#I’ve been at my uncle’s house for a day and a half and I can’t even count the times he’s snapped at his mom or tried to kick her

[stuckinapril]

I will say this can go both ways, but if you grow up an insufferably spoiled brat I feel like that would make life so much harder for you. Like that’s just a highway to being a quitter who gets worked up over the smallest thing. & you harbor no respect for like. Anyone. And then the real world gives u a very rude awakening

It punches me in the gut to see the effects of bad parenting. Like your parents literally set you up to fail in real life

[sadesluvr]

Attitude Adjustment

Wrapped up in the grit of the finals of your tennis tournament, Pope doesn’t appreciate you missing dinner with his parents…

SUPER RICH KIDS MASTERLIST

Pope Heyward, someone who prided himself on being mature and oh-so above it all, was incredibly petty when he was annoyed. He'd been giving you the silent treatment since you’d left the restaurant, his hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel of his car as he drove you home in silence.

Today had been a day to have dinner with his parents, Bobby and Cara Heyward, but practise for the upcoming finals of your tennis tournament had gotten in the way. You knew you were fucked the moment you’d shown up to the restaurant fifteen minutes late, with the Heyward family sat down around a table overlooking the ocean, their wine glasses already half full and complimentary bread half eaten.

You’d tried your hardest to smooth out your white dress you’d thrown on in the changing rooms of the leisure centre, but you still looked frazzled - with frayed edges and glowing skin from perspiration. Pope usually liked you like this, but certainly not on this occasion.

Bobby and Cara’s adorning had offered little comfort to you - they already loved you - and you could only focus on Pope’s clenched jaw, side eyeing you as he tapped on the side of his glass.

“I’m so sorry Mr and Mrs Heyward!” you pouted before taking a sip of water. “I got caught up with practise, and I just lost track of time --”

“No worries, Peaches,” Heyward said. You’d become fond of the nickname. “Cara and I know how much this means to you. And you know to call me Bobby.” he smiled, which you returned.

“We can’t wait to see you with that trophy!” Mrs Heyward gushed. “Whether you win or not, you know we’re going to celebrate – all the family’s around for his uncle’s birthday.” She finished, nodding over to her son, who wore a dull expression on his face. He barely spoke to you the whole night.

“Why are you being like this?” you huffed, staring over at him. His lips twitched, but he didn’t respond. “I said I was sorry. It’s not like I didn’t show up...God fucking forbid if I hadn’t.”

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.” Pope replied, voice monotone and eyes locked on the road.

“Oh, like you really care about all that shit?” you scoffed. “Your ‘Ma would have a heart attack if she heard the way you spoke about the other students, let alone when we’re together.”

“Can you – not – talk for a second? I’ve got a headache.” He said matter-of-factly, his childishness beginning to sink deeper under your skin.

Pursing your lips, you nonchalantly glanced out of the window before reaching for the radio, quickly connecting your phone to the Bluetooth and shuffling through your playlist, playing the music so that the bass vibrated through the leather interior of his Range Rover and under your skin.

It was loud; obnoxiously so, made all the more dramatic by the fact that you had the windows rolled down, giving a show to all those who passed. Pope winced; teeth gritted behind the closed mouth of his frown, tolerating your behaviour for those last couple of blocks leading up to your house, only to swerve into the driveway, causing you to jerk about in your seat.

“What the fuck was that about?!” you gasped, grabbing at the straps of your seatbelt, so in shock that you hadn’t noticed Pope lock the doors. “Right in my parents’ driveway?”

“Why don’t you go in there and tell them how much of a bad boyfriend I am, then?” he snarled, shrugging his shoulders. “While you’re there, tell them about how you can’t keep track of time.”

“Are you seriously still on this? You can’t let anything go, can you?” you said, folding your arms. A small smirk appeared on your face as the following words left your mouth. “Sometimes being with you is like living in a dictatorship. The frat boys would never treat me like this --”

You were cut off by Pope, his fingers pinching your cheeks together as he angled your head to face him; his grip gentle, but commanding.

“If you wanna leave me for an idiotic manchild like Rafe Cameron then go ahead,” he hummed, a smirk wiped across his face. “At least let me teach you how to act first. I don’t want him thinking that I can’t control my girl...”

Your cunt throbbed as Pope’s spare hand snuck down to his pants, where a visible bulge had formed by his pelvis, making it a struggle for him to undo his zipper. Maintaining his grip on your face, he snuck his index finger into your mouth, watching as your glossy lips suckled at the digit, your eyes wide as you followed his gaze down to his cock. Pope’s dick was perfect; longer than it was girthy, with a pinkish-brown tip. Fully erect, it rested against his stomach as he gave it a few languid strokes, brown eyes gazing into your own, his hand still holding onto your face.

“Be a good girl and make it up to me.” He said in that low, rambling tone you’d become accustomed to, giving your cheeks a sarcastic squeeze as he lowed your head onto his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you took him in your mouth. You needn’t cast a worried look up the driveway – the porch lights of your home were on, but it was almost too far away to see anything too explicit. At best, your parents would think you were talking.

Pope wasted no time in making you gag – pushing your head down on his dick so that you took all of him. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of winning, you pressed your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, wrapping your manicured fingers around his base and jerking him off.

“That’s right...” he grinned. “Use that fucking tongue, princess. I bet you mouth me off just so I can clean it out, huh?”

All you could do was let out a muffled moan, peering up at him through your lashes as his hands roamed your body, lingering on the hem of your dress before deciding to slide his fingers up your thighs to paw at the round skin of your ass. Meanwhile, you were busy in pleasuring him; his cock now glistening in the summer evening as his plump lips were parted as he let out a groan, hands firmly planted on the nape of your neck.

Resisting him, you moved up to bob on his tip, staring into his half-lidded brown eyes. He always fell for this move; you tugging at his cock whilst flicking your tongue on his tip, making sure to tease the tiny hole. He twitched, and you couldn’t help but giggle as he pulled away, frowning at you.

“Aw, Popeyyy,” you drawled, the nickname getting under his skin. “What did I do?”

“Bend over the wheel.” Pope said in a monotone voice, drawing his seat back. Wiping your mouth, you instinctively crawled into his lap, your chest grazing the material of the wheel as you felt him lift your dress. You gasped as he pushed your panties aside, sticking a few fingers into you as he admired your wetness.

He tutted.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?” he began, fingers curling into your sensitive spot. “All those scholarships and honour rolls you’ve made can’t take away from the fact that you’re just a desperate slut, hm? Daddy’s gonna give you what you need...”

He pushes himself into you without warning, and you grip onto the dashboard. A sharp slap on your ass tells you that he wants you to do the work too; and you immediately start to rock your hips, his large hands gripping your respective ass cheek as he spread your pussy apart; admiring the way your juices mixed as he disappeared in you. His uncovered cock feels different; filling, but tangible and raw, and it's as if you can feel his every inch, throb and vibration – you could get used to this.

It doesn’t take you long to find a rhythm – you’re fucking each other fast, but somehow, he still manages to go deep, hitting your g-spot with his tip on every thrust, skin clapping together pornographically. You’re moaning his name like a bitch in heat, your throat dry from your incessant whining, but he doesn’t stop, instead gripping your hips so that he can buck up into you like a rabbit.

“P-Pope...”

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts. “None of that sentimental shit now. You know to call me daddy...”

“Fuck -- Daddy...Please, I’m ---” you splutter, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone sentence. He’s drilling you as if there were no tomorrow, right in the middle of your parents’ driveway...and you couldn’t have loved it more.

“Look at me when you say it.” He commands, his voice cold but laced with lust.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you bite your lip before turning to look at him, eyebrows raised and a euphoric expression on your face, mewling out how sorry you are as he holds you down on his hips, his movements sloppy as he begins to near his orgasm. There’s a smirk on his face as his hands snake up to your neck, tugging on the silver chain necklace you’d worn – a dainty, expensive little piece he’d bought for your anniversary.

Balling it up in his hands, he pulls you into him, his chest pressed against your back as he moans in your ear.

“I’m gonna fill this pussy up, ok? Maybe if I knock you up, you’ll quit with all that attitude...”

Your stomach did knots at the thought, and you soon became undone – with Pope quickly following – your fluids mixing as they dripped down his cock, pooling at the base and forming a creamy ring. You were certain that your dress was stained, but it was the least of your worries considering he’d just given you a creampie, and you’d have to take the inevitable walk of shame up the driveway, past your parents and to your bedroom – that was of course if you could even walk.

Coming down from your high, you took a moment to fix yourself, your head turning as you watched Pope open his wallet, sliding you $100.

“For Plan B,” he said, his voice as smug as ever. “And some new panties. I’ll take care of the dress next time I see you.”

And there was the responsible Pope that you knew and loved. Smart, smug, sensual...It was all too obvious that you would marry him some day.

[xdaddysprincessxx]

Mine, All Mine

Uncle Ezra x virgin f reader

Warnings: Noncon! Unclecest (they are not blood related!) virginity loss, p in v, heavy use of the word kiddo (idk it was doing it for me), filming, uhhh yea I don’t want to say too much so it doesn’t get spoiled. I’d say this is more on the dark side of things so be cautious, you are in charge of your own self and what you read. If it bothers you, stop reading it(:

A/n: this one’s for my love, @bonezone44 ! This literally came from a post they made lol also go check out their Uncle Ezra! It’s the best! (Also if you do/have read hers, maybe you’ll notice a lil Easter egg in mine lol) Enjoy babes! Also Happy Valentine’s Day!😘😘😘

Word count: 4222

Not edited or beta’d (Rad had looked over like half the story so I guess kinda beta’d lol)

It’s the middle of summer and it’s already hotter than Satan’s balls outside. You’re off work today and doing your best to enjoy the day but you’ve found yourself melted to the couch with a fan blasting on high, wearing your shortest shorts and a tank top. Your dad left hours ago for work, he probably won’t be back until much later tonight giving you the whole house to yourself.

You’ve gotten lost in a marathon of Law and Order SVU when you hear a knock on the door. Scrunching your face, confused as to who could be at the door, you get up to go answer it.

Opening the door reveals your Uncle Ezra standing outside, wearing basketball shorts and an old tshirt with the sleeves cut off so his sides are showing, exposing hot, tanned skin.

“Hey kiddo your dad home? I hada to come by to grab a few things.”

You gulp nervously, he isn’t your actual uncle but he’s been your dads best friend since they were kids so he’s considered like an uncle to you. Except ever since you hit eighteen he’s been more touchy, saying extremely sexual things in your ear whenever he’s around. You know it’s wrong, you hate that he does it but a part of you can’t help but like it. You like the dirty things he says, like the way his hand brushes against your ass when he walks by. When you went off to college and moved out you never expected you’d have to move back in with your dad after graduating. Unfortunately life comes at you hard. And ever since you came back home, Ezra has been even more of a menace.

“N-no sorry he’s at work. Um you can come back later.” You say with a stutter as you try to shut the door.

Ezra’s hand shoots out stopping the door from shutting,

“That’s okay kiddo I can wait. Let your old uncle Ezra in sweetie.” He says back with a sly grin on his face, his eyes darkening with mischief.

“O-okay come in.”

“Come in what?”

“Come in uncle Ezra.” You reply with a dry throat.

“Ah there it is. Ya know I like it when you call me uncle Ezra sweetie. It’s good manners and all.”

He walks in through the door, closing it behind him as you turn to walk back to the couch and sit down with your legs under you, leaned against the side cushion. You shiver, now painfully aware of how little clothing you have on now that he’s here. Ezra plops down right next to you, his legs spread as he puts his arm behind you on the back of the couch. You try to swallow, blinking a few times in quick succession.

“Whatcha watching kiddo?”

“Um just law and order. It’s a marathon.” You respond.

Ezra lifts the arm that was behind you and brings it forward, slapping your thigh lightly before rubbing the spot he hit,

“You okay sweetie? Seem kinda off? Is it a boy? Huh? It’s okay talk to uncle Ez. This boy treating you right? Making you feel good?”

Your mouth starts to open and then close as you try to find your voice, “N-no boy uncle Ezra. I-I’m fine. I promise.”

Ezra smiles at you as his hand starts to go up higher on your thigh before stopping and rubbing his thumb back and forth at the top of your thigh.

“Ya know since your daddy ain’t home I’ve been wanting to have this chat with you. Now I know you’re all grown up on me but you should know about men and their needs. But also your own needs sweetie,” he leans in closer so his lips are close to your ear, “Pretty girls like you have pretty pussies and those pretty pussies get wet and needy. Gotta make sure she is properly cared for kiddo. Cant have ya out here dripping and desperate for just any cock. You needa real man.” His low voice sending shivers down your spine. Ezra rubs his nose up and down your neck, right behind your ear.

“S-stop please.”

Ezra pulls back, “Stop? Sweetie I’m just trying to help ya here. I only want the best for ya.” A look of confusion and hurt covers his face.

“I- I want you to stop Uncle Ezra. I know what your doing and I don’t like it. Please stop.”

Ezra sighs real loud, “Okay kiddo. Whatever you say. I’m just trying to look out for ya. I’ll back off.” He takes his hand off your thigh and puts both hands up as he sinks back into the couch, still sitting right next to you. His hands laying down on his open lap.

You swallow thickly before you find the courage to get up,

“I think I’m gonna go read in my room. Feel free to change the channel while you wait.” You announce before heading to the stairs to up to your room.

Once you close your bedroom door behind you, you let out a deep sigh. Taking another breath as though you’ve been holding your breath this entire time. You hate that he feels so comfortable acting so bold. You wished he’d just leave.

It’s been a couple of hours and you’ve been absolutely lost in your own world, reading a new book you’d just gotten. Laying on your bed with your leg propped up against your bent knee as you lay on your back, the perfect reading position. You’re almost to the end when you hear a soft knock on your door as it’s pushed open.

“Hey kiddo just wanted to come check on ya. Wanted ya to have some alone time you seemed a little off earlier.” Ezra says as he walks in and sits on your bed. You sit up straight with your legs criss cross applesauce already feeling a pit in your stomach.

“I- I’m fine uncle Ezra. You didn’t have to check on me.”

“Now I know I didn’t have too but I was worried. You’re like my little girl, you know how much I love ya.” He gives you a soft smile, you can tell he’s trying to put you at ease but all he’s done is make you even more uncomfortable.

Ezra’s eyes flicker over to your nightstand where he sees a sliver of bright pink,

“Well well well what do we have here?” His eyes narrowing in on the object as he reaches forward and pulls out your dildo.

Your cheeks flush, embarrassment washes over you as you grab his wrist that’s connected to the hand now holding your toy,

“Leave that alone! That’s mine!”

“Aht don’t tell me what to do little girl. Now do you mind explaining to me what the hell you’re doing with a plastic cock? I thought my little sweet pea was a virgin. Don’t look like a virgin with this.” He says as he shakes your girthy 7 inch bright pink dildo in your face.

“I am a virgin! And it’s none of your business! Gimmie!” Now you’re fed up, you lunge forward, grabbing at the toy once again only for Ezra to yank it away as his free hand grabs your face, pinching your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger.

“Cut the bullshit little girl, ain’t no way this cunt ain’t been touched if your shoving this fucking thing inside ya,” his eyes leave yours and look down at the toy and back at you, a sly smirk blooming on his face.

“Nah see what’s gonna happen now is I’m gonna see for myself how much of a dirty fucking whore you’ve become.”

He releases your face and immediately you drop your face into your chest, scared to look up at him, wanting nothing more than to curl into yourself and vanish.

“Please don’t. Just leave me alone. Please.” You beg him quietly, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

Ezra puts his hand on the back of your neck and squeezes, making you look up at him,

“Nuh uh. You wanna be a slut? Then you’re gonna take a real man’s fucking cock like the good girl you are and like it.” He says with a sneer.

Your eyes are big, filled with tears threatening to spill over. You’ve never been with anyone sexually before. You’ve never even used that dildo, you only have it because your friend gave it to you as a gag gift and now you fear your uncle Ezra is gonna be your first and you don’t get a say in it.

“Please uncle Ezra, I - I don’t want it. I - I’ve never had sex I swear.” Your lip quivering as you continue to beg him not to follow through on his word.

“Oh kiddo don’t be scared. It’s me, your uncle Ez,” he says condescendingly as he leans forward, so close your noses touch, “I’m gonna fuck this sweet virgin pussy. I’ll make it good for you baby. Make sure she creams all over my cock so much you’ll beg for more.”

Tears start falling down your face, a deep fear spreading through your body like a cancer. A fear your pussy seems immune too as you feel yourself clench around nothing in excitement.

“Now lay on back like a good girl baby. Go on.” Ezra urges you as he lets go of your neck and pushes your shoulder back gently. As scared as you are, you also know how much you do secretly enjoy the attention and the touches you get from him. You bite your lip nervously as your back hits the pillows behind you.

Ezra grabs your calf and uncrosses your legs as he bends forward. His face in between your legs, his nose brushes against your clothed slit as he takes in a deep breath.

“You smell so sweet kiddo.” He says looking up at you before glancing back down, “looks like someone’s excited to meet me.” He said with a smirk as he brings his hand up, taking his thumb and swiping up from the bottom of your slit up, landing on your little bundle of nerves. He slowly rubs a few circles on your clit, your body lights up from the electric feeling of someone touching you there. You quickly bite your bottom lip and squeeze your eyes closed, trying your hardest to hold back any sign that you like how it feels.

Not paying any attention to you, Ezra pulls your shorts to the side revealing your wet pussy. His brows scrunch as he purses his lips together and lets out a little “oooh”

“She’s even prettier than I imagined honey,” he says before laying a soft kiss on your slit, “seems real happy to meet me too.” He says with a little chuckle. Ezra dives right in, his tongue parting your lips as he licks up and down. Up and down. Swirling his tongue around your entrance before going up to swirl around your clit before he suctions his lips around the little bundle and gives it a few gentle sucks.

The feeling of his mouth on you has you teetering on edge already. You’ve never experienced someone licking you down there before. And it feels so good. A breath moan escapes through your lips before you realize it. Ezra looks up at you when he hears it only to see you with your eyes closed shut and sees you quickly clamp your mouth shut.

“Nu uh kiddo. Open your fucking eyes and watch me,” he says before reaching up and slapping you lightly on the face to get your attention, “fucking rude of ya to do that. Guess I gotta train ya to take cock and to be a good little whore huh?”

You open you eyes, looking down at him. You shake your head no, scared to open your mouth knowing you wouldn’t be able to speak normally.

Ezra looks back down at your pussy as he lowers his hand down. He takes his finger and gently prods your pussy. He pushes a little bit into you before pulling back out, only to push his finger in more and twist.

A whimper escapes your lips this time. His thick finger moving inside of you feels so good you just can’t help it.

“That’s it honey, feels good don’t it? Yea it does,” he slips his finger in all the way continuously moving in and out, twisting as he does so, “She’s opening up for me baby. I think she likes me.” He leans forward again and licks your clit. Looking up at you as he keeps licking and fingering, the sensation’s overwhelming your entire being. He starts sucking your bundle of nerves again, Your head tips back as you give up trying to fight how you feel. Letting out a moan as your hand comes up and grabs your breast and squeezes.

“That’s it baby take em out, play with your nipples for me, gonna feel even better,” he orders before diving back in to lick and suck on your bean.

Doing as he says, you pull your tank top up, revealing your breast as you take one in each hand. Letting yourself feel them, giving them squeezes before you take a nipple in between your fore finger and thumb, pinching the sensitive nub and rolling it between your fingers.

He’s right, you find yourself in ecstasy as you continue to play with yourself as he eats you out.

Ezra’s mouth leaves your heat as he sits up and grabs the dildo. Laying back down in between your legs, he takes the dildo and starts running it up and down gathering your slick on the pink phallus.

“I think she’s ready for more baby what d’ya think?”

Your hands stop what they’re doing as you look down at him with eyes wide with terror. Taking a large gulp you give him a tiny head shake, ‘no’ you mouth.

“Don’t worry baby she’s gonna like this. I’ll kiss it better after.”

He holds the base of the dildo and slowly pushes the top inside your dripping entrance. He manages to get just the tip in and stops pushing in. He slowly twists it side to side as he looks up at you to gauge any pain you might have. You tensed up at the intrusion, your mouth clamped shut with tears forming in your eyes. Ezra leans forward and kisses your sensitive clit, making your hips buck up, chasing his mouth for more. He ever so slightly pushes a little bit more in as he wraps his lips around your bundle of nerves and gives it a little suck. You’re not sure how to feel. The searing pain from the dildo entering you seems to subside and turns into overwhelming pleasure as Ezra continues his assault on your pussy. Soon he pushes the toy all the way in you, all you can do is lay there, writhing in ecstasy as he starts pumping it in and out, switching back and forth between licking and sucking on your stretched cunt.

“Ooohh nngh oh fuck oh fuck Un- Uncle Ezra please - I-I’m close oh fuck I’m gonna -“

White hot pleasure erupts all over, your legs shaking, your body starts to thrash and wiggle as your orgasm takes over. Your brain is on mute, no thoughts, you can barely even remember your own name.

“That’s its kiddo, oh fuck yea I told you she’d like this. Prettiest fucking pussy, got my face fucking soaked baby. Come here”

Ezra stands up, taking the dildo out of you and licking the flared bottom of it before crouching down in front of the mirror that’s next to your bed and sticking it on the mirror.

He stands back up and takes a step and is back at your side. He puts his hand behind your neck. You can feel his fingers work up the base of your skull and grab a handful of your hair. Once he has a good grip, he pulls you up by your hair,

“ Get on your knees baby it’s time you take a real man in those pretty holes of yours.”

Your legs are jelly, you can’t even manage to land on your feet when he pulls you. You roll out of bed and land on your knees on the floor. Your hands shooting out, landing on his leg as you try to keep yourself from face planting.

“Stick out your tongue baby.”

You immediately drop your jaw and stick your tongue all the way out. Your eyes wide looking up at him, without a single thought behind them. Your consumed with this want to do whatever he says, to swallow up any crumb he may leave you in hopes of feeling a smidge of the pure ecstatic pleasure he can give you again.

With his hand still tangled in your hair, his other hand pulls down his shorts. His thick cock springs out, the tip an angry shade of red with precum already leaking out. He is easily the biggest cock you’ve ever seen. Way bigger than the dildo you just took. No longer scared of any potential pain he may cause you, instead a pang of desire shoots through your body, you can feel your pussy get even wetter.

He takes himself in his hand and gives his cock a few pumps before guiding it into your open mouth. He isn’t so gentle this time. Instead he’s quick to push his cock down your throat, hitting the back of your throat making you gag on the first entry. Instantly you gag hard, tears fall from your eyes as spit starts to leak from your mouth around his cock. He pulls out and quickly shoves himself back in. Your hands go up, laying on his thighs as he pushes your head down on his cock as he pushes in. Giving you no respite, you quickly learn to breathe through your nose.

“Fuck yea always had a pretty little mouth on ya baby go on, give Uncle Ezra’s dick a good suck. Show me how good my dick tastes baby.”

You try real hard to suck on him as best you could. You cover your teeth with your lips and tighten your lips around him. Sucking on him, moving your tongue around, tracing a vein that went from the base almost up to the tip. Your nose buried in his curls as he holds you down on him.

“Oh kiddo, y’doing so good nngh this mouth is mine honey. Only Uncle Ezra fucks this pretty hole y’hear me? That tight little cunt is mine too.”

You moan around his dick, hearing him claim you as his.

Suddenly Ezra yanks on your hair, sending you back off his dick. He moves out of the way and pulls you forward, causing you to fall on your hands as he continues to pull making you crawl. Once he stops you realize your directly in front of your mirror. More specifically right in front of the dildo that is now sticking to it. He crouches down so his face in close to yours

“Suck on the fake dick now baby Uncle Ezra’s gonna be right behind you, opening up that tight little gash o’yours.”

Your eyes wide as spit trickles down your chin. Ezra leans forward shoving his tongue in your mouth, kissing you with feral enthusiasm, licking into your mouth before taking your tongue between his lips and sucking as he pulls back. A string of spit connects you too as he breaks the kiss he takes a few seconds and just admires how beautiful you are. Hair a mess, spit covered chin, a wild look in your eyes that says you love this. You look throughly wrecked and he’s just getting started. He yanks on your hair one last time and guides you to the dildo where you wrap your lips around it and begin to suck. You look into the mirror and see yourself on all fours, sucking the toy as Ezra stands up behind you and takes his clothes all the way off.

Once naked, Ezra gets back down on his knees behind you. His hands glide over the globes of your ass as he sits back on his legs and just takes in the most beautiful debauched scene in front of him. Taking himself in his hand, he gives himself a few pumps before spitting down onto his dick. He lines himself up and pushes in, he goes slow. Giving you barely just the tip and already he’s letting out this unabashed low groan as his eyes roll back.

“Oh fuck baby this is gonna be a tight fit,” he says in a deep lust filled voice, “Don’t worry kiddo Uncle Ezra’s gonna make her purr real nice.”

He reaches down, his fingers finding your clit with a quickness. Softly rubbing circles on your bundle of nerves, you feel yourself relax completely. Ezra pushes in a little bit more.

He might be immoral but he’s not a complete monster. He knows his pretty little niece is a pure virgin, he’s gonna make this unforgettable. He already knows she’ll come crawling back for more, he thinks to himself as a smirk crosses his face.

“Breathe baby, just breathe. Fuck you feel so good, tight little gash suckin me just right.” He coaches you as he finally pushes all the way in, waiting a few beats before he moves again letting you get used to the stretch.

You feel so full with his cock inside you and the dildo in your mouth. You can’t help but whine as you feel him throb inside of you. You pull off the toy,

“Uh-uncle Ez- Ezra please. Oh p-please move oh fuck I’m so full. . s’good.”

Hearing you moan and beg is all he needs as he starts to move and quickly finds a hard, fast pace.

Your mouth falls open into an O shape as the breath is completely knocked out of you as he starts to really fuck you. It’s too much but at the same time you want more. You’ve never felt euphoria quite like this. You go back to sucking on the toy so you can feel that exquisite full feeling again.

“ Ooh kiddo yea. Fucking hell that’s it baby oh fuck look at you. Got a cock finally inside this little virgin slit and you already need two dicks just to satisfy ya huh? Yea you do. Ho-hold on baby I gotta make sure I never forget this.”

His thrusts slow until he stills inside you as he reaches over to his shorts and pulls out his phone. Once he straightens back up behind you, he opens the camera on his phone and flips it so he sees the debauchery that’s in front of him on his phone.

“Yeaaa that’s it, show the camera how much of a nasty little slut you really are honey. Go on, show em how good your pretty little mouth sucks.”

You should feel shame. Embarrassment. You should beg him to not film you in this lewd act. But you can’t. And won’t. Something about him filming this makes you drip with even more want. Makes you want to do even more depraved, perverted acts with him. Maybe even after, the two of you watch your home movies as you lay in bed.

Ezra holds onto your hip with one hand as the other holds his phone as he drives his throbbing cock back in. He sets an unrelenting pace as he pounds into you.

You’re an absolute mess as you moan around the toy in your mouth.

He chuckles darkly, “Look at my sweet little niece. Letting her dirty old uncle pop her sweet cherry. Nngh oh fuck yea. Perfect fucking pussy squeezing me so tight. Look at my cock hungry little whore. I told you she’d like me baby, she’s so creamy, eating me right up.” His words abruptly ended by a moan he couldn’t help but let out.

“Ff-fuck yea that’s it, Uncle Ezra’s gonna cum in his cunt. It’s mine now baby she’s only gonna take my cock, my cum ya hear? Nnn oh fuck oh fuck let me feel you cum sweetheart, come on”

He reaches back down and quickly rubs circles on your clit and immediately your legs start shaking as you feel your orgasm crash over you. You let out a muffled cry, the toy in your mouth keeps you from yelling very loud.

“Fuck. Fuck. Oh fuck.”

Ezra chants and soon you feel him spurt hot cum deep inside you. He stills, cock still buried in your tight heat as he bends down over your back.

Ezra puts his phone down as he holds you for a moment, leaving soft kisses on your shoulder and down your back before he pulls himself out of you. You pull off the toy and slump to the side on the floor.

“Let’s get you cleaned up kiddo. How bout we go get some’ to eat? That sound good baby?”

You look up at him with a smile on your face, “Yea that sounds good.”

Ezra smiles back and with that he helps you up and takes you to the bathroom.

[estrellami-1]

Little Love

This is possibly part of a part 1 of a new series… however I WILL NOT BE STARTING THIS until after I’ve finished If I Should Stay.

Eddie’s playing guitar in his room when he gets the call.

He and Steve talk now, more days than not, so hearing his voice isn’t that exceptional.

What is exceptional is the shake in his voice. “Eddie?”

“Hey, Stevie.” He twists around to toss his guitar pick onto the counter. He misses and makes a mental note—that he already knows he’s going to forget—to pick it up after the call. “What’s up?”

“Um.” He takes a breath that shakes on the exhale. “Is your uncle home?”

Eddie blinks, his heart skipping a beat. “N-no, he’s at work. Why?”

“Um.” A strained, nervous chuckle.

“Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

A breath that Eddie thinks is supposed to be a laugh. It comes out a little more like a sob. “Not really.”

“I can be there in ten if you want me.”

“No, Eds, you don’t hafta-”

“Steve,” Eddie says, smiling. “Do you want me there?”

A pause. A breath. A quiet, hesitant, “yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Okay. Thanks, Eds.”

“Anytime, Stevie. I’ll write a note to Wayne tellin’ him to come find us, alright?”

“Okay. Thanks. Again.”

Eddie chuckles. “You’re welcome. Again. Ten minutes, m’kay?”

“Alright. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He scrawls something out, halfway hoping it’s actually legible with how much he’s rushing, and barely remembers to lock the trailer door behind him.

He forgets the pick on the ground, right next to the counter.

He reaches Steve’s house two and a half songs later, quickly parking and shutting the van off, then running up the stairs to knock on the front door.

Steve opens it, looking wide-eyed and frazzled. “Hey, c’mon in.”

Eddie looks around. No demogorgons, no gates to hell in his living room, nothing out of the ordinary.

From somewhere in the house, he hears a cry. He can’t be sure—he hasn’t been around many—but he thinks it might be a baby. He blinks and frowns at his host. “Steve?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “My dad just won the asshole of the year award again.”

“That sounds like a baby.”

“Yup.”

“And he just-”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well,” Eddie says, at a loss for words. “Fuck.”

“Just about.”

[reigningqueenofwords]

Clueless

Pairing: Past Bucky x Reader

Part 2 of Little Soldier

Will’s funeral had been just a week ago, but every morning when you woke up, it felt fresh all over. Not that you had been sleeping well. You were sure that wasn’t a good thing with you trying to heal, though. You did your best to avoid Bucky since that first morning. You just had no idea how to process what Steve told you. You had no idea how not to look at him and hurt . Getting over him was easier when you didn’t have to see, or hear him. Seeing him just made you remember the day you heard him say he never wanted kids. Even with knowing his reasoning now...it cut you worse than the knife that had been plunged into your side. Hell, Dom had been going between your room and Steve’s. One night with you, one with him. He spent the days with his aunts and uncles, but you and Steve made him feel the safest at night. 

Which was why, on night 8 (you were sure you’d always know how many nights since you buried Will), you found yourself at Steve’s door. Your hair was in a loose pony tail, you were in one of his shirts, and a pair of sweats. Sighing, you knocked gently, but hopefully enough that he had heard. It was nearly 11, which meant Dom had been asleep for hours. It didn’t take long for Steve to open the door, looking half asleep. “Doll?” He blinked, waking himself up more. “You okay?” 

You shook your head. “No, I’m not.” You sniffed. “I’ve barely been sleeping. I’m sore because I’m so tired.” You hadn’t told anyone how you were feeling. You’d been on plenty of missions worse that the attack on your house, after all. So, who were you to complain? “I…” You bit your lip, playing with the hem of your shirt as you looked down. “I was wondering if I could...sleep in here tonight?” You asked, wiping a tear from your cheek. 

Steve hated seeing you like this. Pulling you into a hug, he kissed the top of your head. “Of course you can. You can sleep in here as long as you need.” He promised, leading you inside. “Want to talk about it before we crawl into bed?” He offered. “You have to eventually.” 

You knew he was right. “Sure.” You caved, too exhausted to fight. “On the balcony?” You motioned, not wanting to wake up Dom. He nodded and the pair of you moved silently through to the glass doors. He grabbed a throw on the way, in case you got chilly. Leaving the door cracked behind the two of you, he put the throw over your shoulders. Gripping it, you hugged it close to you. “Every time I try to close my eyes I see Will.” You started, your voice soft. “Lying there, and I can’t help him. I see Dom, seeing him like that I as rush him to the safe room as fast as I can. I see the future we could have had disappear.” You leaned into him as he put his arm around you. “I know I could have asked Bruce for help sleeping, but…” 

“But you don’t want to feel or seem weak?” He finished for you. 

“Yeah.” You sighed. “That.” You had to be strong for your son. “We were going to adopt a dog for Christmas. He’s been asking for one.” That was the only thing that he’d put on his wishlist. “He told us the dog could sleep in his room, about how the dog would have so much fun in our backyard, and how he’d love the dog so much.” Your chest ached, getting this all out. Steve remained silent, just letting you talk. “We had finally decided on a wedding date, too! We planned to get married in May, and then he was going to adopt Dom…” The relationship that Dom and Will had had was amazing. Will treated him like he was truly Dom’s father. Steve rubbed your back, trying to comfort you. “We talked about having more kids, too.” He hugged you as you cried, wrapping your arms around him, gripping the back of his shirt. 

Steve couldn’t begin to imagine how you were feeling, but was thankful you felt safe enough to open up to him about all this. “Let’s go get in bed, and I’ll keep holding you.” He offered. “That helps Dom sleep sometimes.” The first few nights, if Dom couldn’t touch Steve in his sleep, he’d panic. You simply nodded against him. 

Everyone was surprised that Steve wasn’t at breakfast right away. Normally, he was one of the first ones in there. He ate, then went to train. Tony showed up in the kitchen before him. You and Dom were also missing. “JARVIS, where are Steve, Dom, and Y/N?” Nat asked, still worried about you. None of them had held back mentioning you around Bucky now that you lived there. Not that he saw you anyways. 

“In the Captain’s room, sleeping, miss.” He informed them. 

Bucky’s jaw clenched slightly. He had no right to feel jealous, but it was his arms that used to hold you at night. Not his best friend’s. Getting up, he walked out, leaving his food and coffee on the table. The others shared a look. 

Steve yawned as he opened the door, surprised to see an angry Bucky. “Buck?” He asked, furrowing his brows. 

“Can I talk to you?” He asked, his voice low. 

“Yeah, but out here.” He stepped out, shutting his door. “They’re still sleeping.” He rolled his shoulders. “What’s up?” 

Bucky shook his head. “That’s what you have to say?” He glared. “Y/N sleeping in your room now?” He pointed to the door behind Steve. 

Staring at him, Steve blinked a few times. “Last night, yeah.” He shrugged, not understanding his anger. “She showed up at my door, upset. She hasn’t been sleeping, which we both know isn’t good for her healing either physically, or mentally. I got her to finally open up, and then I finally got her to sleep. So?” What did Bucky expect him to do? Turn you away? “She just buried her fiance, and along with it, all their hopes and dreams.” He said softly. 

“She hasn’t even talked to me since she’s been back.” He sagged. “And she’s sleeping in your room. I just remember when it was our room. Hers and mine.” 

“Buck, that was years ago.” He said sadly. “You can’t expect her to rush into wanting to be friendly or anything.” He pointed out. “I don’t think she’s mentally in the right place to deal with whatever feelings may come from being around you again.” He wasn’t saying that to be a dick, either. 

Bucky nodded. “Should I take off for a bit or something?” He wondered. 

Before Steve could answer, Steve’s door opened. You and Dom were there, his small hand in yours. “Uh, Dom’s hungry, so I’m gonna bring him down to get something to eat.” You said awkwardly. “Thanks for letting us crash here last night.” You gave Steve a small smile. 

“You gonna eat with us, Uncle Steve?” Dom looked up at him, hopeful. His hair was still all over, making Steve chuckle lightly. “Please!” 

Steve smiled. “Of course.” He agreed. “Give me a minute?” He asked. Dom simply nodded, glancing at Bucky sideways for a moment. “Hey, wanna help me pick out a shirt?” He asked, offering Dom his hand. 

Dom bounced, taking his Uncle’s hand. The two of them went into Steve’s room, leaving you and Bucky in an awkward silence. “How’s your side?” He asked after a moment. 

You shrugged a shoulder. “Sore.” You said honestly. “Which is to be expected.” You were chewing on your lip, torn in two. Part of you wanted to run away from him. Run far away with your son. Part of you wanted to give him a chance to be your friend again, but what if he hurt you again? However, you didn’t see yourself going back to live in that house again, meaning that you would be around Bucky a lot. So would Dom. “Can we talk later?” You asked, and it was clear that you were scared. 

Bucky looked surprised but quickly nodded. “Yeah, of course. Whenever.” He agreed. “Is there any time you’d like?” 

“Uh, Dom usually likes to drag Steve to visit Tony after lunch. Seeing as Tony hardly joins us.” You shrugged. “Maybe then?” 

“Steve’s his favorite, isn’t he?” He asked softly, hearing giggles from behind the closed door. 

You smiled softly at the sounds. “Yeah, he is.” You sighed. “Tony is a close second, though.” You chuckled. “I think it’s the toys.” You joked. 

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. "Glad you had them." He mumbled. "I'll meet you after lunch? Common room?" He started to back up. 

"Yeah." You nodded, already nervous. He was gone moments later. Turning when you heard the door, you gave Steve a small smile. "We're gonna talk after lunch. Can you watch Dom for a bit?"

Steve grinned, lifting the boy with ease. "Of course." He agreed easily. "Maybe we can start getting ideas for his birthday?" He suggested. “I’ll help him pick a theme or something.” He went on. “That okay?” He asked you. 

“Sounds good to me.” You agreed. “Thanks, Steve.” You kissed his cheek before doing the same to Dom. “I’ll be down in a minute.” You just needed a moment to breathe, and collect your thoughts. You couldn’t hide from this anymore. You had to face your ex, the father of your son, and you couldn’t run away. No matter how badly you wanted to.

You were making your way to the kitchen very slowly, taking the long way there. “Hey you.” Tony greeted you, making you jump slightly. “Saw you walking around like a zombie and wanted to come check on you.” 

You gave him a small smile. “That’s saying something coming from you.” You teased. “I’m just taking my time getting to the kitchen. Steve has Dom right now.” You shrugged. “And, I have plans to talk to Bucky later after lunch...so my mind is all over.” 

He nodded. “I have some whiskey hidden in conference room four if you want some. Bottom right hand drawer of the double cabinet. False bottom.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “I get bored. And, I may have slept in there a couple times.” He admitted.  “You know, part of me wants to ask, but another part of me really doesn’t.” You chuckled lightly. 

“Probably for the best.” Tony shrugged. “It’ll work out.” He gave you a quick hug. “You have all of us. Take your time. Don’t rush through grieving him.” His voice was soft as he gave your arm a gentle squeeze. “You know where to find me if you need to talk.” 

That meant a lot to you. “Thanks, Tony.” You sighed. “I got a lot off my chest last night to Steve. I’ve been closed off, so I may take you up on that.” 

After you’d said your goodbyes to Tony,  you finally went straight to the kitchen. Dom was sitting on Steve’s lap, but was laughing at Clint for some reason. You smiled softly, thankful you and Dom had your family. You went to get yourself a cup of coffee and some toast, not thinking you could stomach more than that. 

Steve glanced at you, hoping now that you’d opened up, that you could start moving forward. “So, Dom’s school called.” He told you, making you wince. “I just told them there was an emergency, and that you’d contact them when you could.”

“Thanks.” You said softly, stirring some sugar into your mug. “I’ll call them later.” You sighed. 

“You like school, Buddy?” Bucky asked Dom, speaking directly to him for the first time. You could tell by his voice he was nervous. Of a six year old. 

Dom nodded, munching on a piece of bacon. “Uh huh! We color!” He beamed. “And count, and add.” He told him simply, shrugging his shoulder. He looked at Steve. “When can I go back, Uncle Steve?” 

You bit your lip, swallowing. “Uh, we’re gonna be staying here, baby.” You told him, skipping making toast now. Moving to sit next to Steve, you brushed Dom’s hair back from his face. “We’ll figure it out, okay?” 

“Okay…” He said sadly. “My friends, though.” 

“I’m sorry.” You sagged, hating this. If there was any way you could live there, you would. You couldn’t, though. Not without nightmares, and those terrible memories taking over. This wasn’t fair to him at all. “You get to see Uncle Steve all the time now, though, right? And Aunt Wanda!” You tried to cheer him up. “And JARVIS is here. Uncle Tony...Normally you only get to see them a few times a year. Now you get to see them every day.” 

Bucky watched you try to cheer the little boy up, by mentioning all his teammates. It stung more than he liked to admit. Getting up, he went to put his mug in the sink before heading to the training room. He wanted to sort out his thoughts before talking to you later. His mind was a mess right then. 

You did your best to keep yourself busy all morning. You did some laundry (despite being reminded that you didn’t have to), you played with Dom and Wanda (you lost every game of Go Fish…), and finally made you and Dom lunch. He sat on your lap while eating, asking about his toys. You told him you would see if you could get them soon. That’s the best you could do. Which your best made you feel like the worst. 

Finally, you were sitting in the common room, your head on the back of the couch. You’d caved and taken some pain medication for your side that Bruce had given you. It was kicking in, so you felt a tad bit relaxed finally. “Need a nap?” Came Bucky’s voice. 

Licking your lips, you lifted your head and opened your eyes. “Nah. Pain meds are kicking in.” You told him. “Did too much.” You admitted. 

He nodded. “Been there.” He moved to sit in one of the chairs. Running a hand through his dark hair, he chewed on the inside of his lip. “Does he know who I am? Like, I mean, not me...obviously, I’m the creepy guy.” He rambled. “But, like, did you tell him about me as his father.” 

That was a tough place to start. You shook your head, though. “No, I didn’t.” You answered him. “I met Will when Dom was three and a half. So, he’s all he’s known.” Your chest ached. “He’s never asked, either.” 

Bucky could understand that. “Would you have told him?” He asked, almost scared of the answer. “One day, I mean?” 

“And say what, Bucky?” You asked. “Tell him that his father didn’t want him? What would that have done to him?” It would have killed you to have been forced to tell your son that. “I can’t say what I would have done. At first it was literally taking it day by day, then it got to planning for the next week. I never planned years ahead.” You shook your head. “At least not when it came to that.” What did he want you to say? That you would have broken his heart? 

He sat back, trying not to get upset, or take it to heart. You were being honest, which is what he wanted, and needed. This conversation, no matter how hurtful, had to happen. “What about now?” He asked. “Will you tell him who I am? Or at least tell him not to call me the creepy guy?” That would be nice. Being called the creepy guy by his son sucked. 

Did Steve tell Bucky that he told you what Bucky had said? You had to gamble with whether he had or not. “Do you still think we’d be better off without you? That you’re a monster?” Your tone was soft, your voice very controlled. He stared at you. “Steve didn’t tell you that he told me…” You sighed. 

“No, he didn’t.” He ran a hand down his face. “When did he tell you?” 

“When I woke up.” You told him. “He was there within minutes, wanting to talk to me.” Having that on your mind for over a week had been eating at you. “You didn’t answer my questions, though.” You pointed out. “Do you still feel that way?” You honestly hated that he ever felt that way. Had he told you this years ago, things would likely be very, very different now. 

Bucky took a deep breath. “Yes, and no.” He shrugged. “I feel guilty. If I didn’t say those things, you wouldn’t have ever lived there. You wouldn’t have gotten stabbed. Dom wouldn’t have ever seen all that.” He explained. “But at the same time, him not knowing his father is the Winter Soldier is probably safer. He won’t grow up knowing what I did. Who I was. What I live with.” He hung his head. 

Hearing him like that broke your heart. “Oh, Bucky.” You sniffed. “Please don’t feel guilty. You aren’t the one who attacked the house.” You told him gently. “And that’s your past. That’s not who you are now.” He was far from his past. “You’ve done a lot of good, and still do. He’s lucky to have you as a father. Even if he doesn’t know that.” If he was closer, you would have put your hand on his arm, but you were way too relaxed to move at the moment. 

He licked his lips, letting your words sink in. He was torn. He had always believed you, and still trusted you so much. Yet, he was set in his ways. He doubted that self-loathing would ever go away. Seeing Dom daily ate at him. He never pictured himself as a father, but now he felt like a shit father. Especially seeing how everyone else was with him. Dom was so comfortable with each of them, lighting up when their attention was on him. “Tell me about him? His full name? When was he born? All that.” He asked softly, making you give him a kind smile. 

“His full name is Dominick Paul Y/L/N.” You told him, feeling hopeful that he wanted to learn about the little boy. Was he wanting to step into Dom’s life as a father? “He was born on October 5th at 7:35 am. He was 7 pounds and 4 ounces, 20 inches long.” You went on. “His favorite color is red, but blue is a close second. His favorite game is soccer, and had a little soccer set up in our backyard.” You looked down, a sad smile on your face. He couldn’t play soccer out in the backyard anymore. 

Hearing you sniff, he got up and moved next to you, putting his arm gently around your shoulder. He didn’t know what to say, or how to deal with this. Had you been together, he could comfort you easily. Now? Now he was clueless, and he hated it.

Tagging: @ilovetaquitosmmmm @vicmc624

[lynzishell]

Prev // Next

Transcript:

Asher: Do you ever think about having kids one day?

Atlas: [big sigh] I don’t know. Asher: Just watching you with Spencer, you’re so good with her, I can’t help but think you’d be a really good dad. Atlas: I’m not so sure about that. Asher: How come?

Atlas: Um... [pausing to think] Asher: … [listening patiently]

Atlas: You know me, I get overwhelmed easily and sometimes I need a lot of time alone. I shut down and I hide away… I’m very lucky that you’re so understanding about that, but a kid… No, I grew up feeling unwanted, and the last thing I’d want is to make a kid feel that way. I know myself well enough to know that I make a better uncle than a father.

Asher: That’s fair. Atlas: Is that okay with you? Asher: Yeah, of course. I was just curious. I’m good either way. Atlas: Are you sure? You’re not gonna resent me in twenty years because you didn’t get to have kids?

Asher: No. Honestly, I’m happy just knowing you plan on still being with me in twenty years. Atlas: Of course, I do. Asher: Well, keeping in mind how understanding and supportive I am about giving you space when you need it, and knowing that will never change, do you think sometime in the next twenty years we might live together? Atlas: Is that important to you? Asher: I’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately. It feels like I’m constantly floating between my apartment with Lex, my parent’s house, and here. It would be nice to feel more grounded. The thing is… my own apartment doesn’t really feel like home anymore. Being with you does. And sometimes I get sad that even though I feel at home here, it’s not… home. Does that make sense?

Atlas: Yeah, it makes sense, and I th—

Asher: And half my stuff is already here. I don’t even keep Jasper’s stuff at my place anymore, it’s all here. And I would still visit Lex and my parents and stuff, so you’d still get the place to yourself anytime you need…

Atlas: Okay. Asher: Okay? Atlas: Yeah. This place feels more like home when you’re here, and I think you should move in. Asher: Alright, fine, I’ll move in with you. God, you’re so needy.

Atlas: [laughs] Hey Ash? Asher: What? Atlas: I love you. Asher: I love you too.

[mariacallous]

Griffin Dunne has just written a book. He had been meaning to do so for ages. It was one of the items on his bucket list: learn a musical instrument, master Spanish and write his damn memoir. “One down, two to go,” he says, beaming in via video link from his home in upstate New York. The actor and film-maker turns 69 this weekend. He reckons that still leaves him time for the music and Spanish.

Dunne imagined his memoir as a family portrait in the style of David Sedaris’s Me Talk Pretty One Day. He pictured something light on its toes, witty and poignant, a weave of essays and anecdotes. But then the book changed direction, as though it had a will of its own. It went where it wanted and needed to go. He says: “On some level, I knew there was this big subject ahead. And so, as I’m writing the book, I’m thinking: oh, OK, I know where this is going now.” The story leads to the scene of a 40-year-old crime. It revisits the death of Dunne’s younger sister, Dominique, and the grisly murder trial that followed.

I tell Dunne I really like the book, which sounds crass in the circumstances, but is true. While The Friday Afternoon Club is about the death of a loved one, it’s full of light, life and colour. It’s a startling tale of precarious American privilege, spotlighting a family that is blessed and cursed.

Dunne casts himself as the Hollywood prince at its centre, surrounded by famous faces, clamouring to be noticed. He tells how Sean Connery rescued him from the family swimming pool, how Billy Wilder critiqued his childhood pranks and how he roomed with Carrie Fisher before she went off to make Star Wars (“This movie is going to be a fucking disaster,” she said). Dunne was raised among storytellers (his dad and uncle were authors; Joan Didion was his aunt) and he writes with a loose, easy swagger. His memoir is tart, buoyant and playful right up to the moment it’s not.

In the early 1980s, when he was in his 20s, Dunne was hitting his stride as an actor. He had secured his breakout role in 1981’s An American Werewolf in London, playing the undead grad student Jack Goodman, doomed to haunt the adult cinemas of Soho. His 22-year-old sister was also faring well, having co-starred in 1982’s Poltergeist. But, on 30 October 1982, Dominique was strangled by her ex-boyfriend, John Sweeney, and died in hospital five days later. The trial, says Dunne, was outrageous, a farce. Implicitly, it seemed to put the Dunnes in the dock, framing the bereaved family members as frivolous dandies. Sweeney was convicted of manslaughter, but acquitted of murder. He served just three and a half years in prison.

Four decades on, Dunne’s account of events burns with rage. He is furious with the judge who intervened to block crucial evidence. He is furious with the killer’s employers (the Los Angeles restaurant Ma Maison), who stepped in to pay his legal fees. He is furious with Dominique’s then co-star, David Packer, who remained inside the house while Dominique was being attacked outside. “All the old anger got re-stoked,” he says. “I tapped right back into my vengeful side.”

During the trial, Dunne was approached by a mobster who offered to have Sweeney killed. He discussed the idea with his brother, Alex. “At that time, we would have been diagnosed as crazy people,” he says. “I told my brother that we had an opportunity to have the killer dealt with in the county jail. We decided not to kill him, but to mess him up, to have his hands smashed, like we were ordering pizza and choosing different toppings from the menu. And that was just the beginning of our madness; it carried right through. Even writing it down, I thought: I’ve got to let this go, because you can’t live in hate.”

In the end, they did nothing. Dominique’s killer changed his name after being released from prison and is likely still alive today. “I will neither forgive nor forget,” Dunne says. “But I’m not going to let that be the A-story of my sister’s life.”

Dominique was a victim, but that doesn’t make her life tragic. What is clear from the book is that people adored her. She comes across as whip-smart and droll, grounded and private. “She was a serious, substantial person,” he says. “Serious about her acting, her animals, her family. And, actually, rather intimidating, even though she was the youngest of the family.”

Dominique cared for their mother, Ellen, who had multiple sclerosis. She also cared for their father, Dominick, who was bisexual and closeted and yet confided in her. “So she was somebody we were all a bit in awe of. She was always wise beyond her years.”

She sounds like the family’s moral compass. “Yeah,” he says. “But also a bit bossy. She always knew what she wanted. My brother and I were a little fearful of her. It was like she’d been born already built.”

Dunne, by contrast, was a work in progress. In his memoir, he says that his first word was “taxi” and that he was always in a hurry – always running before he could walk. He was expelled from school for smoking pot. He was “coked to the gills” on the night Dominique was attacked. He was bumptious and entitled. His sister’s death changed him, he says, because how on earth could it not?

“For one thing, I never thought about domestic violence, the abuse of women. I grew up in Los Angeles and when I was in high school, pre-Roman Polanski, it was incredibly common for 13- or 14-year-old girls to be dating guys in their 30s. They’d go to these decadent parties in the hills and then come back and tell us all about it. And that was the culture; it felt exciting. I was unaware of what it meant. But then you have my sister, a 22-year-old girl, who finds herself in a domestic violence relationship with someone who’s twice her weight. So everything looked different to me afterwards.”

Perhaps it affected his career as well. In the mid-1980s, Dunne was on the threshold of stardom. He combined the charm and grace of a leading man with the prickly intelligence of a great character actor. The door kept swinging open, but he seemed to keep shutting it. He turned down The Fly and Sex, Lies, and Videotape in favour of making Who’s That Girl, with Madonna, and a reviled comedy, Me and Him, in which he played a yuppie architect who quarrels with his talking penis.

Dunne’s agent accused him of making “self-destructive choices”. He had always craved fame, only to find that it spooked him. “Too much attention at that time was a little fearsome for me,” he says. “I found it very stressful.” He hesitates. “And also my father,” he adds. “That had a lot to do with it, too.”

Dominick is the third main player in The Friday Afternoon Club, a high-flying producer who came to earth with a crash. He would eventually find his voice as a writer. He became Vanity Fair’s star reporter, first covering the Sweeney case, then the OJ Simpson and Claus von Bülow trials. But the in-between years were hard and humiliating. He suffered a reversal of fortune that took the whole family aback.

“I saw my father fail,” Dunne says. “I watched real failure in action in real time. He was a man who had a big house and a beautiful car and a great job and entertained the most famous actors and directors in the world. And everything was taken away from him, partly through his own actions, but nonetheless. People came out of the woodwork, kicked him when he was down.

“They were like: ‘I always hated you, I always knew you were closeted, you’ll never work again, pack your bags.’ And the effect it had on me, just entering the business as he was being destroyed in that business …” He draws a breath. “Well, it had a lot to do with the choices I made.”

In hindsight, the 1985 black comedy After Hours was his fork in the road. It’s also the picture with which he is most identified. Dunne developed the film as a co-producer and convinced Martin Scorsese to direct. He also took the lead role of repressed Paul Hackett, who embarks on a long, dark night of the soul through the streets of Lower Manhattan.

On set, Scorsese made one big stipulation. He ordered Dunne not to have sex for the duration of the shoot. I am gobsmacked by this, but the actor was unfazed. “It made perfect sense to me,” he says. “I knew what he meant. The character had to be boiling over with this unfulfilled anxiety. You had to see …” He pauses. “Not to be crude, but you had to see the semen build up to where it’s practically coming out of his eyes.”

One Saturday night, though, Dunne cracked and broke the rule. The next day of filming, Scorsese spotted the change and went berserk. “You’ve fucked up the whole picture,” he shouted. “I don’t think I can finish it now.”

Dunne says that he was probably being directed here, too. “Because now I’m afraid. I’m terrified. And it turns out that a certain level of fear is the same as not having sex. So [Scorsese’s] second piece of direction is telling me that I’ve ruined his movie. That’s excellent direction. It brought all the old anxiety back.”

It should have been a tough prospect, sitting down to write his book. Emotionally, because it meant revisiting the worst time of his life. Practically, because the Dunne family had already set the bar high. They are all dead now: his dad in 2009; his journalist-screenwriter uncle, John Gregory Dunne, in 2003; Joan Didion in 2021. But their reputations are daunting. It must have felt as though he were writing in the shadow of Mount Rushmore.

Dunne says it wasn’t that way at all. He had always assumed that writing a book would be a lonely endeavour. In fact, it felt warm, intimate and weirdly convivial. “I didn’t feel daunted, trying to write and being related to all these prominent figures. Quite the opposite. I felt their presence. When I described them, it was like I was seeing them again, living with them again. It was like I was back meeting Joan for the first time. It was as though I was spending time with her and John, my father and my sister,” he says. “They were alive to me. When I finished the book, that was the sad part. It felt like I missed them all over again.”

[upontherisers]

❛ i’ve been thinking about you all day. ❜ for mahalia & bucky 👀👀

a/n: writing under the influence always does crazy things to my prose. god bless.

She misses Europe and the cold that bit, the cold that put those horrible red cracks in between Brady’s fingers. What an awful thing to happen to a piano player. The cold that reminded her that she could feel something, that a small ember in her wanted to live. A cold she fought harder than anything, then lost, then lost him.

By the time she’d realized what she felt, she could hear her Uncle Ned’s voice in her head at a Sunday barbeque once he’s got enough beers in him to talk big to the fly boy hanging around his niece’s neck. “You don’t know spades from war, boy.”

It won’t work. John doesn’t take too kindly to ‘boy.’

So she forgets him, or tries to. That’s where the dreaming comes in, the wild things, the ones that made the shrink she saw for a day take notes, the ones that made her shut her lip quick. John doesn’t take too kindly to ‘note,’ either.

Sometimes her leg is better, sometimes he’s telling her to stay still and she can’t breathe. It’s like her chest is caving in on itself; they have sinkholes in Michigan. She knows she’s dreaming because it didn’t hurt when she fell, just knocked the wind out of her lungs. None of this heaving, desperate stuff that makes her mother shake her awake in the middle of the night for fear she’s suffocating. Gale’s there too — sometimes — and he’s real gentle. Sweet. Real life like, too, like one of those warship models her baby cousin paints, full of color and just missing the water. When it’s just John, he’s good to her.

They have a white picket fence and two stories and a dog she’s getting used to and they don’t sleep well, but they sleep. When her leg’s better they ride bikes and John scoffs about “we don’t have this in Wisconsin” and “we don’t have that in Wisconsin.”

“Lake Erie's prettier than the Superior and Michigan combined,” she argues, even with factory smoke skies and rains that hiss like the German reeds she landed in.

“I doubt it,” he says.

“Well, you’ve only ever seen it from baseball.”

“So? Baseball’s the best.”

And when he’s home from work — ‘cause he’s not a drunk in this one. Y’know, she never knew him as a drunk; she always just assumed. When he’s home from work, she’s standing in the kitchen and yes, some evenings the cane is there, but the sky is too pumpkin orange and purple for her to care. He brings her flowers and he kisses her and takes off his tie — again, not a drunk — and he tells her things. 

“We should at least see it, the Potomac, the houses… the schools.”

“My sister’s having a baby.“

“'I've been thinking about you all day.”

When her leg hurts, he’s gentle like he’s talking to her about baseball. It’s — she can’t find the words more often than not — it’s blinding, almost. Biblical, seraphic.

They had a veterans’ free admission day at the museum in Detroit. Sounds like some shit Vera would say. She went with Alex Jefferson and they walked arm and arm through the galleries, her cane occasionally squeaking against the wood floor. No one seemed to notice. Alex had invited her to stay with him and that darling thing from Tennessee, and she forgot about things for a night and a half, and spent the next six days smelling the wood air and the dew and the lake and wondering if he could feel dew somewhere too.

They had veterans’ free admission day and she saw one of those little paintings of angels, the ones with the little arrows from Valentine’s day cards, and she laughed aloud, turning heads in the echoing gallery, and thanked God she wasn’t raised Catholic. 

She’d always known what angels looked like. Brown hair, eyes like the skies above, an attitude that’d make her mother stop trying to marry her off, and no scars from the shepard that’d gotten a hold of her leg when she was twelve — the one that made the physician call the nurse in before he signed off on her physical so she could join up and she snatched the signed form away with as much rank as she could muster. You don’t ask a woman about her age or her scars.

When he’s good to her, he brings her flowers, and that’s when she knows she’s dreaming, because the flowers are daisies — real white and real yellow — like the ones Marge pressed in her letter. So at least Gale’s alive. And if, if Gale’s still alive—

They’re still taking trains to Wyoming.

She does feel guilty for the dreams that Gale’s in because Marge is a good woman and she knows it. She knows it. It’s just jealousy, she supposes, or she’s going mad with bed rest or she’s not really as dedicated to wanting something as it feels like. If it’s not about Gale, then it’s not about John, either — right?

Her mother’s reading books about shell shock in effort to explain why Mahalia came home in her own body and not her sister’s. She cracked one of them once, when Mama was out chatting to Miss Melody on the front porch and she couldn’t bear those cow-eyed kids wrapped around the hem of their mother’s yellow rose dress staring at her cane. The author was well-read and white and had served in the first one — more than most of his colleagues can say. She liked the way he wrote, talking to her like a friend, not a creature in a cage at the zoo that they poke with sticks to chronicle aggressive behavior. Dr. Arnold Bacon, Harvard University.

Dr. Bacon doesn’t say anything about dreams, at least not hers. She’s had the rest of them — her crash, camp, the march — and she doesn’t do well when gaskets blow on the street outside, but she finds nothing about dreaming of majors with strong hands and a knack for box scores, and she’s sure that shell shock’ll be the next explanation her mother crosses off the list, right next to getting pregnant and possession. She’s sure she’s incurable, but that’s what the doctors told her parents about her sister, too, and they couldn’t have lost another daughter just like that.

So she’s awake from all the dreams and the dreams of dreams, and the cold makes her remember the piano player. 

All of her letters returned to sender. She didn’t know they were doing that. Surely she’s not the first to be bent over sick with worry, surely she’s not the first to know he’s not dead — she fell but it’s not like the stars fell from the sky and punched holes in her wings, surely a million other bomber girls with their leg all tore up were trying to catch his scent but staying far enough away so that the fry grease don’t hit ‘em. 

When Crank wrote back from Massachusetts — blustery, all those vowels, a bitter wind in August — she knew that those were just dreams. If she really wanted the white picket fence and the yellow-brown center of a pressed daisy, she’d stop flinching at the blue sky when she looked up to sneeze and the green grass for the dog to run like the pines up north, farther than she’d ought to go, in real Michigan, parallel to his Wisconsin.

She’s lucky the farmer who pulled over to fill her up wasn’t carrying, she’s lucky he liked Roosevelt, she’s lucky he was union, and she’s lucky she got a hand pie from his wife as she waved farewell from their driveway on Christmas, snow blowing like steam from the Nuremberg train.

That’s the first day she really pissed her parents off. On Christmas, of all days. Leg so stiff we nearly layed ya ‘cross the backseat and drove to the Episcopals — they didn’t have round little cherubs, either. Her father’s smile faltered an inch and she felt pride in it. Finally, something other than love.

She dreams of arms wrapping around her waist, his chin settling in the crook of her shoulder so they could watch their boy run around with the dog outside. Michigan’s hot this time of year — it’s always summer when she dreams of the fence — orange like sunset and green.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

It gets cold again and she thinks of the piano player’s split hands and Uncle Ned, three lakes, sister’s baby shower blue; she’s as good a navigator as it takes to know it’ll be at least four days to Montana and even if Marge writes back that night, it’ll be at least five days to Chicago — and Vera! A boy! How wonderful — and then a day to her.

And that’s if Gale’s writing to Marge and if that pilot friend of his isn’t face down with a gun to his head.

She writes Crank who’s writing Hambone, who’s writing Brady and Alex, Macon, Benny, Vera, and no one could say the name of the one that connects them all. The one that’s late for roll, who did plenty of dumb shit before her and certainly after, but who wasn’t gone. That’s what she told the people at the post office when her letters wouldn’t go fast enough. 

She’s dreaming until she’s not and she always knew he was a drunk! She knew and he still found her door and her father’s firm hand and he found the spot by the window on the left side of her mattress. 

He gets her flowers once, pink roses — and to think she’d dreamt about yellow and white daisies — when he tells her about a promotion and a big enough salary to fix her leg and they have great hospitals in D.C. and she has to be on his insurance legally, meaning swapping out her last name, and it only has to keep as long as they can shoot me down over Seoul. And she kisses him as a few roses fall to the floor like leaves in a too early autumn. But for the first time, she wants to stay where it’s warm, green-purple and brown-orange, and let the winter be the past.

[slippinmickeys]

Three Part Harmony (23/25)

“What makes you so sure they’ll be able to find us, Mulder?” Scully asked him.

Mulder sighed. “Unless he knew you could Jedi Mind-Trick half the troopers in the state, I think the minute we drove away, Bryson cast a net over a fifty mile radius and started tightening the noose. Mathematically, I think it’s only a matter of time. That and I think he’s probably pretty motivated. Now more so than ever.”

At that Scully looked away for a moment. “I can’t Jedi Mind-Trick anybody,” she said quietly. 

“Have you tried?” Mulder asked, which earned him A Look. 

“So what are you thinking?” Rhonda interrupted, turning everyone’s focus to where it needed to be. “Booby traps all over the camp with Scully and William in the middle?”

“Something like that, I guess,” Mulder said. 

Rhonda wandered back to the table where Mulder and Scully still sat and lowered herself down across from them. “What do we have at our disposal?” she asked. 

“Three guns, a fair amount of ammunition for only one of them, several syringes of ketamine, and our wits,” Scully said plainly. “And also…” she pointed to William, who chose that moment to blow an impressively wet raspberry. 

“Not the most confidence-inspiring display I’ve seen from a secret weapon,” Mulder said, smiling.

“Ketamine?” Rhonda asked. 

“Long story,” Mulder answered.

“Do you think this place is defensible? Is there somewhere that might be better?” Scully asked.

Mulder looked out the big bay windows at the front of the lodge to the lake that was turning gray in the last rays of the day’s light. The sun had already set over the mountains behind them. 

“It’s as good a place as any, I would think,” Mulder said. “Are there any houses or anything across the lake, Rhonda? Any people that might report seeing activity here?”

Rhonda shook her head. “The camp owns the whole thing. Nothing out there but ducks.”

“Then I say first thing tomorrow we take a little tour of the camp and start sharpening Punji sticks,” he said. 

XxX

The next morning came in slowly, the light dull and flat. Mulder had William on his hip, standing in front of the lake looking out at the rippling water. The dome of the sky above them was oppressive and low, and the forest was restless, the tops of the trees waving in an uneasy sway.

He had been trying to connect with his son since he’d woken that morning with the small boy’s hands resting on his chest, eyes intently watching him, but it was difficult with Scully asleep, unable to facilitate their mental link. It felt like trying to tune a radio that was mostly static. He’d swept up the boy, changed his diaper, and had eased soundlessly out of the cabin, endeavoring to let Scully sleep as long as possible. 

“Good morning!” he heard from behind him, and he turned to find Rhonda coming up the path toward them, looking rested and refreshed.

“Good morning,” he smiled at her, and set William down on the ground when he tipped himself excitedly toward the older woman with a happy babble. 

Rhonda scooped him up with a joyful smile which she turned on Mulder. 

“Sleep well?” she asked. 

Mulder nodded. “Had to get up in the middle of the night to add wood to the fire, but otherwise…You?”

“Same,” she said, and inhaled deeply, turning to look at the lake with the mountains beyond it, low clouds cloaking the peaks. 

“I was up early thinking,” she said, “about ways we might defend this place.”

Mulder was surprised by this. The woman was short and round, and even now had her blonde hair teased high, mascara applied thickly to her lashes. She did not look like the kind of woman who might spend her free time strategizing like Sun Tzu. 

“Last night you mentioned Punji sticks,” she said. “And it got me thinking.” She gave a small sniff in the cold mountain air. “My uncle served in Vietnam,” she went on. “He was an older soldier, and wasn’t over there long. A National Guardsman. I remember the day he left.” She was quiet for a moment, shifting William on her hip. “He told me stories of things he’d seen in the jungle. The traps the VietCong set… He was never quite the same when he came back. But he taught me the things he’d learned over there, and he taught me to hunt.”

“So you’re saying you might be more of a secret weapon than William is?” Mulder nodded at his son. 

Rhonda laughed. “I think we both know that’s impossible,” she said. “But I’m happy to share my ideas with you.”

“And I’d be more than happy to hear them.”

“After breakfast?” Rhonda said, turning to him. 

“After breakfast,” Mulder said. Without another word, they started making their way up to the lodge, heading for the back door that led into the commercial-sized kitchen. Rhonda’s car was still parked nearby, frost thick on the windows. Though tucked partly under the low hanging branches of a pine tree, it was still somewhat conspicuous. If someone flew over, they might spot it. 

Mulder paused as they approached the doorway. 

“Hey,” he said, looking around and noticing a group of picnic tables not too far away that were covered in dark brown tarps secured with bungee cords. “I think we should probably cover your car so no one can spot it from the air. Want to help me take off one or two of these tarps so we can cover it up?”

Rhonda nodded and set William down, where he immediately pulled himself up onto the bench of one of the tables, scooting himself along it happily. They made quick work of removing one of the larger tarps, spreading it over the top of the Datsun. Rhonda was able to easily hook the cords to the front of the vehicle, but Mulder had a harder time finding something to secure his end to, and had to get down on the ground to look under the back. He had one of the Glocks tucked into the back of his pants and had to take it out, setting it on the ground near his feet. 

“One sec,” he grunted, shimmying under the car on his back to get a better look at the undercarriage. He managed to get one eyehook around the tailpipe, and had found a spot for the second when he noticed something odd near the passenger side wheel well. A small red light shone dully through a buildup of dust and salt, and when he reached up to touch it, found that the light was connected to a device about the size of a fifty-cent piece. Alarmed, he gave the small gadget a tug and it came off in his hand, attached to the wheel well with a magnet. 

He pushed out from under the car in a rush, knocking his shoulder into the fender roughly as he did so.

“Rhonda!”

She turned quickly to him, an anxious look on her face. “What is it?” she said.

“Do you recognize this?” he said, and held up the device as she approached. “This was attached to the back of your car,” he said, sweat breaking out on his forehead despite the cold temperatures. 

“I-” she started, “I’ve never seen it before in my life. What is it?”

“It’s a bumper beeper,” he said, and then dropped the small device to the ground, stomping it into pieces under the heel of his boot. 

“What does that mean?” she asked, her voice taking on a higher pitch.

“It means they know we’re here,” he said, and watched as her eyes went wide. 

“How long do you think it’s been there?” 

“Hard to say,” he said. “You were right to stay away.”

Small comfort , he thought. They were coming. Might even now be on their way.

Mulder swiped up the pistol from the ground, tucking it into his jeans, and marched over to scoop his son up into his arms. He walked him over to Rhonda, passing the boy to the older woman. 

“Take him inside,” he said, all business. “Get him something to eat. I’m going to go wake Scully.”

Rhonda’s eyes were wide and frightened. 

“Here,” Mulder said, pulling out the gun. “You hunted, right? You know how to use this?”

The woman gulped and nodded, and Mulder was glad to see that her first instinct was to turn it to check that the safety was on. She then pushed it into the back of her pants, out of reach of the baby she held in her other arm. 

He reached out to put a comforting hand on her arm. 

“We’ve gotten out of worse,” he assured her, and turned on his heel, sprinting over the rise toward the cabins.

[remuslupinsdaughter]

Molly Shelby

Chapter four

Ok so this is a fic from years ago that I’ve decided to sort of change up and develop, imagine Tommy Shelby had a daughter before he went to war, she’s around 12 now.

I have no idea where this is going but let’s find out where my silly little mind goes with it.

It had been a few days since Molly was made housebound, she spent most days either in the shop with her dad and uncles or at home with her aunt Polly. Today was one of the days she was at home, she was reading in the living room with Polly, “I need to go to the market, Scudboats just outside, you need anything you tell him” she said, Molly nodded, she knew scudboat well, he’d been around her entire life and was like an extra uncle to her.

Molly finished her book and stood up from the sofa, she pushed the door open and saw Scudboat stood there, “alright miss Shelby” he said tipping his hat, Molly laughed, “just getting another book” she said and went to her dads office which had a large bookcase filled with a hundred books easily. She skimmed the shelves deciding what to read when she heard the door click, she paused, aunt Polly can’t be back yet it’s not even been half an hour? She thought, she then heard a loud thud, she silently placed the book on the shelf then quickly but silently tiptoed to her dads desk, grabbing the gun he kept in his spare drawer, she ducked under the desk and gripped the handgun tightly.

She heard talking from voices she didn’t recognise, then suddenly a voice she did recognise, it was one of the maids “who are you? What are you doing here?” She asked, then there was gunfire and a scream, then another thud, Molly screwed her eyes shut, her body trembling. “We need the girl, she’ll make the leverage the boss needs” one of the men spoke, then the office door opened, Molly froze, she covered her mouth with one hand. The men stalked around the office, their feet right in front of her hiding spot, Molly held the gun with both hands, clicking the safety off as quiet as possible, but not quiet enough. “Well well, who do we have here” one of the men said, in a blind panic Molly fired, one of the men dropped, the other cursed and ran. Mollys chest heaved with panic as she sunk to floor.

Arthur and John were laughing as they stepped through the door, “shit” Arthur said, “Arthur where’s Molly” John said, “search the house!” He said, they both searched rooms yelling her name, “MOLLY” “MOLLY” “MOL-“ Arthur cut himself off as he burst into the office, Molly was hugging her knees, blood splattered on her face, still clutching the gun, at the sound of footsteps she drew the gun pointing it at Arthur, “JOHN I FOUND ‘ER” he shouted, putting his own gun down and raising his hands, “hey its ok mol, put the gun down” he said softly, Mollys hands shook and tears welled up in her eyes, John sprinted into the room, stopping dead when he saw the situation unfolding in front of him, “shit” he said quietly, “John, go to the garrison and get Tommy, then send Finn to find Polly” Arthur said trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible, his hands still raised, John nodded and ran back out the room. “Molly please put the gun down” Arthur said, Molly shook her head, tears spilling down her head, “I can’t”.

There was a crash of doors hitting walls making Molly jump and point the gun in the direction of the noise, Tommy, quickly followed by John ran into the office, “Molly look at me” Tommy said crouching to her level, Mollys eyes shifted to meet his, “that’s it, there you go” he said, keeping his voice soft and low, “you remembered I keep that handgun in my desk drawer ey? That was quick thinking, you get that from me” he said, Molly nodded, “you need to give me the gun Molly, can you do that? Just pass it to me” he said, holding his hand out, Molly nodded again, her body still trembling, she passed the gun to Tommy, he took it, clicked the safety back on and passed it to Arthur.

“Come ‘ere” Tommy said moving over the dead man’s body and scooping Molly up, Molly gripped him tight, burying her face in his coat, her body shaking as she sobbed, “it’s ok, shh shh it’s ok” he soothed wrapping his arms around her, “they killed the maid” Molly said through sobs, “I know” he said, standing up, Molly moved her head from his shoulder and looking around, “wait where’s Scudboat, dad he was outside, dad they killed him” she said panicking, “they didn’t kill him, they knocked him out and tied him up, he’s ok, he’s just got a sore head” Tommy said, Arthur removed his coat, “we need to get you outside, don’t want you seeing anything else” he said, softly covering Molly with the coat so she couldn’t see, Tommy moved quickly, getting Molly outside.

Once they got outside Tommy put Molly down and cupped her face with his hands, “are you hurt?” He said checking her over, suddenly Aunt Pollys voice could be heard, “what the fuck happened?” She shouted, Tommy took out a handkerchief and tried to wipe the blood of Mollys face, Molly smacked his hands away, “what did you do?” She asked, her voice trembling, Tommy just looked at her, “dad what did you do? They wanted me for leverage” tears started to spill, she hit him in the chest with her fist, “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO OR TAKE THAT MADE THEM TRY TO TAKE ME DAD” she screamed, hitting him repeatedly, Tommy restrained her, holding her close to him, “I’m sorry, i know I’m sorry” he said as Molly sobbed, for the first time in Tommys life, Polly saw fear in his eyes.

Polly moved to her niece who’s sobs had reduced to sniffles, “come on sweetheart” she said taking ahold of her shoulders, “clean this up” Polly said, “I’m taking her to the garrison come there when you’re finished” she said before leaving with Molly.

[poetpony6890]

After seeing that artwork of ash and Kit as parabtai I simply can’t stop thinking about it and I’ve decided I need it to happen. They would be such a good match.i can feel it in my bones.

They both have odd,slightly (extremely) abusive parents. They both lost a parent so their other parent hates them for it. (I’m not sure the queen hates ash but I mean who is logically leaving a child alone with Jace forever? Especially a Thule! Jace who lost Clary and is literally crazy.)

They are both fearie princes, half shadowhunter. They both have a (in law) Uncle Kieran.

I know, logically that once the unseelie courts finds out that Kit is the first heir, they will want him dead. But I need him to have what he’s always deserved, a big (hopefully loving) family.

Sometimes when I think of Kit, I think of him in that basement in that off putting house, with no one but the tv. He would watch shows about family’s and wonder why he didn’t have that. HIs dad only loved him when he needed him. The actors on tv love each other and they aren’t even really father and son.

Then there’s ash, who spends his days in that cottage, when Janus leaves,he flys around and waits for him. Wonders he will reconsider teaching him to play the piano, just so he has something to do.

As we all know, their fathers SUCK. There’s Johnny rook, a criminal, lying, cheating, scumbag who would sell his own son for a pretty penny if it meant he could have rosemary back. Just the way Janus is for Clary.

Sebastian, a horrible, fucked up, murder who only ever cared about himself and his sister who he wanted to fuck. Messed up dude all around. Definitely not someone you want to call a father.

With Ash’s powers of love and loyalty, the first time Kit sees him, it clicks, he knows who this is. He knows he has to protect him, as family. When Ash sees Kit, it’s stronger than any magic in faerie, because he’s looking in a mirror. He sees what everyone else sees when they meet him, how they feel the need to protect him. He will protect himself more than anyone else ever had. This is the sister he had heard of, this is her son from many years. This is how they will learn what family is. Because they both finally have the thing they have been searching for longer than a father or a mother. Someone to call their brother, someone to fight with but more importantly, for.

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Are you planning on writing more for the Military Brat series? I love it

Oh thank you 💞

I do plan on writing more I just don’t know when. I’ve got my fics in a rotation for when I write them and currently Military Brat isn’t in the rotation but now that I’m thinking about it I’ll write some one shot ideas I have for this A.U after the next chapter of Visited on the Son.

I was asked to write a sequel to bring your kid to work day where Spider is actually a little terror making work really hard for his father. My idea is that Spider (who’s only 2 in this one shot) couldn’t sleep the night before because he was missing his mom and crying all night also keeping Quaritch up. So they’re both just exhausted and sad with Spider acting out as a result and Quaritch doing his best.

The other one shot I have that I already started a while back centers around the team Deja blue, specifically Lyle, taking care of Spider while Quaritch is gone. My idea for that one is Lyle taking Spider to the park and losing him there. He then has to enlist the help of his whole squad to help him ( spoiler alert: they find him with the Sully kids who are at the park with their grandma Mo’at)

I never finished this one because I kept getting writers block on it. I might have the plot figured out but that doesn’t always mean getting from point A to point B is easy. So I put it aside to work on other things that weren’t giving me writers block but I would really like to finish it.

Just for fun though here’s everything I have written for the one shot. This isn’t the final version but it’s what I have so far so enjoy!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Lyle, I need y’a to watch Junior while I’m in a meetin’,” said the Colonel. The child in question’ big brown eyes stared back at him through the bars of his playpen.

“Boss…” the Colonel gave him that look but Lyle pressed on, “this is why little Miles needs to be in nursery school. I’m not a nanny!”

“Welp, today y’a are.” He rose from his chair, scooped up his son who giggled as he was plopped into Lyle’s unexpecting arms, “I need to be at the Pentagon at noon. Should be back by two. Junior should be ready for a nap around one. Just give him some lunch, keep him entertained, then put him to bed.”

Little hands patted Lyle’s face. He tried to avoid them as he said, “Sir, I’ve got my own work to do. How am I supposed to watch a kid all day?”

The father rolled his eyes, “I do it every day Lyle. You’ll be fine. Junior’s an easy kid.”

The Colonel started walking towards the door, leaving the corporal flabbergasted. “You're leaving now!”

“Yeah Lyle. It’s lunch time. Traffic’ll be a mess. I got to go.” He ruffled his son’s hair, eyes lighting with love when the little boy giggled, “I’ll be back. Be good for uncle Lyle, baby boy. I love you.” With that he left.

Lyle stood in the middle of the room in a state of shock, the toddler in his arms squirming for release. He had watched over his nephew plenty of times, but that had been at his bosses house, not on base while he was actively working! I can’t do this.

With little Miles balanced on his hip, Lyle walked out of the office in search of any of his squad to help him. The first member he found was Z-dog and he immediately rushed towards the woman, calling “Z. Z. Z. Zeeeeee.” She turned to him annoyed. Lyle held out little Miles, his tiny feet swinging in the air. “Take the baby.”

Her face twisted up in confusion, “Why do you have the baby.”

Lyle sighed, “the Colonel had a meeting so he dropped the kid on me but I don’t know what to do with him!”

“And I do!”

“Well yeah! You're a…”

“Don’t say it.” Z said in disgust.

“Come on Z. I know you have to be better at this than me.”

Z scoffed, “yeah because I have more than half a brain cell.” Lyle continued to plead, help me with his eyes. Z sighed, “how long is the colonel going to be gone.”

“Till two.”

“So three hours of babysitting.”

“More like two. Boss said to put the little guy down for a nap at one.”

Z looked absolutely exasperated with him, “Jesus Chris, you're freaking out over two hours!”

Lyle shrugged, “I got shit to do.”

Z groaned, “oh my god. Just go on your lunch break early, take the baby to the park, tire him out, feed him, then put him to bed. If you're lucky he’ll sleep till the boss comes back.”

Lyle grinned, “your so smart Z.”

She rolled her eyes, “yeah I know.”

Lyle attempted to set up little Miles’ stroller but failed spectacularly. The toddler giggled as he watched him struggle. Lyle sighed, “I give up.” He scooped up the little boy and started the twenty minute walk to the closest park. Little Miles quickly tired of being held squirming for release. Lyle groaned in frustration, setting the child down to hold his hand while he toddled at his uncle’s side.

After ten minutes Lyle started to become annoyed with the slow pace, surprising the content toddler by picking him up again. Little Miles yelped. He pushed against Lyle’s chest crying, “no, no,no! Down! Down!” Lyle’s panic spiked as he fought to contain the thrashing boy.

He felt the judging eyes of passerby, making his stomach twist. “Come on M.J.” Lyle pleaded, bouncing the boy. Little Miles continued screaming and crying. Lyle sighed, “fine you win.” He set him on his feet. Miles instantly quieted. He smiled as Lyle took his hand again, peacefully continuing on their way.

Finally they made it to the park. It was fairly unpopulated with only a handful of retirees sprinkled throughout the area, a few of them with their grandchildren in tow. Lyle spotted a play area built for younger kids and made a beeline towards it, plopping the little boy on to the cushiony rubber turfing. “Alright bud, what do you want to do?” M.J’s wide curious eyes roved over all the equipment from the swings, to slides, monkey bars, rocking horses, a marry go round, and a sand pit. The toddler silently pointed to the monkey bars. “I think you're too little for that one kid.” The little boy’s brow furrowed in a way that made him look just like his father when angry. He insistently pointed at the monkey bars. Lyle grinned trying and failing to not laugh. “Alright, come here. Let’s try this.” Lyle held little Miles up to the bars. The boy grabbed them one by one, Lyle walking him across, keeping a somewhat lax grip on the toddler so he could think he was actually pulling himself across the monkey bars.

M.J giggled when they reached the end, “again!”

[theladyofdeath]

Better or Worse {Chapter Two}

Nessian. Angst. Modern au.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for all who read chapter 1! I've been so pumped to share this one with you all. We hope you enjoy it...even the sad parts.

Warnings: depictions of child loss, language.

~Nesta~

“The last six chapters…” my editor sighs, and I know that I’m not going to like what’s coming next. “They lack depth. I feel like they’re just words on a page, there’s no real meaning there. I mean, there’s hardly any sex once they make up and I hate to be the one to tell you this, but that’s kind of what you’re known for.”

I roll my eyes at her sarcasm, even though she can’t see my face. I tuck my phone between my ear and shoulder as I shut my laptop and pick up my empty water glass. “So what. Rewrite with more fucking?”

“Rewrite with emotion,” she explains, as I leave my home office and go downstairs. I need a break from the screen. The second I got home from my office in the city, I instantly went upstairs and tucked myself away. 

“Fine,” I sigh, entering the kitchen. “When do you want rewrites by?”

My list of rewrites is growing. I had barely made this deadline. My anxiety only grows as she says, “Can you have them to me by Monday?”

“Monday?” I ask, exasperated. “Are you kidding me?”

“We have to get this to the publisher soon. We’re running out of time, Nesta.”

I lean against the counter, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Alright. Yeah. Fine. Monday.” I hear the garage door open and quickly say, before she can give me any more bad news, “I have to go. Talk to you soon.”

I hang up just before the door opens and Nyx comes barreling in, his smile wide and his backpack massive on his little, four-year-old frame.

“Aunt Nesta!”

My anxiety lessens just a little bit as he runs into my open arms and I swing him around, peppering his cheeks with kisses. “Hi, my boy. Oh, I’ve missed you.”

He takes my face into his hands and whispers, “Uncle Cass got me a milkshake. Chocolate.”

“I’m so jealous,” I whisper back, and set him down.

We’ve picked Nyx up from preschool every other Tuesday since he started a year ago. We swap every other week with Azriel and Elain, since Tuesdays are the one day that Rhys and Feyre’s work schedules clash. I cherish the time with my nephew — he’s growing way too fast.

Cassian steps through the door a minute later, holding a bag of groceries and what looks like a half empty milkshake. 

“Hey,” he says, not even looking at me.

“Hey,” I reply, quietly. We’ve hardly spoken a word to each other in days.

I was home before he was on the night he wanted to cook me dinner. I was in bed before he was, too. I don’t remember the last time either of those things happened. The white flag I’d brought home in the form of a chocolate pie had long since been put in the fridge and forgotten and my feelings of mediation had been replaced with frustration at the late hour. When he got in bed and smelled like a frat house, I pretended to be asleep, stewing in my anger and sudden sense of resentment towards my husband, rather than snapping at him like I wanted to.

He was awake and gone before I even woke up the next morning.

“I got a couple of steaks and potatoes. Nyx loves the garlic mashed potatoes at the restaurant—” When he looks over his shoulder at my expression, his words fade away. “What?”

“I ordered pizza,” I say, slowly.

His body tenses, as I expected it would, and he starts putting everything he got from the grocery store into the refrigerator with a little too much force. 

“Go ahead and cook,” I say, trying to ease the tension, for Nyx’s sake. “We can put the pizza in the fridge and reheat it tomorrow—”

“It’s fine.” I know that tone. It’s final.

Giving up on the conversation and letting Cassian stew in his anger, I turn to Nyx with a smile. “Why don’t you go put your backpack and your shoes by the front door, buddy?”

He looks between us before nodding and exiting the room. 

“I’m sorry,” I start, carefully, when Nyx is out of the room. “I was just trying to make quick dinner plans.”

“It’s fine,” he says, closing the refrigerator door. “I should’ve called first.” 

“Cass—”

“Let’s just pretend while Nyx’s here, alright?” He turns to face me, those broad, inked arms crossed.

I lift a brow. “Pretend?”

“Yeah, pretend,” he says, voice low. I hate the look in his eyes, hate the distance that’s between us. “Pretend to be happy, or whatever. Pizza is great.”

Before I can say anything more, he leaves the room. A second later, I hear Nyx’s giggling as he’s tossed over his uncle’s shoulder.

Pretend.

I hate that we have to pretend, hate that we don’t  know how to simply be happy anymore. I hate that he didn’t expect to have a pleasant conversation with me, that his body tensed so quickly, that he couldn’t wait to get out of the room. At least I’m home and not at the office, or working upstairs. Even though I have a deadline to meet in less than a week. 

I don’t leave the kitchen until I hear the doorbell ring a few minutes later. I meet the pizza delivery boy on the porch and pay for our extra large meat lovers pizza and breadsticks before bringing it back to the kitchen and distributing it onto plates. 

The only thing that brings a smile to my face is Nyx coming into the room, thinking that a pizza night in is the best thing ever.

The three of us sit at the kitchen table and eat. At first, Nyx is the only one saying anything, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Cassian keeps glancing at me. I can feel his eyes, but fear returning his fleeting looks.

“Aunt Nesta?”

I blink, realizing that with the way Nyx is staring at me, he must have asked me a question and I completely missed it. I glance at Cassian to see if he’ll give me any assistance but his expression is…pained.

“I’m sorry, buddy, I didn’t hear you,” I say, painting a smile on my face.

Cassian clears his throat. “Nyx, why don’t you tell Aunt Nesta what color you worked on at school today?” From the tone of his voice, it’s clear that he hadn’t asked me about the color of the day.

“When are you and Uncle Cass gonna get me a baby to play with?”

My nephew’s big blue eyes gaze at me, full of curiosity and innocence, just like he is.

His question burns through me though, right to the core, and suddenly, I feel hollow.

Barren.

Empty.

“Aunt Lainy is getting me a baby, that’s what daddy said.” He picks up his pizza with both hands, tearing into it like a wild animal. “And that’s why her tummy is getting big. When are you getting a baby?”

I close my eyes and for a second, all I can see is blood. Blood staining bed sheets and a white, clinical examining room. Tears, and not just mine.

Fear and devastation and heartache and—

Fingertips graze my leg under the table and my eyes snap open, finding Nyx laughing at something Cassian had said. His own smile matches Nyx’s, but it’s strained, his eyes meeting mine for a brief second.

I have no idea what he’d said to derail our nephew’s curiosity, but I suddenly can’t pretend everything is alright at this moment.

Standing quickly, I pick up my plate and mumble, “I’ll be right back,” before heading for the small bathroom off the living room.

My breathing has quickened but I close my eyes and focus on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth as I grip the porcelain countertop. I convince the tears not to come — something I’m an expert of at this point in my life — and wait until my breathing is under control before I open my eyes and meet my reflection in the mirror. I can still hear Nyx’s giggles from the kitchen, and I silently thank my husband for doing what he does best…being the world’s best uncle and most obnoxious distraction. 

My reflection nearly make my tears start again.

The circles beneath my eyes are dark and my eyes are distant, bloodshot. I’ve lost weight recently, I can tell, and not the good kind. There’s nothing healthy about my pale skin and the way my collarbone is perfectly on display all of the sudden. After spending so many hours working, I haven’t been the best about taking time to eat and maintain my diet, my exercise. I can’t remember the last time I had gone to yoga or done any other sort of physical activity. I haven’t been taking care of myself.

I haven’t been taking care of my husband, either.

I know it. He knows it. We all know it, and we’re dancing around it, just like we dance around everything, but I can’t help it. I have worked hard for my career, and my obsessive mind is controlled by gaining success. 

A soft knock comes to the bathroom door. I clear my throat. “Yeah?”

Cassian’s soft voice comes through the other side. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “Be out in a sec.”

“Okay.” There’s a beat of silence. “Feyre’s on her way.”

I take a few more deep breaths as his footsteps vanish down the hall, then I’m opening the door and going back to the living room, like nothing is wrong.

Dinner is apparently over, the plates and pizza box cleaned off the kitchen table and leftovers stored away in the fridge. Bluey is playing on the television in the corner and Nyx is hanging over the arm of the couch, watching intently.

Something brushes along my arm and I jump, swearing under my breath as I move away, as if I’d been burned.

Cassian is standing there, his hand still outstretched, something like hurt written across his face. “Really, Nes?”

“You scared me.” I’m snapping, I have absolutely no reason to snap but my emotions are rubbed raw and I feel like I have no control over them or myself. “You snuck up on me.”

His eyes, already so different from the way they used to look at me, harden as he pulls away. “I was just making sure you were okay—”

“I told you I was fine.”

He nods, face like granite, turning away from me and heading into the living room. Without a word, he scoops up Nyx and plops down onto the couch, settling in to watch his show.

I stay put, staring at the two of them. They’re so cute, so comfortable…yet, I feel like I’m a shadow, watching from a distance. An outsider in my own home.

Guilt sweeps over me, but it’s subdued. Every emotion I feel has been diminished, numbed. I debate on joining them, on sitting beside them on the couch, joining them in their peace. But in my state of numbness, I know I would be of no good to them. I go back into the kitchen and find an unopened bottle of wine. After pulling free the cork, I pour myself a glass. Just before the rim touches my lips, the doorbell rings.

I hurry to the door before Cassian can get up off the couch and welcome my youngest sister inside. She smiles at her one and only child before greeting me, wrapping me in her arms.

“I feel like we haven’t talked in forever,” she says, before picking Nyx’s backpack up off the ground. “We need to get together soon. Me, you, Lainy.”

“Agreed,” I smile. At least, I smile the best that I can. “Do you want to stay for a while? Or…”

“No, that’s okay. Rhys will be home soon, and it’s almost little man’s bedtime.” As if on cue, Nyx runs into Feyre’s arms. 

“Mommy! I had a milkshake and pizza!” he yells, giddily. “Can we get ice cream?”

Feyre laughs quietly and I smile, just as Cassian approaches and gives my sister a hug. “I don’t think so, buddy,” Feyre says, calmly. “Shoes, then let’s go. Come on.”

Nyx groans but does as he's asked.

“Was he good?” Feyre looks from me to Cassian. 

“An angel,” Cassian says, smiling. I guess he would know more so than me. “As always.”

“Good,” she grins, and gives Cassian one last hug. After giving me a kiss on the cheek, she scoops Nyx into her arms. “Sunday, come over for lunch. Yeah?”

“Sounds good,” I say, mustering the best smile I can. We tell them both goodbye and then it’s just the two of us, standing in silence. 

We used to never have uncomfortable silences, but now here we are… the tension so thick that we can cut it with a knife.

I go to take a step back into the kitchen, but Cassian blocks my path. “Do you wanna talk about it now?”

“No.” The word is short, but adamant. 

Cassian, the stubborn bastard he is, isn’t accepting that answer. “Nesta, we should talk.”

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Know what? I don’t care what you want. I want to talk, we’re talking.”

My jaw locks but I don’t try to move again. Fine. He wants to talk, we’ll talk. “What do we have to talk about?”

Cassian takes a deep breath. “At dinner—”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“We have to.”

“No, we don’t!” I yell, my fists tightening at my sides. “We don’t have to talk about anything I don’t want to talk about. You can’t make me talk about shit that I don’t want to talk about, Cassian.” 

I can see the fury in his eyes, can sense how infuriated he is by the tension of his shoulders, but he doesn’t act on it. He simply says, as calmly as he can, “Nesta, please.”

“No,” I say, and now my hands are shaking. “I’m going to bed.”

“You never go to bed this early.”

“Fine. I’m going to write.”

I take one step, and that's all it takes. He explodes. “Damn it, Nesta! Talk to me!”

I don’t flinch. In order to flinch, you have to feel something, but I feel nothing. I meet Cassian’s crazed, desperate stare. “I don’t want to talk about dinner.”

“Then talk to me about something,” he begs, pleads. “Because I feel like we haven’t had a genuine conversation in months.”

“That’s not true.”

“It isn’t?” he asks, and I can tell he’s constraining himself. “Because I can’t recall a time when we weren’t snapping at one another, or your tone isn’t begging me to back the fuck off and mind my own business.” I open my mouth to reply, but he keeps going. “I can’t even ask if my wife is okay, because she doesn’t fucking respond, she just says she’s fine when she’s clearly not. Do you know how frustrating that is?”

I swallow, looking away from him.

I’m not fine. Not even close.

But he doesn’t know that. He can’t, nobody can.

I turn and continue heading for the stairs.

“I can’t do this anymore, Nes.”

The words are so quiet that I’m not quite sure if I hear him right. Turning around to look back at him, I see his eyes are on the floor. “You can’t do what?”

“This,” he says, gesturing between us. There’s something in his hazel eyes I don’t usually see there. “This pretending that we’re doing. I’m done with it.”

“What is with you and pretending?” I demand, finally snapping, my voice raising.

His jaw locks, and a fire I don’t usually see has enveloped his eyes. “Me and pretending…” He shakes his head. “Nesta, that’s all we’ve been doing. Nothing between us has been real in a long time.”

I swallow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I know what he’s talking about. Every word from his mouth makes perfect sense. I would never admit it, though. “I’m done,” he says, shaking his head. 

I swallow. “The hell are you talking about?”

“A divorce,” he spits. “I want a divorce.” 

A divorce.The words haunt me. They don’t register, don’t settle. “What?”

“I think we should separate,” he says, calmly, even though he looks anything but calm. 

I try to make sense of his words, try to understand where he’s coming from, but I can’t. “What?” I repeat, a little more strongly. 

Cassian’s eyes drift from mine as he looks at the floor. “This isn’t working, Nesta. Me. You. It’s not working.”

“Are you…” My words fall off as I shake my head. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No,” he begins, eyes on me. “No, I’m not fucking kidding you. Nesta, I don’t even know who you are anymore. Shit, I don’t even know who I am anymore. I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here, and I’m starting to think that it’s not worth it.”

“You don’t mean that,” I bite out. My chest is heaving. I might be hyperventilating, but I can’t focus on my body. Only his words. I repeat, through gritted teeth, “You don’t mean that.”

Cassian doesn’t reply, just heads to the coat closet off the living room, reaching inside and pulling out—

“You’re leaving?” I breathe, watching as he slings the duffel bag over his shoulder.

His voice is quiet, but he won’t look at me. “I think it would be best.”

He starts to leave, is heading for the kitchen, and to the garage where his truck waits.

He’d had a bag packed.

He’d planned this.

He’s serious.

“You promised!” My scream surprises even me, but Cassian freezes in the middle of the kitchen. He doesn’t turn to face me, but he pauses. I don’t waste my opportunity. “You promised, Cassian, through better or worse, that you would be here.”

Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes connect with mine, and then he speaks the words that I swear are aimed at my soul. “So did you.” He stands there for only a few more heartbeats before he turns and continues heading for the door.

As it opens and closes, I stay put, listening as the garage door does the same. When all is quiet, I wait, hoping he’d change his mind, that the door leading to the garage would open back up and he’d come back in and say this was all a stupid prank.

But he doesn’t.

And as I sink to my knees, I know that I’m the only one to blame.

[trashmouth-richie]

So, I don't know if you've already done something like this, but what about a reader who's been Eddie's neighbor and best friend for years. Wayne has been trying to set them up since they were children, but it never worked out, until Valentine's day, and Eddie realizes just how many guys are planning on asking the reader to be their valentine, and he realizes that he was in love with her all along...just besties pining after eachother

I hope this wasn't too specific or too vague 💋

I am here to serve 💕💕

Eddie x Bestfriend!Reader

W.C 1.1k

“Blegh, Valentine’s Day?” Eddie says, jumping up slightly as he rips down another streamer from the water stained ceiling of Hawkins High. “How many made up holidays can they come up with before people catch on?! It’s conformity…” you roll your eyes and laugh as your best friend goes on another tangent about the societal norms.

You two had been best friends since you could remember. One day you were swinging by yourself on the rundown swing set next to the abandoned lot and the next you were laying on top of another trailer with the boy who just moved in with his uncle, listening to him explain the story behind the Big Dipper. After that you two were inseparable. Every awkward stage, every time your mom kicked you out for back talking, there was Eddie.

“… it’s bullshit! Don’t you agree?” Eddie says, slamming down his metal lunchbox on the table.

“I mean someone pouring their heart out to you, telling you that they’re into you? I think it sounds kinda… nice.” You say weakly as you shove a forkful of green beans into your mouth.

“Nice?! Y/N, have you lost your mind?!” Eddie is all but screaming in disbelief, “You’re saying that if any jackass in this school cafeteria were to drop you a valentine and that says ‘BE MINE’ on it you’d actually consider it??”

“Yes! Eddie I might! Considering I’ve already gotten three of them in my locker! Now if you’d excuse me, I’m going outside where your little rant, about holidays with cherubs is disgraceful to overweight babies, can’t be heard!” You stomp away throwing your entire tray in the trash. Why couldn’t Eddie open his stupid beautiful brown eyes and see that you wanted some dumb grand gesture, but not from anyone from him.

All of the hellfire boys have their mouths hung open as you stomp away. Eddie's face is bright red in embarrassment. Or is it jealousy?

“Dude are you fucking blind?” Dustin barks as he wipes gravy from his upper lip.

“What?” Eddie asks as he shakes his head lightly and opens his lunchbox, pulling out another sad bag of stale pretzels. “What the hell are you talking about Henderson?”

Dustin makes eyes at Gareth and the rest of the boys and they all know. Everyone but Eddie knows. It’s so blatantly obvious but he just couldn’t make heads or tails of it. “Nothing, you’ll get it eventually, or not I mean your track record isn’t—” a pretzel goes whizzing into Dustin’s face as Eddie flicks it, “hey!”

Later that day on the way home, Eddie hadn’t spoken another word about Valentine’s Day. He was clearly annoyed. You could tell because DiO was playing and he wasn’t singing along to it. “You alri—”

“So who are they from?”

“Huh?”

“The Valentine’s, no sorry, the three Valentine’s you got.” Eddie says, chewing on his finger nails and speeding down the road.

“It’s not important” you whisper as you pick your cuticles. You wanted to tell him how you felt about him but you were scared of his rejection.

“Obviously it is if you stomped away after yelling about it at the lunch table.” Eddie challenged.

“Steve Harrington, and two anonymous ones” you breathe out all in one breath.

Eddie is muttering to himself as he keeps driving. “What’s wrong Eddie?”

“Nothing, I’m great.” He pulls the van up against the side of his house and opens his door jumping outand slamming it with a huff. You’re still inside of his van, confused as to what the hell his problem was. He asked! So why was it bothering him?

Eddie spent the greater half of the night blaring loud music and smoking too many joints. Which wasn’t different from any other night, but this time he was doing it to calm himself down as he paced around his trailer. At this rate he would wear a pattern in the floor and the hallway wall like the lady from “The Yellow Wallpaper”. He was pissed. Who the fuck did Steve think he was giving you a Valentine? It obviously was a joke! Steve didn’t know you like he did. Steve didn’t know that you cross your fingers and raise your feet over every bridge you drive over. Steve didn’t know that you once cut your own bangs short and crooked after Eddie got his own bangs tangled in a comb and Wayne had to cut it out just so he wouldn’t feel stupid. And Steve certainly didn’t know that you hated your smile even though it was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Eddie stops mid pacing removing the joint from his lips as the realization hits him.

A small clink hits your window as you finish up the last bit of homework from Chemistry. You know it’s Eddie, even before he does the secret knock. “You know you don’t have to throw rocks at the window when you can just reach up and—” Before you can finish your sentence Eddie is climbing head first into the window. Knocking over a lamp and papers all over the dresser in his graceful manner.

He stands to his full height and gives you an award winning smile, which quickly fades as he throws his hands in his pocket and comes out with a piece of paper. “Eddie what the hell?”

“Just shh! I need to get his out before I fucking barf all over your room like that chick from ‘The Exorcist’.” He says as his hands shake while he opens the paper.

Eddie hands the paper to you and scribbled in his handwriting below a cartoon of two people, one who oddly resembled yourself and another with long hair and a leather jacket, were two words BE MINE?

“Listen I know this is cheesy as hell, and I’m really sorry for the way I acted but thinking of you with another guy makes me want to drive my van off a cliff. I’m so fucking in love with you, sweetheart. All these years I have been but I guess I never really knew how to—” it was Eddie’s turn to shut up.

You yanked him down to you by his leather jacket and pulled him into a kiss. He tasted like weed and spearmint gum. You’re both smiling and giggling like two little kids who stole money for candy.

“So is that a yes?”

You press your lips to him again & whisper, “I’m, yours.”

[reigningqueenofwords]

A New Pinky Promise

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Part 2 of Pinky Promise

When you announced your engagement on Christmas Eve, you couldn’t help laughing that all 4 parents reacted at the same time . Both Mary and your mother gasped “finally!”, your dad yelled “it’s about damn time!”, and John was beaming as he clapped Dean on the back saying “proud of you, son!”. Sam shook his head, chuckling. “Congrats, guys. Was wondering if this would ever happen. How long have you been seeing each other?” He asked, an amused yet curious look on his face. “Because neither of you said a thing.” He was close to both of you, and felt one of you would have mentioned it.

“Actually…” Dean laughed. “We haven’t been.” 

“I’m confused.” Your mom looked between the two of you. “What do you mean?” 

“Remember when Aunt Jody and Uncle Bobby got married? I was 10?” You asked, making her nod. “I was whining that I wouldn’t get to play with Dean all weekend.” You went on. “I asked what we would do when we were grown up and married and couldn’t play together all the time.” 

“So, I said that I just wouldn’t get married if I couldn’t play with her.” He shrugged, looking at you lovingly. 

Blushing, you continued. “Which made me suggest a pinky swear. If neither of us were married by the time we turned 25, we marry each other.” You explained easily. 

John’s eyebrows shot up at that. “You’re getting married because of a 15 year old pinky swear ?” He asked. 

“Why do you think I ‘suck’ at keeping a girlfriend?” Dean countered, making everyone look at him. 

“What?!” You blinked. “What are you talking about?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. “It’s always been you. I just kept my fingers crossed we’d get to this point. We did.” 

Your mothers were all but melting over Dean’s confession. They were instantly talking about it between themselves, gushing over how they ‘always knew’. You tugged Dean’s arm, motioning to the kitchen, leaving Sam to chat with John and your dad. “Are you saying you always hoped that we’d get married?” You asked him once in the kitchen. 

“I mean, yeah.” He shrugged. “Been in love with you since we were 15.” He admitted before licking his lips. “Is that a bad thing?” 

Instead of answering him, you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. He froze for a moment before he started kissing you back. Your arms wrapped around his neck as one of his hands went to your lower back, the other on the back of your neck. It was your first serious kiss with him, and you felt right at home. He held you like you were the most important thing in the entire world to him. 

After a few moments, you pulled back and looked up at him. “Do you think I think it’s a bad thing?” You asked playfully, making him laugh. “I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” You moved your hand to cup his cheek. 

“Guess we should have fessed up years ago.” He sighed. “But better late than never, right?” At least now he would have you by his side for the rest of our life. “How’s about we go save Sam from our moms?” 

You grinned. “Probably a good idea.” You agreed. 

“Hey, babe.” You answered your phone as you worked on packing up another box. “I’m working on packing up the last of my things now.” 

You could hear Dean’s smile when he spoke. “Can’t wait for you to be moved in.” He had gotten the house, and your dad had already started building the treehouse in the back. “Want me to drive up and help?” 

“You don’t think me and your dad can manage?” John had offered to help and him using his truck meant you didn’t have to rent a UHaul. 

“I haven’t seen you since New Year’s and I miss you.” He half whined. 

Giggling, you shook your head. “That was two weeks ago, silly.” You reminded him. “But, if you really want to help…I won’t say no.” You caved. “Your dad is driving up tomorrow, and by tomorrow night I will officially be living with you.” 

“Can’t fucking wait!” He had been counting the days. “I was hoping I could take you on a date tomorrow night?” In his mind, he had years of dates to make up for. 

“How about tomorrow we order a pizza and relax. We can go on one the day after. I’m just going to want to lounge after moving and driving.” You suggested. “I’ll even make sure I know where my cutest little dress is to wear.” 

He groaned lightly. “You are killing me, sweetheart.” 

“So, I shouldn’t mention that I like to sleep in nothing but a baggy shirt?” You teased, enjoying this. “Or maybe a tank and some comfy underwear?”

“You are mean .” He gasped. “And here I am, sleeping all alone tonight. Now I’m gonna be thinking of that.” 

“I could mention the tattoo I have that you’ve never seen.” You cracked up when you heard him trip. “Be careful!” You warned him. 

“Can you blame me? Putting all these thoughts in my head.” He defended himself. “I miss when you just made fun of my voice cracking.” 

You bit your lip at that. “Would a picture make it all better?” You flirted. 

There was a moment of silence. “Of the tattoo? Or just you? I mean, I’d be happy with anything my hot fiance sent me.” He flirted right back. 

“Alright, give me a second…” You moved to your bedroom where your full length mirror was. You were in a shirt you’d swiped from him over Christmas and a pair of lounge shorts. “Sent.” You told him after you snapped a picture of you posing for him. 

“God damn, sweetheart.” He whistled. “Is that my AC/DC shirt?” He laughed. “I thought I left that at my parent’s house!” 

“I swiped it to sleep in.” You admitted, sitting on the end of your bed. “All my friends are telling me I need to write a book and base it on us because we’re ‘so damn cute’, and our story is ‘envy inducing’.” You giggled.

“Hey, if you want to become some famous romance author, I’m all for it. Just don’t make my character look like Fabio on the cover.” He told you. “That’s Sam.” 

Laughing, you flopped back on the bed. “Deal.” 

Wedding planning, while a bit stressful at times, was nowhere near as bad as movies made it out to be. You and Dean planned on getting married December 23rd, exactly one year from when he proposed. You’d be getting married in your parents backyard, and planned to get some pictures in the treehouse. You didn’t care that you’d have to climb up the ladder in your dress, or that it would be cold doing so. That treehouse held a lot of important memories for the two of you. 

Then, the reception would be at a local hotel. It would be your parents, Dean’s family, your Aunt Jody, your Uncle Bobby, and a few friends that you and Dean shared. Some couldn’t make it because it was so close to Christmas, and you understood. Which was why the friends that couldn’t make it would get a DVD of it. You’d hired a photographer and a videographer to make sure every memory was captured. 

You, Mary, your mother, your Aunt Jody, and a couple of your friends went dress shopping the first week in July. You hadn’t wanted the ‘princess’ type dress for yourself, if you were being honest…until two weeks before that. 

“Dean, I don’t need something big and fancy.” You assured him as the two of you worked on picking out a design for the cake. “It’s not a huge wedding, and we’re not fancy people.” 

Dean gave you a bored look. “You deserve to feel like a princess on our wedding day, because you’ll be one.” He told you, pointing once again to a fancy cake. 

You leaned over and pecked his lips. “You make me feel like a princess every day.” You smiled. “But if you feel that way, how about we compromise? You can pick the decorations, but I get to pick the cake size.” You offered, feeling that was fair. 

“Deal.” He beamed. 

“I thought you wanted something more simple?” Your mother asked as you tried on your first dress. 

You looked over your shoulder at her. “Because that’s what Dean thinks I want, too.” You smirked. “He said that I deserve to feel like a princess on our wedding day. I know him. That means he wants to see me look like one. So, I’m surprising him. I’m going to find a princess dress I like.” You told her, looking into the mirror again.

“He’s going to think you look beautiful no matter what you wear.” Mary promised you. 

“I know.” You told her. “But I’m sure I can find a princess type dress that doesn’t make me feel like I’m wearing a costume.” 

The woman helping you perked up. “I have just the dress in mind!” She beamed. “I’ll be right back!” She said before rushing off. 

“She looked very excited.” You mused. “I’m eager to see what she comes back with.” 

The dress she showed you was perfect . You’d tried it on and couldn’t help but tear up. Mary paid for it, a present from her and John. 

Every decision made, and every fee paid made everything feel so much more real. And made you that much more excited for the future. Walking into your bedroom one night, you paused and watched Dean for a moment. He was reading a book, and moving his lips as he did. The only time he did that was when he spaced out and needed to reread a paragraph. You thought it was adorable. “Hey, Dean?” You started, moving to crawl up the bed. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He answered, looking up from his book. Seeing you moving towards him, he smirked and put down his book. “If you want what I think you want, the answer is hell yes.” 

Wiggling your eyebrows, you sat back on your feet. “We’re about to finally fulfill our pinky promise.” You said happily. 

His face lit up at that. “One week!” He got excited. 

“I propose a new pinky promise.” You said softly, reaching for his hand. 

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” He was curious as he held your hand in his. 

You were nervous, but pushed on. “How about we pinky promise to have our first baby in the next couple years?” Your heart was pounding in your chest. 

His eyes sparkled as he lifted his other hand, holding out his pinky. “I pinky promise that we will have our first kid sooner rather than later.” 

Looping your pinky with his, you laughed as tugged you towards him. “When would sooner be for you?” You asked, wondering if he had a time frame. 

Dean pretended to think. “How’s about nine months from now?” 

[custerdthegreat]

Ok guys this is gonna be a bit of a vent so if you’re not into that you can click off now but…

A lot has been going on this month is why I haven’t been streaming as much, I’ve just been coping by playing Minecraft and smoking since my situation makes it so I don’t have a better option for help.

I’m so tired of this gastropersis shit every morning I wake up feel nauseous take my meds for it and I’m pretty sure my meds make me a little blocked up in the morning making them very hard and painful and having to eat all the time with an ED is so draining…

I’m tired of being surrounded by death this week, my uncle passed away and his wife passed a few months back now and one of my senior cats died and I was the one who laid him to rest in the backyard, my other senior has been injured and we thought he was gonna pass but after a lot of wet food (the vet had no openings) he seems to be doing better

I hate that in order togoing to my uncles funeral and seeing some of my family in Texas for probably the last time I was told I needed to dress like a girl and keep my lgbt/not conventional shit at home and the example for girl cloths and shit like sundresses.

I hate how the people in this house act, everyone feels two faced I can’t vent to anyone without it ending in the ears of people they’re not supposed to and getting in trouble for private conversation, I don’t understand how people can be actively wrong and some dumb shit then get mad at me for not being wrong? Like when my cousin bought ice cream put it in the main fridge didn’t label it got mad at us cause half of it got used for milkshakes and when we bought him a new thing of ice cream and got our self some he choose to eat our entire thing of ice cream out of spite. But I think the worst is the gaslighting telling me they didn’t fucking tell me I’d get disowned and possibly kicked out if I got the vaccine that would’ve prevented my gastropersis cause it’s caused from stuff like Covid and stuff. Or just straight up denying my medical stuff all the time.

I hate I can’t get help for things without hiding it or my family will bullying me into stopping the help it’s what happened with my therapy and mental health stuff and with some physical health stuff to.

I wish It felt realistic for me to get a job and help my partner with money but I’m always nauseous especially for the first few hours of the day and can very a lot , I feel my stomach all the time and I’m so tired all the time.

I hate that the job market is so bad and even after months and dozens of interviews my partner is still struggling to find something that will get back to him and I swear to god if someone saying that we’re just not trying hard enough stfu get off my page I have watched him spend hours almost every day applying to shit but because he doesn’t have his full license yet most places just don’t call back, I’m literally at a hiring event for him rn typing this.

I feel like such a loser rn, I can’t work, I feel like a expensive pet, nice to look at I guess but doesn’t serve much of a purpose and is like allergic to life of something other then that mostly just being a pain in the ass. I feel bad for smoking weed but I feel like it’s the only thing currently that keeps me from just ending it cause of all this shit.

I wish I had money for safe foods and none mint toothpaste so I can brush my teeth without worrying about it flaring up.

Anyways.. that’s all for now sorry for the vent just frustrated.