#I need a forty year nap

[bjorkshire-pudding]

Here's what I was doing while I was supposed to be working on my fics

Don't ask me, I don't know either it's been a really weird day

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev.

cont.

synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: i just want the drama >:) may make more parts, and even extend said headcannons into longer fics in the future, but wanted to post something quick for mother’s day. hope you enjoy!

When you disappeared off the face of the earth, MIKEY had never been the same. One fight. One argument that spiraled out of control, and you were just gone...

He had people looking for you for about a couple years, the trail ran cold after a while and he had half a mind to think you were dead. Up until he got intel of your whereabouts one morning during a meeting.

That man got up and left immediately.

He wasn’t accompanied with any of his men, only because he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention in the broad daylight. Sure, him wearing a black hood, ball cap, and mask in a park didn’t really help him look inconspicuous but it at least concealed his identity enough for him to blend in. Mikey sat on a bench for a good forty minutes, anxious, making anyone who passed him shiver from his intense aura alone; even birds walked around him. After almost an hour of waiting, he began to feel frustrated. Perhaps, the intel was false. Just as he went to stand, already conjuring up ways to have Sanzu execute the idiot who wasted his time, he heard it.

Your voice. Seizing him, like a siren’s call.

His eyes were alert, darting around until they landed on your figure, spotlighted by the sun, like an angel descending from the heavens. You looked good, healthy. That was good. An array of emotions fought for their turn in Mikey’s heart—Relief, distress, anger, nostalgia. He couldn’t just pick one, especially when it came to you. As he watched from his spot, doing his best to not seem suspicious, he clocked the people you were approaching with excitement, your peppy stride as you waved at, what he presumed, to be mother and daughter.

However, his entire world turned upside down when the little girl extended out her arms towards you, and said “Mama!”

“Hello, my darling.~” You cooed, taking her into your awaiting arms from the woman, embracing the toddler tightly. “Mama missed you so much.”

“Missed you, mama!” was the child’s reply, followed by her giggles.

A bucket of cold water would’ve been better than this. Watching you converse with who he now assumes to be the babysitter, Mikey felt faint. Vision blurring, head pounding, heart clenching. You…you…no. There’s no way. You wouldn’t have moved on…you couldn’t have, not like this, not from him. You loved him, didn’t you? You still love him, didn’t you?

How could you…how could you?

Before he knew it, he started to follow you around. From the park, to the store, all the way back to your apartment. He already phoned some of the executives to start working in on the babysitter, and anyone else in your new found circle for information. He wanted answers. He needed them.

By the time you began fixing dinner, with your daughter laid down for a nap, you receive a knock at your door. Who could that be at this hour?

RAN was chilling outside the rendezvous spot for something the boss and a few other execs were participating in, having a smoke, minding his business, up until he sees a little girl with pigtails wearing a school uniform approaching, standing before him and just…staring. She barely came up to his thighs, could've been no older than seven. She was practically staring into his soul with bright lavender eyes that scarily reminded him of Rin’s when he was that age.

He stared back, head tilted as he blew out the smoke from the corner of his mouth. The hell was a kid doing on this side of town?

Then, after an uncomfortable staring contest, the little girl points at his cigarette. “My ma says those things are bad for you.”

Ran raised a brow, “Does she now?”

“Mmhm! She says it makes people unhappy.”

He offered a thoughtful nod, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Mm. Do I look unhappy?”

The girl looked at Ran for a minute, eyes squinted. Eventually, she shook her head. “No. But, ma also says people who are always unhappy get better at hiding it.”

Ran’s grin faltered. Her unwavering stare started to unnerve him, especially after hearing such a heavy statement come from such a small package.

After a brief moment of silence, he chuckled softly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away. He exhaled. “Smart woman.”

The little girl beamed, “Mmhm! My ma knows a lot of stuff.”

“Tsk. But not ‘Stranger Danger’, apparently.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, let alone approaching someone you don’t know. ‘s not safe. Especially for nosy little girls who stick their noses in other people’s business. Your ma never taught you that?”

The little girl rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “Duh. Of course she did. Everyone knows that rule,” she exasperated. Ran snorted, but yielded when she squinted at him, pointing as she sassed. “And I do so know you, so you’re not a stranger.”

This time, Ran couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “Oh, you know me, huh? That’s not good. ‘m supposed to keep a low profile. Say, you ain’t a cop are you?” He teased, earning another eye roll.

“No. Too small to be a cop, dummy.”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t notice. Where do you know me from, then?”

The little girl pointed over to the building..where the executives were having their meeting. She beamed, “Ma’s works in there. On important people days she can’t get me from school, so she tells me to come straight here, and to not talk to the purple man that stands near the building. She says you’re mean.”

Ran smirked, then gave a half-hearted shrug.

“She also says you’re my pa. But, I never believed her. You’re too old.”

Ran’s smirk dropped.

Whether more from the first comment or the last, you decide. But, one thing was for certain: he needed another cigarette.

SANZU cackled watching some guy struggle to round up a couple of rowdy twins at the convenience store. One was knocking shit off the shelves while the other ran circles around the guy. It was what he needed for his bitch of a hangover, a good laugh to distract from the ache in his skull.

However, he wasn’t laughing for long when you came around the corner of the isle, holding a few items with a smile on your face that soon faded once you saw the scene unfolding before you; the pinkette thought he was still tripping balls. Blinking a few times to allow any after effects of the drugs to clear up, when you didn’t disappear he used his long legs to swiftly yeet behind one of the shelves, peering around it like some paranoid stalker. The last time you had spoken, you had threatened to castrate him with your teeth if you ever saw him again.

And he’d be damned if he tried your bluff.

He watched in awe as you straightened those twins up quick. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought they were trained to obey you, and only you. Any other authority be damned. While the guy was putting all the stuff back on the shelves, sweaty and out of breath, you gently reprimanded them for causing trouble. You still made that cute pouty face you always did whenever you were mad at him…

“What did we talk about earlier? Hm? Mr. Satoru was very kind to help mama today, you know. You two promised me you’d be on your best behavior for him.”

Sanzu gagged. This was the rebound you let nut in you? This huffy moron who can’t handle a couple of ankle biters, this was your king? He had half a mind to just gut the guy to put him out of his misery from that pathetic display from earlier, alone. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be back home. He remembers when he was that age—Rowdy, reckless, the Antichrist. Adorable, but deadly. God bless that poor bastard’s soul.

Wait…Mister? Not…dad?

The first twin whined, stomping their feet. “He’s too boringggg!”

Come to think of it…if Sanzu squinted…the longer he looked at the little family…he swore the more he saw the resemblance of himself in the tiny gremlins. From the hair, to the eyes, all the way down to the mannerisms…Hang on. When had been the last time you two fucked? Three…no, was it four years ago?

The second twin huffed, pointing at the man. “Yeah! And he’s jus’ being nice so that he can sleep in your bed, mama!”

You flushed, nervously chuckling as you looked around to make sure no one heard. Sanzu ducked behind a bag of chips, now nothing but eyes peeking through the gaps of food on the shelf.

So…that loser’s not the father? Then…could that mean..?

“He’s mama’s boyfriend, remember? He’s allowed to do that. And he’ll be around for a while, so I want you two to be nice, okay?”

“…okay, mama.” They grumbled.

Sanzu almost popped a blood vessel, fist clenched around a bag of Lays and nearly busting it. He chuckled darkly, “Oh. We’ll see about that.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved.

likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[theonlythingimfuckingisstupid]

shit

[cloveroctobers]

95 DEGREES — ARMANDO ARETAS x BLACK! Reader [Summer Randoms]

A/N: because y’all have been showing love on my first drop and I’ve been thinking about little moments with him since!!! *sings* I’m sprungggg! This was also Inspired by Rihanna acting accordingly on insta to this song towards A$AP 🤭

SYNOPSIS: you’re a content creator who’s on livestream during your vacation with your man. it’s summer time, you’re fine and think it’s cool to act up so Armando reminds you just exactly who he is.

WARNINGS: language, mentions of a character from: power ghost ;) just for a side of messiness, mentions of being in the itty bitty titty community, a little steamy moment somewhere, & me possibly or most likely butchering some Spanish!

<- read my previous anthology piece here.

𓇼 〰〰〰〰〰 𓇼 𓇼 〰〰〰〰〰 𓇼 𓇼

This Cuban heat made you feel like you were in hell to be honest. That’s why you alternated between jumping in the pool and lounging on the pool chairs but you can only do that for so long. Not according to Armando though, he had no issue catching a nap or three right underneath the sun but not without you spraying him down. You didn’t play with the sun and neither did that little sun spot that always appeared like the shape of an orange on your right shoulder every summer.

He started to doze off just by you rubbing the sunscreen into his glowing skin and the longer you stared at him, looking like that, you decided to leave him be before diving into your monthly read. After forty-five minutes of doing that you checked on Armando and got to snacking on the spread of fruit while enjoying some peach Bellini’s on the side.

This vacation was deeply needed so you understood how exhausted Armando tended to be, considering that he barely slept. When you weren’t around it took hearing your voice across the phone to help him find slumber. Now? Far away from Miami (by boat at least) and Mexico City, he had no problem catching a few Z’s knowing that you were not far from him.

So you being you, you had to entertain yourself by going to the side of the pool setting up your tripod and phone. You thought about sitting along the trimming but knew it would be too damn hot, so you moved up ahead to the patio to grab one of the bistro chairs from the checkered outdoor table.

Logging onto Instagram live, you patiently waited for some viewers to show up, greeting a few users that you interacted with before, a few internet friends, and others that also sent their greetings in. It’s easy work for you, chatting and seeing what everyone is up to. You answered a few questions about your channel, with the main one being: if there’s been any vlogging going on after revealing you’re on vacation but not where.

~ ctej01: i see armando don’t know what to do wit all that. No way you’re on vacation looking good af n bored. ijs ~

Which set the comments off after that messaged appeared. Of course your ex, Cane Tejada had to be in your live and in your business.

“Don’t you have some other hoes to fuck around with instead of worrying about how much I’m thriving with my man? You must miss me so bad. You’re so used to screwing things up that you don’t even know what the good life looks like, boy bye.” You clapped back, being aware that you should never give this cheater this much attention but you had a little time.

However you knew better than to go back and forth with Cane. He was good at getting a rise out of you and always wanted the last say.

And he could have that because once you said your peace, you started to pay him dust ignoring his laughing emojis and whatever else he decided to throw into the comments. You ended up only talking to the people that mattered and supported you, not some dude who only cared about getting off with other women who can never give him love past the physical. He didn’t respect you so you didn’t have to respect him. That relationship’s been dead for a solid year, maybe even close to two—if you kept track—and here comes this man always lurking. It only amplified once it was revealed that you were no longer in the streets.

Deciding that it was too quiet at the villa you minimized your live to head over to your fav music app, shuffling a random hot girl summer playlist and went back to your live. Scrapping the chair back after you heard that heavy Memphis accent, you already knew you were about to get in your zone regardless of who tried to ruin it.

“It’s 7pm, Friday. Happy Friday y’all!” You grinned after holding up your pointer and thumb.

You fanned yourself with a sway of your hips, “it’s 95 degrees, hoo!”

Unbeknownst to you, Armando had woken up from his third or fifth nap and had sat up looking for you after spotting your sarong abandoned on the chair next to him. It didn’t take him long to find you on your phone, telling no other than your obsessive ex off. There was no doubt in Armando’s mind that you could handle yourself but he was growing tired of that New York native’s game. Armando can only imagine how you felt, it was petty stuff at first—Cane was three years younger anyway so no shock there, leaving comments online like a punk before he even took it further to start leaving voicemails almost threatening that he would come out to Miami.

Armando of course didn’t take that lightly since a lot of his time was now dedicated to AMMO and he always prioritized your safety, doing his own research to find out exactly the kind of guy Cane Tejada is. The dark web provided everything Armando needed (he still had his own style whether the team liked it or not) and it’s not like Cane scared him or anything, it’s the fact that he thought he could continue to be disrespectful even with the relationship being tossed in the dumpster where it belonged.

Armando had plans for him but he just wanted to enjoy his vacation with you first.

“I ain’t got no ni—and no ni—ain’t got me!” You pounded on your chest, fixing the strap to your bikini afterwards just in case of spillage—although you were part of the itty bitty but still they were reserved goods.

You swiftly turned to the side for the next line, which Armando admired just how nice it sat even from a profile view, arms folded as you ran a hand along the side of the shape of your ass, “I’m bout to show my ass—

And with that, you watched in horror as your phone was smacked right across the trimming of the stone pool. The device skidded from your tripod before plunking right into the pool water. Your mouth dropped in shock as you slowly glanced over your shoulder just to feel Armando right behind you.

His husky and straight forward voice hit your ears as he said, “Hope that’s waterproof.”

Sucking your teeth, you turn to the man who meets your eyes, “excuse you?!”

He shrugs his shoulders, biting into a plum as he slowly scans his eyes over your melanin that contrasts over the yellow and green floral set you had on, “what?” He chewed, “Something wrong?”

“Not you trying to rain on my parade to be turnt up with my n-ggas and my bitches.” You placed your hands on your hips in annoyance.

Armando blinks, “you could do that without showing your ass to Cane.”

You tilted your head to the side at this.

Armando was hardly the jealous type, he didn’t care much for anyone having their eyes on you because they should admire you but it was once they started being vocal or even trying to touch you that he had a problem with. Your ex was sitting behind a screen and Armando knew that if Cane really wanted to—if he wasn’t too caught up in his mommy’s business, he could pull up.

And Armando had something for his ass.

“I don’t give a shit about him.”

You’ve done everything by kicking him out of the life and blocking him along with future accounts but with a guy like him? He always found ways around any blockage.

“I know.” Armando kept his usual leveled tone as he held your stare while you molded your lips into your mouth, scratching at your second protective style for the season in confusion.

Clasping your hands together you exhaled, “then what the hell was that?”

Armando finished his plum, licking at his fingers and then his lips before he sat the remains on a table near by. When he turns back to you, he makes a show of getting up close and personal. Lightly gripping your forearms, the pad of his fingertips gently running over your famous sunspot, he flicks his eyes to yours.

“A what don’t got you?” He questioned.

Oh here we go.

You try not to roll your eyes but you’re oh so tempted, “it’s a song and it’s summer! Let me live.”

“And you can do that but not screaming that with your whole chest to viewers.” Armando debates.

Scoffing your reply, “I didn’t see you complaining so much when we were crip walking to ‘not like us,’ the first day we got here.”

Armando pauses, “…that was different.”

“How?”

He doesn’t want to argue, so his hands just slide down to the sides of your ass. With his right hand his pats one side demanding, “jump.”

“No.”

Armando raises his brows and huffs, “okay.” And takes it upon himself to bend and lift you right over his shoulder.

Yelping you quickly find something on his frame to hold onto as he starts walking, “Arman!” You scream just as he jumps into the pool with you in his arms.

When you both resurface, you flick water right at Arman who is smirking while floating towards you. “I told you to jump but since you want to be difficult, i did the honors.”

“Of what? Getting on my nerves?” You start swimming towards one of the edges where’s there’s seating and Armando doesn’t hesitate to follow you.

He snakes a hand across your waist, turning you to face him. His eyes scan all over your face, a faint dimple still playing on one side of his cheek as he soaks in your annoyance. Gently he’s pushing you elsewhere from the seating of the pool and to the wall.

Armando pressed his forehead against yours, “i thought you wanted to play since you were just doing that on Instagram. So how about i give you something to play with?”

“What—

His lips are smashed right to yours, his facial hair tickling against your chin. His kisses burn against your lips as he moves with speed, hands on your hips and your body doesn’t need to fight against your brain to understand what’s happening. Your legs wrap against his hips and your chest to chest with the possibility of your necklaces getting tangled but there’s no one else the both of you wanted to be close to in this moment.

Your nails are scratching along the shortened hair at the back but he knows you’ll be gripping the top once he’s inside. Normally his kisses are soft yet tender while his hands are rough and calculated but right now? Everything is scorching from the weather to simply Armando’s body heat. His ego doesn’t want to give you time to breathe but out of the decency of his heart he does yet that’s no relief because his fingers are at work now.

“Damn mami, I don’t even have to warm you up do I?” He quizzes with a glance downwards.

The pool wall is scratching against your back, the curling of his pointer and the pressing of his thumb that’s just a little higher is dirty work and he knows it. You don’t have time for his shit talking because you’re yanking him by the neck to shut him right up. He matches your speed with no hesitation tasting sweet like plums and mint, your tongues doing just the perfect dance against the Cuban heat. He grunts when you catch him off guard, getting your own feel in his swim trunks.

He pulls back with a pop of your lips, his own movements faltering for a second as you only caress but even that is just right. He pulls his fingers away and place them right at your lips, silently commanding what to do. And so you do, tongue running along the length before sucking, holding Armando’s dilated stare while gripping harder.

“Sweeter than plums, huh?” He asks, his other hand cupping the side of your face.

You hum, ready to slip a hand inside but his smacks your hand away from his waistband. He does the honors of pulling his trunks down just enough and once he gets his other hand back from your lips, his hands are hot on your hips as he lifts you up higher before pushing your own suit to the side to settle right where he belongs.

The moans that echoes through the both of your lips is music to your ears. Armando always gives it time, still in amazement of how you were made to feel around him. He’s panting as he brings his attention back to you but your eyes are closed, also trying to savor him.

“Eyes on me, mami.” He tells you lightly tapping the side of your jaw, “you good?”

You nod before your eyes open to meet his and you match his smirk or freak or whatever. And when he begins to move against you, stretching you so nicely, you have no choice but to bite down on his shoulder (to not scare the birds of course!) so you can recreate a similar spot on your own.

Half lidded you’re lounging on the bed in a robe, your eyes widen as knees knock against the side of the mattress. You lean back against your hand, peering up at Armando that’s softly grinning down at you. He holds out your chipped phone to you and says, “I got you and apparently…you got me too.”

He moves the material to peek at the teeth marks at the top of his own shoulder.

“Shut up,” you croak while Armando laughs bending down to place a chaste kiss to your brow before he crawls over to the back of you.

He loops a hand around you, pulling you right to his chest in a matching robe, letting you get your rest this time.

After at least two minutes passed you awake with a snore, making Armando crane his neck to look at down at you. You snuggle against his chest and whisper, “can you order some garlic parm nugs for later?”

Armando chest jumps with light laughter as he squeezes your shoulder, “yeah baby, whatever you want. It’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Kay,” you sigh, “l love you.”

Armando quirks up a small smile as he gently rubs your back soothingly, “Te quiero con todo mi corazón.”

𓇼 〰〰〰〰〰 𓇼 𓇼 〰〰〰〰〰 𓇼 𓇼

Continue with my anthology summer writings & prompts here.

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Rebuild & Restore - Chapter 5

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

2 weeks later.... Friday

Eli: There’s a refresher and a donut waiting for u at the L&D desk ms I don’t like coffee. 

Kiyana rolled her eyes with a grin as she texted Eli back. Josh narrowed his eyes as he watched Kiyana smile down at her phone. He tried to ignore it but when she started to actually giggle at the fucking phone he snuck around the kitchen counter and tried to get a peek at who she was texting but she caught on and quickly locked her phone and set down on the counter. 

“You need something?” She asked, rolling her eyes when his eyes glanced down at her phone.  “You got anything planned today or yall just gonna chill?” She asked, grabbing her lunch out of the fridge. When she turned back around he had her phone in his hands.“HEY!” She called out,  snatching her phone out of his hands. “What are you doing?” 

“You changed your password?” She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Why were you trying to go through my phone? We are div-” 

“Divorced. Yeah you keep bringing it up.”  She rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag. 

“I get off at 9. Will y’all be good until then?” Josh nodded, his jaw was clenched tight as he kept thinking about how Kiyana changed her password to her phone. Kiyana rolled her eyes at his attitude before walking out of the kitchen and towards the front door. 

“I love you!” She called out to the boys and Josh heard them call it back before the front door slammed shut. 

“Love you too.” He muttered before going to join his sons in the living room. 

“So you at Dr. Daniels seem to be getting close.” Debra , the senior nurse stated as she eyed the drink in Kiyana’s hand. Kiyana shrugged

“He’s cool.” 

“Cool enough to be talking about asking you on a date.” Debra said, smirking when Kiyana snapped her head towards her. 

“No, we’re just friends.”  Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt. Her inner voice said. 

Debra rolled her eyes. “Honey, I helped deliver Elijah forty-something years ago and that man still doesn't bring me coffee everyday.”  Kiyana bit her lip and looked down the hall to where Eli was talking with another nurse. “Look, I know you just got divorced but shit, take the chance. You don’t have to fall in love with him.” Kiyanna sighed and shook her head, it was way too soon for her to even think about going on a date with another man. Her divorce was still fresh, like an open wound. 

“ I think Key already talking to somebody else.” Josh blurted out as he, Trinity and Jon sat in their backyard, keeping a close eye on his two older boys who were swimming. He had put Kairo down for a nap. 

“Well you were fucking someone else while y’all were married so who cares.” Trin said, smacking Jon on his shoulder when he elbowed her in her ribs. “I mean what did you expect? Kiyana is very attractive and now she’s single.”  Trin shrugged. 

“Don’t kick the man while he’s down Trin.” 

“Yeah, damn Trinity. I thought we were better than that.” Josh tried to joke but Trinity was still very pissed off at him. “I know I fucked up. But it’s only been two weeks.” 

“How long is she supposed to wait? Until you’re ready for her to move on?” Trin rolled her eyes. “Leave that woman alone. Her life is no longer a concern of yours..”  Josh didn’t say anything as he brought his attention back to his sons. How was I supposed to get her back if she’s moved on already?

“Fuck him” Shanté muttered. “Fuck him and his stupid mullet. It’s 2024, the eighties called, they want their hairstyle back.” She said giggling at her own joke.  Nikkita rolled her eyes from where she was sitting on their couch. 

“Tae, I been told you to stop messing with that man, She might've divorced him but he still loves her. You can’t compete with that.”  Shanté flipped off her best friend and took another swig from the wine bottle they were passing back and forth. 

“He told me he never wanted to be with me, Nikki.” Nikkita didn’t respond back because.. Duh. It was pretty obvious. Josh only hit Shanté up after the RAW tappings on Monday’s and as soon as he would fly back home to Pensacola he would block her, then start the cycle all over again the next Monday. Nikkita felt bad for her friend but she had also warned her the first time Shanté had told her she hooked up with Josh. 

Kiyana was Josh’s high school sweetheart and from experience, Nikkita knew that Shanté never stood a chance. 

Kiyana let out a sigh of relief as she clocked out for the day. She can finally go home and be with her boys for 3 whole days.  Just as she was about to walk out the front door she heard her name being called. She turned and smiled once she saw it was Elijah. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” He said back slightly out of breath. “I ran all the way down here. Though I missed you.” He smiled at her. 

“You just caught me.” She said, feeling herself blush under the heat of his stare. “Wassup?” 

“I wanna take you out tomorrow night.” Kiyana blinked. “If it's too soon. I apologize, but I really like you Kiyana.” She clutched her purse strap tighter as she felt the butterflies in her tummy start to rumble around.  Kiyana only got that feeling with one man before and she had just divorced him two weeks ago. 

Elijah sighed as she just stared at him. “It’s too soon isn’t it?”  Kiyana quickly broke out of her stupor and shook her head. 

“No,” She cleared her throat. “ I would love to go out with you” 

“Yeah?” Eli asked. “Bet, do you have a babysitter for tomorrow?” Kiyana nodded. “Okay, tomorrow at 8. Text me your address.” 

Kiyana bit her lip as she watched him run back into the hospital, the butterflies more intense as she thought about their date tomorrow night. She let out a groan and let her head fall back, looking towards the sky. She was so fucking screwed. 

Kiyana got her first date since the divorce.. Josh about to be soooooooooooooooooooooooooo fucking petty 😭, y'all just don't understand.

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[oneforthemunny]

can't hurry love |older!dilf!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: a little blurb about older!dilf!eddie and reader adjusting to life as parents, which includes learning to have quickies where they can.

contains: domestic fluff. age gap relationship. reader is thirty-three, eddie is forty-nine. dad!eddie x mom!reader. fluff and smut. minors DNI 18+. quickie p in v sex.

Eddie was sure if he heard 'Let It Go' one more time he was going to scream, rip his hair out and shove it into his ears so he didn't have to hear the song ever again. He thought Strawberry Shortcake was bad, but it was nothing compared to this- a new level of hell that Delilah insisted on playing on a loop over and over and over. He figured it was probably because of her new Elsa dress, a costume blue replica of the character's that came with all the accessories- including a very tangled and tattered wig that you were "fixing". He had Wayne to thank for that, the old man could never say no to either of his grand babies.

Eddie was going to make sure he put the idea in Lilah's head to make Poppa watch the sing-along version the next time he dropped her off, give him a taste of his own medicine; but he knew deep down Wayne wouldn't mind.

"Delilah," You called carefully, padding into the living room with a basket full of her clothes on your hip, ready to be washed from the week before. "I think it's time for us to go lay down."

Eddie cringed, the soft whimper of shock, rounding eyes and a pout that made his heart lurch in his chest, followed by the expectant whine, loud and shrill. "Noooo..." Delilah stomped her foot. "No, Mama, we're not done with the movie!"

You looked at Eddie, lips pursed. You knew he'd cave if she begged too much, and you wanted to stop it before it started. "Delilah," You warned lifting a brow. "You gotta have a nap, baby. You'll be so mean and cranky if you don't."

"Daddy, tell her no." Delilah whined, climbing into Eddie's lap, curling into his chest. Your lips twitched, biting back a smile. You wanted to be irritated, but you couldn't. Three years old and already knew exactly how to play Eddie so he'd bend to her every whim. You wished you were surprised, but between you and Brielle, she was bound to learn the ways of the women around her.

Eddie's eyes softened, cradling her head into his chest, stroking her soft curls. He looked up at you pleadingly. "Just a few more minutes," He said, face melting. He looked down, Delilah's tiny fist rubbing her eyes as she fought back a yawn, easing into his chest and relaxing under his touch.

You tsked, lifting a brow at him. "Eddie, we talked about this." You warned quietly. You had been trying for weeks to get Delilah to go to sleep on her own, starting to ween her out of long snuggles and holding her until she fell asleep. She would start school in only a few years, and didn't need to be coddled like that and make it worse on herself.

Eddie had been less than thrilled. He loved nothing more than cuddling with his baby before she went to bed, reading her a story, his readers perched on his nose doing animated voices that riled her up more than soothed her. Often, especially if he was working at the shop late, it was the only time he got with her. He was so pouty when you talked to him about it the first time, petulant with huffy grumbles and protest, but he knew you were right.

"Just give us a few minutes, please?" Eddie's face contorted into a small smile. "The troll songs about to come on, then we'll go nap after that. Right, Pickles?"

Delilah giggled, half her face still resting on her dad's chest, her eyes still trained on the movie. You narrowed your eyes at him. "Fine, I'll go start this load and then you're going to take a nap, missy." You pointed at Delilah, who huffed and whined. Eddie's gruff, soothing voice peppering words and kisses into her hairline.

You dumped the clothes in, bending over to see a pair of your panties had dropped between the washer and dryer. You shimmied your hand down to snatch the clothing piece, blushing and rolling your lip between your teeth when you held it in front of you. It was a lacy black pair, part of a set you bought for Eddie's birthday, that you must've dropped, seeing as it was still covered in your release and his, dried and crusted on the black fabric.

Your legs squeezed together at the memory. You'd taken Eddie to the bar, meeting all his friends for his birthday, even bringing a cake to share at the small booth you rented out, everyone drunkenly serenading the birthday boy. The real surprise was when you got home. Madeline had offered to watch Delilah for the night, ecstatic to see her niece and spend time with her, so you had the house to just the two of you. As soon as you'd shown Eddie the lingerie set, he'd bent you over the arm of the couch, pounding into you relentlessly, not even bothering to take the panties off.

That had been over two weeks ago.

The shift from fucking each other anytime you wanted to with no worries, to having to sneak and worry about being interrupted by the baby monitor or tiny feet padding to your room was a hard adjustment for both of you. Even for Eddie, who had done it once before, it was still hard.

You poured the detergent in, tossing your panties in the wash, before starting the machine. You placed the basket on top, lips twisting in thought before walking back into the living room.

Delilah was heavy lidded, curled into Eddie's chest nearly half asleep when you stepped in front of the TV, hands on your hips. "Nap time, sweet girl." You cooed, turning off the television.

Delilah cried, angry and irritated, burying her face in Eddie's chest. "No, Mama, no!" She wailed, clinging to Eddie tightly. "Tell her no, Daddy!"

"I don't think that will matter, baby cakes." Eddie snorted lightly, running a hand down her back. "You know Mama's the boss lady around here. You better listen to her."

You bit back a grin, shaking your head at him. "Lilah, let's go. C'mon, Mama will go tuck you in."

Delilah cried, fat, crocodile tears streamed down her little red face. You knew it was probably from exhaustion more than anything else. She always got so cranky after lunch. "I not tired!" Delilah lisped, her 'r' sounding more like a 'w', and it made Eddie's heart swell, holding her closer to his chest, pressing his cheek against her head sweetly.

"Here, baby, I'll come lay with you ok? Just until you go to sleep, and then when you wake up we can play with your toys some more, ok?" Eddie cooed sweetly, avoiding your hard gaze.

"No," You said, shaking your head. "I'll go put her down, and I need your help in the bedroom, please." You eyed him carefully.

Eddie's brows knitted in confusion, twisting with a questioning look. You blinked, eyes flickering to your room down the hall. "Just go wait for me, please." You grit though your teeth. "I've got a really bad itch and I need you to scratch it, please."

Eddie's eyes flashed in confusion before widening, bulging in realization. The euphemism wasn't great by a long shot, you were trying to talk in code in front of your toddler, who was more interested in crying and screaming than whatever you two were discussing. Eddie blushed, mouth running dry. He pressed a quick kiss to Delilah's cheek, muttering a small promise that soothed her a bit before her nap, then handing her off to you.

You looked at him over the top of Delilah's curls, nodding down the hall before going into her room.

Delilah went down fairly easy, too exhausted from the constant running and excitement of the day to whine and protest too long. You'd tucked her in before sitting outside her door to make sure she stayed in her bed, listening until her little cries turned into sniffles then silence, the noise machine drowning out her little snores. You peeked in the room, illuminated by the soft glow of the night light and the sun peeking through the drawn curtains, before tip toeing down the hall to yours and Eddie's room.

Eddie perked up when you walked in, eyes lighting up when you shut the door behind you. "Did you get her down?" Eddie asked eagerly, standing up.

You nodded, shimmying out of your sweatpants and pulling your shirt over your head. "Yes," You muttered, feeling his eyes gawk at your bare body. You didn't wait for whatever lewd and suggestive comment was on his tongue, pressing yourself against him, your lips catching his, tugging him in deeper and deeper into you.

Eddie's hands found the small of your back, calloused skin skating down towards your ass, cupping and squeezing the fat of it until you moaned into his mouth. He dropped lower, hands tucking between your legs, swiping through your wet folds. You could feel him smirk into your mouth.

"Dirty girl," He tsked, pulling his shining fingers out with a dimpled grin. "What's gotten into you, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, huffing and reaching for the band of his sweatpants. You could see his growing erection already tenting the soft fabric, rolling your hand over his cock, squeezing it lightly before shoving his pants roughly to the ground.

"Shut up." You muttered with an eye roll, feeling his arrogant grin on you, mouth watering at the sight of his cock, thick and veiny, practically touching your nose. You wanted to bury your face in his groin, smother his dick with wet kisses, that's how much you missed it.

You pumped him a few times, silken skin soft in your hands. Eddie groaned, tipping his head back and you huffed. "Be quiet, you'll wake her up." You pouted, swiping your tongue over his tip.

"Then don't do that-fuck." Eddie groaned, hands finding your hair, gripping it lightly. You swallowed him easily down your throat, hands gripping his hair thighs to steady yourself, bobbing up and down on his shaft. "Shit, bunny, that-that's so good, but I need to be inside you."

You pulled off him with a small pop, eyes lifting to his in amusement. You wiped the back of your mouth with your wrist, his hands guiding you to stand up. "Never thought I'd here you say that." You smirked.

Eddie snorted with an eye roll. He smacked your ass playfully, hard enough to have you yelp and squeal, thighs rubbing together for friction. "Just get on the bed." He muttered. "Let me scratch that itch." He grinned.

You blushed, turning and climbing onto the bed, crawling into a table top position. "What? I didn't know what to say." You laughed with a small shrug, bending your front half to sink onto the mattress.

Craning your head to look over your shoulder, Eddie smirked, eyes rolling over your body, your presented ass and glistening pussy, ready and needy for him. You wiggled your hips, ass jiggling in front of him.

"C'mon, hurry up, before she wakes up and interrupts us, again." You groaned, watching him pump his length before situating himself behind you. "Gotta be quick."

Eddie exhaled slowly out his nose, smirking and rolling his tongue over his bottom lip. "I gotcha, bunny, I know." He grinned. "I'll get ya there, just slow down." He swiped his fingered over your folds, pushing his pointer finger into your sopping hole. You shoved your face into the mattress, muffling your loud, desperate moan that tore from your chest.

Eddie moved, positioning himself behind you. "Ready?" He asked, and you nodded. Eddie pushed in slowly, cock splitting you open, the burn from the stretch of his length against your walls made you whine, simmering out with the familiar mind numbing pleasure that always left you complacent and dizzy.

Eddie groaned lowly when he bottomed out, hunching over so his bare chest was pressed to your back. "Holy fucking shit, bunny." He ground his hips against the meat of your ass. "Been too fuckin' long, baby. Way too fuckin' long."

You moaned when he pulled out, hips snapping against yours, a rhythm building and pleasure pooling deep in your belly. You knew you'd be cumming in no time, the overwhelming pleasure mixed with the fact that you hadn't had him in so long, your legs were already beginning to shake, abdomen clenching and fists grappling at the sheets.

Eddie huffed, hot breath on your bare shoulder blades, pressing sloppy, wet, open mouthed kisses to your hot skin, nuzzling the scruff of his beard into you. "God, fuck, 'm not gonna last long." He warned, hand snaking between you, fingers expertly finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that had you crying out.

"Should be a fuckin' crime to not fuck you for as long as I did, shit." Eddie hissed. "A pussy this sweet? And I've gone too long without it, haven't I?" Eddie cooed into your ear, a little taunting and mean. Your legs clenched around his hand. "You've just been a little pent up, haven't you, bunny? So needy for me, and I didn't even know, huh?"

"Fuck," You whimpered, tears pricking your eyes. His hand on your clit pressed down harder, cock jabbing your g-spot so hard you were sure you'd be spilling over him in no time. "Too long, 's too long." You babbled.

Eddie felt his stomach clench, cock twitching deep inside your velvety walls. His hands gripped harder on your hips, thrusting deeper and harder, sloppy and sharp thrusts that took your breath away. "Fuck, baby, I'm gonna-" Eddie's fingers worked faster on your clit, jaw clenching when he rocked harder into you, bed squeaking, mattress springs creaking with every harsh snap of his hips.

You whimpered, the pleasure building so closely you could feel yourself tipping closer and closer towards the edge of ecstasy. Eddie could feel you clenching, his hand still working on your puffy, sensitive clit, thrusting harder, while his other cracked down on the side of your ass, a resounding smack that left you crying out- a bit too loudly- a final thrust sending you reeling falling into the mattress with a fucked out cry.

"Thank fuck-ugh!" Eddie groaned, his own cock spilling deep inside you. He moved slow, pushing farther and farther into you until you'd collected every drop of him. His head fell forward, curly tendrils tickling your back, his hot breath ghosting over your skin.

You could feel him, warm inside of you, filled with every drop of his rather large load. Eddie rested his cheek, stubble skin pressed to the skin of your back, eyes closed and breathing in your scent, calming and grounding while he caught his breath.

You grinned, eyes fluttering at the feeling of him, his weight on top of you, still buried deep inside of you. The house filled with an odd moment of silence, the ceiling fan above you spinning was the only sound other than the labored breaths of you and Eddie. If you listened closely, you could hear the very faint sound of Delilah's sound machine, muffled to a small buzz down the hall.

Eddie moved his hand, tucking it so it cupped your cheek sweetly, tilting to bring you closer to him. He didn't say anything, slotting his lips over yours in a tender, sweet kiss, full of love and passion, like after a date night and a few glasses of wine. You smiled, his forehead against yours as you moved closer to him, content and basking in his embrace. He left you warm from the inside out, bubbly and happy, full of joy that he was yours; that this was your life together, a life you created that was far sweeter than anything you could've ever imagined- even if it started out a little unconventional.

The chirping sound of the washer singing and ringing rang through the house, signaling the the wash cycle was done. You sighed slowly, eyes meeting Eddie's through a glassy gaze. "I think I better go switch them over." You muttered, your lips brushing his, nose touching. "And you better go smoke now if you want to, before she wakes up."

Eddie sighed heavily, lips brushing against yours in a gentle peck, before he pushed himself up, groaning and the creaks and clicks of his joints and bones. "Agh," He hissed, pulling out of you slowly, his release falling in a puddle underneath you.

"Ed," You huffed, lifting your ass up farther to try and keep anymore from spilling. "Now I have to wash that too."

Eddie smirked, grabbing a wash cloth out of the bathroom and wetting it before coming back. "Sorry, baby." He muttered, wiping you slowly. You shifted, rolling over onto your back while he finished cleaning you, sucking in a breath at the sensitivity between your legs.

Eddie settled himself back between your legs, rubbing against your ass suggestively. "Think she'd stay down for another round?" He asked, scanning your naked chest.

You scoffed, pushing him back lightly by his sternum. "Please, we better not test our luck." You rolled your eyes, sitting up, legs hanging over the side of the bed.

You stood, bending down to shimmy back on your discarded sweatpants. You could feel Eddie's blistering gaze on your ass. "Besides," You smirked, biting back a smirk. "You couldn't get it up for a second round, geezer." You teased.

Eddie's jaw ticked, scoffing challengingly, arms crossing over his inked chest. You laughed, putting on your shirt with a small blush. "Alright," Eddie's tongue rolled on the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing lightly at you. "I'll remember that, baby."

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck, lifting on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "'M just kidding." You giggled, batting your eyes lovingly at him.

Eddie's hands snaked down, cracking against your sweatpants clad ass before gripping your waist tightly. "You wait until tonight, bunny. We'll see how many rounds I can go." He growled threateningly, but his eyes twinkled playfully, lustfully and alluring.

You broke apart, gathering the blanket from the bed in your arms while Eddie got dressed. He caught your waist when you passed him, arms full of the blanket, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, your head tipping back and reeling under his touch.

"Love you," Eddie muttered, kissing the tip of your nose. He fumbled in his top drawer for a cigarette and his lighter, winking at you when you dreamily repeated the phrase back to him, feeling airy and gooey, like a school girl with a second period crush. He still made you feel so important, so loved and adored.

[fluorescentbalaclava]

training season's over

chapter 1: Ground Zero

Summary:

After 5 years of service in KorTac, they consider you capable enough to hold yourself in solo missions. Money and freedom, what else could you ask for? But what feels like a good start, progressively starts to backfire.

TF141/female reader, Konig/female reader

spy reader, forced bonding, slow burn, slow build, militar inaccuracies, suggestive language, language, canon typical violence

This is an introductory chapter. Mandatory mention that English isn't my first language so apologies in advance. Hope you enjoy!

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Movies were absolutely right in one thing, one of the big parts in the life of a spy consisted in being shoved into small spaces for a bit too much time, mostly air vents. A little fact they forgot to add, is how fucking boring it could be while you waited for the for the moment to act.

They are late. You thought as you rested your head against the wall of the same air vent you’ve been in for the last forty-six minutes.

1900 – You were dropped in a nearby building by a car without a number plate, property of KorTac.

1920 - You’ve managed to catch a maintenance man smoking a cigarette on his break, successfully making him nap with an always handy syringe of tranquilizer, stealing his card, as well as his overall and cap, using it to sneak inside the building. Once you got inside, you saw the maintenance cart, and you used it to hide your tool bag. The way up wasn’t too complicated, as everyone seemed to respect the uniform, probably assuming something just needed to be fixed, and since you had the maintenance key card, you didn’t have to ask for permission to get through doors.

1945 – You were already on the roof, after what felt like a life climbing stairs to avoid most of the cameras, you discarded the uniform, and got everything needed from your bag before letting it hang from your back. You walked to the edge of the roof, big fall but not a big gap between buildings, you knew you could make the jump, but before that, you pressed the comm.

“Sage to Control, how copy?” You said quietly, while taking a moment while you wait to admire the view of the city. Perfect October day, the night already fell, the cold breeze hit your face, making you lift your face mask, only leaving your eyes uncovered. The streets beneath were full of traffic, full of lights, full of life.

“Control to Sage, send traffic.” Your station chief said through the comm, reminding you that you were here for work, not to admire the view.

“I’m in my first position, everything peachy so far. Remind me to check on the tied-up janitor in the alleyway on my way back”.

“For now, just try to get in there without a fuss. Remember---”

“I know, no execution authority, don’t get caught, recovery mission only. Get the intel without the 141 noticing, got it. I’m not a rookie anymore, remember? Playing on the big leagues now” You said with a hint of amusement, and the man behind the comm could hear the smile on your voice, which made him sigh.

“Listen, Sage, I know the first solo mission sounds exciting, but König was right to be worried when we left. The 141 is a dangerous unit, you must avoid contact by any means necessary…I don’t even know why they’re sending you alone in this, I think it’s a bit irrespon---”

“---sible to send a rookie? Don’t worry, I am not planning on getting caught. And for your information, I am being sent because all the other spies from the force are already in other missions, and I’m the only one left that fits into an air vent…but honestly, it’ll be fine, and if not, please bury me with my Sylvanian Families collection.” You said as you were eyeing the jumping distance, letting out a grunt as you throw your tool bag, which landed in the roof of the other building. “141 is supposed to be here at 2030 according to the intel, right? I should get going to get in position. I will listen but I will have to cut contact from my end, update me on the status”.

“You have a Sylvanian Families collection?” The voice now sounded confused on the other side of the frequency.

“Unimportant now. Update me on the status of the guests every 15 minutes. Over” You said before cutting communication on your side.

You took a few steps back, before running to the edge and jumping, landing on your feet in the next roof, which made you feel a small sense of pride, and it was a shame no one was there to witness your dexterity skills

The briefing for this mission made it very clear that this was a very important one, hour after hour spent studying the blueprint of the building, the map of the air system, and going through multiple contingency plans for every scenario that could happen. Alone, back in your bunk bed, you felt that the blueprint was already burned into your eyelids. Not only that, but four manila folders were often read back-to-back by you, and four names were constantly in your head.

Price.

Ghost.

Soap.

Gaz.

The folders contained multiple transcriptions of some of their communications, information of previous deployments, and some of their personal data. You also got some files on your work laptop containing security videos obtained of them. They were not only clearly bigger than you, but their form didn’t stop them from being able to be sneaky and fast. If they found you around, for sure you were dead.

From the roof, you went down an air vent with the help of a rope, until you reached a horizontal vent, which allowed you to start crawling. It was easy from here, forward, then left, then right, and straight until you reached the vent over two hallways in the shape of a T, and in the hall at the side there was a large window with view to the city, where the 141 was supposed to arrive any minute now. The hall was empty, as the armed guards were outside, protecting the three doors that connected the main building to the halls, and there it was, a heavy metal door that led to the office when the needed intel was. Some files about imports and exports, you weren’t really given much information about them, only their label to be able to identify them and the order to burn the rest of the papers.

Going down the air vent to the office wasn’t an option, as it would trigger the security system, the only way was to get in from the front with the keycard but get it from the guards directly would get the attention of the rest of them, going against the orders of being subtle. You had to wait for the 141, and use them as a distraction, knock the guard, steal the keycard, create further distractions, steal the files and leave a charge of explosives in the office. Easy-peasy.

“Control to Sage. They were dropped by a helo on the top of the building. Get ready to act. Over” The words snapped you out of your boredom, and you already felt your body pumping adrenaline to get you ready to move.

Soon enough, a loud crash of glass broke the silence, followed by three loud stomps on the floor, making the shattered glass on the floor crack underneath their boots. They seemed even bigger in person but given their entrance they were stealthier in the recorded footage.

“Bravo 0-7 to Watcher-1. We are in position, waiting for contact” A husky voice said, and you recognized the man as Ghost, which wasn’t hard considering he was wearing the same skull mask as in the files. The three men had their arms ready, and you heard the sound of the keycard granting access, soon followed by gunshots. The first ones to go down were the guards of the hall that was beneath you, the two dead bodies falling into the ground. But the group didn’t have a rest as guards started shooting from the other doors, and from the fallen guards corpses you could hear how they others were calling for back ups through the comms.

Shit. Be fast.

You opened the vent grid, the sound of shooting covering the sounds of metal, and taking advantage of the situation, you threw a smoke grenade at their feet.

“Fuck!” Another voice said as smoke starting to cloud the vision of a part of the hall. You quickly dropped from the air vent, your feet barely making any sound against the ground, and you crouched, stealing the key card from the dead guard, and quickly making your way to the office, not before throwing another smoke grenade at them to keep them busy.

The key card granted you access, deactivating the security system, and you quickly entered the empty office, hearing some coughing from the outside, and more shooting and screaming that got muffled as soon as you closed the door. You quickly put a chair on the door, in case they would try to get in, it would grant you some more minutes.

You searched through the office, not bothering to be tidy, just dropping the papers on the floor…and then you found the file, a twinkle of excitement appeared in your eyes as you put the folder in your mouth, stepping over the desk and taking from your bag a little box of tools. You took out a screwdriver, and tried to rapidly, but calmly, unscrew the grid of the air vent. Your eyes widened when you heard a loud “Clear!” from down the hallway, followed by heavy footsteps. You managed to make the grid fell, and you swiftly climbed into it. Once up there, you threw the explosives down the office with a detonator, which grant you three minutes to crawl your way out of the air vent. As you passed by, you could see the task force going through the corpses to find a keycard.

“Found one, LT” You heard underneath you, as one of them stood up, holding a key card. Mohawk = Soap, you thought to yourself.

“Wait, you hear that?” Another one says. Pretty boy = Gaz.

You stopped on your tracks, not even breathing. Before you heard a gasp for air coming from a guard, followed by a shot.

“Found it” Ghost answered.

You felt relief flooding your body, but you couldn’t enjoy your small victory properly as the sound of the explosion left your ears ringing. A heavy warmth flooded the air vent, and under you, the sound of glass, grunts and three heavy bodies falling onto the ground. Your ears were still ringing, the heat was slowly becoming unbearable, and the smell of smoke flooded the narrow space as you tried to crawl faster through it.

As you reached the vertical vent, you used your ascender and quickly got to the top. You gasped for air as you felt the cold autumn breeze on your face. As your eyes adjusted to the night, you saw the ropes and some other equipment the 141 left behind them. It wasn’t time to rest yet, as you took the file out of your mouth, saving it to your bag, before throwing it across the gap and into the roof you came from. Soon enough, you followed after, jumping across the gap between both buildings.

Your fall wasn’t as graceful as the first, accidentally missing a step and landing on your knees with a grunt. But you let yourself fall on your back against the concrete. Your face felt like it was burning, the breeze was pleasant against your flushed skin, your clothes and hair reeking of smoke, but once again oxygen was filling your lungs. As you catch your breath, you pressed your comm.

“Sage to Control. How copy?” You asked in a low voice, panting.

“Control to Sage. Are you okay?” The voice quickly answered.

“Yeah, yeah, got the intel. I’m in one piece. Ready for extraction, a shower, and a nap”

“Copy, Sage. Picking you up on the alley, remember to untie the handy man”.

Back in the base the mission was considered so successful that for the next few months your rank went from sergeant to "Task Force 141 shadow" as the first mission and your survival rate apparently meant that you were the first choice for any mission that involved them. They considered the indirect approach worked better than directly engaging in combat against them, which left casualties between the KorTac ranks in the past.

Every mission for intel they had, you were behind them, lurking in the shadows, waiting for them to just start shooting to use the confrontation as a distraction to get to the target first. It was funny to hear them frustrated and annoyed over the comms when they realized that once more, they lost the intel. And then it's fate was obvious once KorTac put it on the market, selling it to the best bidder, or sometimes even using it to complete their own missions.

"You have to be careful, maus. I know you think it's fun, but they're dangerous, like us" You found cute when König used pet names. It was truly amazing how such a unit of a man was capable of being soft at the same time, ever since you started working there under his command until now.

But lately you didn't feel like a mouse, you felt like a hyena or a vulture, just scavenging while the bigger predators weren't looking.

"It's alright, don't worry, bud. I promise you I'm being as careful as I've always been" You said in a reassuring tone, a soft smile on your lips, and you squeezed his arm as he was sitting across you on the common room, a hot tea brewing in front of you.

"That's why I'm worried" König had an unsure look, under his sniper hood, his eyes fixated on your mug, rather than you. And you could tell he was anxious by the way he was shaking his leg. "Just don't leave any tracks, ja?"

What you weren't going to admit to him, is that you were growing slightly fond of the task force you so dutifully followed around. During these months you learned plenty of things about them, just by staying hidden and listening, like Ghost's dad jokes, Gaz unluckiness with helicopters, Soap's preference to play as a goalkeeper while playing football.

You blamed the growing one-sided familiarity by the fact that your new assignments made you spend lots of hours alone, lurking, stalking, in position ready to strike the moment things unfold. Back in base, and since you started to work alone, it was only in rare occasions you were at the same time as your old unit, the opportunities to catch up with them and being social becoming scarce.

And they seemed to be so close, so used to each other, so comfortable to even use their names sometimes. You had to admit you weren't used to that. You didn't even know König actual name let alone his face, and even if other members were more open about their names, their backgrounds were still vague. Not that you were an open book, as you only went by your callsign, your real name a secret between your contractors and you. But back in KorTac the less you knew, the better. It's probably for the best, anyway. Another very possible reason for your newfound fondness was the fact that after every successful mission came a very generous check. In fact, so generous that it was enough, plus your savings, to purchase a flat. Not too fancy, but cozy and big enough for you and your things, and something to call your own as well.

Moving in was tedious, lots of boxes and newspapers wrapped around the fragile stuff, and you were too tired from work to really unpack everything, leaving only the necessary items out. You definitely needed to have dinner and have a nocturnal nap before you keep on unpacking stuff, and the other things weren't as urgent. Besides, it would be a few weeks before your next mission, so you had plenty of time to enjoy settling down in your new home and looking around the neighbourhood. For now, you could really use some food, and at this hour you certainly weren't going to cook. You grabbed your jacket and went down the street.

Thankfully, there was a Chinese place in a five-minute walk. There were lots of people around, going to pubs, as it was a bit of a commercial area. It was nice, some fairy lights, some decorations, people sharing drinks, laughing, you could get used to walking around here. You ordered a serve of chow mein and three spring rolls, got it in a bag and made your way back to your flat.

The building you lived in now was a bit old, so you had a fob for the main entrance and a key for your flat. The door creaked a bit when you opened it, and you closed it behind you, but as you turned around you bumped into something that felt almost like colliding against a brick wall, you turned around and you saw some hands inside a mailbox.

"So sorry, si---" You said looking up and as soon as your eyes focused on the figure you felt how your face went pale, and how all the blood of your body went to your legs, your mind screaming you to flee.

Black eyes stared back at you, and that was the only part you could see, as the rest of the face was covered by a balaclava with a skull print on it. Fuck...

"Staring is rude" That husky voice you were so used to hearing through a comm sounded so clear, and the grip on the takeaway bag tightened.

The fuck is Ghost doing here.

"I-I..." You had to clear your throat, to manage any words out. "Sorry, I'm usually more polite, you just...caught me off guard."

"Haven't seen you here before" He lives here?! No way. This is a trap.

"Moved in this morning" You answered as flatly as you could.

"Ah" He said in an uninterested tone, as he went back to check the mail.

You couldn't help but stare up at him, completely dumbfounded. He was wearing a hoodie covering his head, blank pants, and heavy boots. Why isn't he attacking me? Does he know who I am? What the fuck is this? Jesus, I could throw up.

"Can I help you with something?" He answered in the same tone, not bothering to look back at you a second time.

"You live here?"

"Third floor" He answered plainly.

"Ah" Does he genuinely just lives here? No way, they're setting me up. "Why check the mail at night?"

"Just arrived" He answered as he broke one of the envelopes and checked it's contents. Light bill, and you heard him cursing under his breath.

He is so much taller up close.

"Right…alright, see you around…" You said before quickly going up the stairs, so taken aback that you completely forgot about the elevator.

You arrived to your flat, a bit agitated, and closed the door with the lock behind you. And added a chair under the doorknob, for good measure.

You left the food on the table, and quickly went to grab one of your guns. A SIG Sauer P320, and you checked every room, not that there were many rooms to check. The bedroom, the living-dining room, and the bathroom. Both for people and for cameras or mics, but everything looked normal, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing out of place. Lock the windows just in case.

After your thorough search, you sat at your dinner table, left the gun next to you, before beginning to unpack your food. You ate as your eyes were fixated on the door, waiting for someone to come in shooting, for a team, for a raid, anything.

0000 – No contact.

0100 – No contact.

0200 – Still no contact.

0300 – Fuck, I’m tired.

Not today, it seems...fuck, this isn't a coincidence, out of all the buildings in this fucking island he lives here? No bloody way. They know.

next: chapter two "charlie foxtrot"

if you like it leave me some kudos or suggestions on ao3! <3

[radiant-reid]

Trick or Treat or Surprise

Summary: Halloween at the BAU is a big deal. Apparently, makeup mishaps also are

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (spicy fluff)

Content Warning: just a little making out

Word Count: 2.5k

Masterlist Navigation

Halloween was something Y/n had guessed wouldn't be such a big deal at the BAU. When she opens a black envelope that arrived on her desk one morning in mid-October, she realizes she was wrong.

Spencer's grinning, but it's not directed at her like it usually is. "What is this?" She asks, ripping the envelope open.

"One of the best days of the year." He replies excitedly. He's cute like that, and she wishes she could tell him. Everyone else misses the fact he previously referred to the 31st of October as the singular best day of the year. Not anymore when he has her birthday and their anniversary to celebrate.

Emily provides a more in-depth answer while they all open their envelopes. "It's Penelope's annual Halloween party. Probably the biggest of the year."

Y/n admires Penelope's innovation as she looks at the invitation, designed to look like an ouija board with the details written in bold, black lettering.

"I thought Halloween was just an excuse to get drunk with your friends once you're older than sixte- twenty-one." She jokes.

Penelope walks in from behind her. "It is very much not, my dear. It's a night to get dressed up, celebrate all things spooky-"

"And drink wine." Emily cuts her off.

"And drink wine." She agrees.

"Actually, it's not." Spencer jumps in to correct them as they make their way to the conference room, following behind them. "The tradition originated..."

He keeps going until he eventually gets told by Hotch that it's time to focus on the case while JJ whispers to Y/n. "Every year he does this." She makes a mental note to ask for the full story and pay him undivided attention when they get home.

The case they get send on ends on the 30th, something Penelope says she's thankful for due to the amount of perishable food she's put in Rossi's fridge, and Hotch lets everyone go early on the 31st, softer than he pretends for Penelope's parties.

It gives Y/n and Spencer enough time to go to her apartment before they have to split to get ready and arrive at Rossi's separately. She makes a point to ask about the origins of Halloween, getting to hear his little speech in the forty-five it takes to get home.

Once they're home and fed, a quick nap with cuddles is all they need. They're two luxuries they can't afford while working a case. They both stayed true to the rule about not sneaking into each other's hotel rooms, not that it hasn't been incredibly difficult.

Spencer always holds her close, tucking his head on top of hers and wrapping his arms tightly around her. Eventually, they shower together after some distractions. Then it's time for Y/n to start the long process of putting her costume on perfectly.

"What did you decide?" She asks Spencer, who's watching her from where he's sitting on her bed.

He's fussy about what he decides on, taking the day, in her opinion, a little too seriously. But allegedly, there are prizes for best dressed, and he doesn't want to lose to Morgan again, just because Morgan dressed- inaccurately, Spencer would argue- as a firefighter with his shirt off. She didn't tell her pouting boyfriend when he first told the story, but she supports Penelope's decision.

"He's a villain," Spencer tells her.

"Good." She agrees. "Keeping in line with our theme."

He nods. "I figure, if we can't do a couples costume, we might as well be in the same category."

"Oh my gosh." She laughs just at the thought of her idea. "Are you going dressed as Voldemort?"

"Y/n, you can't say his name." He chastises playfully. "But, no."

He's quiet after that, and she turns back to glare at him once she's put her underwear on. He's watching, admiring the view of his barely dressed girlfriend.

"What, you're not going to tell me?" She asks, jutting out her bottom lip for maximum effect.

"No, you're too annoying." He jokes, smirking. He never knew how fun it would be to have someone he can have repartee with, knowing he will never be judged for being himself.

Y/n knows how to get him talking, and she narrows her eyes as she walks over seductively. She throws her leg over his lap, straddling him as he gulps, repeating a mantra in his head about not giving in.

"Wanna tell me now?" She offers, hands running over his bare chest, thankful he left his dress shirt abandoned on the floor.

He shakes his head. "Not really." He braves touching her, stroking over the green lace of the cups of her bra. "This is cute."

When he goes to take it off, figuring they have enough time, she stops him. "Baby, not happening until you tell me."

"You'll see it in a couple of hours anyway." He whines, needy, hard in his pants and rutting up into her again. "But we might have to do it at Rossi's because you're going to struggle to keep it in your pants until we get home."

She scoffs, reaching down to palm his prominent bulge. "I'm not going to be able to keep it in my pants?"

Spencer groans a little, pushing her head forward so he can whisper against her ear. "It's a suit." He knows her weak spot. What he wears every day, his cute dress shirts and cardigans, don't compare to how hot he looks dressed in a suit. "With a tie tied properly." He adds. "Does that get you hot?"

The grin on his face is bold as he looks down at his lap, where she's rolling her hips against his unintentionally. "Nope." She lies. "Just teasing you."

"Mm, sure." He hums, leaning closer so he can kiss her. He keeps it quick, committed to not slipping up and fucking her hard enough against the bed that she'll struggle to walk. Making out is a pipeline to that. "What are you wearing with this?" He asks, only because he knows her chosen villain has a lot of variation.

"That white dress shirt that you left here." She starts innocently. "Buttoned to here." She finishes, taking his hand and resting it just above the cups of the bra, hidden from everyone else except someone as tall as him.

He grins, thanking whoever is looking out for him in the universe. "So I'm going to get to see your tits all night?"

"No, you're my colleague, agent Reid. That would be inappropriate." She reminds him smugly.

He tugs her closer, kissing her roughly in a way that makes her head spin. "It's Doctor. And it's going to be more than inappropriate when I rip this off you as soon as we walk through the door."

"Let's hope we can sneak out early then." She decides, focusing on ignoring the tingle in her spin as she kisses him once more before getting off his lap.

Spencer's magnetism is intoxicating. There's nothing she can do to not be attracted to him. He sits there a little stunned, relishing in her pull.

"You need to get out of here so I can see you later." She reminds him.

"But I want to sit here forever." He complains, letting his head rest on his shoulder and shutting his eyes.

Y/n rolls her eyes, grabbing his hands and pulling him off the bed. "Get up, lover boy."

"Fine." He agrees, letting her drag him up before moving his hands down to squeeze her ass.

She has to practically yank his hands off, button his shirt, and push him out the door to get him to leave back to his apartment, but she wants her makeup to be a surprise.

Spencer goes back to his place to get into costume, tightening his tie and smearing fake blood on his raincoat. He grabs his axe, and he's ready to go, arriving before Y/n does and complimenting everyone else's costumes.

Penelope and Emily are an angel and a devil, respectively, and fittingly. Beth must have had to plead with Hotch, but it worked because they're dressed as Woody, Jessie, and Jack as Buzz. JJ's blonde hair perfectly matches her rapunzel outfit, Will by her side as Flynn Rider, and Henry makes the cutest chameleon as Pascal. Morgan went for a Fresh Prince-inspired outfit, pulling it off with comfort and swagger. Rossi selected clothing from the wardrobe he had as a youth, dressing as a member of the mob, which is really his excuse to have cigars.

The one person he doesn't see is the person he wants to see the most.

She gets there only a few moments later, greeted at the door by Penelope, who has taken over Rossi's house. "You look incredible." He hears Penelope squeal.

Y/n walks into the patio a few moments later, top unbuttoned as she promised it would be. He's hard- and trying to hide it- incredibly quickly.

She looks perfect, a purple blazer framing the white shirt of his with tight black shorts. Her makeup is most impressive, with bright red lipstick painted up her face in an overzealous smile, bold purple eyeshadow, filled-in green brows, and a big J under her left eye. Spencer's sure she could easily defeat Batman with just one look.

She grins at him in his suit, wondering why she hadn't guessed he would come dressed as Patrick Bateman. Hot. Very very hot. She resists the urge to grab him by his perfectly tied tie and pull him to a guest bedroom.

Once she's grabbed her wine with eyeballs, she makes a bee-line to stand next to him. Spencer noticeably looks down the front of his her shirt, checking that her tits were as perfect as he remembered them.

Her kick at his leg goes unseen by everyone else as the adults stand around the high circular table, wrapped up in their own chats. Spencer takes their temporary distractions to lean down and whisper into her ear. "So, what'd you think?"

"It's cute." She replies, breathing shallowly.

"Just like that green set that I'll be taking off you later," Spencer reminds her, keeping his voice low and breath against her skin.

She scoffs. "If you're lucky."

The wine and eventually shots go to both of their heads, and combined with the close proximity and burning need to touch each other, they're both close to breaking.

Spencer's stubborn, often to a fault, but when she excuses herself after dinner, he takes the opportunity and follows her through the house a few minutes later.

Y/n squeals in shock when she feels a hand wrapping around her arm and pulling her into a closet when she's on her way back out. It's Spencer which she knows from his cologne.

"What the fuck?" She asks, hitting him on the plastic raincoat covering his shoulder. There are no lights on, but she can feel the heat coming off him. "What is wrong with you? You scared me."

"Missed you too much." He says almost sweetly, nose touching hers. The innocence quickly gets taken over by something darker as his hands started traveling over the curve of her body. "Look so hot in this." He mumbles, lips only an inch from hers.

She's worse at controlling herself when they're close and alone, and in a second, her lips are pressed to his. Spencer kisses her back, slamming her into the wall firmly.

His tongue delves into her mouth, hands traveling to squeeze her tits while she pulls him closer with the hair at the base of his neck.

"Fucking love your hair like this." She hums against his lips, trying not to mess up the perfect, slicked-back look of his straightened, not curled, hair.

"It's my sex hair, that's why." He claims with a laugh before kissing her again. It's just as quick-paced as before, both of them desperate and eager, working with each other.

Before she can fully give in to the urge, and fuck him in the closet, she pulls away. "Wait, wait, we can't do this here." She reminds him.

Spencer nods, although he doesn't want to let go of her, have to go back out there, and socialize until it's been enough time for them to go home.

He takes his hands off her body, holding them up. "Okay, okay. You going first?"

"Yeah, probably should." She agrees, taking a moment to calm her breathing. "See you out there."

Emily gives her a bit of a weird look in the kitchen, which she shrugs off as she grabs some ice water to tamper down the heat in her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" She asks.

Y/n nods. "Just got distracted."

It's when Spencer appears a minute later that she understands the fatal consequence of their makeout session.

Red lipstick.

Her red lipstick.

All over and around his lips. She might have been able to save it, shove him back into a bathroom to fix it, had every member of their team not walked in and witnessed the same thing. Dead silence spreads as quickly as the conclusion about what is happening does. The guilty look from Y/n only confirms the fact they had snuck away to make out.

"What?" Spencer asks, looking at each of them for an answer.

"You got a little something," Morgan tells him with a smirk, gesturing to his lips. Spencer scrambles to wipe it up after glancing at Y/n's missing lipstick, not that it helps at all.

"So you're the distraction." Emily jokes, nudging Y/n on the shoulder.

The surprise is evident on all of their faces, mixed with some excitement. "I did not see that coming," JJ admits, agreements coming from almost everyone.

"Really?" Beth asks, shocked by something else this time. "They have been practically..." She pauses to look behind her and make sure no kids are listening... "eye fucking each other all night. No offense, you guys." She's definitely had a bit to drink and it makes everyone laugh, even more, when she turns to Hotch to continue. "Are you even a profiler, Aaron?"

Will's claiming he saw the same thing to JJ as Beth teases Hotch and Morgan starts reminding Penelope of a conversation they had about who Y/n would end up dating on her first day at the BAU, Emily getting dragged in to authenticate.

With everyone occupied by conversations about them, Spencer sees his opportunity, "So we can just sneak out now, right?" He whispers into her ear.

"Yup." She agrees, taking his hand and pulling him away from the chaos they’d made.

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[radiance1]

Back on my bullshit with the Eastern Dragon Danny and Phoenix Vlad au:

So basically, Vlad decided to go to sleep for a while, inside a modified coffin built to withstand him and all that. So, he tells Danny a specific time to wake him so that he could resume his duties as Duke.

Why did Vlad decide to take a really long nap? Because he was extremely tired of ghost zone politics and decided to just go fuck it, I need a nap.

The deadline he needed Danny to wake him up at is relatively short in ghost terms really, just about a period of 40 years, he's currently 20, so at the end of this he should just be an even 60. Which would give him plenty of time to finish forty years of work before his rebirth cycle kicked in again.

He gave Danny the key to said coffin, with its specific magical signature and everything. So he expected and trusted that Danny would awaken him within a span of forty years, perhaps a bit earlier if push came to shove.

Then he just went to sleep.

Danny doesn't like his decision to just, up and go sleep for forty years, only because he would have to be the one doing the paperwork but its like, whatever he guessed. Do Danny was now actually handling the paperwork and navigating ghostly politics once more!

Joy...

He was buried in work for a fair amount of time, sometimes literally, and had to kick it back for a bit before going back to work. He felt like he was forgetting something, though...

A key appeared under a stack of papers that he just worked through, a veeeeeeery familiar key that he was sure had some kind of importance based on that itchy feeling in the back of his skull.

Eh, it's probably not important.

Welp, back to work!

Danny worked in silence for a bit, before getting up and slamming his hands on his desk.

OH FUCK, VLAD!

It's been waaaay more than 40 years last he checked, enough time that Vlad must've rebirthed inside his coffin already by like, a lot of times by now.

Considering that 5 millenniums have passed.

Well, shit.

So he hid the key in his hair, shifted, and flew off to Vlad's domain to wake him up. But when he got there, weeeeell, let's just say that Vlad's coffin was. Well.

It was gone.

Now, you see Observants. He had a totally reasonable explanation for this, you know. It was uh, well, you know, he just, ya'know?

He just, kinda, forgot...

He'll get him back! He swears! He just, need to, ya'know, find the guy!

Couldn't be that hard!

Another five millenniums later, he felt like punching his past self for fucking jinxing future him! The Observants were literally breathing down his neck to find the guy, and he didn't want to go back to doing paperwork either!

His salvation came in the form of a summoning, one he answered and finally, finally found the location of Vlad's coffin. He honestly got extremely, he didn't want to face paperwork again, so he asked these group of heroes to help him find this specific coffin in exchange for whatever they wanted him to do.

And he's Ancient damn thankful he did cause oh boy, cause like 2 days later he was presented the coffin that was just sitting collecting dust in some magician guy's house that was apparently passed down throughout generations that the Justice League managed to get their hands on.

So he opened it, and literally had to catch Vlad, who fell out of his coffin and looked like a literal 10-year-old. Did Vlad's temporary retirement plan include his deadline of 40 years being stretched by 9,960 years? No, no it did not, and unlike the previous ghost king, he was not unaffected by the length of his sleep.

So forgive him if he had to relearn how to do basic body functions, his memory foggy, and his powers were a bit outta wack.

[munson-blurbs]

Chapter 4: Every Time You Smile, You Laugh, You Glow

Collaboration with my ultimate soulmate, @corroded-hellfire 💚

Series Summary: Based on the Jonas Brothers song of the same name. You and Eddie share a hospital room in the wake of Hawkins' turmoil, striking up an unlikely friendship that could lead to much more.

Chapter Summary: Eddie's determined to help Sunshine wake up, but when she does, will the truth break them apart or bring them closer together?

Warnings: eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), Eddie survives the Upside Down, hospital, mentions of surgery, angst, hurt/comfort

WC: 6.3k

Divider credit to @firefly-graphics

It seems like years pass before the doctors come out and report that they’ve been able to stabilize you, but that you need your rest and can’t have any more visitors today. 

“Her body has been under immense stress, physically and mentally,” Dr. Sanoj explains patiently. “You can come back during tomorrow’s visiting hours and see her if she’s strong enough.”

If she’s strong enough. The words grate at Eddie, chipping away at his resolve to remain calm. Of course you’ll be strong enough; you’re the strongest person he knows. 

He and your mom wordlessly make their way out of the hospital. Maybe it’s his eyes, red-rimmed from crying and lack of sleep, but it brings out a sympathetic side of your mom. 

“You should get some rest, too,” she says gently. She manages a small smile. “No sense in going in there tomorrow all sleep-deprived.”

Eddie nods, mutters a, “you, too,” and hurries to his van. The last thing she needs is to have to comfort him while her own daughter’s life hangs in limbo. 

To his credit, Eddie does try to take a nap. He tosses and turns for forty-five minutes before giving up, swinging his gangly legs over the side of Gareth’s couch and walking over to where Sweetheart is regally perched on her stand. He strums a few unenthused chords, attempting to muster up some semblance of ambition. Nothing he plays seems right anymore, like every note is out of tune. If he’s honest, it’s how his life feels without you in it. 

He thinks back to the day you formally met Dustin, Robin, and Steve. The way they insisted that there was something between you two. Jeez, Harrington went as far as to call it a spark, like a budding relationship could explode at any moment. And Robin had made that joke about how sad he got when the nurses “took his Sunshine away.” Like that song Wayne always sang around the house. 

Eddie hums the tune now, trying to match the pitch and find the right chords to play. He slowly picks them up, but there’s something still…off about the way the sweet, mellow song sounds on the electric guitar. 

“Hey there, Ed.” Wayne comes through the front door, wiping his boots on the welcome mat. “Got some good news for ya.”

“Mm,” Eddie murmurs, still entrenched in his music. 

Wayne holds up a manila envelope. “You’re officially cleared of all charges related to the Cunningham girl,” he announces, a big grin spreading across his typically stoic face. “Chief Hopper was able to pin it all on the Russians; easy enough, considering what happened at Starcourt last summer.” Wayne shakes his head at the memory. “‘M tellin’ you, boy: you’re real lucky the Chief of Police is also involved in this monster hunting thing.”

With the help of his friends, Eddie explained the truth about what happened to his uncle as soon as he got home from the hospital. And while Wayne was certainly skeptical—who wouldn’t be, with a story about an evil supervillain from another dimension?—he’d believed every word. 

“That’s good,” Eddie says now, no trace of enthusiasm in his voice. 

Wayne frowns. “What’s up your ass today? You’ve been cleared of murder charges, and you don’t so much as crack a smile?”

Eddie sighs, finally looking up at his uncle. “Even if they don’t charge me for the crime, people are still gonna think I did it. That I’m some kinda Satan-worshiping cult leader, or whatever.”

Wayne sits down on the couch next to Eddie. “Let me get this straight,” he says, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. “I’m supposed to believe that the same kid who would fight to the death over a traffic ticket doesn’t care that he’s no longer wanted for murder?” 

“I fucked up, Wayne,” Eddie chokes out, brushing the tears from his eyes. “I fucked things up with Sunshine, and now there’s something really wrong with her, a-and she might not wake up, and I can’t get this stupid song to sound right with this stupid guitar!” He pulls Sweetheart over his head angrily and places her back in her stand. 

“Well,” Wayne says, dropping a comforting hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “I may have only met her a few brief times, but even I could tell that she’s a fighter, that one. And just because someone’s not awake, doesn’t mean they can’t hear ya. Remember we’d sit by your mom’s side in the hospital and you’d tell her about your day? She’d wake up a few hours later and, like magic, she knew what you said to her. Pretty sure Sunshine’s got that same magic. When you go back there and visit her, tell her what’s on your heart. She’ll hear ya.” Wayne pauses and takes a deep breath. “Now about this song business…I dunno how to help you with that one. You and I both know my musical ability ends at putting records on. What song are tryin’ to learn?” 

“You Are My Sunshine,” Eddie grumbles, not taking his eyes off of his feet. Wayne can’t help but smile at that. He always knew his nephew was a softy deep down, but there weren’t too many times that he’d let anyone on the outside world see that. 

“S’a good song,” Wayne says. “And I ain’t known you to never get a song just right before. Keep fiddlin’ with it.”

Wayne pushes himself off the couch, but before he can leave the room, Eddie calls out to him. “Wayne? What, um, what should I say when I go visit her?”

His uncle shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Just speak from the heart, boy. Keep it real honest and tell her how ya feel and what’s been on your mind.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says. Wayne gives him a nod and heads into the kitchen. After staring at Sweetheart for a few moments, Eddie picks her back up and starts to strum. He sit and practices for hours, occasionally massaging the back of his neck when it starts to stiffen up from staying in the same position for so long. He’s so enraptured in perfecting the song that he doesn’t even hear Wayne come back into the house.

“Ed? You still at it?”

“Unfortunately,” Eddie mutters, standing up and stretching his back with a groan. “You can come in if you want. I need a distraction before I fling myself out of the window.”

Wayne peeks his head in, a mischievous grin on his face. “Good thing we’re on the first floor then, huh?” He laughs at his nephew’s inevitable eyeroll. “C’mon out; I’ve got somethin’ to show ya.”

Curiosity getting the best of him, Eddie follows his uncle to his rusty old sedan. Laying in the backseat is an acoustic guitar. It looks a little beat up, but definitely playable.

“Where–how did you–” he starts, unable to speak because he’s so stunned by Wayne’s kind gesture.

“Ya can’t play a sweet old song like that on the electric guitar. Need one of these,” Wayne says proudly, pointing towards the instrument. “Guy at the pawnshop said she just needs a bit of a tune and she should be good to go.”

Tears spring to Eddie’s eyes, and he envelops his uncle in a tight hug. ��You’re the best,” he says, voice muffled by his cheek being pressed against Wayne’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I haven’t been the easiest to deal–”

Wayne dismisses his concern with a wave. “Enough of that. I’m just glad to have you back here, alive. Now,” he says, the joyful glint returning to his eyes, “go learn that song so you can get the girl and leave the damn house once in a while.”

Eddie’s unable to suppress the smile that grows on his face. He’d never thought of himself as someone who would “get the girl,” but then again, he’s never felt about anyone the way he feels about you. 

Re-energized by his gift, Eddie brings the acoustic guitar inside and starts to practice again. Right away, he can tell the difference. 

“Much better,” Eddie says to himself. Wayne was right, as usual—not that he’d ever admit that to his uncle. Before, Eddie felt every second drip by as he tried and failed to make the song sound right. Now, the hours were flying by faster than Eddie even realized. Footsteps march into the living room and Eddie reluctantly looks up to see Gareth standing in the doorway.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

“Do you know what time it is?” Gareth asks, raising his eyebrows. Eddie shakes his head and goes back to strumming. “It’s after three in the morning. Dude, if you don’t get any sleep, she’s going to think you look like shit tomorrow.”

Gareth managed to find the one thing he could say to make Eddie put the guitar down. He didn’t have an official place to put this one, since Sweetheart was already resting in the stand. Standing up, Eddie grabs his guitar case from behind the couch. Gareth shuffles back down the hallway towards his room as Eddie flips open the latches of the case. He sets the acoustic down inside and smiles as he looks down at it. His first precious guitar has a name, and now he has the perfect idea for the next.

“Goodnight, Sunshine the Second.”

When Eddie arrives at Hawkins General Hospital the next morning, he’s not surprised to see your mom already by your bedside. He winces when he notices the tubes in your nose, another painful reminder of your weakened state.

“Any changes?” he asks softly, a pang of disappointment settling in his chest when she shakes her head no. 

“No better, but no worse,” your mother reports, running her thumb over your hand, carefully avoiding the needle in your vein. “How’re you holding up?”

“All right,” Eddie shrugs, peeling the guitar case off of his back and setting it down. “Wish she would wake up, though.”

Your mom laughs kindly. “You and me both, kid.” She takes notice of Sunshine the Second and smiles. “Did you just come from band practice?”

“Nah,” Eddie shakes his head bashfully, letting his messy curls brush his cheeks. “I, um, wanted to play her a song. If th-that’s okay.” He’s never been good with parents; they’ve always written him off as some punk or, worse, trailer trash. He anticipates disapproval, so he’s pleasantly surprised when your mom’s face brightens and she encourages him to play. 

“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” she excuses herself, giving his shoulder a maternal squeeze. 

Eddie clears his throat. “Hi, Sunshine,” he starts, pausing briefly to give you a chance to reply, but the silence dashes his hopes. “I’m so fucking glad you’re alive. I kept thinking about you, and this song, and I—I wanna play it for you.” He unzips the case and slings the guitar strap around his body. Tuning it quickly, he starts to sing:

You are my sunshine My only sunshine You make me happy When skies are gray You’ll never know dear How much I love you Please don’t take my sunshine away

He’s not sure what he was expecting; it’s not like his warbling voice would heal you. But he can’t help the disappointment that sinks into his chest like a bag of rocks in a river when you remain perfectly still. 

He strums absentmindedly, playing whatever songs he can remember off of the top of his head. His usual repertoire of Metallica and Black Sabbath don’t sound right on an acoustic, so he thinks about some of the folk-y music that Wayne listens to. 

So kiss me and smile for me Tell me that you’ll wait for me Hold me like you’ll never let me go ‘Cause I’m leavin’ On a jet plane I don’t know when I’ll be back again Oh babe, I hate to go

The mention of an airplane reminds him of the argument you two had had before he was discharged. “I know you weren’t sure about if you wanted to fly with me to California and try to make it as a dancer,” he murmurs, “but whether or not your plans include me, I really think you should.”

He sighs, continuing to play random chords as he speaks. “Feel kinda bad right now. I mean, if you were awake, you might tell me to fuck off. And I wouldn’t blame you, honestly. But you can’t tell me that, so I’m just pouring my heart out whether you care to listen or not.” He laughs softly. 

Eddie’s fingers are moving of their own accord against the strings, his mind drifting off in a thousand different directions. It isn’t until his ear catches on the familiar notes that he realizes he’s playing a new song, one he heard a lot growing up, thanks to Wayne. 

Woah, my love, my darling I've hungered for your touch A long, lonely time And time goes by so slowly And time can do so much Are you still mine? I need your love I need your love God speed your love to me

His voice catches on the last few lyrics, his throat constricting and his eyes become heavy with unshed tears. Taking a deep breath, Eddie keeps strumming the guitar because he needs something to do with his hands. He slips his eyes closed, trying to compose himself, but it doesn’t do much. When he opens them again, a few stray tears escape down his cheeks.

“Sunshine, wake up,” Eddie pleads. “I don’t like this. Sunshine, wake up.”

He switches gears, going back to the original plan for the acoustic guitar. What he practiced for hours so it would be just right for you. 

You are my sunshine My only sunshine You make me happy When skies are gray You’ll never know dear How much I—

Eddie is cut off by the gentle fluttering of your eyelids. His heart stalls in his chest, his breath freezes in his lungs as he stares at you. In reality, it’s about four seconds of you blinking before your eyes are fully open. To Eddie, it was an agonizingly long wait. His hands are still on the guitar, too shocked to move. You’re looking up at the white ceiling above you before blinking a few more times. Slowly, your head turns towards Eddie and when your eyes lock with his, all of the emotions that have been swirling around and building up for days now hit their breaking point. The tears surge and Eddie sets the guitar down to wipe them from his eyes. He’ll be damned if anything keeps him from looking at you, alive, awake, wonderful you, even if it’s his own damn tears. 

“Sunshine,” Eddie breathes out, a rush of breath and a sigh of relief all wrapped up in the nickname. You look slightly groggy still from all the medications, but Eddie can tell you’re looking into his eyes, which is all he needs. Gently, taking care of the needles and wires hooked into you, Eddie takes your hand. “Sunshine, can you hear me?”

Your mouth opens and you go to speak, when a look of pain flashes across your face. 

“Shh, no, no. Don’t speak. Just squeeze my hand if you can hear me,” Eddie says. 

The soft pressure of your delicate hand tightening around his is enough to bring another round of tears. These, he scrubs off with his sleeve before they can make it too far down his face. Once his vision is clear again, he looks down to see you smiling at him. He’s not sure if you’re genuinely glad to see him, or you’re still so hopped up on drugs that you would’ve been happy to see Pennywise standing over your bed. 

“M-Mom?” you whisper, and your head is filled with sandbags as it lolls to one side. 

“No, Sunshine, it’s me. It’s Eddie.”

To his horror, you start to cry. He doesn’t know how to interpret it, so he quickly stands up. “I can go get her, okay? You don’t have to be scared.” Running over to the doorway, he pokes his head out towards the waiting room, catching your mom’s eye as he waves her over. 

“She’s awake,” he tells her, watching her body visibly decompress with relief, “and she’s asking for you.”

Your mom rushes into your room, heaving sobs wracking her body as she takes in your open eyes and small, chapped smile. “Hey, baby,” she murmurs. “I’m here now.”

Eddie awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other, not wanting to intrude on such a sensitive moment but not wanting to leave. “I can come back later,” he offers, but your mom shakes her head and pats the seat next to her. The two of them sit in silence as you go in and out of sleep, waking to ask for some water before dozing off again. 

After an hour, you finally claw your way out of a groggy stupor, focusing on the two people by your bedside. “Wh-What happened?” you manage.

“Honey, you had trouble waking up from your surgery,” your mom reluctantly tells you, sharing an uneasy glance with Eddie. “Your, um, your heart stopped; they had to revive you. We didn’t know if you were going to make it.”

“We should’ve known,” Eddie chimes in, offering as much of a smile as he can. “I mean, you’re a total badass. If anyone can cheat death, it’s you.”

It takes you a moment to piece together what’s going on. The last time you saw Eddie, anger and disappointment marred his normally cheerful disposition. There was no trace of the young man who theorized about future soap opera plotlines or who fell asleep with his cheek nestled against your shoulder; there was only hurt.

The Eddie sitting before you now is different altogether. He looks like he’s about to burst into tears at the sight of you, like he wants to hold on to you and never let go.

There’s so much still left unsaid, and your head swims at the mere thought of such an intense discussion. Instead, you opt for a more obvious question: “Is that a guitar?”

“Eddie was playing some songs for you,” your mom explains, looking between the two of you. Eddie hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since he’s sat down, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop any time soon. “I’m gonna grab something for him and I to eat; maybe he can play them again?”

“You don’t have to–” Eddie starts, but your mom waves him off with the promise of whatever sandwich looks the least unappetizing.

“You always sing for your mortal enemies?” you ask wryly, a hint of teasingness in your tone that you hope carries over.

“Just your run-of-the-mill sacrifice chants,” he jokes back, and you audibly sigh at the easy slide to your usual back-and-forth banter. He lowers his voice and takes your hand in his, weaving your fingers together as he says, “and you’re not my mortal enemy.”

“I’m really sorry that I lied to you,” you tell him, a misty film covering your eyes. “I just didn’t wanna disappoint you. And if you saw me sad, then you’d get sad...”

Eddie lightly presses his palm to your cheek. “Sunshine,” he says mournfully, “I never wanted you to hide your feelings from me. You’re my Sunshine because you’re you, not because I thought you were happy all the time.” He uses his free hand to rub behind his neck. “But I could’ve asked. I guess I was just so in my own head, thinking about myself, that I took you for granted. Poured my heart out to you, but never gave you the same chance,” he chides himself.

“Or I could’ve spoken up,” you point out truthfully. “I could’ve said, ‘Hey, I need a bunch of surgery and I may never dance again, and I’m really fuckin’ sad about it.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. You may never dance again. And there he was, blowing up on you because he thought you didn’t want to run away and pursue your dream; the whole time, your dream may have been yanked from your grasp.

“Can you play me one of the songs?” you interrupt his thoughts, and he just nods wordlessly as he positions the guitar on his lap.

“It’s kinda lame–”

“Just play it. Or do I have to almost die again?”

“Sheesh, all right,” he chuckles, latching his gaze to yours as he sings:

You are my sunshine My only sunshine You make me happy When skies are gray You’ll never know dear How much I love you Please don’t take my sunshine away

You’re giggling and crying at the same time, a sight that must seem completely absurd. You don’t want to think too long about what Eddie’s making of the way you look right now. His voice is rough and gravelly from years of metal covers at the Hideout, but it’s soothing nonetheless. But it’s the way he sings one particular part that replays in your brain over and over.

You’ll never know dear How much I love you

Maybe it’s just a song lyric. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. He just sings it, not even remotely flustered, as though his love for you is common knowledge.

“So,” he says sheepishly, “what’d you think?” When he realizes that you’re cry-laughing too hard to respond, he grins. “Oh, Sunshine. What did I do to your heart–fix it, or break it?”

“I’m not sure,” you half-joke, because if you get your hopes up that he does love you the way you want him to love you, and then he doesn’t, it might shatter into a million pieces. “That was the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Eddie pauses, biting his lip nervously before he speaks again. “Can I try something?” When you nod, he cups your jaw and lets his thumb graze over your lower lip. You cringe at how dry they must feel, but he doesn’t seem to care as his mouth presses to yours. It’s a quick kiss, over too soon for your liking, but it still leaves you breathless.

He leans his forehead on yours, smiling as he caresses your cheek. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” he confesses, “and it kinda scares the shit outta me.”

“Only kinda?” you tease, nudging your nose to his.

Eddie leans back in his chair, letting out a shaky chuckle and rubbing his palms on his worn-out jeans. “I want us to be honest with each other. I don’t want any more secrets. From either of us,” he clarifies, so you know he’s not only talking about you. “Starting with what really happened the night of the earthquake.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you trust that I’ll tell you the truth?” he asks, and you nod. “Okay. So, um, shit, where do I even start? I guess…well, the earthquake…it wasn’t really an earthquake.”

Your eyes widen as he plunges into a story that sounds like it could be one of his D&D campaigns. 

“It was the first time I’d ever seen anything like it,” he tells you, explaining how some monster nicknamed “Vecna” had snapped Chrissy Cunningham’s bones like twigs. How he’d hidden in his drug supplier’s boathouse—a detail you’ll have to unpack later—until Dustin Henderson tracked him down. How the whole town was convinced that he was some kind of heinous murderer, when he’d never hurt a fly. 

All of that pales in comparison to the World War III-esque scene that awaited him in the Upside Down, an alternate dimension controlled by Vecna. “Every moving part was connected to him. Like a hive mind,” he says now. An arachnid-shaped force called the Mind Flayer that could possess anyone with a painful jab of its long pedipalps. Thick vines, far more dangerous than the poison ivy that showed up in your backyard each spring. “Nancy, Steve, and Robin—they almost died from them,” Eddie says somberly, and you sit up as much as you can and rub his back. 

“Is that how you…?” 

Eddie cuts you off with a quick shake of his head. “Henderson and I were supposed to lure the demobats from Vecna’s lair. That’s all we had to do. And we did it,” he flashes a sad smile. “But all I could think about was being a hero. Saving my friends. Finally facing danger instead of running from it.”

They’d just made it back to safety before the storm of bats surrounded the trailer, busting through vents and shaking the foundation. “Henderson went back first, an’ he was calling my name. Everything in me was screaming to climb the rope, get myself back to the real Hawkins.” He’s sobbing, and you have to lean in closer just to understand what he’s trying to say. “But I cut the rope and I went back.”

“To the Upside Down?” you interrupt, blinking back tears of your own. 

Eddie nods. “Those little bat fuckers got me good. I thought I was gonna die, right there in that weird, fake Hawkins. But my friends dragged me out, got me to a hospital…and here I am,” he finishes, trying to muster up a smile. 

“Here you are.”

“Scariest shit of my life,” Eddie says with a sigh. “But it landed me in the same hospital room as this really beautiful girl, so I guess something good came from it after all.”

His compliment brings a shy smile to your face, and your mind starts to remember all the laughs and conversations the two of you had in that room. A room, you assume, Max is still in. 

“So, uh, is this all how Max went blind?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, his eyes dropping down to your hand in his. He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, taking care to avoid your IV line. “When Vecna targeted Max, she started levitating like Chrissy did. Her bones started to snap and her eyes started to bleed. When Vecna was torched, she was released. But the damage had been done. Lucas—her boyfriend, swears she died while they were waiting for an ambulance. And she was in a coma here for a little while.”

“She seems like a good friend. Loyal,” you say.

At that, a small smile curls on one side of Eddie’s face. “Yeah, Red’s a good kid.” 

“When they brought you in,” you say, lacing your fingers with his. “What did they tell the doctors was wrong with you? It’s not like they could’ve come right out and said you were attacked by multidimensional bats.”

“Steve and Henderson were arguing the whole way here about what their story should be. In the end, it didn’t matter though. The hospital was so overwhelmed by patients that they just wanted to know what my injuries were and didn’t even ask how I got them.” 

“This is all so insane,” you say with a shake of your head. Eddie’s brow pinches up and you’re quick to reassure him that you believe his story. “Eddie, what you had to go through was insane. The fact that there’s this whole other dimension existing alongside ours. Why is this shit happening in Hawkins of all places? Land of the boring doesn’t seem like the type of place that evil creatures would want to strike. At least, not according to most of the monster or disaster movies I’ve seen—and there have been a lot.”

“Before Vecna became…well, Vecna. He was just some kid who lived in Hawkins. With weird as shit powers he used to kill part of his family,” Eddie says. 

“That’s almost more morbid than the killer vines,” you say. “So, he chose to create a new dimension?”

“Not exactly. He was…banished there, more or less. By this badass little superpowered girl that all my friends know. I haven’t gotten to meet her yet, though. But she sent Creel there and he corrupted it to his liking, apparently.”

“Wait, did you say Creel?” you ask. “As in, The Creel House? Victor Creel?”

“His son, actually. Henry Creel. Henry is Vecna,” Eddie explains. 

“Jesus,” you say, leaning back against your pillows. “I know this whole thing is all pretty unbelievable…but do you know what part is bothering me the most?” 

“The fact that there are worse creatures around here than regular old spiders?” Eddie teases, getting a giggle out of you. 

“No,” you say. “Though that doesn’t thrill me either. It’s that the stupid people in this town would actually believe you’re capable of murder. And why? Because you like metal music? Because you play D&D? That’s such bullshit.”

Eddie can’t help but smile at your words. How could he ever have thought that you were like all those other assholes in this town? Well, he knows the answer to that, unfortunately. It was bound to happen over the years of bullying and abuse he endured, that now he’s just become paranoid that people are always fucking with him. Trusting people becomes a harder process, but falling for you is oh so easy. 

There’s a gentle knock on the door and your mom sticks her head in. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Eddie says, his politeness towards your mother ever more endearing now that he’s kissed you. 

“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” your mom says as she sits down in the chair next to Eddie. She has a plastic container holding a sandwich in each hand. “I’ve got ham or turkey. Take your pick.”

“I’ll go with turkey,” Eddie says. Your mom hands him the sandwich and the two of them tuck into their food. You let your eyes roam around the room, which is smaller than the one you shared with Eddie—and then Max. Hopefully, you’ll get to move back into that room once you get a little strength back. But this room isn’t bad. It’s private, quiet, and you have a nice view out the window to your left. Dragging your eyes back across the room, they land on Eddie’s guitar laying next to his chair. 

“So, you play guitar,” you say, staring at the instrument. “Electric and acoustic, I take it?”

Eddie nods as he finishes the bite of food in his mouth. “Mostly electric. Just got this bad boy yesterday, actually. But it’s pretty much the same. You can play one, you can play the other.”

“Do you play any other instruments?” you ask. 

“Nah,” Eddie says. “I tried piano when I was younger, but the white keys…the black keys…too many to keep track of. What about you?”

“I was in band in middle school. Played the flute, but that was about it,” you say and your mom lets out a guffaw of laughter.

“I don’t know if I’d consider what you did ‘playing’ the flute, hun.” She leans in towards Eddie. “Those concerts were brutal.”

Eddie laughs and you feel your face warm up. “Thanks, Mom.”

The conversation lasts for another forty-five minutes before your Mom decides to head back home. She thanks Eddie for being there, enveloping him in a warm hug. It’s loving and maternal, and not frantic like when they were both anxiously awaiting your prognosis.

“So,” you say, peering at Eddie through your eyelashes, “is it my turn to tell you what happened to me?

He shakes his head. “Another time,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His lips are soft and kind, and you never want him to break contact. “I had something more fun in mind for the rest of our afternoon.”

Your cheeks flame, and you press your lips together shyly. “Um, I don’t think I can do that for a little while,” you whisper.

Eddie’s eyes widen. “No, shit, that’s not what I meant. I mean, eventually, hell yeah, but not right after you rose from the dead.” He crosses his arms over his chest and gives a dramatic pout. “D’you really think I’d try to get in your pants now?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Maybe you have, like, a coma fetish.”

He wrinkles up his nose as he stares down at you. “Is that a thing? Never mind, I don’t want to know.” He scoots on the edge of your hospital bed and proudly announces, “I’m taking you on a date.”

“Eddie, I can’t leave the hospital,” you say, gesturing to the litany of wires you’re hooked up to. “Not sure if they’ll even let me leave my room.”

“Only one way to find out,” Eddie says. He gives you a mischievous smile as he stands from your bed and strolls out of the room. You try to situate yourself so you’re able to see out the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever Eddie is up to. A few minutes later, he steps back inside, pushing a wheelchair in front of him. Raising his eyebrows, his eyes dart from you, down to the chair, to you again, as if saying impressive, huh?

“Whatcha got there, Eds? We going somewhere?” you ask. 

“On our date, m’lady. You’re cleared to go downstairs.”

“What’s downstairs?”

“You’re just full of questions today, aren’t you?” Eddie asks as he parks the wheelchair next to your bed. “Let me ask you one. Do you like coffee?”

“I’m a college student,” you say. “I need it to live.” 

“Well, Miss College, would you accompany me to the cafeteria for a coffee date?” Eddie bows at the waist, offering one of his hands to you and the other rests against his back. “I may also buy you a cookie.”

“Spoiling me, I see. I would be more than happy to go on this date with you.” You push the blanket off your legs and move to sit on the edge of the bed. Before you go to step off the bed, a frown comes to your face.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, standing up straight again. 

“I feel a little weird about leaving my room in just my hospital gown,” you admit, face heating up. 

“Not a problem.” Eddie shucks his leather jacket off and holds it out in front of him. The smile that lights up your face is involuntary at his sweet gesture. 

You stand up and reach behind you to keep your gown closed. “No free show,” you tease him with a smirk. 

Eddie chuckles and lays the jacket over your shoulders. “I mean, I am paying for your coffee…” He lets out a yelp as you playfully swat at him with your free hand. He helps you get seated in the chair and once you’re comfortable, you slip your arms into the sleeves. The scent of Eddie surrounds you as you're enveloped in his jacket. It feels soft against your skin and you just want to snuggle up in it.

He unlocks the wheelchair brakes and gently begins pushing you out the door, carefully navigating the frame so he doesn’t bump you. “Never thought I’d see the day that I was a responsible driver,” he quips, and you giggle. “Now, how do we get to the cafeteria?”

You crane your neck to look up at him. “How am I supposed to know? I didn’t exactly ask for a tour when they carried me in on a stretcher.”

“Ooh, feisty,” Eddie teases, continuing down the hallway until he finds a map of the hospital. His eyes scan the figure until they land on his destination. “Aha! Looks like we have to turn right at the end of this hall, then take the elevator down to the first floor, and it’ll be on the left.”

“Onwards!” you command, and Eddie gives a little salute as he brings you to the elevator.

You reach the cafeteria, and he wheels you over to a table. “How do you take your coffee?” When you give him your order, he repeats it over and over again.

“If you forget, just call out and ask me,” you reassure him, but he shakes his head.

“Wayne told me once that you should always know how your girl takes her coffee,” he explains. “‘S like one of the Ten Commandments or something.”

A grin spreads across your face. “Your girl?”

“Y-Yeah, if you want?” he stammers, shoving his hands in his back pockets and rocking back and forth. 

You crook your finger, beckoning him down to your level, and you kiss him passionately. He relaxes into you, deepening it and parting your lips with his own. “Yeah, I want,” you say softly, twirling a strand of his hair around your forefinger.

As he walks towards the carafes of lukewarm coffee, you admire him. Your boyfriend. He claims that revealing what happened to you won’t make him like you any less, but you have a niggling feeling that it might. He only knows you as Sunshine, and the one time you showed any emotion other than optimism, he left without a word. What if he decides that it’s too much? That you’re too much?

Maybe he’s better off without you and your baggage dragging him down. As if he can sense you getting in your own head, Eddie slides your coffee in front of you and plops down in the seat next to yours.

“My girlfriend gets the cutest little crease right between her eyebrows when she’s thinking too hard,” Eddie says. 

“Sorry,” you say with a sheepish smile. You take a sip of your coffee and let out a hum of approval. “Perfect.”

“No overthinking on our first date. Wait for the third or fourth for that.”

“Sounds fair,” you acquiesce. 

Eddie looks at you before taking a sip of his own coffee. “You know you don’t have to hide anything from me, right? I don’t run away. Not anymore.” He reaches out and strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

You swallow your nerves, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Okay,” you agree slowly. “Okay. I’ll tell you.”

--

taglist: @thebrookemunson, @mystars123, @h-ness1944, @hazydespair, @ajkamins, @aysheashea, @jasminelafleur, @brittney69, @arsonfrogger, @brassreign, @lunarzstarz, @aftermidnightwriting, @justtryingtobecreative, @micheledawn1975, @kailynn-exe @afunkyfreshblog @fangirling-4-ever @crimsonsabbath @babyexpertlampskeleton @whenshelanded @ches-86 @acmbooksfilmtelevisionandreads

[kinardsevan]

several sentence sunday

no one tagged me. i just need y'all to know that this scene exists in the next chapter of the aneurysm fic (which i'm basically writing in my free time, which i currently have very little of)

-

“I need to take a walk,” Tommy states, shaking his hands out at his sides after tossing his first empty coffee cup into the trash. He walks over to where the coffee Maddie brought him is still sitting and picks it up, is halfway to the exit of the waiting room when he hears it. 

“You’re going to leave while he’s in surgery?” 

Tommy closes his eyes and has to remind himself to breathe as his shoulders stiffen. He swallows down a gulp after another deep breath, and then turns around, forcing a smile on his face. 

“I’m going for a walk,” he replies. “Because waiting on finding out if my fiancé’s heart is going to hold on through a second surgery to correct a work-related incident is horrifying.” 

He watches as Phillip looks toward Maddie, Maddie puts a hand up toward her father and mutters his name softly, a warning to not push it. Whether that connects for the older man though doesn't seem to be clear, because Phillip has a response anyway. 

“I just think he should be here,” he says back in the same soft tone. Tommy furrows his brow, eyes squinting with irritation at the other man. 

“I have been here,” he replies. His voice is soft, almost disturbingly calm. “Every single one of the past 33 days. I’ve dealt with the anxiety, the nightmares, the vomiting, the naps on the floor because his heart couldn’t beat properly and he ran out of energy to move. Fuck, I spent the last three days before they actually did the first surgery making sure he was at least getting water down because he was so uncomfortable every time he ate that it just kept coming back up. 

“And then, I got to be here for the first surgery, which was six hours long, and he didn’t sleep the night before because he was scared. Which, by the way, meant I didn't either. I was awake for almost forty hours while you were at home, blind to it all. And then I saw him struggle just to stand again. I watched every single time they turned down the pacemaker and he had arrhythmias, and the pain it caused him. And where were you? Oh, right. Doing what I’ve known you to do best since the day I was introduced to your family—staying silent.” 

“Tommy-..” Maddie tries to cut in, and he looks over at her. 

“Please understand that I don't include you or your husband in that context,” he states, letting out a long huff. “I’m going to go outside for ten minutes. Call me if they come out.” 

“Look, I know I haven’t been the best-..” 

“You haven’t been anything!” Tommy growls at him, still trying to keep his tone soft and not draw attention. “I don't know you. I’m marrying the child you decided to bring into this world, and I don’t know three things about you. What I do know, is that I've picked up the pieces you’ve left strewn about and glued them back together. You want to act as though you’re doing some sanctimonious deed by sitting here for however long the surgery takes, and then giving him ten minutes of your time when he’s conscious before you leave again? By all fucking means, do so. It would be more than you’ve managed to do in the past two years.” 

[pennyserenade]

ONLY BACKWARDS

pairing: dieter bravo x you, dieter bravo x reader rating: explicit (oral sex (female receiving), pinv, references to unprotected sex, hate sex, light dirty talk (not degrading) tags: angst, age gap (reader is 34 and bravo is 48), hurt/comfort  word count: 2.8k+ summary: it has been 6 months since you last heard from dieter bravo. this time he comes back to you with a black eye and he asks for too much. it is just like always.  a/n: i wrote this in about a day so if its a little funky, that’s probably why. unbeta’d. songs i recommend you listen to while you read (if that’s something you enjoy): american dream by lcd soundsystem, sculptures of anything goes by arctic monkeys, californication by red hot chili peppers, and conversation 16 by the national 

Fourteen years and two days. Depending on the way you look at it, that’s either a long time or too little of it. 

As you take a good look at the man who you share this age gap with, you aren’t sure where you fall on the spectrum. 

Dieter looks like shit. Beneath his right eye is purplish yellow, no doubt the reward he got for committing one of his heavily repeated mistakes. His eyes are reddish, bloodshot and he looks like he made some attempt at looking nice a day or two ago, but what he’s left with is stubble on his cheeks and hair gone greasy from too much product. You used to want to nurse him in these states, to hold his head between your hands and speak to him tenderly. 

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own age for once?” you say to him, pushing your sunglasses up the bridge of your nose. Your voice doesn’t possess the vitriol a sentence like that needs to really land. He squints against the sun, waiting. Your fingers press into the steering wheel. Be good, do good, you tell yourself. You can’t pick up a grown man’s baggage for the rest of your life. You don’t want to. 

He doesn’t attempt to charm you. “I just want to take a shower and a nap and then I’ll never bother you again.”

“Why can’t you do that at your own house?”

Dieter pouts out his lips, looking above the hood of the car. In the other corner of the studio lot, there are people making a ruckus, laughing, talking too loudly. He looks back at you, brown eyes devoid of any real emotion. “I don’t like my own home.”

You think of all you’ve got to do. A script to write, a meeting in the morning, a date at 9. You really think you could like the guy too—a salaried television writer who lives in a sizable house and graduated from somewhere like Princeton. Your friend who set you up says he’s the perfect match for you: handsome, sweet, smart. Reliable. 

“One shower and a hour nap, Bravo, and then you’re out.” He nods his head gratefully. “I mean it,” you say, voice serious. “No silly business this time. I’m doing this because I’m feeling charitable today.”

He makes his way to the passenger side and you take the time to glance down at the car clock. It’s two o’clock.A familiar pang of regret hits you. Seven hours seems like an eternity to you now. 

You decide it then: fourteen years is too much, even if you are thirty-four and he is forty-eight. It matters to you today, because you know if you don’t let it, you will be picking up his baggage forever. It is an entire ocean separating the both of you today, because it has to be. 

———

Dieter’s hair is still soaking wet, the towel you set out for him abandoned at the head of your bed. It hasn’t even touched him, didn’t get the chance before he settled between your legs. As he presses his warm tongue to your cunt, cold droplets fall from his head onto your thighs. You are keenly aware of the way they make their slow descent down, onto your freshly washed bed spread. 

You don't know why you let these things happen. It’s as if something takes hold of you when he’s around, makes you foolish.

The worst part is that you know it’s your fault. For once in his goddamn life, Dieter was being good. He didn’t make any passes, didn’t even say much aside from a few pleasant “Thank you”s. You couldn’t stand it, which makes you on par with him, foolish and reckless and self absorbed—and oh God, his tongue feels good. 

Your legs are draped over his shoulders and his fingers grip into your hips, pinning them down before they even get the chance to lift. Because he knows they will, knows because he’s made them do that before, many times. As he parts you with his tongue, lapping up your juices and making more of them, you watch him. His long nose barely grazes your sensitive clit and you moan openly siri want—too giving for so little effort. 

Dieter works with patience. You will give him this: he is a good pussy eater. He licks you open and leaves you wanting, pressing into every part of you except the parts you desperately need him to. He works you for so long, his warm tongue pressing hard against your lips, the place above your entrance, the place just below your clit. You are so sensitive beneath him that you feel like you might explode from the anticipation. You feel everything: the coldness of his wet hair as it presses against your thighs, your lower stomach, where he’s moved one of his hands, the fabric of the bra on top of your pebbled nipples. 

Dieter knows how to overwhelm you so well that it’s the center of most of your fantasies when you’re alone. You’d never tell him that, God forbid the ego it’d give him, but you relish the fact now. You’ve touched yourself so many times thinking about his tongue, the way it drinks you up and splits you apart, and here is he, doing it better than you remember. It’s like hearing a favorite song live after only listening to it on a scratched, over-loved vinyl for too long: exactly how intended, and better than it should be. Your toes curl and he doesn’t even come close to what aches the most.

You’re not going to make your date. It’s the fate he writes out with his precise tongue. He watches you as he spears the tip of it inside of you and he draws out the show he wants: that open mouthed, silent moaning that comes from feeling too much pleasure all at once. It’s the type that makes you tip your head back, flooded with a pulsing desire that causes your knees to try to draw together. He does it again and again, swirling around inside of one. You clench around nothing when he abandons it to run his tongue through your lips again, with no real destination. 

“Don’t make me beg,” you whine, voice low, tugging at his hair. Water drips out into your hands but you don’t care. He listens, attaching his mouth to your sensitive clit and he presses his tongue down, making you struggle, trying to lift the hips he’s got pinned. He takes it into his mouth, sucking at the tender flesh. You feel split open all the sudden, not vulnerable - not really - but laid out just for him, your body craving only what he can give. It is an embarrassing amount of desire that covers the entirety of you, and yet you aren’t embarrassed by it at all. 

For a moment, it is better than all the love in the world, which is exactly why you end up like this. You know that. You shouldn’t lie to yourself about it. That one second where he is enough - more than enough - can sustain you until the next time he will inevitably fail you. 

He draws the orgasm out of you quickly this way. The heels of your feet dig into his back, unable to stop the way you grow stiff with ecstasy of it coursing through you. He doesn’t stop when it hits, his tongue lapping up all your juices until you’re tugging at his hair, almost raw with oversensitivity. 

His lips glisten with your slick. You urge him forward, tugging at his forearm, letting him kiss you on the mouth before he has the chance to wipe you off of himself. He likes that, you know. You’re so blissed out for a moment, you forget the seas that part the two of you. Suddenly he is not Dieter Bravo, the man you have to rescue every six months, but Dieter, the one who knows you better than you do yourself sometimes. 

As his eager tongue meets yours, you allow him to position his hips between your legs, opening them up wide to fit his body. 

His weeping cock presses against you as he kisses you, hard and desperate to be touched. As his fingers gently skim over your jaw, down your neck, you think about how easy it would be for him to slip inside of you. How in one fluid motion, he and you could be so close, the thickness of him satisfying a greedy desire you have to take all of him. Fucking him all of the sudden seems like the very simplest solution to all your problems. It’s a primal thing that he inspires in you. His soft tongue drew out desires hidden in you and now that they’re out, you can’t put them back. 

You wrap your legs around him, pressing him closer. You want him to flirt with the idea in the same way you do, to crave it so badly he stutters asking for it. He freezes against your lips, overcome with the way you press against one another. Everything, everywhere, is warm. Tense. Taut. 

He kisses down your neck but is careful not to move his body, perceptive of the fact he is pressed to your cunt and with one accidental motion, will rub against it. He is wanting, sensitive. You want him to beg. 

“You’re so good, Dieter,” you tell him, hands intertwining in his drying overgrown locks. “I’ve missed this. Missed you,” you add, your breath against his ear. 

He pants against your neck, unwillingly pressing himself into you, rubbing slightly. He stops kissing you, focuses fully on not doing what he shouldn’t. He is being good, telling you to take the parts of him you want, saying sorry in the only way he really knows how: by clumsily handing himself over to you. 

You lift your hips into his, forgoing your need to hear him beg. His eagerness is akin to soft pleas. It is enough just to be wanted, and you know he does: he can hardly contain himself, pressing down when you finally press up. You wet his cock this way, letting him rub up and down, up and down, gathering you up and relishing what warmth of you you’ll give him as the mattress groans beneath you. 

“I could cum like this,” he pants, bringing his lips back to yours. He kisses you hard, enough to make your lips swollen, red. 

You shake your head. “Don’t cum,” you tell him, panicked. You stop moving and he stops too, eyebrows knitting together. “Fuck me, Dieter. I need you to fuck me.”

There is a vulnerability in his gaze as he takes those words in. You are pinned between his arms, beneath his solid body, surrounded entirely by him, and yet it is this look that makes you feel the closest to him. You share a feeling, not an agreement but an understanding: this is it. It is everything you are to each other, and perhaps all you ever will be. 

You hate him for that. You need him to tear you up, split you in half, make you feel the residuals of his affection through the quick snap of his hips and guttural moans you will feel in your bones. You don’t want understanding. 

Because you are angry or perhaps because you’ve gotten a little wiser since you last saw him, you tell him, “Condom,” evenly. It’s a barrier, some precaution you don’t usually make him take. He had told you once that he had never fucked anyone without one, that in all of his recklessness, he had never failed to do that. So of course you gave it to him, let yourself be his first. Now you’re taking it away. 

The purplish yellow of his under eye reassures you that this is right. He didn’t get that being good, being kind. Probably, he fucked someone’s wife, someone’s husband. He hadn’t called you for two months before today. He isn’t kind. Not always. The bruise is the violence he tears through life with. A marking of his wreckage. 

Dieter doesn’t protest about the condom, but you can tell he is wounded. He moves almost dutifully as he opens your bedside table and takes one out. 

You don’t watch him put it on. You look up at the dark of your ceiling, your heart in your stomach. 

“Okay,” he says with finality, wrapping a hand around your ankle. Your eyes soften as you look at him; he is blotted with desire, patchy with remorse. When his dark eyes gaze upon you with open tenderness, you feel your anger dissipate. 

When you open your legs wider for him, he crawls back on the bed, nestles between your thighs. His hands slide beneath you, groping your ass, lifting you to himself. When your bodies connect, his cock sliding into you, you feel all of it. The thickness of his head, the shake of his body as he eases in slowly, the way he settles in you as he bottoms out, trying not to lose control. It is tender, soft. It curls up in your chest and softens a resolve you need to survive on scraps. You don’t want it. 

You dig crescent-shaped moons in his ass, urge his hips forward as they begin to find a rhythm that is quick, angry. Your lips find each other clumsily, teeth clacking against teeth like inexperienced  teenagers. When you move your head away, he kisses the side of your mouth by accident, and then stops trying altogether, burying himself in your neck. He’s never faulted you for not wanting his affection and won’t now. Calloused fingers continue to grip at your ass, pushing you up to meet his hips; it is hip to hip, his cock pushing into the deepest part of yourself, filling you to the hilt with a shared frustration. 

You moan his name, a quick succession of Dieter, Dieter, Dieter, and he grunts helplessly, his body no longer his own, overtaken by desire and anger and disappointment. You are angry with yourself, angry you told him to put on the condom. You want him to fill you with it now—want the sticky substance of his desire to run down your legs and outlast the bitterness. 

He eases you into the mattress, fucks into you with the slow, lazy roll of his hips again. His hands slip away from your ass, travel up to your hands. He interwines your fingers together, pins them above your head. 

You whine, ache. “Harder,” you urge, your hips rising to make up for the lack of speed. You expected him to speed back up once he repositioned and the idea that he won’t fills you with dread. Fuck me, you echo again, hoping he understands. 

He pushes into you, more focused, like that is what you mean when you say harder: more focused. It isn’t. You mean harder. You paw at his hips, shake your head. “Dieter,” you plead. 

He draws back, snaps his hips into you. You gasp. Yes. You whisper it against his hot skin, and he does it again and again and again. Does it even when you sputter, voice straining, hips rising, rubbing against the patch of his body that meets your clit. He fucks you as you cum around his cock, lets your sensitive body feel the fury with which he takes you. With which you asked him to. 

He continues this pace even after he fills the condom, lingers over this spot in time and allows your cunt to suck him dry, to take pieces of him until he is gripping tightly to your hands and overdone with pleasure. He exits you quick, draws back like he’s going to snap forth but doesn’t. You miss the feel of him immediately and you understand the craving you’ve got has to do with far more than sex. 

Your eyes roll back, look at the clock on your nightstand. 3:30. You have time, but you won’t take it. 

Dieter discards the condom in the bathroom and comes back out wearing his underwear and a t-shirt. He offers you a towel and you take it, wiping your connection away. 

He helps you put your underwear back on and you let him climb back into your bed, lay yourself on top of him. He rubs your back as you listen to his heart thud in his chest. 

“Dieter?” you say, voice quiet. 

“Hm?”

“What happened to your eye?”

When he doesn’t respond, you tilt your head up. His eyes are closed but he’s not pretending to sleep. 

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs, not opening them. 

“It’ll make me mad to know?”

He nods, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Why can’t you just be good?” Your voice is so quiet - timid - nearly inaudible. But he hears it, winces. 

“I don’t know,” he tells you honestly. You’ve touched upon an open wound; he shifts beneath you, moving you to his side. But he still wraps himself around you, holds you close. “Let’s sleep.”

“Are you going to be here when I wake up?” 

He holds your head to his chest. “If you want me to be.” 

“Please,” you manage, before closing your eyes. 

[katelynnwrites]

If You Ever Wanna Fall In Love, If You Ever Wanna Bet On Us, If You Ever Wanna Be My One (I’ll Be Waiting) | Ona Batlle

warnings: so much fluff

word count: 2068

summary: the story of how you fell in love with ona and how ona fell in love with you

chosen song: i’ll be waiting by cian ducrot

a/n: bonus chapter 5 of you were bigger than the whole sky (you were more than just a short time)

Ona seems nervous as she leads the way to her house, which is a short walk from the bus stop.

You had never been there before but when Ona invited you over for lunch, there was no way you were going to say no.

You had only known the brunette for two weeks but you had quickly learnt that it was almost impossible for you to say no to her. Plus you would never miss an opportunity to spend more time with her.

The twelve year old defender’s very good at making you laugh and you feel entirely comfortable with her. You like her.

‘We’re here.’ Ona softly says.

Ona’s house is a nice one and as she opens the door, you realise that it’s homey and obviously well lived in.

It makes sense that Ona would live here because her house feels warm and welcoming, exactly like how Ona feels to you.

‘It’s lovely Oni.’ You genuinely tell her.

Ona practically beams, ‘Come on, I’ll introduce you to my mother.’

Ona takes your hand in hers and guides you to her kitchen, where her mother is making tapas.

She greets you with a warm smile and immediately says, ‘Hi. You must be the friend my daughter is always talking about.’

‘Mama.’ Ona protests, her cheeks flushing.

Even the tips of her ears are red and you laugh.

‘Hola Mrs Batlle.’

‘Hola. And none of that Mrs Batlle nonsense please, it makes me feel old. You can call me Mama or Mami, whichever you prefer because I have a feeling that Ona here, will be bringing you around a lot.’

By then, Ona’s as red as a tomato and she disappears from the kitchen, mumbling something about setting the table.

Ona’s mother laughs, before looking you up and down.

‘You need some feeding. Look how skinny you are, don’t your parents feed you? Come on, sit down and eat this.’

She hands you a plate of food, practically shooing you out into the dining room.

******

You don’t say anything, simply sitting down next to your fourteen year old girlfriend and taking her hand in yours. (even at fourteen, she has a tendency of getting too far into her own head).

You squeeze it tightly and Ona inhales sharply.

Leaning closer to her, you murmur, ‘Onita I know you’re blaming yourself for that own goal. I’m not going to tell you to stop because I know you better than that. But I just want you to remind you that you are an amazingly talented defender and that no one else is blaming you. It’s only halftime and we still have another forty five minutes to make a difference.’

It’s a small stolen moment in the crowded locker room where your coach is giving a loud halftime speech. The air stinks of sweat and it couldn’t be a less romantic moment but it’s the one where Ona realises she’s in love with you.

******

‘Hola Mami. Is Ona home?’ You say as you walk into the kitchen of Ona’s home.

Ona’s mother greets you with a tight hug.

‘Sí. I think she’s having a nap.’

You laugh. Fifteen year old Ona had recently discovered that naps after training sessions are a good idea.

‘She’ll probably be asleep for a few more hours so sit down and I’ll fix you a plate.’

You begin to protest her generosity but she gives you a knowing look.

‘You only went home to shower after practice didn’t you? You haven’t eaten yet.’

Ona’s mother takes your silence as an answer and she starts taking out leftovers from the fridge so that she can warm them up for you.

‘Thanks Mami.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She hums and kisses your forehead maternally.

******

When you’re done eating, you wash your plate despite Ona’s mom telling you that you didn’t have to.

Then you head up to your girlfriend’s room.

The brunette is all wrapped up in her comforter, clutching her stuffed cheetah close.

You giggle softly, walking over and pressing a kiss onto her cheek.

Ona doesn’t even stir so you pull the comforter back slightly and slip in behind her.

Her twin bed is cramped with the both of you in it but it lets you be closer to her so you have no complaints.

Gently, you drape an arm around her waist and settle yourself down for a nap.

******

Ona wakes to find you curled into her and she smiles.

‘I don’t know when you got here but I love that you’re here.’

She happily runs her fingers through your hair, adjusting herself so that she’s able to tuck your head under her chin. The defender easily puts her stuffed cheetah aside in favour of holding you.

Ona is looking at you with complete adoration when her mother quietly knocks on her door before opening it.

‘Oh you two are so cute.’

Ona grins, ‘I don’t know about me but mi novia is plenty cute.’

Ona’s mother laughs.

‘Well do you know if she’s staying for dinner?’

The brunette thinks for a moment and then nods, ‘Probably. She said her parents won’t be home until late and I’ll feel better if she ate with us instead of alone at her house.’

‘Okay.’

The older Spaniard makes to leave but pauses.

‘Ona?’

‘Yes Mama?’

‘You look at her like she’s your whole world. When are you going to tell her you’re in love with her?’

‘Mama!’ Ona starts but as her mother raises an eyebrow, she sighs.

She looks at you for a moment before looking back up at her mother.

The fullback keeps her voice soft, not wanting to wake you, ‘Not yet. I can’t tell her yet. We’ve only been dating less than a year and I don’t want to scare her off.’

Ona’s mother chuckles, ‘Have you seen the way she looks at you? Ona, she’s completely in love with you too.’

The brunette blushes and whispers, ‘I hope so. I really do.’

******

After you and Ona exchange your first I love yous, it’s like Ona can’t stop (and you hope she never does).

You may have admitted your love for her first but she is just (if not more) eager to make sure that you know she loves you too.

She tells you she loves you every chance she gets and your heart never fails to skip a beat whenever she does so.

‘I love you.’ She says now, pressing a little kiss to the skin just below your ear.

You shiver and she repeats the action, whispering another soft, tender, ‘I love you.’

Aitana gags, ‘You guys, not here!’

******

‘You came!’

Ona leans up on her tiptoes so that she can kiss you. She had sprinted right over to the stands as soon as the whistle had blown, not bothering to celebrate the important win with the rest of the Barcelona B team. (she celebrates with you before she turns to her family, much later but her parents aren’t mad, knowing how much you mean to her. her mother is in fact too busy taking photos of the both of you to even think about it).

‘Of course I did.’ You whisper, smiling at the sight of your sweaty sixteen year old girlfriend who had just played a brilliant ninety minutes.

Ona gently pushes you back to make some space so that she can climb over the barrier.

She does and she’s extra cautious not to accidentally bump into you, not wanting to hurt you any further.

Your persistent foot injury had been keeping you from playing and that had been getting you down recently.

Ona had been trying her best to comfort you but she felt like the fact that she had been playing regularly while you weren’t was making you upset.

The brunette carefully kisses you again and you frown.

‘Oni why are you holding me like I’m going to disappear?’

Ona’s hands squeeze your waist and she hugs you, being mindful of the walking boot you had on again.

‘I-I didn’t think you were going to come.’ She admits.

She hadn’t dared to text you prior to the game, not wanting to rub salt into your obviously painful wound.

Her words leave you confused but you answer her anyway, ‘Why wouldn’t I come Ona? This is a big game for you and if I can’t be on the field with you, I want to be your WAG. I’m here to support you and our teammates. Mostly you though.’

You lower your voice to a whisper for the last sentence, a teasing smile tugging on your lips.

‘I didn’t think I could love you more. But I do. I love you so much.’ Ona earnestly says.

‘Well I love you so much too.’ You promise, hugging your girlfriend tightly.

‘Never doubt that you are important to me mi amor. I’m always going to support you.’

The brunette sniffles, pushing her face into your neck and placing a short kiss there.

That is the first moment Ona realises she’s going to love you for the rest of her life.

******

Sitting up, you happen to glance at the clock on your bedroom wall.

‘Ona? It’s six already!’

Ona looks up from her textbooks, her eyes wide as she realises you’re right.

‘Joder.’

Hurriedly, she starts putting her school work back into her bag and you help her collect all her things to make sure she hasn’t forgotten anything.

‘Gracias mi amor.’ Ona pecks your cheek quickly, rushing out of your room.

She was supposed to have left your house at five forty five because her grandparents were coming over for a family dinner but obviously she had not been keeping track of time.

You laugh, just thinking about the flustered expression on your seventeen year old girlfriend’s face as you straighten the covers on your bed.

Making your way to your front door, you lock it. Through the little window, you can see that it’s started raining.

You’ve just taken out your phone to text Ona, to wish her a safe trip home when there’s a series of loud knocks on your door.

You check the peephole and are startled to see your completely drenched girlfriend on the other side.

Opening the door, you begin, ‘Ona hey-’

She presses her lips to yours before you finish your sentence.

When she pulls away, she tenderly tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

‘Bye.’ She breathes.

Ona takes a step back into the rain, her nearly waist length hair plastered to the sides of her face.

‘Onita what?’ You shake your head in confusion, a little smile gracing your face as you look at the soaked brunette.

Ona shrugs lightly, ‘I forgot to give you your goodbye kiss. I love you mi amor but I’ve really got to go. I am so late. Bye!’

Your girlfriend blows you a kiss before running back up the street to the bus stop.

Giggling, you watch her till she’s out of sight.

It occurs to you as you go back inside, that for the rest of your life, she’s the one you’re going to be in love with.

******

The rest of the world finds out that the two of you are in love with each other when Manchester United uploads their newest The Tour View vlog.

Both of your social medias frequently feature each other and neither of you are afraid to let the fans know how much you love each other. If a curious fan were to scroll down, they would see that from the very beginning of the two of you’s Instagram presence, there were posts about each other.

During the three, almost four year break, Ona had not taken down any of your posts together. You had but right after you and Ona got back together, you’d unarchived all of them.

But it’s that one YouTube video that blows up.

In the short clip filmed by Millie during the flight, you’ve got your head resting on Ona’s shoulder as you sleep.

Millie zooms in on the both of you with the camera and Ona can be seen gently pressing a kiss onto the side of your head.

When Ona mouths an ‘I love you’ to further convey her affection, the English woman can be heard saying, ‘And over there we have United’s one and only couple. Look how disgustingly in love they are.’

Spanish Translations:

hola - hello

sí - yes

mi novia - my girlfriend

joder - fuck

gracias mi amor - thanks my love

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

How would various Riddlers react to reader putting a blanket over their shoulder, and kissing their forehead, because they almost fell asleep on their desk working?

(Love your writing ^^)

"Affectionate Comforts" Riddler Party x Reader

thank you so much! It makes me really happy when people enjoy what I put out <3 I may be a smaller blog but every like/comment/reblog really makes me feel like I'm doing something right, haha.

TW: some are suggestive

BTAS

He truly is asleep when this happens. The blanket goes over him and when you kiss him... He gets the cutest, dorkiest smile on his face. Something resembling your name passes through his lips. Sweet dreams of you dance in his mind.

Forty minutes later he's stretching. He had the loveliest cat nap! He's not sure why but all he can think of is you and- Oh. The blanket falls off of him and he puts two and two together. Aren't you the sweetest?

He comes looking for you to thank you... to find you asleep in bed without a blanket. A shiver passes over you. You must have been checking on him before going to bed yourself. Still holding the blanket you put on him, he crawls in next to you.

Then he wraps the blanket over the two of you best as he can and begins to hold you. A soft kiss to your lips before oh so gently rubbing his nose against your face. The most contented sigh falls out of him. Bliss.

60s

You were surprised at the lack of grand welcome and laughter that usually greeted you when you came into the shared living space of you and your partner, the Riddler. You knew it had been a long day judging on what he told you the previous night, but you always found him so chipper and vibrant. Yet now you found him nodding off at the small workplace in your apartment.

It was just a small desk he used to fiddle with new equipment. Taking radios and the like apart to use for new gadgets. He had a screwdriver in one hand, the other a pillow under his head. By the time you get out a blanket for him, you can hear his cute snore.

Yet the moment you touch him, his eyes flutter open. He grins at your kiss and murmurs, "What's the most kissable flower?" A pause before he laughs through his nose, "...Tulips." He stretches in the blanket and seems to wink at you.

Before you can process, his outstretched arms grasp your waist and pull you close to him into his lap. He wraps you both in the blanket before littering your face with small loving kisses. He didn't get to greet you! He'll have to make it up to you with a bit of worship.

Gotham

Normally this is not something he does. He is aware of how much sleep he needs exactly to function properly. Yes he has moments where he loses track of time, but he could list the effects of sleep deprivation off the back of his hand to you. And does if you yourself refuse to go to bed at a reasonable hour.

The truth of the matter is he got stuck on an elaborate murder plot plus coordinating riddles- Even the most brilliant of men can hit a rut. The problem with Edward is that he doesn't want to give up until everything is resolved and ready for fine-tuning. Which... results in him leaning his head against his hand, half asleep, his glasses pushed halfway off.

He hardly moves when you take them off to save them from damage. A blanket over his shoulders and a kiss. At that he blinks and yawns, stretching out his gangly limbs with a creak. You apologize, handing him back his glasses and he just... smiles so sweetly at you.

After his glasses are back on, he wraps the blanket around him further before going back to what he was doing, a slight blush on his cheeks. Just before you can leave, however, he's pulling you back for another kiss. What would he do without you?

Zero Year

Sucking this up for all it's worth. He might even pretend to be asleep for just a second longer so you'll have your guard down. You'll act out on your feelings rather than what his expectations are. Your kiss is so warm and genuine it makes his stomach flutter.

He's so starved for affection he wants more immediately. He'll grasp your wrist to surprise you and tell you how you weren't quite finished, he thinks. If you try to get cute and kiss his cheek, he'll move at the last second so you smack right into his lips. And he just has this look like that cat that got the cream.

Well! He seems plenty awake now so he doesn't need you being all sweet on him, does he? At that he'll make a fuss. Wait! Wait, wait, wait! Perhaps he DOES need you to fuss. Or maybe you'll do it just because you can't resist him- STOP WALKING AWAY.

Suddenly he's so tired. It's convenient the couch is so close by because he's SO tired and heavy and leaning on you... It's as if all the gravity of the Earth has shifted to drag him down onto the plush surface with you laughing beneath him! Whatever shall he do about the Fates cursing him in such a manner...?

Oh well, now that you're here he supposes you'll just have to be kissed to death. How tragic.

Telltale

To the shock of no one, he is going to grumble. Ah, a kiss? That's what gets his attention first. Then he's pulling the blanket off of him and rubbing at his eyes. Don't make him feel like some old man at the retirement home. You remind him you wouldn't have to if he'd go to bed when his body tells him to and he gets a wry smile.

"Yes, I suppose this dysfunctional vessel still gets some things right." His stare at your face is intense. His fingers find your chin to hold your face still as he kisses you. The gesture of taking such care isn't lost on him, even if he thinks it's naive of you.

When he gets up, several of his bones and joints crack. It's normal at this point, yet he feels your body standing close. Not to grab him. Just to be there, present. A support beam to his crumbling ruins. In some ways he supposes that's exactly what he needs in more vulnerable moments.

He's then wrapping the blanket around you, "And just when were you going to bed?" A light chastising that you can't spend all your time chasing after the most brilliant man in Gotham and expect not to fall flat. You'll just have to take your own advice and rest.

Arkham

He wasn't falling asleep. He was merely... Resting his eyes. That's what he tells you as he wakes with a start. What time is it? He feels frustration at the betrayal of his body. He's not finished with what he was... he's nodding off again.

As your hands smooth the blanket over his shoulders, you hear him murmur something about five minutes only. When you look over the schematics of his plans, you realize the intricacy of this project will take at least a half day- even for his skill. Longer with him fighting off sleep the way he is.

He's going to be very cross in the morning when you tell him you "forgot" to wake him up. And managed to get a pillow under his head and behind his back to make him more comfortable. Almost like you didn't actually forget...

He'll have a lot of petty little insults he can throw around. Yet, when he finishes what he was working on without the same exhaustion-driven setbacks he was before, he finds himself grateful. Not that he'll tell you that or anything. But you'll find he stopped complaining about "that one time."

2022/Nashton

When he feels your soft kiss and the blanket, he feels like he could float out of his chair. Nashton works his fingers almost to the bone, covered in old scars, new scars and splotches of ink. He was working on a new cypher system and the numbers and letters were a little TOO relaxing for him.

He pats his lap in the hope that you'll join him. When you do, he wraps the blanket over both of you, his head on your shoulder. He returns your kiss with one on your cheek. It's so nice being this close to you, he could almost forget what he was doing.

yet he whispers softly, "Do you think any of them will figure it out?" A small, airy giggle. You tell him no and that he should come to bed. An unintentional roll of your hips has his fingers moving to press your thighs back down into his lap.

You remind him you both need to go to bed at some point. He hums as he kisses your neck and plays with the edge of your pants. Maybe he should show you exactly how much he appreciated your kind gesture.

[calmlyerratic]

Encounters of the Future Sort

Chapter 3: The Calm Before the Storm

by @calmlyerratic

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Ch Summary: AU time travel. The Marauders run into Harry.

James' eyes began darting back and forth between Remus, Sirius, and Peter, his mouth slightly ajar.

"Prongs? You all right?" Sirius raised an eyebrow.

He felt Remus' gentle hand on his shoulder. "Er—Sirius, I don't think that's James…"

ch wc: 2.7k — rating: T — cw: none

Read Chapter 1 | full Summary & Chapter Index

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Remus' POV

Gryffindor Tower

with Sirius and Peter

April 1st, 1996

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"I think I have banana in my ear," Sirius complained, trying to dig it out with his finger. "A lot of help Prongs was, slippery git."

Sirius, Remus, and Peter had emerged from the battle against Peeves quite scathed, each supporting the stench of dung and the remains of rotted fruit on their clothing. And lodged in their extremities.

"Probably got caught up begging to sign another autograph," Peter huffed, putting a finger to his nose and blowing a chunk of rotted pear out one nostril.

Remus chuckled somewhat manically. "Good one, Wormtail."

The three boys had reached Gryffindor tower and the portrait of the fat lady gazed down upon them.

"Fortis leo," Sirius sighed, wiping his pulpy wand off on his robes. He ran a hand through his hair that usually fell around his face like elegant, dark curtains, but was currently coated in sticky, slimy muck. "Ucckk—I really need a shower."

"You aren't the first to try those words today," the fat lady replied stoically.

Remus groaned. "It isn't fortis leo? Bollocks, I missed last week's Prefect meeting—what is it then?"

The fat lady looked affronted. "You think I'm going to tell you?"

Remus tapped his shiny badge in obvious authority. "I'm a Prefect."

Although, it was his first year with the title and the ins and outs of it were quite grey. He really just wanted a nice hot bath and a nap.

"Are you?" she raised an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were the new Gryffindor House Prefects."

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance.

"Weasley?" Remus racked his brain. "Like…Arthur Weasley?"

"Yes, I believe that is his father," the fat lady answered.

Sirius shook his head, amused. "Arthur Weasley left Hogwarts a few years ago, he can't have a son that's a fifth year. Are you feeling all right, sweet lady?"

When Sirius really wanted something, he put on his devilish charms. How someone could be so positively persuasive covered head to toe in dung and rotten fruit, Remus wasn't sure.

The fat lady analyzed them for a moment. "You know, you three look familiar…"

Sirius smiled a dashing smile. "Of course we do—we live beyond your great protection, fair lady."

Remus glanced sideways at him and ever so slightly cocked an eyebrow that said, you're laying it on a little thick.

However, the fat lady blushed, quite flattered, adjusted her pink silk dress and cleared her throat. "Hmm, yes…you do remind me of someone—"

Before she could finish her thought, the portrait hole creaked open and a group of Gryffindors spilled into the corridor.

"Merlin bless," Remus mumbled as the three boys clambered inside.

Peter scanned the cozy common room. "Hmm, no sign of Prongs…"

"Probably already showered and is off chatting up Evans…" Sirius grumbled, disappearing up the spiral stairs to the boys' dormitories.

Remus shrugged at Peter, really not prioritizing this at the moment, and followed Sirius upstairs.

"Whoa, since when have you been so keen on the Chudley Cannons, Wormy?" Sirius laughed, examining Peter's bedpost.

Remus was tired. And quite hungry. Flaming orange quidditch teams meant nothing to him—he was more of a reader. So, when he approached his bed and all of his current reading material wasn't where he left it on the bedside table, his gut wrenched.

"Where are my books?"

"What's that?" Sirius asked, removing his black wizard robes and leaving them in a dark heap on the floor.

"My books…they're not here."

"I dunno, Moony." Sirius shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe the elves have been in to tidy?"

"No," Remus shook his head. "They never move my books."

"I'm really more concerned about the taste of dung in my mouth," Sirius wrinkled his nose unpleasantly. "I heavily advise you not to kiss me right now."

"Duly noted," Remus rubbed the back of his neck.

"Hey, what the hell is this?" Sirius opened his bedside drawer where he kept his toothbrush and it overflowed with chocolate frog cards. "Are these yours, Wormtail?"

"No, I gave all mine to my cousin last year." Peter frowned.

Sirius held a card up and it shimmered in the light spilling in from the window. "Huh."

"Er…I don't remember hanging these." Peter gazed around at his vibrant bedpost flair.

"Moony," Sirius drew his handsome eyebrows together, "something isn't right…"

Remus was exhausted, covered in pulpy fruit, he had missed lunch, the full moon was three days away, and his books were missing. It was a recipe for disaster. Not to mention the lingering uneasiness from the exploding cauldron that morning…

"Moony?" Sirius pried softly, sensing the calm before the storm. "What do you reckon?"

Remus ran a finger up and down the long scar trailing across his nose. "I reckon I need a shower and a snack, before I can reckon."

"Okay, Moony." Sirius nodded calmly, (almost irritatingly so, in Remus' opinion)."You go ahead, Wormy and I will wait."

Remus opened the trunk at the foot of his bed, hoping to find a change of clothes, but quickly realized that it was not actually his trunk at all. He closed it again with a great *SNAP* that made Peter jump and resolved to scorgify his disgusting clothes clean.

However, there was a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that even a hot shower couldn't wash away.

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Hermione

Hogwarts Corridors

with Ginny and James

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"Isn't she loveee-ly,"

Hermione glanced sideways at Harry, who was moving his head to an imaginary tune. A tune confusingly indicating his romantic interest towards Lily Evans, no less. She hadn't quite made sense of it all yet, but if it was dark magic it probably wasn't logical anyway. The key with dark magic was to catch it quickly, so the sooner they got to Madam Pomfrey, the better.

"Where is Evans again?" Harry asked, tousling his messy raven hair very uncharacteristically.

"Erm, s-she's in the hospital wing."

Hermione glanced nervously around. The last thing they needed today was to run into a member of the inquisitorial squad, or worse...

"Wait—the hospital wing?" Harry stopped short. "Is she all right?"

"She's fine," Ginny reassured, pulling him firmly along the corridor stairs. "I think she, er, needed a calming draught. Pre-exam stress, you know?

Harry nodded, knitting his brow. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense..."

Hermione had been wondering if it would happen—if Harry would give way under the enormous pressure he'd been under. So much had happened in the last few weeks, and she knew he felt responsible for a lot of it. The DA had been caught, Dumbledore had been sacked, and Umbridge was now Headmistress. Not to mention their rapidly approaching O.W.L's. This overwhelming sequence of events had Hermione just as on edge as everyone else, hanging on to a thread of what little peace of mind she had left.

"Isn't she woonderfuul—"

Hermione needed a calming draught too. Or a perhaps a large butterbeer.

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Remus

Boys Dormitories

with Sirius and Peter

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"Moony…you have to see this."

Remus emerged from the loo to Sirius and Peter sitting on what should be James' bed—but was discerningly not—hovering over a leather-bound picture album.

"Do I?" Remus muttered.

A blast of hot air shot out of his wand, which he pointed at his hair like a blow drier. He shuddered from the sudden warmth, feeling quite sleepy.

"Still grumpy, but at least you smell nice," Sirius winked.

"Pushing your luck, Padfoot."

"Look," Peter was wide-eyed. He held up the album and pointed to a photo. "It's us."

Remus crossed the dorm and narrowed his eyes. It was a photo of the four Marauders: they had their arms around each other's shoulders and were laughing.

But, there was something strange...they looked more mature. Sirius was taller than James, wherein now they were the same height. And was that—

"Lily?" Remus knit his brow. "Is she—"

"Snogging Prongs," Sirius shook his head solemnly. "Never thought I'd see the day. Wait 'til you see the one of their wedding…"

Peter flipped through the album. Sure enough, Sirius was right. James was wearing black dress robes and Lily was all in white.

Remus met Sirius' lovely silver eyes in accusation. "You aren't pulling my leg?"

Sirius shook his head sincerely.

"I wish I was. I think we may have unwittingly entered apocalyptic times, Moony." He got to his feet. "Don't spontaneously combust while I'm gone—if the sun goes black, take shelter!"

Remus ignored him as he disappeared into the loo. "Pete, where did you find this?"

"It was here," Peter pointed to James' bed. "Just laying here!"

Peter looked up and around the ceiling like it had fallen from the heavens.

"Do you…d'you think it's really us? It looks just like us."

"I dunno, Pete." Remus breathed out, massaging his eyes. He should be angry, but he was too tired. "Let me think for a moment…"

Remus laid down on his bed. Or was it even his bed? He didn't know anymore. The facts were outweighing the speculation at this point. He really had been looking forward to a quiet Saturday afternoon of reading—not cleaning up after another one of James and Sirius' barmy excursions.

That bloody cauldron…

"So, darling Moony," Sirius flopped onto the bed beside him, jolting him from a nap he must've slipped into. "I know you have some sort of, ah—reasonable revelation? Let's hear it."

Remus rolled onto his back and stared at the celling. He took a deep breath.

Factual, Remus, he told himself. Be factual. Maybe it's not as bad as it seems…

"Well, for one, that kid who called James 'Harry'." Remus held up a finger. "For another, I could have sworn I knew the password—I thought we used it just this morning after breakfast?"

"Yeah we did," Peter nodded anxiously, pulling at a loose thread on the sleeve of his robes.

"The fat lady didn't recognize us…" Remus continued, decidedly not vocalizing that she thought Arthur Weasley's son was the fifth year Prefect and she didn't seem to know who any of them were.

"And the weather also, not to mention I don't like the Cannons—and the photo album?"

"He's getting there, Wormy." Sirius was watching Remus like he was a tornado forming and there was a wind advisory.

Peter held up a photo of himself in a bowler hat with a feather sticking out of it. "I don't wear bloody bowler hats."

Yup, Remus breathed out. This was bad.

Peter looked back and forth between Sirius and Remus. "Is no one else concerned about this? This isn't even our dorm!"

"We're all very concerned, Wormtail." Sirius rolled his eyes, quite downplaying the whole situation in obvious guilt. He was a master blame shifter.

"I think…" Remus chewed on his lip. His stomach grumbled loudly. "I think I need food before I implode on myself like a dying star."

"As you know," Sirius smiled dashingly, like the wind of storm Moony had begun and he was encouraging them all to take shelter. "I'm quite versed in the language of the stars. I concur—to the kitchens! But first, Wormtail, you bloody reek."

Peter put a hand to his mousy hair, caked with rotten fruit pulp, and grimaced. "Right…"

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James

Hospital Wing

with Hermione and Ginny

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Hermione, Ginny, and James approached a large stone unicorn fountain that marked the entrance to the hospital wing.

"Wait here Har—I mean James," Ginny winked, red pony-tail blazing behind her as the two girls left him just inside the Infirmary entrance.

James was nervous. He hoped Lily was here because of exam nerves and not relating to the exploding cauldron from this morning...

"I trust there is a good reason for this intrusion?" he overheard Madam Pomfrey say. She was spooning some disgusting looking green liquid into a glass which she handed to her patient.

"Yes...er, well, it's Harry…" Hermione motioned over to James, who pretended to busy himself tying his shoe. "He's not, erm, feeling himself."

"That's no surprise, poor soul, having to deal with so much..." Madam Pomfrey sighed. "A calming draught should set him straight."

"Well, you see," Ginny began awkwardly. She glanced around and lowered her voice. "He, er, thinks he's his father..."

My father? James thought. What are they on about?

"Hey, I don't see Evans here," James called. This prank was getting a bit odd. "Tell her I'll catch up with her later, yeah? I still need to find Sirius, Remus, and Peter."

Madam Pomfrey clutched her heart. She bustled over, grabbed James's arm and led him to a vacant bed. "Sit, dear boy."

"Oh-okay?" James sat and Hermione and Ginny peered at him anxiously.

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand silently over his face and chest.

"What are you doing?" James knit his brow.

She finished her incantations and lit the tip of her wand, shining it into his eyes.

"Pupils are dilating..." she murmured. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Is this part of the prank too?" He asked Hermione and Ginny. "Persistent, I'll give you that. Bringing Madam Pomfrey in on it, really next level—"

"Answer the question please, dear." Madam Pomfrey prompted firmly.

"Yeah, okay." James shook his head, a bit annoyed at being cornered by the strict matron. "My name—it's James Potter."

Madam Pomfrey stifled a gasp but gathered herself quickly. "A-and what year is it?"

"It's April 1st, 1976."

"Harry..." Hermione sat at the foot of his bed with imploring eyes. "It's April 1st, 1996."

"Ohh, so not a parallel dimension? Time travel, is it?" James cocked an eyebrow, leaning backwards onto the bed and running a hand through his already tousled hair.

Madam Pomfrey clasped a hand over her mouth as she watched him, like he had suddenly gone spectral. She turned very seriously to Hermione and Ginny.

"There's no sign of injury or traces of dark magic," Madam Pomfrey assured, like James wasn't sitting right there. "There is some quantity of magical residue...but that's not an entirely uncommon substance, especially when emotions are high."

"Magical residue?" James puzzled. She must be referring to what Remus had sensed in the Room of Requirement. "I'm confused—"

Madam Pomfrey gently set her hand on his forearm.

"We know, dear. Let me fix you a calming draught and you'll feel right as rain." She squeezed his arm and disappeared into her office.

James waited until she was out of earshot, then turned to Hermione and Ginny.

"Look, I respect your dedication but this is kind of becoming a drag."

He jumped to his feet and waved a hand in farewell, with a disarming smile.

"Peeves is at large and I'm a deserter, so...nice to meet you both, I appreciate your time, and see you around!"

Hermione and Ginny stared blankly after him, mouths slightly agape, as he jogged through the large wooden infirmary doors and out of their sights.

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Sirius

Corridors

with Remus and Peter

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"D'you think Hermione'll let me copy off the essay Snape set us?"

"Probably not. Worth a go though…"

Remus, Sirius and Peter were in a dim corridor in the dungeons, just outside the kitchens, as they overheard these two unfamiliar voices.

"Hmm wonder who that is? I hardly ever see anyone down here," Sirius mused. Tickling the pear in the painting outside the kitchens was a bit of a coveted secret.

Two boys about the Marauder's age turned the corner. One had red hair and was quite tall and lanky; the other had spectacles and jet-black hair that stuck up in the back—

"Oi! Prongs!" Sirirus shouted.

The two new boys came to a sudden halt and laid very wide eyes upon the three Marauders. The red head, who had a mouthful of sweets, was gaping so widely that crumbs fell to the floor.

"Where the hell did you go off to, then?" Sirius rounded on James. "We had to fend Peeves off by ourselves! Luckily he found some first years to go after…"

James appeared frozen to the spot. He was looking at Sirius like he didn't believe he was real.

"Prongs?" Sirius took a step towards him.

The red haired boy had turned chalk-white. He took a step backwards as Sirius encroached, tugged at James' robes, and swallowed hard.

"Harry…have I gone mad or a-are y-you seeing this too—?"

James' eyes began darting back and forth between Remus, Sirius, and Peter, his mouth slightly ajar.

"Prongs? You all right?" Sirius raised an eyebrow.

He felt Remus' gentle hand on his shoulder. "Er—Sirius, I don't think that's James…"

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Read chapter 4 here.

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Notes: So sorry to leave you all here! Next chapter starts off quite a bit more seriously with an interesting point of view…then gets lighter with some more banter and shenanigans, don't worry :)

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[witchofimber]

Hey, for @thethreebroomsticksfic Weasley Week I decided to write the most angsty shit possible for Molly Weasley. Below is a preview, rest of the work is on AO3.

Trigger Warnings: Postpartum depression (including intrusive thoughts about harm coming to a baby), complex family relationships, grief, surgery mention, smoking.

“When I became a mom, no one ever said, ‘Hey, you made a death today. You made your children’s deaths.’ Meanwhile, I could think of little else.” - Samantha Hunt 

Families have mythologies. There are stories that Molly’s children pass around like calling cards, touchstones. Ron stealing that car, Fred’s first word being “George” and George’s first word being “No.” The fact that Percy was the only baby born exactly on his due date, contractions starting right at five as if he’d politely waited for the end of business hours. How Ginny, Charlie and Bill came early, but Ron and the twins came late. How Charlie’s labour was only eight minutes, and Bill’s was nearly forty hours. As if the circumstances of birth would press into her children like wax. See? I knew who you’d be even then. I knew you right from the start. You were always going to be this person. 

Here’s something that she doesn’t tell her children: that for almost every second of those forty hours of labour, nineteen and terrified, she wanted to die. She begged for it. She begged for Arthur, for her brothers, for her mother. She begged the doctor to cut her open. Hour thirty-five, thrashing on the table - just cut it out! Cut it out cut it out get it out of me! 

If there’s a shape of his birth in Bill, it’s made of agony. 

---

When she thinks of those first few years of Bill, when she was still half a child and yet somehow a mother - 

Well, mostly she doesn’t think of them. There’s really no reason to, not anymore.

But if she were to - 

Arthur was working long hours. He had to, of course - junior ministry salaries weren’t meant to support a family. Overtime was the only thing that was keeping them fed. And he was such a good father when he was home. Not a word of complaint, not a hint that he was tired. Go to sleep, love, you need a nap. I’ll look after my little Bill. 

It was that possessive my that made Molly dig her fingernails into her palms. 

Oldest sons always belong to their fathers, don’t they? Arthur would bounce Bill on his knee and says he could be an auror, he could be minister, he could be a curse-breaker - all these grand futures he didn’t get to have himself, poured into the body of his son. 

Molly looked at Bill’s chubby face and thought he could be charging into the line of fire, he could be the target of an assassination, he could die alone on the floor of a dusty vault. She fed Bill in the kitchen and thought about all the knives around them, the kettle sitting full and hot like a taunt. She bathed him with her heart in her throat, barely blinking. She was constantly aware of all the things that could hurt him, including herself. After all, she didn’t love the baby. 

At forty-six, she knows now that this kind of obsessive fear was love - love done poorly, love swallowed by self-loathing, a conviction that Bill knew she wasn’t good enough for him. At twenty she would lie awake at night, thinking of all the things she’d done wrong and pinching the inside of her wrist. 

---

One week after the end of the war, and Ginny is the only child still in the house. Molly thought, automatically, that the whole brood would fly home to her. In the summer, when her children were still children, she would stand at the twilight doorway with a sonorous to her throat and watch them race across the meadows towards her, the kitchen windows their lighthouse across a sea of dark. Tall, rangy Bill herding Fred and George, Ron and Ginny chasing each other in squabbling circles, Percy with a mouth already full of complaints and accusations, Charlie loping slowly, always last. But Bill is with his own family now. Charlie is in Romania. Percy writes her fearful owls and avoids his father’s gaze. George is apparently drunk in the flats of various friends. Ron bounces between George and Harry, trying to watch over them, flooing back home to grab soup and hangover potion. So only Ginny - her much-loved girl, her longed-for daughter, her baby - is in the house, and that fact should not fill Molly with dread. 

Ginny has recently adopted a sort of omni-benevolent glow towards Molly, a tacit acknowledgement that she forgives her mother everything. Molly can’t be too angry about this. She did the same to her own mother. 

One night, passing the washing up silently between them, Molly says, “You know - dearest - if you were pregnant, I would be there for you.” 

“What? Mum, I’m not pregnant. I’m not even - no.” 

“I - good, that’s good, but - you know, whatever you need, whenever you need it. I’ll be there for you. I’ll never abandon you.” 

“Ok.” Ginny shoots her a half-amused glance under her eyelashes. “Is this you angling for grandbabies? Because, like, I’m pretty sure I’m last in the queue for that.” 

Some days Molly cannot remember why she ever wanted a daughter so desperately. It’s just another set of fears. 

---

Charlie appeared like a miracle or a Muggle magic trick. Step right up, see the lady step into the Ministry elevator! Watch her as the doors close - do you see her put her hand on her stomach? That faint frown? And now, on the ground floor the doors open and - ta dah! A baby! 

(And blood, of course, and two very shocked aurors. And Molly sitting half-naked on the floor of the lift, staring at Charlie in her arms. Too confused to be anything else. What are you doing here? she’d asked Charlie with her eyes, and he’d stared back - I don’t know, what am I doing here?) 

When Charlie was eight, they’d lost him. She remembers standing at the kitchen door, all her other children crowded around her, as she called his name over and over again. Thinking, stupidly, don’t let your voice crack, you’ll scare the children. Arthur and Bill had gone out with lanterns, searching down creeks and up dale, their voices getting further and further away until they disappeared under evening birdsong. And finally, at midnight, Charlie had emerged from the trees - right next to the house, he’d only been hiding in the branches. He must have heard her calling. 

She floocalls him at four, which is six for him. She knows the time difference by heart. It’s a thought that hasn’t left her since Charlie moved away. She’ll be doing the last of the washing up at ten, thinking about how Charlie is probably getting his last drink of the night in. She’ll roll over on a sleepless night to see it’s three am and know that thousands of miles and two hours away, Charlie is just beginning to get up. She is so used to Charlie’s hand on the clock pointing at work that it has become invisible. 

“How’s things?” says Charlie, no hello. 

“Good,” says Molly automatically, then - “Well. No.” 

“No, yeah. No.”

“How are the dragons?” 

Molly knows a lot about dragons now. She reads books on them when she has the time, asks Hermione questions, idly browses through Ron’s Care of Magical Creatures textbooks. She is aware, in a way that makes her prickle with guilt, that she does this so she has something to talk to Charlie about. 

“Good. Well, Andrei has this bonkers idea that he won’t let go of - there’s only one Welsh Green stud left in Eastern Europe, so he’s talking about trying to crossbreed…” 

He rattles on. Molly listens, nods, asks thoughtful questions. At the end, he says - “And… well… the political situation.” 

“Oh?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You could come back - “ Home - “here.” 

Charlie snorts. “Oh, yeah, Britain. Very politically stable at the moment.”

“We could be together again. As a family.” She doesn’t say your family needs you. She has finally learnt, after years of mistakes, that that’s not a lever that will ever work on Charlie. “I could take care of you.” 

“I’m fine, Mum.” 

“I know, but darling - “

“I just - I need to be here, you know? Or I - I can’t be there. I can’t come back.” 

When Charlie had emerged from the trees age eight, looking cold and distant, she’d grabbed him by the shoulders and nearly shaken him with the force of her love. Where were you? What were you doing? Didn’t you hear me calling? 

I did, he said, I just didn’t want to come in. 

But why didn’t you come back?

He’d stared at her, a little blankly. I told you. I didn’t want to come in. 

Read the rest here