two lovebirds exchanging not so subtle touches beside you. Jaden had to insist on sitting in the front. Finally, the car rolls, the axle jostled by the lumpy ground, and you look up at the gray sky. You hate daylight savings.

When the wheels are still, you’re reluctant to get out. You could offer to watch the car until they get back. It’s cold and you don’t feel like slogging through soil and seed.

“Hey, Lex,” you begin.

“If I’m going, you’re going,” she snips as she undoes her seatbelt.

You curl your lip and make a face at her back. The others are already out of the car. Jaden’s bouncing eagerly, Ashton’s staring at the gate to the maze, and Samira is draped off her boyfriend’s arm. They probably just want to find a dark corner so they can makeout. They are so high school.

“Fifteen bucks?” You read the sign above the table, “blech. I could put that towards my hair appointment tomorrow.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” Jaden snorts.

“Don’t act like you don’t have the money,” Samira jeers.

You call these people ‘friends’ lightly. You all just kind of stick together out of familiarity. Most people you’ve met aren’t much better so why risk downgrading.

You take a step and feel your tall heel sink into the mud. Ew.

“Oh, my boots,” you whine as you lift your sole, the muck dripping off of it.

“Wash em after,” Ashton says.

“These are Louis’,” you snarl.

“And you have at least three identical pairs at home. Lighten up,” he barks back.

You cross your arms and seal your lips with a wry smile. You’re not arguing with him. He’s been a jerk ever since you turned him down at his sister’s twenty-fifth. You suppose it was his birthday two, them being twins and all. Not that he looks very much like Alexandria.

You trod after the four others, trying not to step too deep in the mud. You growl at the ground. You know what’s not dirty, a salon or a store.

“Nice boots,” a deep voice rolls over you as you join the queue for tickets.

You lift your head and look over at the man nearby. He steps up next to you as you eye his bristly upper lip. It’s a look, not a good one.

“Brave girl going in alone,” he comments.

You frown, “I’m not,” you step closer to your friends and they chatter.

“Oh, coulda fooled me,” he remarks as he reaches into his jacket. “So, those Louis boots... those are last year’s...”

“How would you know?”

He shows the lining of his jacket. Also Louis. He pokes his fingers into the interior pocket and slides out a pack of gum. He pushes out a piece and pops it in his mouth. He tucks the pack back into his pocket and drops his hands to his hip.

“So,” he chews the gum loudly. “You’re not really dressed for a maze.”

“And you are?” You scowl, looking him up and down. He copies your posture and does the same to you.

“I’m not here for the maze, baby girl,” he winks and snaps the gum. “But you have fun.”

He turns and struts away before you can respond. Your lips open in confusion. What could he mean? You blink and shut your mouth, stepping up between Alexandria and Ashton.

“So, how long are we going to have to stand around?” You ask.

🌾

You hold your phone up in irritation. Your bars are totally gone. Great. This maze thing is so fucking boring. What are you supposed to do now?

You sniff and shake your head. You sigh and put your phone in your jacket pocket, keeping your hand in the fleecy insert as the chill creeps up your leggings. You guess you’ll have to help or whatever.

“Alex--” you look ahead then back, and side to side. Your heart leaps and you rush forward as fast as you can on your six-inch heels, “Alexandria? Ashton?” You look around the next corner and the opposite way along the other pathway. “Samira?”

You spin again, your ankles tangling together. You blink as the tall corner adds to the dimness setting over the horizon. You gulp as your heart pounds in your throat. You slip your phone free once more and turn on the flashlight.

You aim it ahead and listen for voices. You don’t hear much past the dense wall of stalks. As you brush a bit too close, you cry out and back away from the hanging husk. You shake of the crawling sensation and turn back and forth again. You lost your sense of direction.

You look up at the sky. The clouds are thick, you can see neither moon or sun. You stop and pull your phone closer. You bring up your maps but it’s just a blank screen. Still no signal.

Fuck it. Just walk, you’ll find the way.

You shine the light ahead of you, your heels sinking into the mulch of footsteps, husks, and stones. You walk unevenly over the soft ground. You mumble obscenities as your arches start to bemoan the height. If you had known about this special excursion, you could’ve worn your Uggs.

There’s a scuff, a strange echo of your own steps. You stop but it keeps going. You squint and twirl around, the light glinting off the corner and slicing through shadows. “Hello?” You call out.

The footsteps continue but no one answers. You can’t tell if they’re ahead of you or behind you. Or to the left. Or right. You sway back and forth. This is getting weird.

You take a breath and set your feet. You nearly trip as your heels dig in once more. You grunt and pull them out. You’re about to just scream for help.

A sudden rumble makes you squeal. What the hell was that? You twist around and it happens again. It’s laughter? Someone’s laughing at you?

You look at the tall stalks of corn, searching between the tight rows.

“Alright, not very funny. Ashton....” you holler.

The laughter gets louder.

“Jaden,” you hiss.

The laughter stops.

“I really am not amused, okay? I want out. I never even wanted to do this stupid thing--”

“Those boys are long gone, sweet peach,” the voice drawls around you like the wind, “I’m all man.”

“Where are you? Who are you?” You ask.

“I’m right behind you, baby, and I’m your knight in shining armour,” he purrs.

You gasp and turn around. You beam the flashlight of the phone in the man’s face. You only get a glimpse of that short brown mustache before the cell is knocked from your grasp.

“What are you tryna do? Blind me?” He snarls as your phone disappears between the corn.

“What-- What do you want?” You step back, dragging your heels from the mud.

“I wanna help, baby,” he slithers. “You seem lost.”

You blink at him. He’s a dark silhouette against the greyness trapped in the maze. You bristle and look over at the corn.

“Sure, I’ll just grab my phone, thanks--”

“Ah, ah,” he comes up to meet you, blocking you with his arm. “I don’t work for free, honey pot.”

“Fine, then go away,” you spit.

“Woah, ho, you haven’t even asked what I want in return, sweetie,” he brings his other hand up to touch your cheek and you flinch away.

“You’re not getting it, dude,” you back up.

“Just a little suck. Hell, you give the little guy a nice kiss and I won’t even make you finish the job--”

“Ew, no way,” you smack his hand down as he reaches for you again. “Fuck off--”

He’s quick. He grabs you by your jaw and snarls as he looms over you, “for such a pretty mouth it sure is fucking filthy. Won’t matter what I put in it--”

“Hey,” you grunt and writhe in his grasp, twisting your hands around his thick forearms, “get off--”

“I’m trying, trust me--”

You ram your knee up and feel the crunch in his pants. He wheezes and lets you go. You shove him and stagger backwards. You look at the corn one last time. Your phone is somewhere in there.

As he cradles his crotch and snarls, the urgency of the moment slaps you across the face. Fuck your phone. You need to get away from this creep.

Thank god you got insurance on your cell plan. You turn and lift your knees. You land on your toes, keeping your heels off the ground as much as you can. You’re not going very fast and you know you look ridiculous but you don’t care. You want to go home.

You pump your arms as you breath hitches. You hear groans and another set of steps, just like before. You get to a corner and turn before you crash through the corn. You heave as you race away, ankles threatening to bend. At what point do you just ditch the Louis’ and mourn them with your phone.

You cough and slow down. Shit. You’re in terrible shape. You look over your shoulder, your breath foggy in the plummeting temperature. You don’t see him. You don’t hear him either. Good.

You turn--

“Boo!” The man startles you so you shriek.

You stagger back as he cackles and you hurl yourself forward. Your feet catch as your heels stab the ground and you stumble with your arms flailing away from him. Your shallow breaths thunder around you as you charge through the maze only to find yourself trapped at a dead end.

You stop and waver, lungs filled with fire. Fuck, fuck, fuck! You stomp with each internal proclamation.

“Look, sugar tits, you can keep running and I’ll keep chasing,” the man struts up behind you as you spin to face him. “But it all ends the same way.” He sets his feet wide and cracks his knuckles. “And since you bruised my left nut,” he snarls, “you can kiss that better first.”

“Uh, like why are you doing this?” You ask.

He chortles, “like because I can.”

You snarl and cross your arms, “you’re a loser. And you’re old. Like, can’t you find someone your own age to creep on?”

He laughs louder but there’s not much humour in it. He stalks closer and your defiance glimmers, just a little. You don’t know where he gets off. Does he really think he can just tell you what to do?

“So, I knew you were gonna be a handful,” he grabs you by the neck and you wince. You slap his wrist and he tuts, bringing his other hand up to grope your chest, “in more ways than one.”

“Hey, fuck--” you grit out. “Hey!”

“Look, sweetie, it’s a simple transaction. I pull my pants down, you keep those teeth to yourself, and be real nice to me,” he glares down at you. “The way you crushed my balls, you’re lucky I don’t make you lick my boots.”

“What is wrong with you?” You growl.

“Oh, a lot,” he smirks. “Now, those boots must kill your feet so...” he jerks you roughly, “on your knees.”

Your eyes tinge just a little but you won’t cry. Not because of him. You gnash your teeth and grimace at him as he peels his hand away.

“You got one thing going for you, baby, and that’s that pretty face. I can change that, trust me,” he warns. You swallow avert your eyes. He chuckles again, “god, I love that pout.”

You bat your lash and fight to keep the litany of insults inside. You caterpillar faced fuck. You viagra powered moron. You overgrown frat boy.

“The next time you open your mouth, it better be to gobble my cock,” he sneers, “so don’t even say it.”

You look at him again. You set your eyes and your jaw. You step closer and he lifts his chin just slightly as he stares you down.

You grab his belt and he twitches. You unbuckle it and whip the ends aside. You pop the button open and yank the zipper apart. He watches you, his eyebrow tweaking. You push his fly wide and roll your eyes as you feel his naked pelvis beneath your fingertips. Of course, this weirdo is hanging loose.

You reach under his pants and angle his hard dick through the teeth of the zipper. You stroke him up and down with a dry, tight grip. He hisses and shifts his weight.

“Careful, like sandpaper,” he rasps.

You tut and look down. You huff. You move one foot back and bend your leg. You put one knee to the ground then the other. You make a face as you come level to his tip. Ugh.

“Don’t look so fucking enticed,” he barks. You roll your eyes again and he swats your head. “Keep doing that and your eyes are getting stuck.”

Old. Man.

You pump him again and slowly, inch by inch, lean in.

“Ah, I said kiss the left one first, then you can get to the main dish,” he puts his hand on his hip.

You swallow and push down a tide of disgust. You lift him and lean your head to the side. You crane around and pucker, pressing your lips to his left ball. He twitches and groan.

“Damn, those lips are soft. Do the other one.”

With bile brewing in your stomach, you obey. You pull back and put his tip to your lips. You narrow your gaze at his pelvis and spread your mouth around him. You wet his swollen head then work your way down his length. He might be a desperate loser but he’s not small.

You bob up and down as you take more and more of him. He curls his fingers into his hip as his other hand goes to the back of your head. He urges you on and you bat his hand with yours. You push back against him and flick your eyes up.

“You are a stubborn one,” he rebukes.

Your lips meet your hand and you pump him emphatically with both, popping off his tip so he whimpers. He clutches a wad of your hair as his eyes gleam desperately.

“I kissed it better,” you wipe your mouth, “you show me the way out, and you might just finish, old man.”

He stares down at you. Agitation and amusement battle across his expression. He takes a breath and lets it out.

“One last kiss and I’ll get you out,” he says, “And then you’ll get me off.”

The cold air swirls around you and the darkness floods through the corn. You squeeze him slightly and put a sloppy kiss on his tip with a loud muah. You let go and tickle along his length. You grab onto his arm and pull yourself to your feet.

“I want out. Now.”

“Alright, princess,” he snickers. “Don’t you worry, I got a throne you can sit on when we’re home free.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #the gray man #autumn

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dadsbongos · 5 months ago

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hi i happened to stumble across your page and i read your previous denji fics and loved them! may i request a fem!reader x denji where the reader is a transfer student and denji decided to show her around? it'd be cool if she was an exchange student so her japanese wasn't the best, too.

oh, and in the end or something, it'd be sweet if she called him her friend denji just like melted because he doesn't have great luck with girls.

i had this in my drafts to get posted eventually i cannot fucking believe i forgot about it nonny i am SOSOSOO sorry!!! jeez...

589 words - hinted fem reader but you're not described, if reader's dialogue sounds awkward its intentional

denji comes off as a ‘everybody leaves me’ guy for a sec but as we all know. everybody do be leaving him and its actually not his fault lol ~~~

“You have a nice head.”

“Huh?”

“Head…” you frown under Denji’s quizzing stare, then curling a finger through your hair, “I like it.”

“Oh, hair,” he repeats.

“Hair.”

“Yeah.”

Your frown deepens, “Sorry…”

Denji shrugs, hands in his pockets, “Don’t worry about it. You’re not from here, right?” you nod, almost shyly, “Then, don’t worry about it.”

When you don’t seem visibly relieved or even a little soothed, he continues,

“Really, it isn’t a big deal,” Denji’s been worse off, “I only know one language, you’re learning two.”

“I just worry other people judge me,” you sigh, kicking a rock from under your shoe, “What if they think I’m stupid?”

“They think everyone’s stupid. If anything, being a foreigner will get you admirers,” he shrugs, then nodding towards the door leading back into school from the roof, “Come on. There’s nothing else up here.”

A curious hum leaves you, “Why bring me to the roof first then?” you clasp a hand over your mouth, “Sorry, if that sounds rude.”

“Our class is on the second floor, so if I take my time working down from the roof, we can miss most of the morning classes,” he grins, sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight.

“Is that okay?”

“If they wanted a snappy tour, they shouldn’t have picked me,” he holds the door open for you, “What? You excited to hear boring shit on your first day?”

“Not really…”

“So… let’s just take our time,” he waggles a thin wood slab in front of your face, “Hall pass.”

“Hall pass,” you nod in confirmation, hugging your bag tight to your chest as a comfort device despite trying to appear casual, “Okay! Let’s take our time!”

You really don’t want to seem un-cool in front of this guy… His lax energy and low eyes, unkempt hair and spiky teeth; everything about him screams intimidation, yet he’s been nothing but kind to you.

“There’s nothing you really need on this floor, but I’ll walk you through it anyway,” he folds his arms, “Good to be thorough, huh?”

His tone gives way to utmost sarcasm, it makes you laugh softly.

“Yeah,” you press your lips before finally spitting out, “Can I sit with you later for lunch?”

“Sure.”

“Really?!”

“Why not?” he turns to look at you, “You seem nice. You haven’t tried killing me, and you’re super pretty.”

Again, you have the urge to shout so you do, “Really?!”

He nods, cheeks flaring pink, “You’re so pretty, I’m surprised you haven’t tried killing me yet.”

“Why would I want to kill you?”

Oh, Denji could fall to the floor right now, your voice is so soft and sugary and the crease in your brow is downright pathetic with how concerned it is -- you’re wide-eyed and pouting. You’re so sweet.

“Girls don’t usually like me when I’m alive.”

“That’s terrible…”

“I know.”

“I like you when you’re alive!”

Your earnest exclamation makes his face heat up, palms clammy. He swallows around the sudden uncertainty clogging his throat, “Seriously?”

“Seriously!” you beam, squeezing your bag harder, “You’re a good friend! At least, so far… I’m hoping we can be friends, is that okay?”

Denji sniffles, eyes stinging with waterworks, he clenches his eyes -- praying to avoid tearing up in front of you, and nods curtly, “I’d like that.”

“Yay!” now you’re full blown cuddling your bag against your chest, now from joy instead of nerves, “I’d like that, too!”

Denji thinks you’re the prettiest he’s ever seen when you’re happy like that.

#denji x reader #csm x y/n #csm x reader #denji hayakawa x reader #denji x you #nonny.reqs.🥝#IM HORRIFIED I FORGOT ABOUT THIS OH MY FUCKING GOD

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thesummerstorms · 28 days ago

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So I read Batman #416 last night...

They haven’t talked in a year and a half according to this issue. Bruce literally did not attempt to talk to Dick once after “firing” him in this version of the continuity? Phones go two way, Bruce, especially if you’re supposed to be the parent/adult in this situation.

And Dick looks so sad. Like for all people like to talk about JT being “replaced”, I don’t know that I would have it in me to get over it if my father figure knew I was alive and well after he basically cut me off, didn’t bother to speak to me for 18 months or attempt any kind of communication, and I had to go find him when all of a sudden he gave the job I was fired from, that had defined our relationship, to a teenager, who was even more at risk than I had been.

“It was Alfred who forced money on me so I’d have something to live on. You couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye.”

“ I was involved with a case. I didn’t…”

This is so much sadder than the original New Teen Titans/pre-Crisis on Infinite Earths version??? Like this is so fucking sad.

Then instead of leaving school on his own, Dick fails out because he’s too distracted and is asked not to come back? Like eventually he has the Titans, but taking away this being his choice and making it something he experienced because Bruce felt guilty he was shot makes it so much worse.

And then this set of panels…

“ It didn’t matter to you that I didn’t have any life other than the one we shared .”

Ymmv on whether Dick leading on his own terms or because he was fired as a change for the better or the worse, but holy God, does it change the dynamics of this relationship.

The way Dick reaches out for him… and Bruce shuts him out and tells him to leave. Just like he will after Jason actually dies, except this time, he only punched the glass and not Dick. Dick is trying to be the first one to reconcile, but Bruce won’t let him. Calling him Nightwing instead of by his name as a form of distancing him and everything.

And yet, for all the five trillion posts and fics I’ve seen about how Dick supposedly treated Jason badly due to jealousy and felt bad after he died, his next move? Is to go help Jason, give him his approval, and then offered to talk to him when Bruce wouldn’t and things were difficult.

TBH, I'm pretty sure that Dick Grayson is a way better fucking person than me. Because I like to think I wouldn't have taken it out on Jason directly, but I also would not have gone to find him, reassure him/give him my approval, and offer him a support network in the immediate aftermath of that conversation either. I would not have had it in me after ... *points to all of Bruce's bullshit*

#Rev Reads DC Comics Live #Dick Grayson #Bruce Wayne #Jason Todd

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mc-i-r · 1 year ago

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Disposable Heroes

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four AO3 link

A/N: hi yes so sorry for how late this is, it turned into a huge monster of a fic that I’m still working on but I figured posting the first part wouldn’t hurt. This is based on this post by @liightsnow, @acowardinmordor, and @00biscuit while back and I decided to expand that concept a bit and here we are. I'll be tagging anyone that seemed interested in the concept at the end of the fic! Warnings are below but I just wanna say that Steve is struggling with his sexuality in this one so most of it comes from that. This will absolutely have a happy ending, just not right now. Enjoy the angst!

Tw: internalized homophobia, homophobic language, mentions of canon violence, dissociation, panic attacks

———

It’s a Sunday afternoon when he realizes it. Steve is sitting on his couch, eating a shitty frozen meal and watching a random movie on TV when it hits him. The kids haven’t asked him for a ride in two weeks. Two Saturdays have passed and there was not one call— either on the phone or over the walkie— from any of the kids. Not even Dustin, who has seemed to make it his life’s mission in the past couple years to annoy Steve into an early grave.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen them at all. He still practices basketball with Lucas on Thursdays, even though the season is long over. His weekly dinners with Claudia and Dustin are still going strong every Wednesday. Joyce seems to invite him over for dinners every couple weeks. From the outside, everything seems fine. And maybe it is, but Steve’s noticed things.

See, he’s not as stupid as people think he is. He may not be academically smart but he can read. However, instead of books, it’s people. He can read their micro-expressions, notice little signs in their body language that help him understand the person. He can tell when people are nervous when they avoid eye contact, can tell how anxious they are when they distract themselves by picking at their fingers. It’s how he’s so good with the kids. They’re in the stubborn stage of their teenage years, the time in which the only answer you’ll get is ��I’m fine. Leave me alone’. But he can tell if there’s something on their minds, if there’s something eating away at them.

He can tell that Mike’s anger and pointed barbs are directed towards himself, how he’s struggling with something he can’t quite admit to himself yet. How Max is frustrated with her body, with accepting help, because she’s always had to rely on herself and putting that much trust in someone else has never been an option for her until now. How Lucas is trying to find joy in doing something he loves again, because his love for basketball has been ruined by Carver and his trusty band of assholes. How Dustin is trying to deal with almost losing Eddie, how he’s processing the feelings of almost losing a brotherly figure along with one of his friends. How Will is hiding part of himself, struggling to accept it in the same way Mike is. How El is trying so hard to find her new normal, to adjust to getting her life— her father— back.

There’s another thing he’s noticed, however. It’s that the kids are obsessed with Eddie. Steve from a couple years ago would feel jealous of Eddie, and would try to hold it against him. Now, though, Steve just feels… sad. The kids constantly talk about how cool and badass Eddie is for still being himself despite all the shit Hawkins has thrown at him. They talk about how Eddie takes them places, gets them little trinkets for their nerd game, and takes them fun places. Eddie does all these little things for the kids, lets them just be kids, and really, Steve can’t be mad at him for it. He tries to let them have fun, but his constant worrying overwhelms them. It brings them down. Eddie doesn’t do that. He joins right in with them, basking in the fun and letting himself go. Steve… can’t. Not with all the shit he’s seen. Letting his guard down is something he can’t afford to do anymore.

He sighs down at his meal, chucking it on the coffee table as he loses his appetite. His glasses land next to the disposable plastic tray, sliding across the finished wood surface from the force of his throw. He rubs harshly over his face, hands digging into his eyes until he sees stars.

Steve knows he’s not perfect. Hell, it took an interdimensional monster trying to kill him in order for him to realize that he could be a better person. That the only person truly able to change his life is himself. He used to think he had no choice in his life— whether it was his parents' high expectations of him or his friends trying to mold him into their perfect little plaything— but he knows better now. He knows that he shouldn’t have become King Steve, that he shouldn’t have hurled all his hate and anger towards other people who didn’t deserve it. He knows he shouldn’t have called people names or slurs, that he shouldn’t have spray painted lockers or ripped up books or shoved people against hard asphalt. He knows that, but knowing it was wrong doesn’t erase the fact that it happened. That Steve did those things and hurt people.

Part of him knows that his past is what made the kids turn towards Eddie. Why wouldn’t they? Steve was a bully, thought he was hot shit in school and made it everyone’s problem. Eddie was simply himself. His unabashed, unashamed self. He stood on cafeteria tables, made dramatic speeches, and shared his opinions to anyone and everyone who would listen. He’s so genuine and so, so much better for the kids. He teaches them how to be themselves, how to shove off the hate and embrace their weird side. He’s perfect for them, and Steve knows deep down that this is good for them. The kids need a good role model, one they can rely on, and Eddie has his herd of little sheep to teach and protect. It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

Steve remembers the time last week at the Byers-Hopper house when their little obsession truly became real. They were waiting for the bread to finish baking in the oven, and Steve saw that Will was seated alone in the living room. Joyce and Hopper were in the kitchen, talking and keeping a lookout so the bread wouldn’t burn. Jonathan and El were listening to music in his room, the synth and guitars echoing down the hallway. So, Steve decided to finally talk to Will. It’s not like they don’t talk ever, just… not much. Will is quiet, blends into the background, and Steve never felt like the kid would be comfortable with him trying to get in his business. However, he needed to ask the question that had been on his mind for a while.

Steve sat down on the couch next to him, keeping a fair amount of distance between them, and rested his elbows on his knees. Will was reading a comic, the cover full of bright colors and words, not paying attention. Steve sighed, pushed his glasses up, and ran a hand through his own hair.

“Hey, um… can we talk for a sec?”

Will startled a little, like he didn’t realize Steve was there, and closed his comic. He nodded, and Steve tried not to feel bad about the hesitation in his eyes.

“Is there something going on that I don’t know about? Like with the others?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression taking over his face.

“Um.. what do you mean?”

“Just… have I done anything to them to make them mad? I just… I don’t know, I feel like I’ve done something but I don’t know what,” Steve confessed. He must have looked as distraught as he felt, because Will seemed to soften at his explanation a bit.

“Why do you think that, Steve?” Will asked softly, and Steve had a moment of realization that Will seemed years older than he looked. Steve sighed, and explained that the kids haven’t really been hanging around him much and instead like to spend time with Eddie. He’s quick to clarify that he doesn’t mean anything bad by it, just wants to know what happened. It was Will’s turn to sigh, and he looked at Steve with something akin to sympathy.

“Steve, I don’t say this to be mean but… Eddie just relates to us more, you know? He shares more interests with us, and he seems to get us better,” Will expressed. His eyes widened and he hastily added, “it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you! Just… it’s nice to have somewhere else to go, you know?”

The rest of the evening was spent with Steve silently eating his dinner, Will’s words echoing through his head as he munched on half-burnt bread.

Steve decides then, TV dinner half-eaten and work vest still on his shoulders, that he’s going to make this better.

The next day, Eddie comes into Family Video to pick up some movies, definitely for a movie night judging by the titles— he seriously doubts a metalhead would willingly watch The Goonies, The Dark Crystal, and Ghostbusters by himself on a Saturday night. Eddie bounds up to the register, movies in hand, and does a dramatic bow as he presents them to Steve.

“I wish to borrow these, my liege,” Eddie declares, his voice deep and in a horrible mockery of an English accent. Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, unable to hide the small grin on his face at the other man's theatrics.

Eddie looks so effortlessly pretty, his hair tied back in a ponytail and his tattoos exposed through the large arm holes in his homemade tank top. Steve shakes his head to get rid of those thoughts and takes the movies to check them out, ignoring the late fee balance on Eddie's account. A glance at the man in front of him, who is bouncing on his toes and looking around the store, gives Steve an idea.

“Hey, is Hellfire still going on?”

Eddie snaps his attention back to Steve, looking a little startled to be asked such a thing.

“Uh… yeah, it's still going on. We have to play in Gareth’s hot ass garage since school is out but we’re making it work. Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, uh… the kids complained awhile back that they didn’t have a good spot to play anymore and I was just wondering,” Steve explains. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, and Steve can feel him staring. Can feel him looking at him closely. Too closely. He clears his throat and looks back down at the counter, pushing his gold, wire-framed glasses further up his nose. “I uh… I actually wanted to offer up my place? My parents aren’t home much”— more like never— “and I’ve got plenty of space for the gremlins and the other guys. Plus, my A/C works and I’ve got a shit ton of snacks. I’ll stay out of your hair and-“

“Actually uh…” Eddie cuts him off with a strained voice. Steve looks up to find his face contorted like he ate something sour, and he knows what his response is going to be before he opens his mouth. Eddie wipes a hand over his mouth before shoving it in his pocket. “Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Steve nods— tries not to let the denial sting— and looks down at the movies in his hands. Ignoring how they shake, he sets them on the counter and slides them towards Eddie.

“That’s okay man, I get it. I need a break from the little horrors anyway,” he huffs out, the words digging their way into the pit in his stomach. He puts on his best customer service smile and looks up at Eddie, finding him looking a little wary. Eddie hesitates, as if debating with himself on whether or not to say anything, before rapping his knuckles on the counter in a little rhythm and picking up his movies. An awkward smile finds its way to his face, and Steve thinks it strange and out of place. It’s so.. un-Eddie-like. The pit grows deeper.

Walking backwards towards the entrance, Eddie throws a little salute his way before turning and swinging out the door. A belated “see ya, Harrington” drifts through the closing door in his wake.

Steve slumps over the counter when he’s gone, holding his head in his hands and feeling the childish urge to cry make its way up to his eyes. Even after everything— after walking through hell together, dragging his lifeless body out of the Upside Down as his blood dripped down his back and soaked through his clothes, standing vigil at his side until he woke up two weeks later— Eddie still seems to hate him.

But Steve… he feels the opposite. He has this overwhelming desire to be with Eddie. To hang out with him in the back of his van, drinking sodas and eating snacks as they look out over Lover’s Lake while the sun sets. To talk to him until the early hours of the morning until there’s nothing left to say. To go for drives late at night and listen to his loud music on the radio while holding hands over the center console. He has feelings for Eddie he’s never had before. Not for any past romantic conquests nor any girl. Hell, not even for Nancy. He’s never felt this intense need to be near someone before, and it scares him. It truly terrifies him.

He’s not homophobic— his platonic soulmate is a lesbian, for Christ's sake— but the fact that he feels this way is just… wrong to him. How is Steve Harrington, ladies’ man and charmer extraordinaire, into dudes? What is he, like, half gay? It just doesn’t make sense, doesn’t seem right, for him to feel like this. He sighs into his hands, digging his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He can’t be thinking about this now, he can’t be thinking about this at all. He needs to shove it in the box in the back of his head where all the hard feelings go, waiting and festering to be dealt with later. He needs to, but he doesn’t know if he can.

Fuck, he needs to talk to Robin. Shit- can he though? What if what he’s feeling is a fluke or something? What if it’s just in his head because he’s desperate? What if Robin thinks he’s making fun of her and won’t take him seriously? It’s not fair of him to throw all his problems on her, even if he thinks she could help. It’s not her job to look after him, to take care of him. He can do that himself. He can figure this out himself.

Distantly, the words of Richard Harrington play in his ears. About how being gay is wrong, how it’s a disease. How it’s a sickness that slowly takes over until there’s nothing left. How it’s a disgrace.

He remembers sitting in the living room with his parents on a rare occasion in which they were home, watching the news channel as it talked about an epidemic spreading through young men. His father scoffed at the screen when they started talking about potential cures.

“Cures? They should just let those fags die. They brought this on themselves, you know. Typical of them to complain about the fucking consequences,” Richard had spat out at the block TV, standing to refill his bourbon. Steve had clenched his fists at his side, his already stiff posture straightening still. He felt angry at his fathers words, something pure and burning in his gut.

He didn’t know what it was at the time, but maybe he should’ve known. Maybe him being queer shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it feels. Maybe he’s always known and just couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Maybe that anger he felt at his father’s words was partly on behalf of himself, too.

A wince shudders through him as he remembers how that night ended.

Steve had stood up from the couch, watching the dark liquid flow into the crystal glass in his father’s hand.

“What’s so wrong with being gay? I don’t understand how you could just.. hate people like that. Hate them for just existing,” Steve countered. His father had frozen at his words, slowly setting down the decanter with a solid ‘thunk’ against the metal tray where it belonged and turned to face him. His face was slowly gaining a reddish hue, a sign of the anger rising within him.

“What did you just say?” He demanded, voice scarily calm but laced with an icy rage. Steve swallowed.

“What… What's wrong with being gay, sir?” Steve hesitated, voice failing him. Richard had downed the glass of bourbon before throwing it at Steve, the crystal shattering on the mantelpiece behind him and sending shards flying.

“What’s wrong, Steven, is that you think it’s okay. No son of mine will think like that, not on my watch,” his father boomed, taking long strides towards him. Steve didn’t dare move, only watched his fist grow nearer as he punched him high on his cheek. He fell to the floor, arms trying to protect his head but it was no use. Richard had ripped his arms away, gripping the front of his shirt and making Steve hover above the ground.

“I didn’t raise a fucking fairy, Steven,” he spat. “A faggot.” Steve recoiled, physically feeling the vitriol his father aimed at his face. Richard had sneered, pulled him close and whispered, “Never forget that, Steven,” before shoving him harshly onto the ground and walking away. Black had clouded the edges of his vision, and he laid on the plush rug until it cleared up. He looked over, found his mother silently watching the TV and sipping her wine, and begged with his eyes for her to help him. To say something. Anything. She didn’t, and Steve had to haul himself off the floor, grasping the couch when his vision swam, and stumbled his way to his room.

The rest of that weekend was spent in his room, gingerly cleaning his face and the couple places where glass had cut him on his arms with a wet washcloth and soap. It was the first time he had ever gotten a concussion. He was fifteen.

He remembers replaying the fight over and over again, feeling like those barbs were directed towards him, too. In hindsight, maybe they were. Maybe his father just knew. Knew he was queer long before Steve ever did. Maybe that’s why he’s always so angry with him, so… disappointed. A groan escapes him and he runs a hand through his hair. He’s been thinking way too damn much for it to be this early in the day.

God, he really wishes Robin was here. He knows he can’t talk to her, but it would be nice just to have someone here to keep him from spiraling and drowning in his thoughts. He pushes himself off the counter and goes over to the cart where the returns sit, hoping that busying himself will occupy his thoughts. He sets a few on the shelves when what Eddie said earlier barrels into him full-force.

“Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s stupid. Of course the other Hellfire guys wouldn’t want to be at his house, they probably still see him as King Steve. Most people do, nowadays. Only the ones he went through hell with know he’s different now, that he’s changed. So really, he can’t fault them for being against the idea of Hellfire at his house. He wouldn’t believe it either if he was in their shoes.

Then again, wouldn’t Eddie or the kids try to convince them he’s different? That he’s not a dick? Shit, he’s been through four apocalypses, three concussions, and survived Russian torture— surely they would give him the benefit of the doubt, right? He’s dropped the bad influences out of his life, found better friends, better family— or can he even say that anymore?— to be with. Wouldn’t they try to stick up for him? Or... is he just not worth it?

Steve clenches his eyes shut, willing his bubbling emotions back down, and grips the movie in his hands so hard the plastic begins to creak. The little voice in his head, one that sounds suspiciously like Robin, tells him to breathe. He does. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Over and over and over again until he’s calm, until his head is clear.

He knows what he needs to do now: apologize. If it's one thing Steve Harrington knows, it’s how to apologize. Hell, he’s done it more times than he can count. He knows how to repair burnt bridges and how to get past the tough exterior of a person to pull at their heartstrings for sympathy. He knows the key; he just has to make himself useful. If he can provide things for the kids, for Eddie and the Hellfire crew, then they’ll want him around. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it is with his parents, with school, with his past friends, and now his current ones. He vaguely recalls his junior year art teacher saying that, "once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but thrice is a pattern." Which means this, this is something he has to make right.

With a plan solidified in his mind, he goes back to work refilling the shelves with movies, brainstorming ideas to get his family back.

Over the next week, Steve becomes a one man show. He offers up more rides, more movie nights, more free reign of his house and his pool and his car and his money and himself just to make the kids happy. He picks up extra shifts at work just to get extra spending money for them, knowing that they go through twenty bucks in no time.

But… it doesn’t work. Because bit by bit, ride by ride, movie marathon by family dinner by game night by post-nightmare phone call, it becomes painfully clear. Everyone puts on a mask around him. One that says they’re happy to see him, that they’re glad he’s here, but he knows it’s a lie. This, really, shouldn’t be much of a surprise. People don’t stick around him much, so why did he think this was any different?

Maybe it’s because he was finally himself around them, he finally opened up and showed a bit of his true self, and was still rejected. Still pushed away. He wasn’t cowering behind a mask this time, he was just Steve. But it wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough.

To their credit, it starts off slow. Casual comments that are cut off quickly, kicks under dinner tables and pointed throat clearing. It’s one instance during game night where it all clicks.

The Monopoly board is spread out before them in the Byers-Hopper living room. Steve, of course, is losing. He’s not good with investments and savings and he keeps landing on the goddamn ‘jail’ space but he doesn’t really care, not when he’s finally having fun with the kids. He groans when the dice make him land on one of Mike’s properties, shuffling his fake cash to pull out the tax money.

“C’mon this game is totally rigged. How the hell am I losing to a bunch of teens?” He grumbles as Mike proudly snatches the money from his hand. Max snickers from her place beside him, her pale blue eyes rolling as she looks at him.

“You know, if you actually used your brain then maybe you wouldn’t be losing. Ever think of that?” She quips, and Steve huffs. Leave it to him to be called out by a fifteen year old.

“I’m surprised there’s even a brain in there to begin with,” Dustin states. He’s seated across from Steve. “I mean, why else would he have-“

His comment is cut off by Lucas smacking his arm. Dustin looks at him like he’s about to protest when Lucas raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly from Dustin to Steve and back again. Steve can’t hear from his position so far away, but he swears Dustin mutters “shit” before crossing his arms and looking down at the board. Steve looks around at the rest of the group, noticing how none of them seem to want to look at him, choosing to focus rather intently on the cardboard before them.

The rest of the game is filled with awkward silences. Steve can feel them looking at him when he’s occupied, and it makes him feel like shit inside.

It’s on the drive home when it hits him. He is the one that doesn’t fit into their group, into their family. They’re slowly but surely removing him and replacing him with Eddie. With someone who fits. With someone better. It hits him so hard, so fully, that he has to pull over on a quiet street to sob in his empty car.

The first time it's fully solidified in his mind is at a barbecue at the Byers-Hoppers house. Robin can’t come, her aunt from up north is visiting for the weekend and she has to stay home. Steve walks through the house, planning on saying hello to Joyce before joining the party outside. He finds Joyce talking low to Eddie in the kitchen and he pauses in the doorway, watches how Joyce laughs at something Eddie says. How she places her hand on his arm as her eyes crinkle with the weight of her laugh. Eddie is smiling, open and wide, with a flush high on his cheeks that stains his skin pink. His dimples are on full display and it takes pure willpower for Steve not to go and poke at them, to settle his thumb in the divot of his skin.

Joyce leans close to Eddie and says something under her breath, making him blush purely red now and shush her, causing another wave of laughter to ripple through the both of them. The kitchen is filled with warmth, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sheer cream-colored curtains that line the two windows as laughter fills the room. It’s light, it’s happiness, it’s love. It’s something Steve hasn’t felt in years.

Steve knocks on the doorframe, waggling his fingers in greeting. They both turn to look at him, and all that warmth from before flees the room. If he hadn’t just seen the thin rays with his own two eyes, he could have sworn even the sun went down as well. He feels a stab of pain in his heart, so sharp it makes his breath stutter. He fights to put a smile on his face, briefly clearing his throat and praying his voice doesn’t sound as faint as he feels.

“Hey, Ms. Byers. Eddie,” he greets. Steve runs a hand through his hair, just to give himself something to do. “Just wanted to say hi before I go outside.”

Eddie’s face has gone completely slack, the only thing convincing Steve he didn’t hallucinate the entire exchange earlier is the flush that had yet to leave his cheeks. In fact, Eddie looks even more red now that he’s made his presence known. Joyce, to her credit, has a small polite smile on her face.

“Thank you, Steve, that's very kind of you,” she replies. She casts a glance at Eddie out of the corner of her eye, something Steve has noticed a lot of people do to each other when he’s around. “You go on outside now, okay? I’m sure the kids are missing you.”

Steve holds back his remark of “yeah, I actually doubt that” and nods, leaving the two of them in the kitchen as he continues down the hallway. He tries hard not to let the harshness of their quick whispers dig further into his already injured heart.

Once outside, he’s greeted by no one. Dustin and Lucas are discussing something rapidly to one another, Dustin gesturing wildly with his hands as Lucas nods along and adds details. Max and El are sitting on a lawn chair together, Max seemingly teaching El how to braid her hair. Mike and Will are sitting in the grass a bit away from the group, shoulders touching and heads bowed together as they talk quietly to one another. Steve smiles softly at them, knowing.

He makes his way over to Hopper, who is manning the grill with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. Steve waves and gives him an awkward little smile, and Hopper nods his head, pointing towards a cooler with his beer. Steve grabs one, popping it open and taking an, admittedly, big first swig. Hopper doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t comment, and Steve looks out over the people he still considers his family. He catches Dustin’s eyes, hoping to have someone to talk to, but the kid only looks away and continues his conversation.

So now Steve is here by himself, slowly nursing a beer, and trying to keep his emotions in check.

It’s just that… he doesn’t know what he did. Was he too overbearing or did he not care enough? Was he too pushy or too distant? Was he just annoying them? Was he just an inconvenience? Did they ever really like him or did they just put up with them out of necessity? Or because they felt bad?

He takes another sip of beer, hating the way it tastes on his tongue but it’s better than the bile slowly rising in his throat. All he wants is for someone to see him, to see who he truly is and like it. To stick around. To stay.

And it’s true, he does have Robin, but sometimes she can’t give him what he needs. Call him a romantic but Steve wants that love, that connection, that intense feeling you get with a partner. He craves it more than anything. He wants to touch, to taste, to feel someone else.

Eddie. He wants Eddie.

A voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Kid, will you go get me a plate for the burgers?” Hopper asks, his gruff voice shoving all of his mushy thoughts aside. Steve nods, sets his beer on top of the cooler, and makes his way inside. He silently dreads ever walking in that room again, dreads having to feel the chill from before. However, the scene in the kitchen is drastically different this time. Joyce is by herself, Eddie nowhere to be seen, and is mixing together slaw in a big tupperware bowl.

Steve knocks on the frame again and is met with a small smile from the older woman. It’s infinitely more warm than the one he was met with when he got there, and he thinks it’s partly due to the lack of a certain metalhead in the room. Joyce sets down her spoon, wiping her hands on a nearby towel, and holds her arms out.

“C’mere, honey,” she murmurs, and Steve tries not to let her soft tone get to him. The last thing he needs is to cry in front of everyone. He walks forwards into her hug, leaning down a little to wrap his arms around her properly, and sighs when she rubs her hands up and down his back. Steve clenches his eyes shut, taking in stuttering breaths that he knows she can hear but thanks every god out there that she doesn’t comment on it. She taps her hands twice on his back and pulls away, reaching up to push some of his hair off his forehead and Steve wills himself to not lean into the touch too much.

“Sorry for not saying a proper hello earlier, I was a bit preoccupied. Eddie- well, that’s not my thing to tell but he needed some help with something and… well, you get it,” she smiles, laughs a little, and Steve smiles back.

This. This is what he wishes he could have with his parents. This lightness, this love. He never will, he knows that, but the little moments like this with Joyce, the way she hugs him and cares for him, are ones he treasures. Ones he wishes he could have everyday. Joyce is a wonderful mother, and part of him wishes he could have her as his own. Hell, she’s been more of a mother to him in the four years he’s known her than his mother ever has. But he knows that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair of him to put his parental issues on her or anyone else. So he doesn’t, and shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“It’s okay, Ms. Byers, I get it. Sorry to interrupt you two, though,” he apologizes. She waves her hands in a shooing motion.

“Oh don’t apologize for that, honey, it’s okay,” she smiles, then hesitates. “I do want you to promise me something, okay?” Steve nods, and Joyce places her hands on either side of his face. “Promise me you’ll be careful with people, be gentle. Not everyone can be treated the same, some people… they’re special.

“Sometimes, it’s better to listen. Promise me, Steve, that you’ll always listen, okay?” She asks, and Steve has to swallow before he responds.

“I promise, Ms. Byers,” he replies, and she pats his cheek. Her smile has grown, and her eyes have softened.

“I love you, Steve, you know that, right?” Joyce asks, and it’s like the world has stopped moving. He didn’t know that, not really. Sure, he knew she liked him but he didn’t know she…

He doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until Joyce coos at him, wiping away a few stray tears that have escaped with her thumbs.

“I-I didn’t know you- I’m sorry, I don’t-“ Steve stutters out, but Joyce shushes him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Steve, it’s alright,” she insists. Her thin arms pull him into another hug and he buries his face in her shoulder. The angle is a little awkward, but it’s a comfort Steve hasn’t had in ages so he stays. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Her small hands rub up and down his back as he holds back tears. He regulates his breathing, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, until he’s sure he won’t cry. He pulls back from the hug and wipes at his eyes, sure that they're red-rimmed and a little puffy, but Joyce only smiles that warm smile and pats his cheek again. Steve smiles at her, the first genuine smile he thinks he’s had in awhile, and it feels good. To smile and know it's real.

Joyce turns to the counter behind her and picks up a plate, handing it to Steve. His brows furrow, and he hesitantly takes the offered crockery.

“How did you-“

“I had a feeling,” she interrupts him with a wink. “Now go on before Hop burns the yard down.”

Steve smiles and goes back outside, handing the plate to Hop and ignoring his grumble of “took ya long enough”, before picking his beer back up and taking a much needed swig. A few minutes later, they’re all eating. Eddie has joined Dustin and Lucas in their rambling, all three of them loudly talking over one another. Steve watches them; wishing, wanting, yearning. Joyce bumps her shoulder into his, making him swivel his head to look down at her. She smiles, almost knowingly, and Steve blushes. He clears his throat and looks away, focusing on fixing his burger rather than whatever the fuck that was.

He sits alone away from the group, catching occasional glances from Joyce, Dustin, and Hopper. Joyce is concerned, he can tell that much, and part of her almost looks sad. Dustin looks conflicted, like he can’t decide if he wants to be mad from a distance or just come right up to Steve and say it to his face. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he did the latter. Hopper, to Steve’s complete unsurprise, looks uninterested and, frankly, fed up with this whole situation. Steve doesn’t blame him, he is too.

After the food is gone, and dessert is served, Steve heads inside to help clean up. He washes dishes quietly with Joyce, while she dries them and puts them away. As he finishes up the last plate, Will comes into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom? The party wanted to play some board games, is that okay?” He requests, and Steve can feel Joyce soften beside him. She smiles.

“Of course, honey. Make sure you ask the girls what they want to play, too, okay?” Will rolls his eyes and smiles, a mannerism Steve notes he definitely got from Mike.

“Got it, Mom,” he replies, and runs off. Steve turns back to the sink, realizing he’s been scrubbing the plate well past the point of clean, and rinses it off.

“I um.. I think I’m going to head out, Ms. Byers,” he begins. He hands the plate to her. “I’ve got a shift tomorrow and uh… I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want to repeat the last game night, where everyone kept glancing at him like he was a bomb set to explode at any moment. He doesn’t say that he can’t handle their stares for any longer than he already has.

“Oh, are you sure? You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want to,” Joyce offers, but Steve shakes his head.

“I really should be going, sorry.”

“Alright, dear. Let me walk you out,” she insists, moving to take off her apron.

“I’ll walk him out, Joyce, don’t worry about it,” Hopper's gruff voice interrupts from the doorway. Steve swallows and nods, drying his hands off on a towel. He looks at Joyce, seeing her share a glance and a smile with Hopper before looking back at him. He smiles, finally beginning to think that maybe… maybe things will be okay.

“Thank you, Ms. Byers. For everything,” he expresses. He leans down to give her a hug, her arms quickly hugging him back.

“It’s alright, dear. You come to me if you ever want to talk, you hear?” Steve pulls away from the hug.

“I will, promise,” he hesitates. Steve looks down at his hands, shaking from where they’re clutching each other, and takes a breath. “I… I love you too.”

He looks up right as Joyce pulls him into another hug. He laughs a little, and she pats his back before pulling away with a “be safe”. Hopper clears his throat from the door and Steve takes a step back, nods to Joyce, and follows the other man outside.

They step out on the front porch together, and Steve is prepared to continue walking to his car when Hop places a hand on his shoulder. He stops, and turns to find the man looking at him seriously.

“Son, I want you to promise me something,” he grumbles, and Steve begins to feel a strange sense of deja vu. While Joyce’s tone was soft, Hopper’s is deep and leaves no room for hesitation. He vaguely has a thought that this is what his father would have been like if things were different. If he were different. Steve nods.

“Promise me you’ll fix our shit, alright? I don’t wanna get in the middle of… whatever the hell this is but promise you’ll be better, okay?” He commands, and all the thoughts Steve had earlier about thinking things would be okay fly out the window.

“Y-yes, sir,” he stutters out. Hop claps his shoulder, mumbles a “get home safe”, before pulling a pack of smokes out his pocket and lighting one up. Steve turns, shoves his shaking hands in his pockets, and walks to his car.

Getting in his car is a blur of unconscious actions. He’s driving down a barely lit backroad when he registers that his eyes are stinging, and something warm and wet is dripping down his cheeks. He pulls over on the side of the road, shifting his car into park, and he sits there. He reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes his cheek, his hand coming back wet and shining in the faint glow of the moon. The sight breaks him, and an ugly sob rips its way out his throat. He chokes on an inhale as tears fight their way out, and he hugs his arms around himself as a sad semblance of comfort. His forehead finds purchase on the steering wheel, and his tears stain the leather before dripping on his lap.

He cries because he knows he’s the problem, that he’s the one fucking up. He cries because everyone thinks so, everyone knows. The kids know. Eddie knows. Joyce knows, but she’s just too kind to say it to his face. Hell, even Hopper knows. He cries because he doesn’t know what he did wrong. He cries because he doesn’t think anyone really wants him to fix it.

It’s the second time on a drive home from the Byers-Hopper house that he has to pull over and cry.

He struggles to inhale a deep breath and sits up, harshly wiping his tears away with his hand, uncaring that it rubs his skin raw and red. Sniffling, he puts his car in drive and goes home. Toeing his shoes off at the door is the only thing he thinks to do before he stumbles his way upstairs and collapses on his bed, snuggling into the thin comforter and falling into a fitful sleep.

After a slow shift at Family Video the next day, Steve returns to the darkness of his home with a plan. He can still be useful. They may not have to know, but he can still do something to help. To try and save them before they need to be saved. He can be a preventative measure for them, can stop them from getting hurt before they even know they’re in danger.

He shrugs off his work vest, throwing it on his desk chair as he searches his closet for an old sweatshirt. He finds one, the front adorned with white block letters that read ‘Tigers Swim Team’ and tugs it on. His nail bat finds purchase in his hand as he tucks a flashlight in his back pocket. The walkie Dustin gave him is hooked in his belt loop, just in case. He leaves all the lights on in the house and shuts the door, skirting around his house to begin his walk in the woods.

After four bouts with the Upside Down, he doubts that they’re in the clear, that it’s finally over. He thought it was the first time, then the second, and by the third he was skeptical. Now, though, he doesn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a round five, or six, or seven. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if it never stopped. But each and every time, they were unprepared. They were surprised, and it nearly cost them every time. But if Steve could prevent that surprise, give them all a heads up before it becomes a big problem, then maybe— just maybe— it’ll come in handy. He’ll come in handy. He’ll be useful again.

So, he walks the woods of Hawkins. His feet crunch the dead leaves piled underneath trees as he trudges through the woods. The flashlight shines long shadows on the ground in front of him, lighting up the pale gray bark of trees and making the eyes of rodents and raccoons shine amber and red.

A rustle sounds a few feet away and he jumps at the noise. He pauses and stands still, listening for the shrill chittering of demodogs or the heavy, thudding footsteps of a demogorgon. He waits, and his flashlight reveals a small fox walking out from behind a tree. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and continues walking.

His feet carry him to Lover’s Lake, the water lapping lazily at the shore with the warm summer breeze. Out here, the lights from town are distant, making the stars shine brightly and reflect in the water. Steve stands there, watches as the artificial light of his flashlight reveals the small ripples on the surface of the water, and waits.

He waits for a lumbering figure to emerge out of the murky depths, to claw its way onto the shore and stalk off into the woods. He waits for chirps muffled by water and splashing to sound in his ears as four-legged creatures swim to the beaches. He waits for the screeches of demonic bats to echo off the trees around him as they fly out of the water and take to the sky. He waits, but it never comes. The lake stays silent.

So he walks.

He follows the road leading to the lake out, letting it take him to the highway that leads out of town. His feet stop as they come across a crack in the road, the crack he took in the other world to get Eddie home safely. The crack that is closed over with black tar, leaving a dark line on the ashen gray asphalt. He remembers clawing his way out of that crack, Eddie’s lifeless body over his shoulders as he slowly bled out.

Nancy had driven her station wagon over, opening the back so he could lay Eddie down as they rode to the hospital. She had asked Steve to drive so she could patch him up, but he refused. He couldn’t leave Eddie, not when he finally got him out. Not when he was barely hanging on. So she threw the first aid kit she had stashed in her car at him and drove to the hospital. Steve had done his best to stop the bleeding, the stark white cloth immediately turning red when he pressed it to Eddie’s skin. They almost lost him. But they didn’t. He’s alive.

Eddie. Eddie.

His head swivels to the forest next to him, the one that leads straight to the trailer park, and he runs. He jumps over fallen trees, feet thudding against the dry earth and leaves as his breath picks up. Orange street lights shine through branches as he draws nearer, and he only slows his pace when he breaks out from the line of trees. His feet swiftly take him to the sight of Eddie’s old trailer, the vacant lot standing out against the fullness of the park. The wooden front steps are still there, partially broken and shifted. The grass has yet to grow in fully, bare spots of dirt showing through the green. His shoes crunch on the gravel as he takes a step closer, inspecting the ground and poking at it with his bat as if it would move. As if the gate would open up just by him being here.

It doesn’t. Steve steps back.

He turns to leave the park, eyes wandering and finding a familiar cream-colored van parked at a trailer a few rows away. Eddie and his Uncle were granted a new trailer for their trouble, really the bare minimum they deserve after all the shit they went through, but they took it in stride. Eddie and Wayne spent the first few weeks after spring break making it into their new home once Eddie was released from the hospital, and Steve had done his best to help them out. But he knew they needed time alone, time to heal, so he let them be. He hasn’t been back there since then.

He kicks a stray piece of gravel, watching as it tumbles a few feet away and disappears into the grass, as he makes his way out of Forest Hills. Houses blur by as he walks the residential streets, only stopping when his own comes into view. Steve sighs, and walks up the concrete driveway, through the large wooden doors, and into the silence of his house. He doesn’t bother taking off his shoes, reveling a little in the dirty footprints he leaves behind on his mothers’ ornate runner that covers the length of the hallway. The analog on the stove tells him it's a little past three in the morning, and he sighs. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he fills it up with water before shuffling out of the kitchen. He flops on the couch, sips his water, and waits.

He waits for the sun to peek over the trees in the backyard, casting long shadows on the curtains that cover the windows and glass doors. He waits for the warm rays to shine through the large window in the living room, the one that faces the road, and light up the rug that rests under the coffee table in soft hues of yellow. He sits his empty glass on the table. He waits. And he gets up.

He goes upstairs, changes his shirt, and grabs his vest. Steve slips the walkie off his belt loop and places it on his desk, the flashlight landing right beside it. He props the bat next to his chair, and Steve looks at it, looks at the bent nails sticking haphazardly out of the wood and how it splintered in places from too much force. How some of the nails are covered in dried, blackened goop and dirt. How it's sharp and dangerous, a weapon. How it’s chosen to protect.

At this moment, Steve feels like the bat. The rough wood is his exterior, the splinters through it are the cracks. The holes in his facade. The places where people got too close, where people hurt him. The nails are what makes him strong. They’re the kids, Joyce and Hop, Eddie and Robin. They’re his family. They mold him into a weapon meant to protect, to keep them safe.

But just like Steve, the bat isn’t needed until it’s necessary. Until the world is ending. But until that time comes, the bat is left out of sight. It’s hidden away, moved from place to place just in case, but never used. Never wanted.

Steve walks out the door.

His shift at Family Video passes by like every other day, slow and full of know-it-all customers that never seem to understand that he can’t magically summon movies out of his ass whenever they ask. Robin comes in around lunchtime, and they spend the rest of their joint shift making fun of the ridiculous movie covers that adorn various romcoms. He goes home alone, sheds his vest, and once again walks the town of Hawkins.

He does it again the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. Until it’s been a week and Steve hasn’t slept for more than a couple hours a night. He doesn’t mind, just means there’s less nightmares to wake him up before sunrise.

Less nights where chittering and the thuds of heavy footsteps strike fear down to his core. Less nights where the chill of fog and night air pierce his skin, warring with his senses against the hot breath hitting the back of his neck from deadly flower-shaped mouths. Less nights where the harsh scraping of monstrous nails against rusted metal and the echoey bangs of heavy, meaty bodies against solid bus walls fill his ears. Less nights where he can feel the thick, choking air of the tunnels, can feel the wispy particles filling his lungs and coating the inside of his mouth.

Less nights filled with muffled Russian echoing in his ears, the harsh texture of rope around his wrists, arms, and chest. Less nights where the sickening crunch of fists against bone and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth linger for hours after he’s awoken, shallowly breathing and pleading to be let go. Less nights where he can feel the blood in his teeth, coating his tongue and dripping down the back of his throat, and he has to run to the bathroom to puke the phantom feeling away.

Less nights he wakes up alone, empty house hollow around him. Less nights he cries to himself in the silence of his room, wishing, hoping, yearning for something. For something to happen, to change. For something to get better. For him to get better.

On the eighth night, he finds his feet have taken him to the edge of Hawkins. The brown road sign reads ‘Leaving Hawkins! Come Again Soon!’, and it stares at him from a few feet away. He looks past the sign at the stretch of road that disappears around a curve, trees following the line of asphalt and distant street lights lighting up their leaves with an orange glow.

He thinks about what it would be like to leave Hawkins, to pack up his clothes in his car and leave town. To follow the road and go around that curve, to not worry about ever coming back. No one needs him here, not anymore, so what’s holding him back?

Maybe this will fix him.

Robin might miss him for a bit, probably curse him and his whole family when she figures it out, but she’ll move on. She’ll find someone better. Hell, she’ll probably go to Eddie too. They already have some sort of secret friendship thing going on between them anyway. Really, he wouldn’t blame her.

Eddie probably wouldn’t care. Shit, he might even throw a party celebrating the fact that he’s gone. Steve snorts at the thought, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

Would it really be so bad if he just disappeared?

But then there’s the kids, left behind with no one to protect them. Sure, Robin and Eddie and Nancy are here, but Nancy is off to Emerson in the fall, Robin surely bound to follow in similar footsteps, and Eddie has made it well-known that he’s getting the hell out of here. If everyone is gone, who will be here to protect them when it comes back?

He rakes a hand harshly through his hair, pulling a bit at the ends and hating how greasy it feels on his fingertips. He can’t think like that, he’ll just worry himself into a panic and that’s the last thing he needs right now; a panic attack on the side of the road. He turns around, walking back towards town as the sky fades into light. He gets home right when sunlight begins burning the tops of the trees and collapses on the couch, sleeping until his noon shift.

He’s exhausted when he gets home, having to close up Family Video after a ten hour shift by himself, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not now. So he does what he usually does now when he gets home and grabs his essentials for his rounds, something that’s become routine for him.

He shrugs off his work clothes, replacing it with what has become his patrol outfit; the old swim team sweatshirt and a faded, ripped pair of light blue jeans. The sweatshirt is filled with holes, the baggy sleeves having caught on briars and branches alike, that allow the white of his shirt to show through. The jeans share a similar fate, the knees scraped up and the denim fraying from the unhemmed edges.

His white Nikes are stained a gray-ish brown from the nightly treks through the woods, small bits of leaves and debris sticking to the laces and in the grooves of the tread. The flashlight finds its place in his back left pocket, an extra pair of batteries landing in his front pocket after an incident a few nights ago where his flashlight died on him out in the middle of nowhere— he was forced to stumble through the woods until the sun began to rise and he was able to find his way back home. He didn’t sleep that night.

The nail bat is crusted with dried bits of mud sticking to the slowly rusting metal, shredded bits of leaves and undergrowth tangled in a green and brown mass. Clumps of dirt litter the floor under the bat, and likely mark a line in the hallway from his room down to the front door. Steve hopes it's still there if his parents come home.

It’s dark outside, only the street light at the end of the driveway illuminates the concrete and stepping stone pathway to the front door. Steve steps out on the front stoop, taking a deep breath of cool summer night air, and starts walking.

He walks out onto the street, uncaring at this point if anyone sees him or not. What does he have to lose? Hopper would probably tell him he’s stupid— something he’s well aware of at this point— and tell him to go inside. Or maybe he would drive him home, take the bat, and leave.

A small, traitorous part of Steve wants Hop to find him. Wants him to ask what the hell he’s doing walking around at night alone in the dark. Wants him to coax him in his old beat up truck and take him back to the Byers’ house. Wants some of Joyce’s hot chocolate as he sits on the couch and explains what he’s been doing, what’s been going on. Ask, desperately, why everyone hates him. Wants them to tell him he’s wrong, that no one hates him. That it’s just a misunderstanding.

But it doesn’t happen. All of that is a lie.

It’s a lie Steve has secretly been telling himself under the cover of darkness alone in his bed, lying awake and exhausted but unable to sleep. It’s a lie he tells himself when he sees any of the kids so he can act normal, act okay. It’s a lie he tells himself when Eddie grins at him, wide and gleaming, eyes sparkling with the afternoon sun beaming in from the storefront windows.

It’s those grins, those looks Eddie gives him sometimes that almost convinces him the lie is fake. Like Eddie is sharing an inside joke with him, only Steve doesn’t know what it is. Eddie doesn’t come around often but when he does… god, it’s like he’s the only one in the room.

Eddie looks at him with his whole body, always focusing on him so wholly and touching in some way. A hand on his bicep, an arm slung around his shoulder, even his arms wrapped around his waist one time. He was friendly, they were friends, until he wasn’t. Until Steve did something stupid that he still can’t figure out and Eddie is avoiding him.

The crunch of gravel under his sole brings him back into his head a little. He looks up, finding the pale orange glow of a lamp through a trailer window, and curses. His feet have brought him to where his mind always seems to go these days: Eddie.

He stands outside of the trailer, watching the way the little bits of weeds around the base shift and sway in the wind. The sky is filled with patches of clouds, light gray ripples standing out against the black sky from the glow of the moon. Steve isn’t completely sure how he got here, only that he started walking and didn’t really… stop.

Wayne’s truck is gone, leaving only Eddie’s cream-colored van among the gravel and grass. Which means Eddie is home and, judging by the light in the window, awake. Steve has a fleeting thought that he should turn around, walk back home, and try to forget he ever came here. Try to forget that he didn’t mean to, that his head and his heart are traitorous beings that have conspired against him to bring his body to the one place— one person— where he isn’t welcome. He tries to move, to will his legs and his feet to catch up with his brain and the urge to run. But they don’t. They stay frozen to the ground, rooted in place as if they belong here. As if he belongs here.

A voice cuts his thoughts off, one that he could pick out in a crowd full of people. His eyes snap to the front door of the trailer, now open and spilling warm light onto the wooden steps that lead down to the gravel drive. A figure grows near, tall and lanky and Steve feels like he’s trapped. His thoughts get louder, yelling and screaming at him to run run ruN RUN RUN-

Hands on his shoulders. Eddie’s face in front of him.

Eddie looks panicked, his dark eyes wide and dancing around as if searching Steve's face for… something. He must not find it, because the two little lines between his brows appear and his mouth starts moving. It’s all muffled, like he’s trying to talk through glass. Steve blinks.

“-ington? Steve,” Eddie’s pleading voice finds his ears as he shakes his shoulders, the fog in his head dissipating as the strained way his name falls from his lips. Steve hums. He blinks again.

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie is here. He’s in front of him. He can see him. He’s here and he can see and Steve shouldn’t be here he needs to go-

“Stevie, are you okay?” The fear in Eddie’s voice cuts off his train of thought— something that seems to happen a lot nowadays— and Steve feels every sensation return to his body. The heavy hands on his shoulders, soft and warm and missing their signature rings. The distant chill of the night air on his exposed bits of skin seeping away at the small amount of space between them. The faint puff of air on his face from the man before him. The fact that all of those things are from Eddie.

Steve clears his throat, swallows. Tries to focus his eyes on Eddie’s face.

“I’m fine, Eddie. I um.. sorry,” he trails off. He tries to smile, at least give something to reassure him, to keep him from asking questions. Steve doesn’t think he could answer them.

To his surprise, Eddie lets out a breath of relief, the fear dissipating from his eyes as they clench shut and his head drops. His shoulders move with his lungs as he takes a breath before looking back up at him.

“Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit outta me, Steve. Thought…” he trails off. His voice wavers. “Thought you were gone. Like… like her.”

Oh. Chrissy. Fuck.

“Shit- sorry, Eds, I didn’t even realize- fuck, I’m so sorry,” Steve pleads. He takes in his surroundings, realizes he’s been standing out here, alone, for who knows how long. He needs to leave. “I-I should go.”

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he tilts his head. “You don’t have to leave, Stevie, it’s fi-“ he cuts himself off.

Steve looks up at that, unsure of when he stopped looking at Eddie, and takes in his pinched expression. The one that’s trained to the ground. The one that’s trained towards-

“What the fuck is this?”

Shit.

“I-it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” He begs, voice sounding unfamiliar even to his own ears. It’s raspy and breaks after a few words. When was the last time he really spoke to anyone today?

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Eds, I really don’t- please, believe me,” he pleads. “It’s just for protection! I don’t-“

“Why are you covered in mud, Steve?” Eddie cuts him off, voice strange and cautious and his hands tighten their grip on his shoulders. Steve knows he doesn’t look the best, knows that his clothes are dirty, but he looks down at himself anyway. His eyes focus on a leaf stuck to his shoelace. He shrugs.

Eddie moves in front of him, a quick thing that Steve suspects is him shaking his head. He mumbles something he can’t hear, voice only a rumble in his throat but Steve knows enough to know that people only talk under their breath when they’re mad. When he’s done something wrong.

He pulls away. Eddie’s hands drop off his shoulders.

“I-I should go. Sorry for bothering you, an-… and keeping you awake,” Steve stutters out, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. He chances a look at him, finding concern written on Eddie’s face. It softens when they make eye contact, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I wasn’t asleep, Stevie. Don’t really, uh.. sleep much, these days. I usually just wait around for Wayne to get home to catch a couple hours. Doesn’t feel safe here by myself, you know?” Eddie confesses, mouth turned upwards in a small, sardonic smile. Steve nods. He does know, he’s never felt safe in his home. With or without people. He’s been going through it for years, long before the events of ‘83. He doesn’t say any of that though, doesn’t think he has the right to.

Eddie steps towards him, closing the bit of distance Steve made between the two, and rests his hand on the arm holding the bat.

“Come inside, Steve,” Eddie requests, voice low and soft. Eddie’s smiling at him. It’s that soft, small, Eddie smile. One that Steve has only seen a handful of times. It’s asking him to say yes, and Steve… he’s weak. So, so weak.

“Okay.”

Eddie’s smile grows.

His hand wraps further around his arm, tugging him towards the open trailer door and Steve feels betrayed that now is when his feet decide to move. He follows Eddie, watching the way he’s glancing at him the entire time. Eddie pauses at the doorway.

“Steve,” he whispers, and Steve looks at him. His hand travels down his arm, causing goosebumps in its wake despite the layer of fabric between their skin. It pauses over the hand still gripping the bat, thumb brushing along his knuckles. “Let it go.”

Steve looks at him, searches those dark brown eyes for fear or hate or anger but finds none. He only finds care. Concern. Love.

It’s terrifying.

He loosens his grip and Eddie takes it from him, the comforting weight of the bat replaced with the warmth of Eddie’s hand. He props it just inside the door to the trailer and leads him over the threshold by the grip on his hand. He’s led over to the couch where a hand on his back urges him to sit down. Steve does, and instantly sinks into the well-worn cushions.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just gonna get you some water,” Eddie informs him, squeezing his hand briefly before releasing his grip and turning the corner to venture into the kitchen. Steve watches him go, the way the baggy and worn band shirt hangs off his frame. The way his sweatpants are bunched up at the ankle as if they’re too big for him. The way his hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head that swings a little when he walks away. Even now, he’s beautiful.

Shit. He’s so gone for this man.

Eddie returns with a glass of water and flops down on the couch beside him, pressing the cool surface of the cup into his palm. He takes it with a shaky hand, his other joining it to help stabilize the glass. It doesn’t work.

He takes a small sip of water, the liquid feeling like heaven against his dry throat. They sit in silence until Steve finishes half the glass. Then, Eddie speaks.

“Why were you outside at two in the morning, Stevie?” His voice is gentle, and it makes Steve want to cry. He swallows.

“I- I don’t know,” he deflects, lies. Anything to not talk about it.

The harsh sound of a mock game show buzzer startles him, and he turns to find Eddie with his hands cupped around his mouth. Steve grins and lets his head drop, and Eddie nudges his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the surface of the water in his hands.

“I have to keep them safe, Eddie,” he confesses. Eddie stays silent, hand gently rubbing his forearm. “It’s what I need to do. What I have to do.”

Silence stretches between them, then, “who, Steve? Who do you have to keep safe?”

‘You,’ he wants to say. ‘You almost died. It’s never been that close before, not in the four years this shit has been going on. You and Max almost died, and I wasn’t there to protect you. I wasn’t with you and Dustin to keep you both safe, to help fight off the bats and urge you through the gate. I wasn’t with Max and Lucas and Erica, wasn’t there to fight off Carver and save Max just a little bit earlier. I wasn’t there, but I should have been. Carver should have beat me to pieces, not Lucas. It should have been me the bats got to, not you. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me.’

Hands fall over his as Eddie takes the glass from him. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking that bad in his revere, causing the water to spill over the sides and onto the brown carpet below them. The glass thunks on the coffee table before Eddie rests his hands over Steve’s, stills their shaking.

“Hey, talk to me, Stevie,” he practically begs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Steve looks at him, sees the worry in his eyes, and wets his lips with his tongue. Doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes flicker down at the movement. He clenches his fists.

“Please don’t tell Robin,” he pleads. If she found out about this, if she knew, he wouldn’t be allowed outside alone ever again. She would worry about him, keep him under lock and key to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. She would stay with him during the night, insert herself firmly by his side until she was sure he was okay. She would make him sleep in his own bed, trapped between his own walls. Trapped in his own house. He can’t stand that place, can’t handle the echoey walls and empty rooms. Can’t stand not being able to do anything for anyone. Can’t stand to be useless.

He’s just wasting time right now. He shouldn’t be here, talking to Eddie, when he could be checking the gates. He should be out there trying to save people, not himself. He should be trying to save his family. He could already be too late. It might have already come back while he was distracted and they could all be gone. It could have been waiting until he was occupied, waiting for an opening to strike. They could be in danger right now. They could be dead.

“Alright, I can do that. I won’t tell her but… Steve, why-“ Steve cuts him off by standing up on shaky legs, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Steve?”

“I need to go, Eddie, I need to- they could- I need to go,” the words tumble out of his mouth, words he isn’t quite sure even make sense but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out.

Steve walks over to the door, eyes locking on the bat propped there, before he hears Eddie stand up behind him. He turns to find Eddie holding his hands out in front of him like he’s trying to placate a wild animal and, at this moment, he kinda feels like one. His heart is beating too fast and he can feel his breathing quicken. His throat closes up as panic claws its way upwards and clouds his vision, muffling his hearing. Eddie’s mouth moves but Steve can’t hear it through the cotton in his ears. He backs towards the door, hating the fear in Eddie’s eyes as he does so.

His back hits the wall next to the door and he turns, hand finding the rough wood of the bat almost instantly, before he runs out the door. The small “sorry” he lets out is an afterthought, thrown over his shoulder right before the trailer door slams shut behind him and his feet crunch on gravel as he runs towards town.

His blind panic takes him to Dustin’s house first, finding all the lights turned off save for the faint glow of the hall night light through sheer curtains. He stays there for a minute or two, waiting for the sign of flickering lights. Nothing comes.

A couple streets over, he stops in front of Lucas’s house, finds the same thing. Dark. He stands there and waits. No flickering. He runs.

The Wheelers. Dark. He waits, no flickering. He runs.

The Byers-Hoppers. Dark. Waits. No flickering. Runs.

Max. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

Robin. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

His house. Light.

They’re safe. He collapses.

He sits heavily on the front stoop, bat falling to the ground and knocking against the concrete with a thud. His knees come up to his chest and his arms wrap tightly around them as he rasps for breath, the air coming in short, quick bursts. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of his calves, hard enough to leave bruises. His forehead rests heavily on his knees and his eyes sting, welling with tears as the fear slowly fades away.

He sits outside, struggling for breath until the sun begins to rise, and waits. When the sun finds its way over the trees, he makes his way inside to get ready for his opening shift.

The bat finds a new home in his trunk.

Taglist: @tea-beloved @starry-eyedlune @hyperfixationgoddess @zerokrox-blog @nicovania @invisibleflame812 @chaoticvictorianspirit @justforthedead89 @dacremontgomeryay @vhelt @adhdsummer @nerd-and-nervous @i-have-three-feelings @mimicori @remuslupinisthevoiceofgod @solliesolesito @romanticdestruction @vanillatwist @bowl-o-queerios @grimmfitzz

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

#steddie #stranger things #pre steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fillet #stranger things drabble #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #things get better for Steve i promise #hes just having his angsty time right now #robins part is next tho so stay tuned for that #disposable heroes

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eds-gryff · 2 years ago

Text

Letters and Lust

Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Requested by @potatosdragon (hope it’s to your liking!)

‘Hi again,

I really liked the writing you made with my idea, and I just thought of another one and had to send it to you.

So it's Edmund Pevensie again

And the reader has been sent to a boarding school so the writing would be letters sent between the reader and ed. Maybe he sends her a scandalous one and the teachers find it.

It might be a bit vague so I would totally understand if you don't want to write it but I just needed to see if you would.

Thank you so much’

Y/N- Your Name

L/N- Last Name

Y/H- Your Hometown/Home-Country

Y/n/N- Your Nickname

There is no mention of Narnia, so the fic can either be taken as taking place in a non-Narnia world, or just that the sex and the letters are more important than ruminating on the left-behind fantasy world 🤷‍♀️

Warning : smut, explicit language, charming-and-sweet-boyfriend!Edmund

----------------------------------------------------------

Mareafe Academy

6th September, 1944

Dearest Edmund,

I have literally just sat down on the bed in my dormitory, and the FIRST thing I did was pull out a piece of paper and a pen so I could write to you. And, alright, perhaps I also arranged my novels in the little bedside table I have.

I’m early, and my dorm-mates haven’t arrived yet, so I can write in peace and solitude, too- shucks, I won’t be having much of that anymore, will I? It hasn’t even been twenty minutes in the boarding school yet, but I already really miss day school. However DO you manage at boarding school??? And you’ve been studying at one since you were eleven!

I miss you, Ed. I miss your freckles. I miss you holding my hand. I miss zoning out of the conversation when you talk about chess. I miss you not even realising that I’ve zoned out.

I wish my parents weren’t going away to Y/H for the rest of the year- yes, I will miss them, too- and I wish that St. Finbar’s had a vacancy so I could have attended then, because I would have been close to you throughout the year then. I really thought that’s how it would happen- that once school started again, you’d be going to Hendon, and I’d be going to St. Finbar’s, and we’d be close-by, like always. I mean, the last couple of years, we were together all the time, because the war had closed the schools down.

I love you. Chess-obsessed idiot you are, but I love you so much. Alright, you’re not an idiot, you’re the smartest person I know, but still. Your cheeks get so red when I call you an idiot.

I have to go, I can hear footsteps coming to this room. You know what that means- people. Ugh. I do not like people.

I’ll post this when I get time, and you BEST write me back as soon as possible! Bye-bye, darling.

Love, Y/N

Y/N stared at the letter after she capped her pen, and continued staring at it even as the noise of chattering and laughter filled the room.

She finally stopped staring once one of the girls approached the bed she was sitting on, with a welcoming smile- probably one of the old students- and she put down the letter. As she sat up and readied herself to stand up, and- regrettably- socialise, her eyes fell on the letter one last time.

‘Dearest Edmund’ were the two words she managed to read, and she smiled to herself.

The day after that, Y/N hurried to the telephone room during the break, after the classes of the day and before the prep-time of the evening. Her hurrying was because the monitor of her form had come by her solitary armchair, where she’d been reading the newest Nancy Drew, and informed her that her mother was calling.

“Hello, M-?”

“Don’t finish the word, darling, I’m not your Mum.” Came the lovely voice of her even lovelier boyfriend, Edmund Pevensie. “Did I get the routine right? It’s your break now, yeah?”

“Yes- it is-” Y/N had sent him her class-routine along with the letter, “but- I thought- the monitor said that-”

“Oh, I just put Susan on the telephone for that.” He chuckled. “She sounds very much like a priggish old lady.”

Y/N snorted, after which he continued, sounding a bit nervous, “Wasn’t sure how receptive a teacher or monitor would be to a young man calling and asking for the prettiest person in school.”

Her cheeks were already scarlet, “Ed, you haven’t even seen the others in the school.”

“And I don’t need to.”

“You charmer, you.” Y/N spoke, toying the telephone wire around her fingers. Then her voice softened, dropping to a whisper, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” His voice softened, as well, and she could imagine the tenderness in his chocolate brown perfectly. “I miss you, Y/n/N.”

“Me too- and the fact that I probably won’t see you until Easter break-” her parents would be returning to Finchley then, “which is SEVEN MONTHS FROM NOW, is just torture.”

“I couldn’t agree more. The moment I’ve enough money, I’m coming up there and we’re spending the weekend at some cosy inn.”

Her blush deepened, and- oh, how she wanted to kiss him. And more. Oh, she truly wanted that inn-weekend immediately.

Still, she spoke teasingly, “I think the Headmistress might have some problems with you whisking away one of her students for the entire weekend.”

“What can educational administrators or institutions do when it comes to true love?” Edmund spoke dramatically to his girlfriend, and Y/N- giggling again- could visualise him having his hand on his heart. “Oh, I did love the birthday gift by the way, my last suspenders were hand-me-downs. But why-”

“Because-” Y/N’s voice lowered again, but it wasn’t so much as it was sultry, “I like to hold them and tug at them when I’m on top of you, and honestly, with the state the last ones were in, I was afraid they’d tear the moment I touched them.”

She glanced at the door of the tiny telephone room, just to make sure there was privacy- before turning back to the telephone.

“And- your suspenders aren’t the only thing I want to tear off you, you know.”

She heard a gulp on the other end, and then Edmund’s hoarse voice speak, “What I would give to be back to the ninth of August- and the twelfth- and the sixteenth- and the twenty-third- and the twenty-fifth- and the twenty-sixth- and the thirty-first- and the first two days of September.”

Visions of Edmund, his pale, freckled body under her, on top of her, beside her, kissing her, touching her, licking her, fucking her- made their way immediately into Y/N’s mind, and she clenched the telephone receiver tight.

They weren’t visions, they were memories, and she pushed her legs pressed together.

“I can’t believe you remember all the days.”

“I can’t believe we had less than a month of it.” He whispered back, huskily, and Y/N licked her lips. “Oh, Y/n/N-”

“If you keep calling me that, I will run back to Finchley and have-” oh, she couldn’t say the word, she didn’t know if the walls were soundproof!, “and read with you in front of your entire family.”

“Read?” Oh, she just knew that Edmund was smirking. “Read what?”

“Everything you can imagine.” Oh, she could be husky and seductive, too! “Everything you want.”

“Everything we want.” He corrected immediately, and Y/N could no longer ignore how wet she was. “I- oh, goodness gracious, I need to have a cold shower now.”

“I need to have you, but I’ll have to settle for a shower, too.” She just hoped none of her dorm-mates asked why she was having a shower at such an odd time. “I should go, prep-time is about to start. Call me earlier next time, my love.”

“Okay, will do.” Edmund promised. He’d call her all the time- it was the only way for her to be in his life for the next seven months. Well, that, and letters. Yes, letters... He could make good use of those, too. He really would miss his girlfriend terribly. “I love you, Y/n/N.”

Y/N sighed, and rested her head against the wall- wishing it was her boyfriend’s shoulder instead. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she missed her family- missed home- she had to miss the love of her life, too.

“And I love you, Edmund.”

Edmund was not at school. He was grateful for that- though, not as much as Peter or Susan were, and more than Lucy was- for he quite enjoyed the time at home, with his family. He didn’t mind school, generally, for he liked to read, and learn, and he did well in tests- but who could pick school over home?

Certainly not he.

Regardless of his gratitude for not being at school, he did regret that he was at home- because of Y/N. It was entirely unjust that she was stuck there, in some boarding school she had never been to, with her family travelling away for some urgent emergency, away from her home, whilst he was at home and with his family.

He wished he could go to her- he badly wanted to see her, be with her. Just for half a day, even. He was intending to, and had even started planning to go there for Christmas, but his parents had informed them that their grandparents were coming to stay Christmas week- which effectively poured water on his half-formed plans.

All they had now was letters. Not even telephone calls- at least for the present, for the old telephones had been removed, and new ones were being put in, and Y/N had said that she didn’t know how long it would take in her last letter. There was only one working telephone in the entire school, the Headmistress’s, and, as his dear girlfriend had said, “I don’t think she’ll be very keen to let me use it so I can hear sweet nothings from my boyfriend.”

Edmund was making the most of the letters.

Several of the ones he’d written were humorous- even if he did say so himself, droll, and loving, chronicling the things that had been happening at home and with him, as well as asking Y/N what was happening with her and showing sympathy for her ‘incarceration’ (as she put it in one of her letters) in school.

My cousin, Eustace, came over with his parents for Dad’s birthday. You’ve met him, the shrill kid with the eyebrows, and the terrible name- Eustace Clarence Scrubb? Anyway, they were to stay the entire weekend, which everyone- including them- were very annoyed about, but we all had decided to take it as much in stride as possible. But Eustace is just so annoying, and he was driving us four MAD the entire day- to show how much, even LUCY asked for him to shut up. Well, she said ‘please, be quiet, I have a headache’, but that’s ‘shut the bloody hell up!’ for her.

At any rate, he was driving us crazy. I told you he has a fixation with entomology- insects- and he brought his whole kit and collection of insects with him. Can’t part with it, apparently, since he’s observing some live specimens to note down some specifics about them that he feels the entomology books got wrong.

We (Peter and I, since Eustace is sharing our room) let those live specimens free. Freedom is extremely important, I know you agree, my darling.

In the morning, Susan- with such a smile on her face she resembled the Cheshire Cat- said that Eustace had demanded to go home, and so our aunt, uncle, and cousin were to leave for Cambridge after lunch by train.

And it’s only Saturday! HA.

It is unfair, Y/n/N, far too unfair that you’re in school, while most of the country isn’t! It should be a law that each educational institution should open and close at the exact same times, and that there should be the same number of hols- otherwise, it’s just bloody unjust. If I wasn’t already sure that I want to be a lawyer, this would have made it CERTAIN for me.

You deserve better, my love. Especially since you hate school so much. If I could swap places with you, I would. I’d look very pretty in a skirt and your school’s uniform, don’t you think?

Did you read the new Hardy Boys? The Melted Coins? Frankly, I’ve been enjoying Nancy Drew more than the last couple of Hardy Boys- is just me? I prefer mysteries related not to treasure nowadays, I feel. Buried treasure just feels far too overused.

But several were- they were not humorous and sympathetic and bibliophilic as much as they were libidinous.

Edmund wrote those letters late at night, when his brother was fast asleep and snoring. He was a night owl, thankfully- though, not as much as Y/N, whose sleeping schedule was more vampiric than human. He’d write the letters, burning the midnight oil, blush quite brilliantly at the contents of what he’d written as well as the images of his beautiful girl from that his mind came up with, and then he would go and post the letters the next morning.

Darling, you know I think a lot, but you know what I think the most about?

You. Always you. Your smile, your eyes, your eyebrows, the nose I love to kiss, the curve of your lips, and your hips. How I hold them when you take me inside you. The way your eyes flutter when I flick your nipples, how your mouth opens whenever I lick at your sex.

How incandescent you look during and after sex, on top of me or under, your body pressed hard against me. How your lips call my name, how my name sounds in your voice. We had so few moments where we could do all that- but we really made the most of it, and I’m endlessly grateful. And we’ll see each other very soon, and I SWEAR all our fantasies will be indulged.

You make me tremble, and you leave me breathless, especially when I look at your face flushed with ecstasy and when I hold you in my arms while making love. And I love you so much in those moments, as I love you in every moment I live.

I miss your tits. Your lovely, large, lovely tits. I miss how you giggled when I kissed them. I miss all of you.

Do you know I have to keep taking showers more than once every day? Every time I think of you, I just get so hard and I need to get myself off, after which I need to clean up- consequently showers.

Your last letter, about the- about the swimsuit and the swimming exhibitionism thing- I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard from getting myself off. If it’s your hands or mouth, yes, but not from my own hands.

I want that, too. You know that. I want all of that, so BADLY. Sometimes I’ll wander down some alleyways, the ones that are shortcuts, and I’ll think of pushing you against a wall and fucking you then and there. I think of you wearing those sexy knee-socks as you spread yourself on the bed. I’ll think of how bright your eyes get when I enter you, and-

Fuck, I’m hard again. Bloody hell, Y/n/N, I’ve already showered twice today! I’m going to die of a cold, at this rate.

Chocolate is my favourite taste. I adore chocolate, and I’d probably eat the floor if it was made of it. I mean, no offence to those five kids, but I should have gotten a Golden Ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.

But I adore tasting you, too. I love you writhing under me, as I kiss along your thighs, and I love you pulling my hair when I finally have my tongue inside you. I adore everything about you, every single thing- but, gosh, your taste. You taste like oranges, and I drink your essence like I’ve been thirsty for centuries. I’m a rational person, easily the wisest in my family- not that that’s a difficult achievement- but you, Y/n/N, you drive me wild.

I want you to fuck me. I want you kneeling in front of me, your mouth around me, sucking me harder and faster. I want you to make me moan your name over and over and over until you unravel me completely. I want to give you hickeys everywhere. I want to be yours. I want to be inside you again. I want you.

Y/N’s replies would come the very next day, and he would lock himself in the bathroom whenever he read them.

Her replies were even more explicit and- as she had herself said in a telephone call- more unhinged than his.

Every night before I sleep, I masturbate. I close my eyes, fix my blanket, and then I touch myself. I touch myself, and I think of how you hold me. I touch myself, and I think how you kiss me. I touch myself, and I think of how you lick my breasts, how you suck at my clit. I touch myself, and my body shakes, and I think of how you fuck me. I come, somehow, my hips lifting, and I think of you and only you, my dearest.

Then I go to the bathroom to pee and wash my hands, and then, just as I’m about to fall asleep, I think of you again.

I turn, shoving my face into my pillow, and I fuck myself again, all the while wishing it was your fingers and your mouth and your cock inside me instead.

I drew you naked in class today. I spent a lot of time on your fingers. And your freckles. I really, truly, madly love your freckles. I love that I’ve kissed all of them, all over your body. Even the ones on your cock. I love them. I love you.

Was down swimming today- it’s cold weather usually, but somehow it was pretty warm today. I was really glad, and the MOMENT we finished breakfast, I ran to get my swimsuit and went to the pool. I mean, I didn’t run, I definitely never run, but I did walk very fast.

So I went to the pool, wearing my swimsuit and a bathrobe over it, and as I was taking it off, I wished you were there. I wanted you to watch me. I wanted to take off my robe, and my swimsuit, and I wanted you to see me, your pretty eyes going dark as I get naked. And I wanted you to take off whatever you were wearing, too- hopefully suspenders. I love you wearing suspenders, and I love to drag them off you. Obviously, I’d be watching you as well, because how can I ever NOT look at you?

And then I wanted to make love with you then and there. Outside, in public, uncaring of whether anyone could see. I still want it.

Writing this down, I’m throbbing again. I can smell how wet I am, goodness.

I might kill someone if I don’t get you inside my cunt right NOW.

P.S. (adding this in the morning), I didn’t kill anyone. A lot of people at school make me murderous, but I’ve had self-control so far.

I have, however, put a photograph of myself in this letter, one that I’m sure you’ll like. I’m not as adept a photographer as you- you know how much I fidget- but, again, I think you’ll like it. And I hope, love, that you’ll send me one in reply, too- only if you want to.

I love you. And enjoy my tits. Let me know what effect they have on you.

“Post’s here early!” One of Y/N’s classmates called out- she had just stood up to leave the Dining Hall, and had seen the postman walk across the doorway at the far end of it. “Oh, hope Mum got me the hair-band I fancied!”

As her friend pulled her down to the seat, teasing her in whispers that she needed a few dozen hair-bands to keep her flyaway hair in control, Y/N stood up.

She never ate much in the mornings, anyway- if it wasn’t compulsory, she would absolutely have skipped breakfast every day, waking up exactly six minutes before classes started. And now that mail was here early, she would go and see if she had letters- she usually had one from Edmund every other day, and one from her family every week, as well as occasional letters from some other friends she had left behind. There were, though, also many days that she did not have letters.

Today was not one of those days.

Recognising Edmund’s signature on the back of the envelope, Y/N snatched it from the tray of letters, and grinned hugely. She grinned so widely, in fact, that a group of first-formers heading her way saw her and ran away in the opposite direction.

She usually opened letters from her darling boyfriend in private, since their letters were private, and- more often than not- intimate. Today, though, she lacked the patience and ripped it open as soon as she reached the- thankfully empty, since most of the school was still at breakfast- entrance hall of Mareafe Academy.

Her fingers felt the texture of the letter’s paper- but along with it, they felt a much smoother, cooler surface. She pulled both out immediately- she was a curious creature, and then Y/N almost dropped the envelope.

She wasn’t just curious. She was forgetful as well, and she’d forgotten what she’d sent along with her last letter. And that she’d added a request, of sorts, for a similar response.

And she had got it.

It was a photograph of Edmund. He’d clearly taken it himself, from the angle- and another, far more clearer thing, was that he was naked. He was utterly, completely naked, from head to thigh- that was as much was there in the picture. Oh, and his thighs- what lay in between them- Y/N licked her lips.

Almost immediately, she bit her bottom lip to keep from accidentally moaning, and then Y/N hurried to the staircase that led up to the dormitories to sit down on the fifth step. Setting down the letter and the envelope on the sixth step- yes, yes, she would read it in a second, she desperately wanted to read what Edmund wrote, but she just needed to admire the gorgeous being that the love of her life was- she looked at the photograph even longer. Her eyes danced around to his pale and lithe form, to the flat of his abs that she’d press her palms against sometimes, to different spots of him she’d sucked, to all the starry freckles she had kissed, to his lovely lips that gave her kisses that brought her both calm and passion, and to all the parts of him that she adored.

She would absolutely be missing her first class, so she could take advantage of an empty dormitory- she would look at the photograph, and then she would mas-

“Child, is this yours?” Came a voice- and then, immediately, a hand bent down to pick up the letter and the envelope carelessly left on the stair.

Y/N turned, in panic and horror and so many other unpleasant, cardiac-arrest-reminiscent symptoms- but the damage was done. The form-mistress for the first form, as well as the House-Mistress for the school House she was in, Ms. Potts, had her hands on her letter.

And her eyes were on the letter- growing wider and wider and wider and wider with every passing second.

“What,” Ms. Potts said, her lips pursed so tightly together they seemed conjoined, and her fair cheeks turning a blotchy red, “is this abhorrent, shocking, and vile thing sent to you?”

Oh, Heavens. Had Edmund written about how much he liked to have her sit stop his face? Or perhaps some details about how she sucked his cock.

Y/N did not say anything, because she felt petrified. Mortified. She had wished for death before, but she didn’t think she’d ever wished it quite so keenly and desperately. She’d take anything! Couldn’t those air raids start again!? Just for the day?!

There used to be a chandelier in the entrance hall- it had been removed as the war had begun. She wished it was still there, so it could fall on her.

Ms. Potts shook in rage for a few more moments, apparently as unable as Y/N was of coherent speak- before spotting something in the student’s hand.

“What is that?” She asked, her gaze fixed on the photograph of Edmund. “Was that with his letter?”

“No.” The lie was immediate, and convincing. Talking, she was not very good at, but lie she could very well. “It’s a photograph of- of the tulip-bushes at our house in Finchley, ma’am. My parents asked a neighbour with green thumbs to look after the bushes, so they’ve bloomed again despite the house being empty-”

“Is that so?” The teacher cut off the narration, looking unimpressed. At least the splotches of red were lessening now, Y/N thought. “Let me see it, then, give it-”

“No!” Oh, she could have her letter, but she would not give away a photograph of Edmund naked! He’d trusted her with it, and she would DIE before letting a stranger see it. No one ever deserved to have their personal anecdotes or their personal photographs or documents be circulated to or by those who were never intended to see them. “Sorry, Ms. Potts, but it’s my photograph.”

“Hm, of course. Privacy is important.” Ms. Potts nodded, seemingly backing down. “But so is decency, Ms. L/N, and the things written in this letter-”

“I haven’t read the letter, ma’am.” Y/N said, because what else could she say? She didn’t know! She still felt like she was having a heart attack, and she was anxious about whether the hospital- oh, anxiety. She felt anxiety, and if Ms. Potts didn’t give her back her belongings, she may devolve into a full-blown panic attack. “I don’t know what it says. I’m not even sure whom it’s from-”

“Says it is from ‘your devoted and dearest Edmund’.” Her lip curled, and Y/N couldn’t be sure if that was a hint of humour or hatred. She could be sure, though, that she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Or at least transport her to somewhere far, far away, somewhere that was preferably known as ’Edmund’s arms’. “I thought such adoring signatures died out after the Georgian era.”

“I always thought that such signatures existed only in books.” The girl gave a shrug- not a nonchalant one, though that was the effect she was trying to convey. “Maybe- maybe that’s what this is, Ms. Potts, someone having transcribed a letter from a novel and sent it to me-”

“Admirable attempt at lying, L/N, but the lie only makes things worse. Mareafe Academy does not condone lying, cheating, or-” Ms. Potts looked down at the letter again, and the splotches reappeared, “such disgusting sentiments being written to the young women of tomorrow!”

“Oh, but- but, Ms. Potts-”

Why wasn’t there a dragon here? Either she could ride away on it, or it could eat her. Either way, her problem would be solved

Oh, she so hated to exist in a world of reality.

“And, according to devoted and dearest Edmund,” The teacher’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and it didn’t sound nearly as attractive as Edmund’s sarcasm did, “you were the one who asked to be sent such uncouth correspondence.”

Well, what was she to do now? Throw Edmund under the bus and keep him safe, or tell the truth and secure expulsion?

She couldn’t do either of that. She would protect Edmund and she would make sure her parents did not have to feel the shame of a child expelled from school.

What excuse could she give...

“I’m a writer.” Y/N said suddenly, before glancing down at the letter again- as soon as Ms. Potts lost focus on it, she’d grab it back. “I asked a friend of mine to help me with certain- salacious parts of the novel I’m working.”

Ms. Potts gave her a look, “Are you planning to become the female D. H. Lawrence, Ms. L/N? Need I remind you, most of his books were banned because of their- their inappropriate content.”

“And now he’s one of the most famous writers of the century.” Y/N pointed out. “I- I think that counts as a win.”

Ms. Potts rolled her eyes, “Would you like me to take this letter to the Headmistress? Perhaps she’ll motivate you with suspension to show her the photograph-”

“No!” She burst out again, shifting her weight from one leg to another, that was how nervous she was. She kept teetering-tottering. Edmund’s photograph would ensure expulsion.

Oh, why was this happening!? Wasn’t it bad enough that she’d had to wake up early for breakfast- even earlier than usual, because her dorm-mate had pulled the curtains back to let in the rare sunshine!? Waking up was awful enough!

“No- please, Ms. Potts, I don’t- I’m so- I’m sorry. I- promise that- that I won’t ask for such-” loving, “vile letters anymore. Please, I’m so very sorry, ma’am-”

“Alright, child. Calm yourself.” She sighed. Generally, she would have taken the student and the letter to the Headmistress, for its contents were that questionable- but she had a soft heart when she hadn’t had her morning coffee. And- well, she knew the girl was having a hard time with her parents so far away, and- and, between the inappropriate things, she could read the love that seeped out from every word. Edmund truly loved Y/N, despite the disgusting things he did to her and she did to him. “No supper for you for the rest of the week, L/N. Your suppertime will be devoted to extra prep time, and you’ll have two slices of toast and a glass of water before you head to bed.”

“Okay.”

At least it wasn’t expulsion- and she’d just spend the prep time daydreaming about Edmund. About the food, though- she usually was very hungry at dinner, but she’d have to make do.

“Thank you so much, ma’am- and, again, I- I am so- so sorry.”

“Hmph.” She made a sound to acknowledge the apology, and then held out the letter. “I’ll be reading the rest of your letters from this Edmund from now on.”

She nodded quickly.

“Now go put it somewhere private, I will come check in five-” after she had her coffee, “and for the Lord’s sake, get to class on time!”

She nodded again, grabbing the letter and the envelope, before running straight to her thankfully empty dormitory.

She had intended on locking the door, undressing- at least part-way- and then fingering herself until she came, while looking at Edmund’s photograph and/or reading his letter.

Y/N still wanted to do that, she thought, as she sank onto her bed. She wanted to do it even more, in fact, because now she had his letter, and she was reading all the beautifully dirty things Edmund wanted her to do to him or wanted to do to her- but she would refrain. Her sex was throbbing and her mouth was dry, but Ms. Potts would be up any second, and if she walked in on her masturbating- well, there would be no hope for her at ALL then.

For once, she would have self-control when it came to Edmund.

“Oh, darling.” She said, falling back on the bed and letting out a very long sigh. She wanted to go back to sleep. “Our fucking has fucked things up.”

Two months later:

“Yes, fuck, ah-ah, yes-” Y/N moaned, one of her hands gripping the bark of the tree she was pressed up against, while the other fisted itself firmly into Edmund’s hair, pushing his head further between her thighs.

They were in a clearing in the woods behind school- not too far in that they’d get lost, and yet not too near the entrance that they’d be seen by someone from her school. It was parents’ weekend- and, in place of her parents, Edmund had come to visit. Ms. Potts had enquired if she would be alone the weekend, and Y/N had lied that her uncle and aunt would be coming to take her for the two days- and the moment that Ms. Potts had turned around, she’d grabbed her little case and run outside. Thankfully, in all the crowd of cars and people outside the school, no one had noticed that the person she was hugging was a boy her own age, or that the hug was decidedly not platonic.

After they’d escaped the school, Y/N had said something that they couldn’t enjoy themselves in a pool- sand then Edmund had completed her sentence by saying that at least they could have some pretty good fun in the woods.

Edmund had taken up a paper route the last few months, and had done some odd jobs around the neighbourhood- and Y/N had made some money by tutoring some first-years, too. She’d begun the tutoring as a way to lessen Potts’s suspicion- but it had had a monetary advantage, too. Pooling their money together, they’d managed to afford one night at a nearby bed-and-breakfast, and they had both been so excited, Edmund had got on the wrong train- he’d realised just before it had started- and Y/N had buttered her hair, instead of her toast.

Edmund dug his fingers into her leg that was thrown over his shoulders, his tongue licking a path along her sex, and he felt a deep tightening in the pit of his stomach. He was already pleasured and sated- the moment he had arrived at the school gate, and had seen her run towards him, after which she’d thrown her arms around him, he’d been utterly content. He was even more so now. He had missed her so much.

He reached up blindly- but he was so familiar with her body, that he found her bare breast at the first try, cupping it hard as he began to suck at her clit.

“Come on, Y/n/N. Say my name.” Edmund grinned wolfishly, as a muffled sigh left her lips. “Moan if you missed me, darling.”

And she did.

This was exactly- exactly- what she needed. What both of them did. What they’d needed and wanted for so long. How utterly she had missed him.

And, considering that they’d only had sex for about ten days back in August, it was truly astonishing how well he knew her body. He really was a fast learner.

He knew it so well that she just could not keep her mouth shut, though she knew she couldn’t be too loud, “Fuck, Edmund-”

Then his fingers joined, too, inching closer to her clit, making her gasp and shiver and doubling the building ecstasy.

Needless to say, it took hardly a couple of minutes for Y/N to reach her zenith, her body relaxing as she came.

“No, no, no.” She said, a moment after her breathing eased- Edmund was looking around for their long-discarded shirts, his suspenders (which looked even sexier than usual, perhaps because she was seeing him for the first time in months), and her skirt.

Her boyfriend looked at her inquiringly- good Heavens, he was licking his lips, she might orgasm just looking at that.

She pulled her knickers up and debated on putting on her bra- she was trying to wear them more often, despite how much she disliked them, because she’d heard a sixth-former whisper in the pool that wearing bras helped with back pain.

And she had a lot of back pain.

But she decided against it. A few more minutes wouldn’t make her back hurt even more.

“Come a little closer?”

Edmund obeyed, but still looked blank. He was perfectly content to just look at her- after months of just letters, most of which had been censored and sanitised after a point- he just wanted to gaze at her.

“Why, Y/n/N?” He asked, and was answered by Y/N kneeling, pulling his trousers down, and wrapping her mouth around him in one fluid moment. He started violently, quite staggered by the action, and drew a sharp gasp of a breath. “G-give a fellow some warning, darling.”

“As though you didn’t know-” She pulled away from his cock for just a moment to smile at him- going down on her had hardened him, which meant he was already close, “that I wouldn’t let you go without returning the favour. It’s been too long, love.”

“I- forgot.” His lashes fluttered, his breath coming in short bursts as she started to take him in her mouth again, her head bobbing up and down between his legs. “S- ach, Y/n/N-” she sped up the work of her tongue- harder, faster- and he had to bite down on his bottom lip to hold back a moan, “silly me.”

She sucked for a few, slow moments- not enough to make him come, but enough to make him tremble and moan her name- and she could feel herself throb again, because it wasn’t inside her mouth that she needed him.

But she’d contentedly settle for this for the moment- it was Edmund, she liked doing almost everything with him.

Carefully, she pulled her mouth away from him- and asked softly, “Do you like this, my love? Do you like my mouth around you, as I kneel for you? As I put my tongue on your cock?”

Before he could reply, she bent forward again and trailed her lips all over his length, sometimes darting her tongue out to lick a freckle or sensitive spot- and then began to suck once more.

Minutes later, as the birds chirped in the trees, they lay on the warm grass. They held hands as Edmund slid inside Y/N, into the togetherness and oneness they’d had too little of and they had missed for months.

The sun scattered through the canopy of trees, falling onto their bodies, which flushed and naked and tight together. Their lips were pressed together, too.

And when they came together, they whispered both I love you and I missed you.

After that, lying naked on the warm grass and in each other’s arms, they made fun of other people- specifically, teachers- and teased each other- both verbal and sexual, and bantered, all interspersed with a lot of kissing. There was a small picnic basket lying a few feet from them, as well.

It was going to be an amazing weekend.

----

Thank you for reading!

And requests are CLOSED. I have end semester exams in a week, and what have I been doing? Nothing that will help me pass and everything that will make me fail!

#narnia #the chronicles of narnia #edmund pevensie #skandar keynes #edmund pevensie x reader #narnia fanfiction #edmund pevensie fanfiction #edmund pevensie imagine #king edmund the just #skandar keynes fanfiction #smut #x reader #smut x reader #edmund pevensie smut #1940s #my fics #myfics

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flowermiist · 10 months ago

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A warm heart - Prologue

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Pairing: John Price x Fem!Reader

Sypnosis: Some time ago, you started a cooking channel on YouTube as a way to relax, have a proper hobby and teach others your favorite recipes as you improved your own culinary skills too. Fame wasn’t something you wanted, you were more than happy with your 50k subscribers... Yet you never thought you’d stumble upon one of them.

Word count: 1.k

A/N: So I’m really excited since this is my very first fic... I still haven’t planned it much but I’m already working on the first chapter as I post this!! If you have any suggestions or comments please leave them below. Comments and reblogs are always so welcome and appreciated.

John had gotten back from base two days ago, he had spent nearly three months stuck in Egypt with some CIA members and his SAS team. Time there went slow, it felt like it would never end, most intel they could gather was messy but the missions were successful.

Sitting on his couch and with his already third glass of scotch, John knew his stomach wouldn’t actually settle for alcohol and a cigar – It was too late to go out, most places would already be closed by now – except for some street food carts and dingy local pubs. So now, both his exhaustion of having spent his whole day locked away in his office finishing reports and filling out documents was mixing with his empty stomach and possible upcoming migraines making him way too irritable and tired to even attempt going out and getting something – Not like he was even in the mood to do so.

If this moment had been one of the irritated man’s childhood caricatures, a lightbulb would have gone on above his head as he remembered the few basics he had gotten from the grocery store in the middle of the road on his way home while getting back home from base. The captain let out a deep grunt as he got up from the couch, grabbing the empty glass of scotch and the TV remote to turn it off and walk to his kitchen.

Opening his pantry, he only saw the basics, some canned tomato sauce and a single bag of spaghetti. John sighed as he grabbed those two ingredients and hopes that it would at least taste decent enough not to make his headache worse. Internally cursing himself for not getting more things from the store – not being home for too long did limit a lot of his comfort and meal options when it came to getting back after a long time, buying food that would expire too soon before going to work would only mess up his pantry and fridge.

When it came to cooking, he wasn’t exactly an expert. Yes, he could defend his culinary skills by making a good English breakfast and a cup of tea but besides that? Yeah, no. Yet for some reason, John didn’t want to admit the fact that he had grown too accustomed to the meals he’d get at base or the pickup he’d order whenever he was home. Almost embarrassing that an officer specialized in unconventional warfare or any kind of missions would find it more difficult to cook for himself than to deploy to the most dangerous and broken places on earth.

Luck had jumped out of his window and the spaghetti ended up tasting horrible to say the least – Was it the sauce? Was it expired? Or did John just get horrible at cooking at this point? Too tired to care, the gruff man washed the dishes and went to sleep. This culinary war wasn’t over.

The following morning was busy, the captain went out for a morning jog then continued finishing up the last reports. His house had been too quiet for his own liking because when a man like John Price has gotten too used to the chaos and noise of all the places he deploys to and filled with all kinds of people, being in his own house feels almost surreal. Almost like he doesn’t belong here, like all he can handle are the noises that will not leave him alone with his thoughts eating him alive.

His own perseverance and stubbornness did not allow him to give up when it came to cooking, he was a grown man for crying out loud! No goddamn way he could be able to handle all the things he sees in his line of work but couldn’t handle himself in the kitchen – he thought.

Closing the other tabs on his laptop, he entered YouTube. After searching for basic recipes to challenge himself, he came upon certain channel – “Y/N’s kitchen diaries.”

Not even ten minutes later, he was already taking notes and focusing on every single detail.

John had prepared one of the recipes for dinner after yet another visit to the grocerie store, a less rushed one this time and somewhere that wasn’t in the middle of an isolated road. Meticulously following every single step shown by the woman in the videos – he liked her voice, it wasn’t like one of those annoying cooking shows from TV that would be filled with ads for kitchen tools and nonsense chatter, it even felt as if he had some company with the video – “Here we have our final result.” She spoke softly as she was showing the results, John looked at her video then back at his plate – It looked and smelled good. “As you can see the chicken is juicy and the smoked paprika gives it that extra flavor. Now our broccoli has that chewy yet soft texture, I personally sprinkle some salt on top of it but that is up to your liking.” A small pause before she spoke again, by then, John was already placing the plate on the dining table before grabbing his phone as the young woman spoke the final lines of the video. “Thank you for watching – don’t forget to comment down below if you have any suggestions or any recipes you’d like me to try. Bye Bye!” – The video ended and John had a small smirk on his face, both proud of himself and amused by how well this went. He clicked on the “subscribe” button and left his phone on top of the counter, walking towards the dining table and taking a seat.

The moment you got home, you kicked off your high heels, grunting from the relief as you stomped on the floor a few times – getting that relief of your feet getting accustomed to flat ground again. Putting your purse aside, you make your way towards the kitchen where you open the fridge and take some leftovers from yesterday and place the plate in the microwave – this gives you some time to rush to your bedroom and get your laptop to continue editing one of your videos, a new lasagna recipe you had been improving and recorded a video of.

While making your way out of your bedroom, you hear the little musical alarm of the microwave going off. You wanted to record a little something to start with the next video; yet you knew you didn’t have the enough ingredients to do so and neither did you have the energy to edit and record at the same time, not tonight at least – “Will do it tomorrow…” you mumble to yourself as you open your laptop and set your plate on top of the coffee table of your living room. – “Thereee we go...” you almost moan the moment your body falls down onto the couch, finally getting some rest.

You took some time to check your channel, seeing if there was anything interesting – YouTube was the only platform you uploaded your cooking videos to as you didn’t see it as a big deal but rather a hobby you enjoyed and relaxed with, the rest of your social media was pretty much private and not about your recipes or small food vlogs. Learning how to edit videos by yourself hadn’t been an easy task – but to you, it was worth it as it helped you clear your mind and not seem too crazy while talking to yourself in front of a camera. Before starting to make videos, you talked to yourself while doing tasks, eventually it just came into your mind – Why the hell not? You wouldn’t seem too crazy if you talked to a camera and recorded things for yourself, right? It was a good reason to talk to yourself, not an excuse. Starting your channel had been a rather spontaneous decision you took two years ago with the difference that nowadays, you are more frequent with your content than you were back then.

Sighing in relief, you turn off your laptop since you had finally finished the last details of the video. You were already stripping off your clothes on your way to the bedroom, not caring about tonight’s shower but rather tonight’s rest, you’d do everything tomorrow.

#captain price #john price #call of duty #john price x reader #cod #cod mw2 #captain price x reader #captain price x you #fem!reader #romance #cod x reader

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writing-zelda-brainrots · 3 months ago

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The Apothecary’s Travel Guide Chapter 1

Quickly, before we begin, I want to set some things straight about this little fic series.

This fic will use Fem!Reader in both pronouns and body descriptions. I usually stick to gender neutral stuff, but this fic just works better with a female main character in mind (or at least I think so).

While I won’t be going into actual nsfw stuff (maybe in the future, I haven’t decided), this fic will still contain sexual themes and scenarios. This fic is meant for older teens and up. I don’t write with a young audience in mind, both for this fic and in general.

For those of you who are not familiar with The Apothecary Diaries (wtf are you doing here, go watch it), the series takes place in a fictional version of Imperial China. You don’t absolutely need to watch it to read this fic, but you will have a better understanding of things if you have (also, it’s just a really good show, very well written with one of the best female protags I’ve ever seen).

Also, this fic starts before Sunset, so the whole “Twilight is Wolfie” and “Hyrule can heal” things are not known yet.

–

It felt a little strange to be back in the busy streets of the pleasure district after spending months in the rear palace. But it was the good kind of strange. The smell of grilled meat skewers that you missed so much, the paper lanterns hanging overhead, people haggling for better prices in the street side shops, playing games on the side of the road, or drinking tea in teahouses. And of course, beautiful women calling men over to offer ‘special services’ in the many brothels.

It’s a sight you’re all too familiar with. Having grown up here, raised by the women of the famous Verdigris House, these things did not phase you. One would think that working in the palace would be quite the change of pace, but if there’s one thing that you’ve learned over the past however many months, it is that the palace and brothels aren’t all that different. A beautiful caged garden full of flowers for the emperor to enjoy looking upon.

In truth, if you had the choice, you would not want to have anything to do with the imperial palace, but given your situation, what could you do? You certainly didn’t ask to be kidnapped and sold off to the palace back then and you didn’t ask to be promoted to lady in waiting to one of the four highest ranking concubines. You were doing just fine as an apothecary back in the pleasure district, thank you very much.

You had originally attempted to stay low, worked as a simple, low ranking servant until your contract expired and then head home. You hid any signs of value that could get you promoted; you hid your ability to read and write, as well as hid your ‘true beauty’ so you wouldn’t become a concubine (even if a servant could only ever become a low ranking concubine). Any extra money you would have earned from those promotions would just be swiped by your kidnappers, anyway. At least you still got paid for your regular work.

Had things originally gone according to your plan, you would have worked hard and been released within three years. However, now that goal post has been moved quite a bit.

But you shouldn't be thinking about work right now; it was your day off, after all. You were back home (after managing to haggle your way into them letting you leave the palace) and that’s all that matters right now.

I should get some radishes and chicken for soup tonight. You thought as you walked down the street of the makeshift market. You hoped that your father had been eating well. He was never all that good at feeding himself. If he was starving for a few days, the old lady from the Verdigris House would force something down his throat.

Speaking of the Verdigris House, you should probably head there later. Both to say hello to your ‘big sisters,’ but also so you could take a bath there. They’d likely want some medicine, too, now that you thought about it. The last time you delivered medicine there was the day you got kidnapped.

Heh. Even on my day off I’m running errands.

With your little morning shopping excursion done, you stuffed the ingredients into the basket you carried on your back and started heading to that familiar little shack you affectionately called home. Dad should be in the fields tending to the plants right now. Honestly, he was getting too old for that trek, especially with his busted knee, but you couldn’t deny that he loved that little garden he’s cultivated over the years. Not like you were any different when it comes to your passion for medicinal herbs. As your master, he taught you everything you know about medicine; what herbs work in which situations, what to use and what to avoid, how to make medicine, what plants, mushrooms and animals were poisonous and which weren’t, etc. He was a very learned man, having studied both eastern and western medicine. With a few more years of teaching, you might be as good as him, or you hoped so, at least.

Finally you reached the calm little neighbourhood you grew up in. It was on the very outskirts of the city, not even protected by the tall stone brick walls. Looking at the small sizes of the houses, barely larger than your average shack, told people that this was where the poor lived. It wasn’t much, but it was home. Truth be told, your father was an excellent medical expert, even having worked in the palace before from what you’ve heard, but for all his skill and knowledge, he had terrible luck, which is why he ended up living here instead of somewhere more fitting for his stature.

But when you got to your little childhood home, you were met with a worrying sight. A woman you didn’t recognise, worry and uncertainty written on her face, knocking on the front door of your home. That’s strange, did she need medicine? You didn’t recognise her servant uniform, but she seemed to be from one of the inns in the area.

You called out, catching her attention immediately. “Are you looking for the apothecary? He’s currently out, but I can leave him a message.”

“Please help, it’s a medical emergency! Someone’s been poisoned!”

Your face immediately turned serious as you dropped your belongings before running inside the shack to retrieve an emergency med kit. “Lead me to them.”

People had gathered around the doorway of the inn, clearly all in a panic, but not sure on what to do.

“I brought the apothecary. Please step out of the way.” The two of you moved past the seemingly small army of staff and patrons.

What you saw seemed to match what the woman had told you before. A man lying on the bed, restless, breathing erratically, hands clenching at the fabric of his clothes right over his heart. Immediately you entered your ‘work mode,’ practically diving next to the man. First, a physical check up.

You pried open the man’s eyes, looking into them; you checked his pulse and stuck a finger into his mouth. Judging from the spittle running down his chin and trace amounts of sick on the bed sheets and his blue scarf, it’s safe to say that he had vomited. Still, you pressed down on his solar plexus to induce more of it. It would help expel whatever caused this reaction, but it would also dehydrate him. There was a hrrk, and spit came pouring out of his mouth, which you wiped away with the bedsheets you had gripped.

Suddenly, a new man with brown hair and eyes came running through the door with what seemed to be a waterskin in his hands.

He was just about to offer the water to the man you were tending to, but you shouted at him: “Don’t let him drink that! Charcoal- we need charcoal!” The startled man dropped the item onto the floor, but recovered just as quickly, running off once again to retrieve the required item.

You repeated this process several times on the victim; making him vomit, wiping the bile away ad nauseum until nothing but stomach acid came out. The man was able to breathe much easier now, no longer hyperventilating. Thankfully, at your request, the charcoal had arrived just in time, which you quickly ground up with your mortar and pestle.

“This’ll be rough on his throat, but it’ll flush the toxins out of his body.” You spoke as you poured the fine powder into his mouth. Some of the men, who you assumed to be the patient’s associates, had gathered around the two of you, clearly worried.

“Wa… Water. Please…” Those were the first words you heard him speak, weak, but nonetheless a sign that he was recovering.

“Not yet. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to endure this a little bit longer.”

Though unhappy, he accepted and resigned himself to his scratchy and dry throat for the time being. Finally you were able to remove yourself from the bedside, letting the other men move the patient while the inn’s servant ladies removed the soiled linens.

First damn thing in the morning and I already have to deal with an emergency. I only just got back. You grumbled in your mind as you looked at your filthy hand. Ugh. I really need a bath. You sighed both from relief and exhaustion.

“You doin’ okay, Captain?” One of the taller men with brown hair asked while holding him up so he could stand.

The patient - now identified as ‘Captain’ - took a breath. “Much better.” He then turned his attention towards you. “Thank you. I was certain that I was a goner.”

“I am simply doing my job. There is no need to thank me.” Utilising some water in a pitcher that one of the servants offered, you wiped your hands with a damp cloth.

You then took out a wooden slip, wrote just a couple characters on it and handed it over to the servant woman who you first encountered. “Deliver this to doctor Luomen and bring him here. He should be by the south wall.”

With that, the servant gave you and everyone else in the room a small bow before leaving.

The man with a blue hat turned his attention to the patient, who had once again been laid down onto the cleaned up bed. “Now I know that stuff took you out; you didn’t even try to flirt with your “guardian angel”.”

“So that’s your impression of me?” The sarcasm in his voice was evident. “Glad to know that it took me almost kicking the bucket to change your opinion.”

Within about half an hour, the servant had returned, your father in tow. It took longer than you had hoped, but given your father’s age and condition, it wasn’t all that surprising.

He took a good look at the patient and asked some questions.

“I suppose you did an adequate job here.” He gave you his trademark gentle smile after he was done with his examination.

“‘Adequate’?” You ask, annoyed.

A man who you assumed to be the owner of the inn came into the room. “Thank you, doctor Luomen. You are the best medical expert one could ask for.”

“Don’t thank me. My daughter did all the hard work.”

“Tell me, how much do we owe you? Name your price.”

“There’s really no need-”

You nudge your father’s side with your elbow. “Can you pay rent this month?”

“Ah… Well, in that case, I’ll take the usual fee.”

This was one of his habits; undercharging for his work, or even failing to charge at all, much to your distress. You understood the desire not to take money from people who were already struggling to get by, but this was not the case.

A tall blond man in heavy armour came up to you, holding out a small-ish sack. “Please, allow us to reimburse you as well. We owe you a lot.” Seeing no reason not to, you accepted the item.

With that, your father and the inn’s owner head into another room to discuss payment, leaving you to gather up your tools.

From the corner of your eyes, you noticed a few of the men fidgeting nervously or giving each other glances. They obviously wanted to say something. You didn’t know why they were hesitating. Sure, you might have sharp, mean-looking eyes and you didn’t smile all the time, but there’s no reason for these numerous grown men to act like this around you.

“Can I help you?” You broke the ice. No point in delaying this.

The one who you assumed to be the leader cleared his throat. “Actually, we’d like you to answer some questions we have. We’re travellers from afar, you see, and we don’t know much about this place or nation.”

They came all this way here and they don’t know the first thing about where they are? “You’re in the country of Li, specifically in the capital city of both the nation and the Central Province. I’m not going to judge how you choose to spend your time, but if you wanted to go sightseeing, I wouldn’t exactly recommend coming to the pleasure district first.” You raised an eyebrow. Just who were these people?

You saw that a few of the mens’ faces had turned bright red when they realised where they were. “Ha! Told you that this is where we ended up.”

“Are you implying that you frequent these kinds of places, Captain?” It sure seemed like these two had a penchant for arguing. Even during the time while you were waiting for your father to arrive, you noticed that they kept butting heads.

“Enough, you two.” The oldest shot them a quick glare. “Either way, it’s good we left Wind with Four back at the city outskirts. Both because of the inappropriate nature of this place- no offence…”

You shrugged. “None taken.”

“... But so that they wouldn’t have to see you get in trouble like this.”

“You are the apothecary here, right? If so, then you should be familiar with people who have gotten injuries.” You nodded. “Have you heard anything about encounters with any strong monsters, particularly those with black blood?”

Alright, now you were really confused. Monsters? Black blood? Was this some kind of way of informing you of a new disease spreading among the troops of enemy nations? But if so, why not tell this to an army physician instead of a random apothecary?

“Can’t say that I have.” You spoke up after having given it some thought. “Though I have to admit that I have been working in the inner court for the past few months, so I’m not caught up on the goings on outside the palace walls. But if you are telling the truth, I’m certain I would have heard rumours.” Thinking back, Xiaolan - a girl you had grown a friendship with when you were a simple servant at the palace - sure loved her gossip, and if there was one thing she loved more, it was sharing that gossip with you over tasty snacks and food.

“Thank you anyways.”

While this conversation didn’t seem like it yielded much, it did get your gears turning. It was time to do some espionage- or rather, some investigating. Something you’ve gotten pretty good at lately, if you said so yourself.

“Please wait here while I get you some medicine.” With a quick bow you left the room. In truth you had already prepared the medicine while waiting for your father to arrive, but this was still a convenient excuse.

As quietly as you could you hid yourself behind the sliding door and pressed your ear against it. Sure enough, once the men in the room believed you to be gone, they started talking. Words like “monsters,” “eras,” “shadow” and others got thrown around as if it was common knowledge, yet it only served to confuse - and intrigue - you further. One thing was certain; these were not your regular, run-of-the-mill travellers.

Your earlier talk also gave you an opportunity to scrutinise their appearances. Given their unfamiliar clothes and armour, plus features like light coloured hair and eyes, and their utter lack of knowledge of where they even were, you assumed them to be from a distant land, the west, most likely. But that was before you noticed one curious detail that they all shared; pointed ears.

This one thing had you calling things into question. Sure, the world was a large place, but in all your years of studying medicine and the human body, you’ve never heard of any group of peoples with such a distinctive feature.

But now came the question of what to do. What were you going to do about this suspicious group? Should you report them in case they were here to cause trouble? To be honest, you didn’t want to get involved. No point in sticking your neck out for these strangers and possibly risk getting accused of treason. You’ve done your job, you healed them, and you’re about to give them their medicine and leave. There’s no need to let them occupy your mind anymore. You’d steer clear of them from now on. Yeah, that sounded good.

Finally, you pretended to have returned from your ‘excursion’ and knocked on the door. Given the sudden silence from the room, it was safe to assure that whatever they were talking about was not for others to hear.

Walking up to the Captain still in bed, you handed over a small paper bag. “Please take this for the next few days. It’ll ease your stomach and help with getting rid of any lingering toxins. I would recommend drinking it as tea.”

The one who you had identified as ‘Legend’ from when you were listening in groaned. “Ugh. This whole thing’s been a wash. You guys ready to head back to camp?”

A unanimous ‘yes’ was heard.

Ironically enough, you could not get those men out of your head. Was your intuition trying to tell you that there was something wrong with them? Or were you simply curious? They were certainly the most interesting people you’ve met in some time.

They had already left the inn and you had headed in a different direction. You did finally manage to get that warm bath you were looking forward to. And getting to speak to your ‘big sisters’ at the Verdigris House was nice. But still your mind was occupied with something else. Damn it, this was supposed to be your day off, but you haven’t been able to relax completely!

You kicked a small rock in front of you in frustration. Hopefully having dinner with your dad would help alleviate your problem.

Suddenly you felt an all too familiar feeling of being pulled backwards.

Well, this wouldn’t be your first kidnapping.

And Wars will have to suffer through that dry, ashy throat for the remainder of this fic- lol jk.

A.N Fun fact: did you know that other than Twilight (who has lived among humans for a long time), technically, Legend is the one who has interacted with humans the most? The people of Koholint Island had short, round ears, as did the people of Holodrum (Oracle of Seasons), Labrynna (Oracle of Ages) and Hytopia (Tri Force Heroes).

#linked universe x reader #lu x reader #linked universe imagines #lu imagines #the apothecary's travel guide #ta'stg

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