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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 11 months ago

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Napoleonville [Chapter 1: The Fall-Down House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, alligators, kids, parenthood, smoking, cupcakes!

Word Count: 7.2k (she's very chonky for a first chapter).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Since this is the first chapter of a new series, I'm going to tag a bunch of usual readers, but I won't tag you again unless you want me to. 💜

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“What do you want to do to me?” you whisper through the phone, stretched out across your bed like a cat as George Michael’s Faith plays from the baby pink Panasonic boombox out in the kitchen. It’s late afternoon, and fading daylight falls in tiger stripes through the window blinds. The May air is hot, muggy, golden; cicadas hum in the southern live oaks, an ancient earthen music like rattling bones.

A few seconds pass before he can reply. It was a bold way to begin. You are admittedly a little impressed with yourself; an idea like this has been pacing around in your skull like a beast behind bars for years, but you’ve only now set it loose. “That’s difficult to explain in words,” he says; and in the low, teasing purr of his voice you can hear that your gamble paid off like striking oil. He has a British accent, which you never would have expected. You only recognize it from clips you’ve seen of Prince Charles and Princess Diana on 60 Minutes. “But I’d enjoy showing you.”

It’s laid open beside you on the bed, his personal ad in the Bayou Journal: Educated white male in his mid-20s. Single and not looking to change that. Seeking an open-minded, adventurous, and spirited lady for short-term D/s arrangement. Be prepared to answer the following riddle: I’m small but loom large, I’m Italian but French, I give away much to gain little. Who am I? Best regards, An Indecent Gentleman. “I’m waiting.”

“You understand what is meant by D/s?”

“Of course,” you say, your best feigned flippantness. You only know because Amir told you; he’s been daring you to call for three days.

“Thank God,” the man on the other end of the line sighs. There is an inhale like a drag on a cigarette. You imagine what he might look like: broad or slight, dark-haired or blonde, striking or average or homely, treacherous or safe, forbidden fruit or just plain forbidden. “I’ve had four different women ring me thinking I’m going to be their boyfriend, dinner and flowers and everything. They’re functionally illiterate down here.”

How unfortunate, you think. He’s highfalutin. But alas, no one is perfect. That’s no prohibitive obstacle. He doesn’t need to be faultless; it’s not as if you’re planning to marry the guy. “I like when someone else is in control.”

“Why?” This is a test, you can feel it. You can sense his rapt attention across the wire, through the electricity and the lush treetops and the rust-amber sky.

“I have a lot of…responsibilities in my real life,” you explain. “A lot of pressure. I make the decisions, I look out for other people. Sometimes I want to be the one who’s told what to do.”

“I can make that happen. And the riddle?”

“It’s Napoleon.”

The grin is sharp and triumphant in his voice. “Good girl.”

“He was short but an emperor. He was born in Corsica to an Italian family, but he ended up ruling over France. He sold off a bunch of French colonies to focus on conquering Europe and still couldn’t quite manage it. But the U.S.A. got this charming little corner of the world as part of the bargain.”

“You’re a historian,” the man says, sounding pleased.

“No sir, we all had to learn about him in school whether we wanted to or not.”

“Sir,” he echoes, tasting it, savoring it. You imagine a pink tongue flicking out to skate across his lips. Then he is abruptly cool, impersonal, businesslike. “Listen, I’ve got a scar down the left side of my face. It’s thin, it’s clean, but it’s noticeable. The eye is glass, although you can’t really tell unless you look closely. Is that a problem?”

A scar? Is he a veteran? A lion tamer? A motorcycle enthusiast? You try to remember what kinds of hobbies British people have. Isn’t there some kind of sport where men swing sticks around while riding horses? That sounds like it could put an eye out. Perhaps to your own surprise, you find that you are more intrigued than uneasy. Oh, you realize, dull like dawn through mist. I like him. I want him. Not just THIS, but HIM. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Brilliant. I don’t want to talk about it again.”

“That’s fine.” You hesitate. “There’s actually something I should tell you too.”

“Hm?”

The hum of his voice is arrogant, hungry. You try not to get distracted. Blood rushes hot and ashamed into your cheeks. “Um, well, uh, sometimes it’s difficult for me to…you know. Finish. Not when I’m alone, just when I’m with a guy. Especially if I’m anxious. And I don’t want to feel worried about faking it or making sure it happens or dealing with you getting offended or upset or whatever. Because it’s fine, really. It doesn’t mean I’m not having a good time. I’m just…stuck in my own head.”

There is a sound you can’t quite match to an expression, an exhale, a scoff. “Obviously I wouldn’t be mad at you. But you’ll come. I know you will. I’ll make you.”

And you’re flooded with a relief that you never dared to hope for. A confession spills out in a trembling whisper: “Please.”

“When?” he says, eager, urgent.

“I think if we don’t do it now, I’ll lose my nerve.”

There is a razor-thin pause, and then he asks for your address.

~~~~~~~~~~

You haven’t had a man in your bed in years; you are abruptly and unkindly reminded of this when you paw through the top drawer of your bedroom dresser and find only practical, deadly unsexy cotton Kmart underwear. You dash to the closet, yank open the squeaking door, and—tucked away in a cardboard box of winter clothes like sweaters and jeans, forgotten, needless—unearth a sprinkling of insubstantial silk and lace, all in luxurious gemstone hues: amethyst, ruby, sapphire, onyx, emerald.

“Oh, hallelujah.” You throw off your sunshine yellow shorts and tug on what were once upon a time your favorite panties. They don’t fit nearly as well as they used to; they fit horribly, in fact. They evaporate the thrill and leave nauseous trepidation in its place. “Oh God. Oh no. Oh no, oh no.” You steal a harried glimpse of the clunky black alarm clock on your nightstand. The flashing red numbers inform you that you have approximately ten more minutes until he arrives.

You jog pantsless to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of sweet tea—ice cold, bright with a squeeze of lemon juice—and pace back and forth across the wooden floor as you sip it. The pine boards slope at just the slightest angle; if you laid an apple by your feet, it would roll. The house is sinking. It was built at the turn of the twentieth century, but it won’t live to see the next. Ailing sunlight casts your shadow against the wall, mint green, spider-leg cracks inching through the paint. Outside cicadas buzz and doves coo in long, mournful whirrs.

You pick up the phone—pink to match the boombox that is now playing Poison’s Nothin’ But A Good Time—next to the refrigerator and dial with one finger, your other hand still clutching the frosty glass of sweet tea. It rings twice before he answers.

“Wassup?” Amir says distractedly. You can hear a commotion from his living room on the other side of town: his grandmother squawking, ambient applause, Wheel Of Fortune.

“Quick, what should I wear?”

“Huh?”

“The guy! The guy from the ad! I called the guy! What should I be wearing when he shows up?”

Amir cackles. “Ho, you must be truly desperate, why the fuck are you asking me?” There is some shrill protestation in the background. “Grandma, don’t you dare try to act like you’ve never heard that word before, we just rented Aliens.”

“You know what men like,” you plead.

“Not the straight ones!” And then, not to you: “Grandma, calm down. Grandma, Grandma! It’s my homegirl. She has an emergency. She’s got a man coming over and she doesn’t know what to wear. What did you wear for Pop Pop? What? What?! You expect me to believe you got seven kids out of that dude with just some old floral nightgown?! Prairie girl fabulous? Looking like you’re on your way to join the Donner Party? Okay, if you say so! Phyllis knows best!” Amir’s attention returns to you. “Grandma suggests a nightgown.”

You are skeptical. “That seems slutty.”

“You’re inviting some stranger over for an all-expenses-paid ride on the Pussy Express and you’re concerned about looking slutty?!”

He has a point. “Okay. Okay. Yeah. You’re right. Okay.”

“You wear that nightgown with confidence and you take that random kinky man directly to bed, do you understand me?” Amir orders.

“Totally,” you say, gulping sweet tea with a shaking hand.

“Good luck. I gotta go, it’s the Bonus Round. Hope you have a few rounds to tell me about tomorrow.” Then he hangs up.

Back in your bedroom closet, you find a black satin slip that runs to your ankles and flows like a ballgown. You put it on some nights when you’re feeling desirable, after a bath of bubbles and steam, candles and Madonna, freshly shaved legs and shimmering with Pond’s, when you want to lounge around daydreaming, when you want to remember the fantasies you once had about what your life might turn out to be. Now you wear it in the fading daylight, nothing underneath and golden sunbeams turning your skin to something that warms and glows.

You appraise yourself in your dusty dresser mirror, and you think: Not too bad, actually. You’ve had your hair up in a haphazard bun. You reach to take it down, then stop yourself. You like the wayward wisps, the I-don’t-care-too-much casualness. Your breathing is slow and calm again. There is a noise outside: tires crunching on gravel. Your glass of sweet tea, now mostly just ice cubes, is sweating on top of your dresser. You grab the glass, swipe the Bayou Journal off your bed, and take both to the kitchen counter, still speckled with flour, powdered sugar, flecks of cinnamon. Then you pad across the sloping wooden floor in your bare feet to open the front door. Amber dusk streams in; you can hear bullfrogs croaking and the hoots of the long-eared owl that lives in the collapsing, overgrown shed behind the house. Spanish moss hangs like cobwebs, like chandeliers. The tree swing rocks idly in the breeze. The first notes of You Shook Me All Night Long play from the kitchen boombox.

His car is red, sporty, with a logo on the grill that you don’t recognize, a series of circles intertwined like rings. He cuts the engine and steps out into the driveway as you watch from behind the screen, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest. He’s tall, trim, blonde, wearing Adidas sneakers and light-wash jeans and a Marlboro jacket that it’s far too hot for. He peers around, taking in the trees and the house through his black aviator sunglasses. He puffs one last time on a cigarette before putting it out on his own windshield and starting towards the porch. And immediately, primally, you crave him like water or air.

He climbs the groaning steps, splitting wood and rusty nails. You open the screen door to meet him in the threshold. And he takes off his sunglasses so he can look at you, stowing them in a pocket of his jacket, his gaze not wavering from yours, his lips not saying a word. Yes, he has a scar, but it doesn’t diminish him in the slightest. Yes, his left eye may be glass, but you wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t already told you. You’re too tangled up in the right. His iris is a brisk greyish blue, not like the ocean, not like the bayou, more like the sky before a hurricane, heavy with the threat of wind and rain. His face is strong, jarring, beautiful in a rare way. His full lips are curling into a grin.

At last, you speak first, an inane observation that feels somehow significant. “You found me.”

“I did.” He nods towards the large lavender sign out by the mouth of the gravel driveway. Hand-painted on it are the words Hummingbird Bakery and a logo that Amir designed, a hummingbird feeding on the frosting swirl of a cupcake as if it’s a flower flush with nectar. “You told me to look for the sign. That helped.”

“What kind of car do you drive? I don’t recognize it.”

“It’s an Audi Quattro.”

“Audi,” you repeat, like a hopelessly distant place, New York City or Los Angeles or Paris or the moon. “Is that British?”

“German, actually.”

“You’re from a very different world.”

“Yeah, I am.” His eye flicks up and down your body, black satin that curves and clings; his grin widens. “But I could learn to like yours, I think.”

You step back so he can follow you inside. The screen door shuts with a bang. Under the shadows, as the sun sets into the west, he unzips his Marlboro jacket and tosses it onto your living room couch. Underneath he wears a white t-shirt. We’re opposites, you think dazedly, wondering what he will taste like when he kisses you. He grazes his fingertips down the front of your throat, continues to your chest, stills when he hits the satin of your slip.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want to,” he murmurs, and you breathe in his smoke and cologne and dauntless, dizzying self-assurance. “But until you say stop, I’m gonna keep going.”

Your heartbeat is drumming beneath his hand, part exhilaration and the rest nerves. You are afraid of disappointing him; you aren’t sure what to expect. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Aemond.”

Aemond. Foreign, like Audi, like Paris. You give him your own in return. He leans in, presses his hips to yours, denim and satin that you can feel his heat through. And you think he’s going to kiss your neck, or bite it, bruise it, mark it, claim it, claim you; but he only ghosts his parted lips from the edge of your jaw to your bare shoulder, inhaling slow and deep, drawing your atoms into his lungs until they tumble down the narrowest corridors and into his capillary beds, into his bloodstream. You moan softly, helplessly, and turn your face to kiss him.

“No,” Aemond growls, teasing you, catching your chin with one hand to hold you still. His other hand glides down the front of your slip and stops between your legs. Through satin the color of a starless midnight, his fingers stroke you roughly, commandingly. Animalistic yearning bolts low to weaken your knees, high to rip a gasp from your throat. “Nothing underneath,” he notes in approval.

Oh, I like him, you think, in equal parts ecstatic and petrified. I REALLY like him.

But are you going to be able to impress him too? Are you going to ruin this?

You whimper, unintentionally and almost inaudibly. Aemond is studying your face; furrows appear in his scarred brow, so faint and fleeting you might have imagined them. Then his hand retreats as he says: “Show me your toys.”

You gape up at him; this is not what you anticipated. “What?”

“I want to see how you make yourself come. You have toys, don’t you?”

“I do,” you admit, though you’ve never used them with anyone else before.

Aemond smirks mischieviously, then commands: “Show me. Right now.”

You lead him to your bedroom and slide open the middle drawer of your dresser. You glance at his reflection in the silvery glass of the mirror; he’s staring, not at your body but at your face, his gaze locked with yours, his mouth open, entranced, hungry. You move to stand against the wall, smiling sheepishly as Aemond shoves aside folded sheets and pillowcases to reveal your collection. It’s nothing too adventurous: five vibrators in different colors, styles, sizes.

“Quite the assortment,” he praises.

“They were gifts from a friend.”

Now Aemond is dubious. “A friend?”

“Don’t be jealous. He doesn’t like women.”

Aemond laughs, warm and boyish like he’s breaking character; and you are alarmed by the wave of fondness for him that crashes through you. It’s something that could pull you under. It’s something you could drown in. He picks up the largest vibrator: long, thick, pink like soft feminine vulnerability, like love. Then he is darkly, deliciously stern again. “On the bed.”

“No.” Not because you’re genuinely protesting. Because you want him to make you.

Aemond grabs you around your waist and drags you towards the bed as you squeal, giggle, fight him halfheartedly. He throws you down onto the wildflower-patterned duvet and climbs between your thighs, parting them as he pushes the hem of your black satin slip up to your waist. Abruptly, you are bare for him, exposed, fiery dusk air cool against your wetness. Aemond is still fully clothed, white shirt and pale blue jeans. He is holding your legs open with his own. You can see the bulge of his cock beneath the denim: at least as large as the vibrator and hard with insistent longing.

I want him, you think as you hear the vibrator click on. I want him, I want him…

Aemond brings the pink silicone tip to your flesh, and instantly you’re ravenous. It shocks you how much more erotic this is when someone else is holding it, when someone else has you entirely at their mercy. You cry out, loud and shameless, euphoric. Your back arches; your fingers twist into the duvet. As he presses the vibrator down more forcefully, Aemond braces his hips against yours, grinding into you through his jeans, taunting you, conquering you.

You fumble for the button and zipper of his jeans. “Please—”

“No,” Aemond snarls, beaming, snatching your hand and pinning it up by your head. His other hand is still circling your clit with the tip of the vibrator. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Aemond, please, I need you—”

“No,” he says, defiant. He makes the rules. He has the power; he’s in control. Suddenly, he pulls the vibrator away. You yelp in dismay. “You know,” Aemond quips cavalierly. “It’s a shame you have such a difficult time finishing when you’re with a man. I bet you’re not even close.”

“I am,” you whine, in agony, in ecstasy.

Aemond pretends to be surprised. “Hm.” He returns the vibrator to your skin, slick, hot, aching in the most wondrous way. You sigh as the pleasure surges through you, as you soar up to the previous plateau and then begin to ascend beyond it. You must have repositioned yourself without noticing; Aemond releases your hand to smack his palm against the inside of your thigh. “Keep your legs apart. I want you wide open for me.”

“I will, I promise.” I’ll do anything you tell me to.

Aemond’s hand ventures lower. Two of his fingers glide inside you and thrust in time with his hips. “Fuck,” he hisses, breaking character again; and something rocks through his shoulders, his spine, a divine temptation that he is battling.

“Aemond, more,” you plead, looking at the massive outline of his cock under his jeans.

“Not yet,” he pants, fucking you with his fingers as the vibrator hums against your clit. “You have to come for me first, baby. You have to earn it.”

And you’re close, you really are, you’re closer than you ever would have imagined you’d be with him tonight, this stranger, this elusive British man, this man from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal that you almost never replied to. Your hair has come undone and is wild around your face; your heart is pounding frantically; your skin is bathed in a sheen of victorious perspiration. When was the last time someone made you feel like this? You can’t recall; the answer might be never. There is a spellbinding, intensifying sensation of warmth, of opening, you’re only seconds from the brink, you’re ready to step off the precipice and into open blue air the same color as his eyes—

Aemond yanks the vibrator away again, grinning toothily down at you.

“No!” You scrabble for him with shaking hands, pulling yourself up as you reach for the vibrator. Aemond pushes you back onto the bed. Despite your protests, you love the feeling of his weight on top of yours; you love the organic symphony he’s built of, muscle and bone and skill and power. His fingers are still pumping in and out of you, keeping you soaked and throbbing, pinning you to the edge of an orgasm without permitting you to succumb to it.

“It’s going to be so good for you like this, baby,” Aemond insists, low and raspy. He’s reading your face, attentive to every detail, drinking up your desperate body and quivering voice. “I swear I’m not torturing you for no reason. Let me show you. Let me take care of you. When it happens, it’s going to blow your fucking mind. Are you ready?”

“Yes, now, please, do it now,” you whimper as you lie beneath him, open, bare, senseless, vanquished.

Aemond drags his tongue over the tip of the vibrator, moaning with lust as he tastes you. Then he at last presses the pink silicone to your clit once more. In your electrified nerves, in your scalding blood, there are sparks and momentum and currents rushing towards the cataclysmic breaking of a rogue wave. “Nice and slow,” Aemond murmurs. “Let it build.”

Instead of the peak, you reach another plateau, so high and so rapturous you can’t stand it, you can’t fathom climbing any farther. It’s becoming so sharp and intense it’s almost painful. Fresh anxiety flashes in your mind like lightning. The momentum begins to dissipate like dewdrops under the late-morning sun. Oh no, I’m going to lose it, I’m going to disappoint him—

Aemond lifts the vibrator off you again; before you have time to collect yourself enough to speak, to apologize, he’s slipped his fingers out of you and carefully guided the vibrator inside, stretching you, filling you, thrusting rhythmically but not too viciously or too deep. He places his thumbprint on the place where the vibrator was just seconds ago and circles quickly, once, twice, again, and then…

You try not to scream, but you can’t help it, can’t stop it; the climax wrenches out of you indescribable pleasure, vanished fears, awe and relief, twisted muscles and gasping breaths, every electrical impulse of every atom, and each time you believe it’s over it rolls a little farther like an endless summer afternoon. When it’s done—truly done—you aren’t sure exactly how it happens but suddenly you’re sitting upright on the bed and the vibrator is lying forgotten on top of the duvet and Aemond is laughing, kissing you—sweat and nicotine, smoke and salt—and caressing your face with his hands, saying: “You were such a good girl. You did amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“Okay,” you exhale unsteadily, smiling. You nod to the very noticeable bulge in his jeans. “Your turn.”

“No,” Aemond says primly.

“What?”

“No,” he repeats. “Not today.”

“But…but…why?”

The curl of his lips is crooked and playful. “To prove I’m not just here to get myself off.” He kisses you again, far more tenderly than any random dom from a personal ad should. “You don’t trust me. But maybe next time you will.”

“How could I trust you? I don’t even know you.”

“We’ll have to spend more time together.”

“You seriously aren’t going to fuck me right now? Me? A mostly-naked stranger you met up with exclusively for the purposes of fucking?”

“Are you dissatisfied?”

In truth, no; your pulse is slowing, your thoughts are calm, your lust is satiated, you’re reasonably certain that you’ve sprained no less than four muscles. You feel like the sky after rain: emptied, unburdened, untroubled, at peace. “Not at all.”

“Then you shouldn’t be complaining.”

You reach out to touch Aemond’s unscarred cheek and he smiles. You try to ghost your fingertips over the left side of his face and he flinches away, leaves the bed, takes the vibrator to the bathroom to scrub it with soap and water. “Can I at least pour you a glass of sweet tea or something?” you call after him. “I feel guilty. I feel like I didn’t uphold my end of the bargain.”

“You exceeded all of my expectations,” Aemond says with a strange sort of somberness. “But sweet tea sounds great.”

You take five minutes to clean up and change into real clothes—ratty denim shorts and a red, white, and blue Pepsi t-shirt, chaotic hair, no bra—and then meet Aemond in the kitchen. He’s surveying the large circular table, which is littered with covered cake plates in a hodgepodge of sizes and colors; you found most of them at yard sales and thrift shops. The sun has set and the stars have risen; the kitchen is illuminated by yellow-hued florescent light. Night air flows in through the screens of the open windows. The boombox is currently playing Tiffany’s I Think We’re Alone Now.

“What’s the deal with that?” Aemond asks about the cluttered kitchen table.

“They’re the baked goods. For my bakery.”

“Right,” he says, remembering, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “The sign out front.”

“Would you like anything? Today we had butterscotch chiffon cake, coconut custard cake, blackberry dark chocolate cupcakes, pecan pie, red velvet brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, lavender black tea cookies, chocolate meringue pie, butter pecan muffins…”

“How about those?” He points.

“Oh! Those are banana bread cupcakes. One of my favorites.”

“Banana bread…cupcakes?”

“Here.” You plop one on a plate for Aemond, then go to the refrigerator to pour two tall glasses of sweet tea. “A lot of people put chocolate chips in their banana bread, but I feel like any chocolate really eclipses the banana flavor. It’s so subtle, you know? So what I do instead is cinnamon, honey, cream cheese frosting, and a tiny bit of sea salt mixed into the batter. If you get the ratio just right, there’s this really great blend of saltiness and sweetness, and the banana is still the star of the show. Of course I’ve fucked up plenty of times too and almost given myself dangerously high blood pressure. If I ruin a batch, I’m the one who has to eat it. We can’t let anything go to waste. Our profit margin is thinner than a crescent moon on the best months.”

“Oh my God,” Aemond says. He’s taken a bite and is now gawking at the banana bread cupcake. “You made this?” He gestures to the table. “You made all of this?”

“My best friend Amir runs the business with me, but most of the recipes are mine. My mom used to bake all the time when I was little. Now she has rheumatoid arthritis and has given it up, more or less, but that’s where I learned a lot of what I know. And I try to come up with new ideas each week to add to the rotation.”

“This is exceptional,” Aemond says. His mouth is full of the rest of the cupcake. He washes it down with a few gulps of sweet tea; ice cubes jangle in the misty glass. “This is, like, insanely good. Can I have another one…?” He’s already lifting the cover off the cake plate.

You chuckle. “Yeah, seriously, have as many as you like.”

“How much do you sell them for?”

“The cupcakes are $1, but you don’t have to pay me. You get the unrequited orgasm discount.”

“Just $1 each.” Aemond is incredulous. You aren’t sure what that’s about. He sets the second cupcake down on the table, tugs a black leather wallet out of his jeans pocket, and gives you a $10 bill.

“Aemond, really, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. Take the money. Stop talking about it.”

You smirk up at him. “Is that an order, sir?”

He grabs your jaw with one forceful hand, kisses you roughly, bites your lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. He tastes like cinnamon, honey, sugar, sex. “Yes,” he says, grinning wickedly. Then his hands drop to unbutton your shorts. The idea of stopping Aemond doesn’t even cross your mind; your desire for him—him specifically—is back, flaring red and primeval and irresistible. “I want you on top of that counter—”

Outside there are footsteps bounding up the front porch, loud on the creaking boards. You tear away from Aemond and hurry to re-button your shorts. What? Already??

You know exactly who it must be.

Well, now I’m definitely never going to see Aemond again.

He’s terrified, he’s wondering whether he should try to jump out of a window. But really, he’s already been spotted; his Audi Quattro is still waiting for him in the gravel driveway. “Please don’t tell me that’s your homicidal armed boyfriend or something.”

“No,” you say. “It’s my daughter.”

“Wait, your…?!”

The door swings open; you hardly ever lock it. Cadi trots in just as you are flipping over the copy of the Bayou Journal on the kitchen counter so Aemond’s personal ad is no longer visible. Instead, what now faces up—dotted with flour, powdered sugar, cinnamon, grease stains of butter—is a column about the rigs opened in Lake Verret. Just what this town needs, you think distractedly. An environmental disaster.

“Mom, whose radical car is that—?” Then Cadi spies Aemond and blinks at him a few times. She is ten years old but thinks she’s your age, short hair, short temper, denim overalls and a t-shirt underneath patterned with multicolored horses.

“This is Aemond,” you explain. He waves awkwardly and then resumes nibbling on his second banana bread cupcake, avoiding her scrutiny. “He’s a friend.”

“But you don’t have any friends,” Cadi replies.

“Watch it, Child Of The Corn. I have friends.”

“You have like one friend.”

“What happened to your sleepover with Mawmaw? I thought you were excited to trick her into watching Hellraiser.”

“Blockbuster didn’t have it. Then Great Aunt Ethel called and said she broke her hip. Mawmaw dropped me off here on her way to the hospital.”

“And she didn’t even think to check with me first, huh?”

“As if you’d have anything better to do.” Cadi races to the refrigerator—careening around a shellshocked Aemond—and heaves open the door. “What’s for dinner?”

“I think we have some Swanson’s meals left. Oh, and spaghetti.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “Who made it?”

“You’re in luck! Not me. Amir.”

“Yay!” Cadi trills, then drags out the pan and begins spooning mounds of spaghetti onto a plate. Aemond looks to you, intrigued.

You say: “I bake, I don’t cook.”

“She really doesn’t,” Cadi concurs.

“Completely different skillset.”

Cadi places a few paper towels over the heaping plate so sauce doesn’t splatter all over the microwave and then sets it to three minutes. As she waits to eat, she wanders over to where the Bayou Journal is lying on the counter and scans the page: Viserys Targaryen, three state-of-the-art oil rigs, Lake Verret, an additional 50 employees hired, Jade Dragon Energy. “Those bastards are going to get their way, I guess.”

You sigh. “Yup.”

Aemond is alarmed. He polishes off the last of his cupcake, frowning as he licks frosting from his lips. “You don’t approve?”

“They’ll blow up the whole town,” Cadi says matter-of-factly.

You smile wanly at Aemond as you sip your sweet tea. “You work for Jade Dragon, right?”

He stares back at you—stunned, perhaps even fearful, a deer flooded with headlights—but doesn’t speak.

“It’s alright. I figured you must. Some smart British guy way out here in Cajun Country? It’s gotta be for a job. Don’t worry. We won’t shoot and skin you or anything. It’s not your fault. You’re just collecting a paycheck, it’s not like you’re running the company.”

“Right.” Aemond grabs a third cupcake and gnaws at it. After a moment he adds: “I have a degree in petroleum engineering. I just moved to Napoleonville last week.”

“I knew it,” you say.

“Boo!” Cadi heckles jokingly. The microwave beeps, then she disappears into her bedroom with her plate of spaghetti. You hear Cadi turn on her little television and flip through the channels until she finds Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Aemond watches her closed door for a few seconds—still processing, you assume—and then turns back to you.

“Her name’s Katie?”

“Cadi. C-a-d-i. It’s short for Arcadia.”

He is impressed. “Greece?”

You titter nervously. You don’t know what he means. “It’s a town up by Shreveport, it’s where Bonnie and Clyde were arrested or killed or something. I’m not sure. Her father picked it.”

“You didn’t have an opinion?”

“Um, I wasn’t really…uh…conscious for a few days after she was born. By the time I was up and around again, he’d already filled out the birth certificate.”

What is that you see flicker across his face like the transient surge of a lightning bug? Curiosity? Apprehension? “I see. And her father is…” Aemond raises a blonde eyebrow, the one his scar cuts through. “On an aircraft carrier somewhere?”

You laugh. “He’s not deployed. We’re divorced, Willis lives about fifteen minutes down the road. It’s amicable.”

“So I don’t need to worry about him showing up on your front porch to murder me with a 2x4 full of nails.”

“No. Although he is the town sheriff.”

Aemond smirks. Is this a challenge or an inconvenience? “Why’d you two split up?”

You shrug, glancing at Cadi’s bedroom door. She is quite aggressive with her television volume; you’re confident she won’t be able to listen in if you keep your voice low. “It’s not that interesting a story.”

“I’m extremely interested.” And he sincerely appears to be, head tilted to the side, eyes fixed on you (though you know the left one sees nothing), thoughts whirling like storm winds.

“Well…we only ever got married because of…” You gesture towards Cadi’s room. Aemond nods, following along. “And I was too young and I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know what I wanted out of a man, I didn’t even know I had the right to set standards to measure a husband by. Willis wasn’t terrible. He didn’t hit me. He just wasn’t really who I wanted.” You chew at your lower lip, peering down at the kitchen counter, drawing circles in the sparse flour dust. “He never even proposed to me. Not properly, I mean. I told him I was pregnant and he said: Well, guess we oughta get married, huh sugar? and then drove me to the Kmart up in Gonzales to pick out a ring.”

“Classy,” Aemond mutters.

“I had to buy it myself, actually. Willis didn’t have enough cash on him. He paid me back later, but still. It wasn’t about the ring. I don’t need gold and diamonds. But I need someone who really sees me and understands me and chooses me, you know? I’ve never felt chosen. And I decided I didn’t want to settle for that. If I ever get married again, I want the whole goddamn thing. The real thing. I want the candles and the flowers and a boombox blasting Heaven Is A Place On Earth. And if that’s not in the cards, I guess I’m not the marrying type.”

“And you’ll make do with occasional visits from your friendly neighborhood dom.”

You grin up at Aemond. “Yeah, exactly.”

“You really hate Jade Dragon?”

“Companies like that…they just use us. Our land, our labor. And then when they decimate the place they pack up and disappear overnight, no pensions, no retirement, no unemployment, no meaningful cleanup, just Thanks for the millions! Bye! and we’re left to live in their filth.”

“That’s a rather cynical perspective,” Aemond says.

“It’s a realistic perspective,” you counter. “In 1965, there was a pipeline explosion in Natchitoches, in ‘79 there was an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, in ‘80 a Texaco rig accidentally drilled into a salt mine under Lake Peigneur and destroyed the whole ecosystem. Two weeks ago there was a refinery explosion an hour east of here in Norco. 4,500 people had to be evacuated from their homes. So no, the jobs sound nice, but in my humble estimation they’re not worth dying for.”

Aemond considers you, a look that is not patronizing or combative but not convinced either. And there’s something else too: a caginess, a nervousness.

“And these Jade Dragon people, the Targaryens? They have a history,” you continue. “I read about it in the Bayou Journal. Last year they had an oil spill at an offshore rig near Ketchikan, Alaska. They poured hundreds of thousands of barrels of poison into the ocean and killed a bunch of dolphins and whales and everything. Fishermen went bankrupt, people committed suicide.”

“Mistakes happen.” Aemond places his empty sweet tea glass in the sink.

“But they didn’t make it right. Their lawyers blamed a defective piece of equipment and kicked liability back to the manufacturer. They’ll be battling it out in court for the next decade. And meanwhile, the people of Ketchikan get nothing but misery. I don’t want Napoleonville to end up like that.”

Aemond gazes out the kitchen window and into the cicada-rattling night, faraway, pensive.

“But seriously,” you say, more casually now. “I get that it’s not your fault, Aemond. I don’t hate you or anything. You’re working for a living like anyone else. You can only do so much.”

He looks back to you and smiles vaguely. “I just go where they tell me to.”

“And that’s why you like to be in control when you’re with me.”

“Yes,” Aemond says; and on his face—strong, scarred, perfect—you can see that he is reminiscing, that he is planning what he wants to do to you next. But he can’t do any of it. Not here, not now.

“I’m sorry about…you know. The kid thing. I really didn’t think she’d be home tonight. I would never subject her to something like that, walking in to find a strange guy in the house. And I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable either.”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“I don’t usually do this. I’m sure you think I’m lying, but I’m not. I’ve had two boyfriends since I got divorced seven years ago, and both times it didn’t last long and Cadi never met them. And it wasn’t…like it is with you. The dynamic, I mean. The…control thing. They were just normal dudes.”

“And they couldn’t satisfy you,” Aemond says, taunting, proud, setting your blood on fire.

“No. They couldn’t. Not even close.”

You both stand silently in the kitchen amidst a cascade of inconsequential noise: Eurythmics from the little pink boombox, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from Cadi’s room, cicadas and bullfrogs and the long-eared owl from the world outside that is primordial and feral and green. For the first time in as long as you can remember, you feel not like the piecemeal potential of a desirable woman but whole. Aemond’s right eye traces every curve and edge of you in a way that makes you think: Maybe I will see him again after all.

“Come on,” you say, turning towards the front door. “I’ll walk you out.”

But when he steps onto the creaking porch—pulling on his Marlboro jacket, watching lightning bugs bloom like daisies in the yard—Aemond seems to be stalling. “This is lopsided,” he says, tapping the wooden boards with his Adidas sneakers.

“I know. The whole foundation is, it’s sinking. We’ll have to move eventually. But we’ve been in this place since Cadi was five, it has a lot of memories. She calls it the Fall-Down House.”

“Cute,” Aemond says, but he’s pondering something. “Do you own it?”

“Oh no, God no. We rent.”

“Are you saving for a down payment to put on a new house?”

This is a rude question. “A little,” you reply curtly. Not enough. You need to make money to save money.

“Okay.” Aemond senses your discomfort. He’s good at that; it’s an advantageous skill for a dom to possess, knowing when he’s approaching a limit long before you have to shut him down. He descends the porch steps. “I’ll be back for more of those cupcakes—” There is a shrill, alien hissing from out by the tree line. Aemond shouts and scrambles back onto the porch, throwing an arm in front of you to shield you from his enigmatic nocturnal adversary. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Just a gator,” you reassure him, amused.

“A what?”

“An alligator.” You show him the shadow that lurks beneath a young oak tree draped with Spanish moss. “She’s over there. Just stay on the gravel once you get off the porch.”

Aemond is puzzled. How does anyone live in this hellscape? his face says. “How do you know it’s a female?”

“She’s not too big, and she doesn’t bellow. But she sure loves to hiss.”

“I think alligators should have gone extinct with the rest of the dinosaurs.”

“Well, there’s a secret to dealing with them.”

“Yeah?”

You smile, skating your fingers into the sleeve of Aemond’s Marlboro jacket and up his forearm until you feel goosebumps rise on his skin. “If she gets mean, you just have to bite back.”

Aemond chuckles, turns your face towards his, kisses the apple your cheek…and then, for only a moment, his teeth close around the sensitive flesh there leaving a whirlpool of pulsing, forbidden heat. He whispers through your hair: “See you soon.”

“Will you?”

“Yes,” he says, severely now. It’s a commandment, it’s a need. “I absolutely will.”

Aemond leaves you, strides across the gravel driveway without glancing back, ducks into his car, lights a cigarette; you can see the rust-colored glow through the windshield as he takes a drag. You wait in a flurry of moths under the dim florescent bulb of the front porch until his Audi Quattro veers onto Route 401 and disappears.

I hope he meant it, you think as a lightning bug lands on your knuckles and illuminates there like the gemstone of a ring. I hope I’ll see him again.

Then you shake away the insect and go inside to see if Cadi wants to help you clean up the kitchen and get a brown sugar pie baked for tomorrow. As compensation, you’ll offer her the $10 bill Aemond gave you for the cupcakes.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

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timid-robin-redbreast · 27 days ago

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Day 9 of Suptober – Moon

Dean as Artemis-Diana (goddess of the hunt, the wilderness and the Moon) and Cas as his Pleiad

But you took your toll on me So I gave myself over willingly You got a hold on me… … You saw the stars out in front of you Too tempting not to touch But even though it shocked you Something's electric in your blood… … If you could just forgive yourself…

– Various Storms & Saints by Florence + The Machine

#suptober24 #destiel #destiel fanart #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural

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superultrachicken · 2 months ago

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We need a version of the Justice League where Wonder Woman's team mom.

I noticed that the Justice League is primarily made of orphans. Even if they're not an orphan, they've at least lost a single parent, usually their mother (because woman in the fridge is such a prevalent trope).

So... Diana is over 2000 years old in most comics. Even if we're just counting years spent outside of paradise as a demi-goddess experiencing the rest of the world, she'd still be around 85 mentally, even if she doesn't age. So when she starts finding these wayward children, she starts getting attached to them as if they were her own children.

Here are some ideas for how it could work:

Superman - She was a close family friend of the Kents while Clark was growing up and would often watch him while they were on a date night or the like. She was around so often that she acted as a secondary mother figure. Having multiple strong feminine influences during an overall good childhood makes him the most well adjusted member of the Justice League and he attributes a lot of that to Diana. She sees Clark as her son.

Batman - Adult adoption. This is after he's adopted most of the bat-family, she asks him why and in a moment of vulnerability he tells her that it's because he knows what it's like, it's why he love Alfred, because Alfred's been a father to him, even if he didn't really know how beyond being protective. That he had a rough childhood. Diana's motherly instincts kick in and she starts comforting him. After a while, they get close enough to be considered family, some of the bat-family actually start calling her grandma and she's more or less become a part of the family. She asks him if he'd be interested in adult adoption and though he struggles with it, Bruce eventually says yes. She brings presents for Bruce's kids every time she comes around. She includes Barbara in the gift giving too so she doesn't feel left out.

The Flash - Adoption. Barry effectively becomes an orphan in his backstory due to his father being in prison after being wrongfully convicted of the murder of Barry's mother. She raises Barry from childhood having no clue that he'd end up getting his powers later in life. Using New 52 here because they actually made Reverse Flash a good villain instead of being a lazy palette swapped evil version. It also amuses me to think of Bruce and Barry as siblings.

Aquaman - She knew Arthur's father while he was growing up. While she'd only see him while she was in Boston, he left a lasting impression on him as one of the few feminine influences he had. After the first few times she'd even bring gifts for both him and his father from Metropolis.

Green Lantern - Same as Arthur, knew Hal's parents growing up and got super close with the family.

Martian Manhunter - Close friends. He's the only other member of the group who can comprehend living as long as she has.

As other members start joining, she starts feeling responsible for them. Effectively mothering most of them. She also formed the Justice League in part to protect the salt of the earth, working class people that raised most of the other founding members. These are the people she spends most of her time with when she's not out saving the world.

She also has a red lantern ring that only activates with her mom rage. Gods help any soul dumb enough to hurt one of her children.

Clark suggests calling the organization the Super Friends and Diana's like "I love you Clark, but we need something a bit more official, like the Justice League." Bruce and Barry simultaneously chime in with "I agree with mom." Barry doesn't waist time doing the jinx, he's just adjusting to having a much older brother very quickly.

#dcu #batfam #bruce wayne #dc comics #dc universe #superman #wonder woman #diana prince #green lantern #hal jordan #martian manhunter #j'onn j'onzz #aquaman #arthur curry #justice league

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apollosgiftofprophecy · 6 months ago

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Don't you also tired about how people says that Apollo is a bad and cruel brother to Artemis for what "he did" with Orion? Even when that love story with Artemis and Orion happenned in the Astronomica by Higinus (a roman poet) and in the earlier versions of the myth Orion was killed by:

Gaea who sent the scorpion to kill him because he said that he could kill all the animals in Earth

Both (Artemis and Apollo) because the same thing with the animals but Gaea sent the twins to kill him and they sent the scorpion

Artemis because Orion tried to assault Oupis

Artemis because Orion tried to assault herself

Artemis because Orion was bothering her nymphs

Oh definitely! I was never on board with Orion being 'the only man Artemis ever loved' bullshit (that's Apollo ty).

I don't tend to discount the Roman myths, but since Hyginus's is VASTLY outnumbered by, as you said, these other five versions...I think we can ignore it.

*shakes Hyginus* WHY DID YOU DO THIS. WHY. YOU HAVE SINGLE-HANDEDLY CAUSED DIANA/ARTEMIS'S WHOLE CHARACTER TO BE REDUCED TO A STEREOTYPE.

like. okay, history time:

Diana, pre-being-mixed-with-Artemis-times, WAS married to Janus. So I may be able to excuse this IF Hyginus was referring to THIS Diana.

HOWMEVER. Hyginus is writing about post-conflation Diana/Artemis. Who was NOT married to ANYONE because Virgil describes her as pretty similar to Artemis - including being a virgin goddess.

This is clearly NOT the older Diana. So no, he's not making some sort of connection or something here.

And as for the 'omg Apollo is a TERRIBLE brother!' thing - YOU ARE SO RIGHT IT'S SO ANNOYING.

WHAT'S MORE IS THAT SAYING THAT IS HYPOCRITICAL BECAUSE ARTEMIS HAS KILLED AT LEAST TWO OF HIS LOVERS!

Coronis for cheating on him, and Chione for claiming to be prettier than her! Like. HELLO. so even if we DO go with the 'Apollo killed Orion so Diana won't marry him' thing, SHE STILL KILLED TWO OF HIS LOVERS TOO!

Calling him a terrible brother for that means she's DOUBLELY a bad sister.

Of course, I don't subscribe to either side of this😇 They are RIDE OR DIE for each other (as you pointed out in version 2 where Artemis asks Apollo to kill Orion). They buddy-copped Orion there, as they deserve too <3

#the oracle speaks #sun n moon twins #asked and answered #anon ask #apollo #artemis #greek mythology #orion

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dysfunctionalmaki · 11 months ago

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Say My Name

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader Chapter 02/? Summary: You work all around at the local country club, to your advantage you flirted and used your beauty to get what you want, though with this certain woman your own way can't seem to work. Warning: This work contains smut and foul language, minors DNI!!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

Days passed since your encounter with Wanda, you often ended up wondering when she is coming back, also, you cashed some of the money you got from Diana but you ended up placing a huge amount of it on your savings. You lay on your bed just taking your time by just thinking, simply shutting your eyes and allowing your imagination to run free.

“Such a good girl… I bet you're thinking of me the moment you saw me-”

You immediately opened your eyes when you realized where your mind was going, you couldn't help but let out a groan when all you could think about was Wanda Maximoff, her beautiful emerald eyes, the accent that she has, that damned smile. You took a couple more moments to get up when you sat up and decided to take a walk, though before you could even leave your bed the phone on your side table vibrated. Checking to see who caused the notification, you can't help but smirk to see it's a message from Diana.

It’s so boring here and all I can think about is you.

Miss me that much?

Not really, just want to sit on your face and ride your tongue.

I've got something to look forward to next week then.

As if you're not getting any pussy right now.

With the little bantering you had with Diana, all of a sudden you received another message from her and this time it's a photo of her, wearing an almost see through nightgown, her nipples were definitely poking against the clothing, she wasn't wearing a makeup yet you admit that she's like a living goddess. While you stare at the photo, your mind instantly traces back to the redhead you met a couple of days ago and you can't help but groan at the intrusive thoughts you've been having of the older woman.

You simply left a heart react on Diana's photo before sending a photo you once took with her, it was a mirror shot of you two, she was standing before the mirror while you're facing her lower region and from what you recall she did use your phone to take this photo, not even a second after she did the same by placing a heart emoji on your message.

Just as you exit your room, you see Yelena having some instant mac and cheese for breakfast. “I didn't know you were home.” the blonde says and you went to sit beside her after taking a spoon so you could steal some bites of her meal. “Yeah, I should be out and be coming home right now.” you say with a sigh and your friend couldn't help but raise her brow. “You're not getting laid? Are you and Prince official now?” She asked as if she really did think that you and Diana are something. “God no! Completely casual.” you said with a shrug. “Can't find anyone to match up with her.” you say before crossing your arms over your chest.

“Who?” Yelena asks, then you look at her unsure if you want to honestly answer your friend. “Your sister.” You teasingly say and the blonde immediately gagged the moment you mentioned her sister. “Eat shit.” she says then you couldn't help but laugh at her reaction. “Of course not, I wouldn't hit on your sister, her friend? Maybe.” you say then Yelena still hasn't put her brow down from being raised. “Carol? No… too masculine for your taste, so it's definitely Wanda.” she says so surely and you bit the inside of your cheek before nodding.

“She's married.” Yelena says which made you groan immediately, then you stole a spoonful of mac from her bowl. “Tell me more.” you say then the blonde paused for a moment to think. “I think she married Mr. Stark’s successor, his name's Jarvis but mostly known as the Vision.” you tilt your head confused with the nickname and then you let out a small ‘oh’. “So, she's rich-rich?” you ask once more then your friend nodded.

“To add another question, why didn't you mention to me you had a sister?” You ask wanting to push the subject further, as Yelena finished a spoonful bite of the mac and cheese she simply shrugged. “Not really relevant.” she says before taking another bite. “I'm doing a shift this lunch.” You say and you receive a nod from Yelena. “I'm not coming in today, I took a day off. I spent a whole week trying to get back what I spent on Fanny’s vet.” The blonde says then you looked at her, taking your purse and handed her a grand. “What? No, I can't take that.” Yelena says but you pushed it to her hands. “Please, I don't even know what to do with all the money that Diana gave me, I might end up buying coke.” you tease and it still took a little convincing but you made sure to let your friend take the money. “It's all good, I promise.” you say before taking another bite of the mac and cheese.

You got up and decided to postpone the walk you're going to take when you saw the time, heading back to your bedroom then you went to take a shower before getting ready for work, you didn't take that long but you made sure your precious body was pampered with the best products you could get, you put on your uniform which is the red polo shirt and matching it with a beige shorts.

Finally, leaving the house after getting everything ready, you ran towards the bus stop and hoped you didn't miss it, you were luckily just in time before the vehicle would leave. Getting to your seat, you were sat next to some stranger since there's no empty seat other than this one. “Quite a busy day isn't it?” The stranger spoke to you and you looked at this man. “Ah yes, guess it is today.” you kept your answer short so you wouldn't have to keep the conversation going, the unknown man only answered with a nod then you were left to mind your own business.

The moment you got dropped off to your stop, it was basically a walking distance from here but you're just in time to hear a familiar sound approaching you, as you put on your sunglasses so you wouldn't have to scrunch up your face because of the heat, you saw Bucky coming closer while on his motorcycle. “Hop on, doll, busy day today.” he says then you raise a brow and there's just something with men and start the conversation by stating that today's a busy day. “Why is that?” You ask as you got on the motorcycle and you held on to the side of his shirt. “I heard rumors that Mr. Stark might visit today, members would probably try and get on his good side.” he answered then he starts driving once more, leading the both of you to the club.

The moment you stepped into the place, it was more crowded than usual, everyone's in their own friend group, there's old men smoking cigars by the lobby, then there are the wives who are busy gossiping by the café, and there's Tony Stark himself, accompanied by his wife Pepper Potts. You went to walk past them since you're headed in the staff's locker room, you made sure to smile at both of your bosses before heading in the room to put your bag away and start to clock in.

You fix yourself once more then you make your way to the restaurant and have started your shift, it was awful, at least it was to you. You've had countless entitled people who are acting so snobby, then there are old ladies who wish they still had your youth here and there, and one table that certainly caught your attention was the group of three familiar women once again. You made sure to look twice just to be sure and you took note of their hair colors… one blonde and two redheads. You basically had to race your coworker to take the table and as you appeared before the three women, they all smiled at you, well, especially Natasha but that's because she knows you're Yelena’s friend.

“It's so nice to see a familiar face.” Carol commented before saying what she'll have for this lunch, Natasha pinched in what she's going to have, and as you were taking their orders you attempted to steal a glance from Wanda, though immediately looking back to your device when you realized that she was indeed staring at you. “And I'll have some Caesar salad… plus the scarlet cocktail, I loved it.” Wanda says before smiling at you, her eyes never leaving yours and then you finally take your cue to leave when you've gotten all their orders.

You went to take their orders to the kitchen, then headed to the bar to tell Bucky what the ladies will be having. “Oh, it's the three ladies again? Looks like you've reeled them in again.” he says before chuckling. “If I were you, I wouldn't want to hit that.” he commented which made you tilt your head in confusion. “Well, you think you're the only one who uses your pretty privilege around here? This face makes some pretty good tips.” Bucky says while he went on to prepare the drinks. “Heard that those three were pretty close with Stark, co-workers I think?” he says not too sure with the information he has gotten, after all he only gets them from the club members as well.

“You don't want your boss finding out you're banging his friends, wouldn't want to lose your job.” Bucky says then he finally handed you the drinks he made, and it was just in time when the kitchen rang you up. Quickly handling the trays you make your way to the ladies’ table, and you serve their meals and drinks. Receiving a genuine thanks from them honestly made your day better, you just appreciated the fact that someone is nice to you after serving a bunch of assholes, plus your little crush thanked you, and that's what makes it better. Just as you turned to leave, you bumped into a man who was holding a drink, surprised with what happened you instantly apologized before looking to see who it was.

You've seen this man's photo once but you can't quite recall who he is, it's obvious he's irritated, considering you just spilled a drink on his clothes. Though, to your defense it was a complete accident and you didn't intend to do so. “Do you know what you've done to my–” “Vis, let it go, it's an accident no need to cause a scene.” You heard Wanda speak and as you realize who this man before was none other than her husband. “I really am sorry, Sir.” you spoke before offering him more tissue and of course, the complimentary country club shirts. “Y/N, it's okay, you can go and do your thing, you apologized, you didn't mean it and it was an accident.” Wanda assured you when you turned to look at her as she defended you from her husband who isn't even speaking a single word but you could definitely feel his annoyance.

You mouthed “Thank you so much.” Before leaving and as you left, the janitor on duty was quick to mop up the drink that spilled on the floor, making your way into the locker room. You can't help but let out a sigh, then somehow you can't stop yourself from smiling when Wanda just stood up for you. Well, it's the bare minimum and this interaction usually happens in restaurants but still, you can't help but put on your smile once more before facing the crowd once again.

The hours felt so long and you were emotionally and physically drained from having to put up a smile, being so empathetic to arrogant assholes, so, when you clocked out, you walked to the parking lot. Remembering that Bucky doesn't leave work this early, you can't help but sigh remembering you'll have to walk alone without Yelena with you. Making your way to the sidewalk then you started to walk to the nearest bus stop, at first it felt peaceful until you felt that someone was tailing you. Speeding up your pace, the car also went to catch up with you, at this point you honestly thought your life was done. Maybe that was overboard but you're overthinking at this point. “Y/N! Hey! It's Wanda.” the voice says as she rolled down her window.

Finally, you stopped at your tracks and you let out a sigh of relief. “You scared me!” You say and the older woman couldn't help but laugh softly. “I didn't mean to, I promise. I only slowed down because I was trying to see if it's really you.” she says and you honestly can't believe you're conversing with her as if you two are friends. “Well, that's one way for kidnapping to start, honestly.” you teased and received a smile from her, it can honestly brighten up your whole day. “Hop in, let me drive you… wherever you are headed for.” She offered and you didn't really know if you should say yes or not until she insisted. “Please? Consider this as a way of making it up to you for my husband's behavior.” she added.

You made your way around the car and she unlocked the door, you sat next to her and she started driving once again. “It was an accident-” “I know, but he has this thing of making scenes and I'm pretty tired to put up with it.” she honestly spoke and your eyes widened for a second not expecting what you've just heard and you nodded your head. “You can just drop me off at the nearest bus stop.” Wanda looked at you for a moment and she raised a brow. “And let you get on a bus at this hour?” then you bite your lower lip unsure of what to say at this point, it's not that it's uncomfortable it's just plainly… awkward. And this doesn't happen with you and any person you plan on taking to bed, this simply happens because you have a crush on this person driving.

“Yelena knows me, if that's what you're worried about, I knew her the moment I met Natasha. She always brought her sister around and it's quite adorable honestly, so… what I'm saying is that you can trust me?” She spoke trying to break the ice between the two of you and you nodded your head. “I live with her, I mean I'm her roommate so if you do know her then I'm assuming you know where she lives.” you say and Wanda nodded her head, and as if it's on the back of her hand, she knew where the place was.

Just as you two were approaching the apartment, Wanda received a notification from her phone, as the screen lights up you saw her lock screen and it was a photo of the cocktail you served her when you saw her for the first time. You didn't want to read much on it but it certainly made your heart skip a beat. When she stopped right in front of the apartment building, you weren't too sure what to say other than thanking her. “I- uh- Thank you for the ride.” You say as you take off the seatbelt. “Are you usually this awkward?” She asks and you weren't able to answer because you know damn well you're never awkward. “I thought so, you were good with chatting up the guests and customers, and now it's just the two of us… you're all tongue tied.” she said then tilting her head trying to get a read on you, but you're sure as hell she knows that you have a little crush on her.

“Do I scare you?” “What? No! I mean you're just intimidating… that's all.” you quickly answer her question and she couldn't help but smile. “Whatever you say sweetheart.” she teasingly says. “I hope we get to talk more next time… and say hi to Yelena for me.” she says before you finally took the moment to get off the car. “I will, take care, Wanda.” you say before smiling at her and she did the same. “Have a goodnight, Y/N, dream of me.” she teased you once more before driving off. You quickly make your way into the apartment and you can't help but smile from one ear to another.

Entering the apartment, you see Fanny finally back home to welcome you, Yelena was nowhere to be seen but you don't mind getting a greeting from this furry companion, you go ahead to run your fingers across her fur then she follows you as you get into your room, just as you tossed your bag to your bed, you felt your phone vibrate once more, and it's from your best friend.

Went out to get some dog food, also, Fanny's back home so enjoy her company.

Enjoying her company much more than I enjoy urs, lol.

Ass.

You went to lay on your bed then you bite your lower lip, you were thinking of something and you’re well aware that what you’re about to ask your friend could be a beginning or a quick ending of something, but you’re never one to back out of a challenge, taking your phone once more and you decided to text Yelena once more.

Sooo… Do you have Wanda’s number or something?

I do but I don’t think it’s a good idea, lol.

Help a friend out will you? ;))

You’re going to take two of my shifts whenever I want, deal?

Deal.

With just that the next text message you got from your best friend was a phone number, you went to press it… fiddling your fingers unsure of what to say or why you asked for her number but you’re good at this part, and you went ahead to do your usual lines.

Hey Wanda, it’s Y/N, I got your number from Yelena… Hope you don’t mind.

You took a deep breath just thinking of possible scenarios that could happen, scenario one was Vision gets to see your message and you’re fired, second? Wanda blocks you, and three it was–

Hi! It’s completely okay, what’s gotten into you and asked your dear friend for my number?

Well, maybe I want to spend some alone time with you to show you that I’m not that awkward mess you picked up from the sidewalk.

Hmm, straightforward and bold… You’re aware that you're speaking to a married woman? Haha.

Well aware, Ma’am

Good, maybe I could drop by at the club tomorrow, will you be there?

For you? I would be.

Are you sure this is the same girl I picked up earlier?

100%

Wanda simply reacted to your message with a heart emoji and that was more than enough to make up for your whole night, you are eager about what can happen tomorrow. Honestly, all you can think is that if you bed this woman, this crush of yours would simply go away or maybe this could really be a start of something new. But, no, you don’t really care about that for now.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @reginassweetheart @lvinhs

#marvel cinematic universe #wanda maximoff #mcu #marvel #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #yelena belova #natasha romanoff #black widow #fanfiction #smut #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #au #alternate universe #dysfunctionalmaki #wonder woman #diana prince

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aangelinakii · 27 days ago

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BONE-DEEP.

— patching up a demi-goddess.

summary : you're used to diana coming into the infirmary, but when she comes in looking the worst she ever has, it's difficult to keep your feelings at bay.

warning : description of injury

note : ik this is short and doesn't have a concise finish but i've been struggling with writers block and i just wanted to get sometjing out 😭😭

coming in today, diana looked the worst you'd ever seen her, and she was the type of woman who never really could look bad.

the blood was horrid, crimson matted in her raven hair, seeping from bone-deep wounds, some you imagined wasn't even hers. it stained her flesh, stained the golden shine of her chestplace, stained the floor with each step until she was perched on the medical cot in your office.

you weren't magic, or a warrior, or a vigilante — you were a doctor, stitching up the members of the justice league full-time.

back now turned to you, deep stab wounds drooling blood down her defined muscles, you helped her remove the heaviness of her chestplace, an ache in your arms as you carried it to the counter behind.

her torso bare, she opened it up to you, wittled down to her most vulnerable. although she kept a strong facade, you could tell by the way she curled her strong physique, pulling her knees to her chest, that something bad had happened out there — wherever she had been.

you gave a sharp intake of breath as you settled behind her, cranking your chair up a little taller and pulling your medical table to your side. although she bristled slightly, and the torn skin grew pink at the edges, she seemed indifferent to the naked eye.

hell, she's been around for hundreds of years; she's seen worse, the worst of it.

"i know you want to be careful," diana muttered, breaking the silence, angling her head slightly, and your eyes moved to trace the line of her grecian nose.

"yeah, diana, it's really bad," you sighed before she could finish, pulling on a pair of gloves before readying the glinting curved needle and thread.

"just patch me up."

your eyes remained on her for a few beats, even after she turned back to face the wall. she was too... good. too prepared to hurt in order to save the lives of others. maybe everyone on this space station was, but that didn't make it okay.

these marks weren't the usual bullet wounds you may sustain, not from tripping and tearing your skin on debris; these were from a knife, and one that had dug deep.

"diana?" you quietly chimed after a moment, corner of your mouth tugging downwards. the curved needle trembled in your shaking fingers. "what happened?"

one moment. two moments. no reply.

diana wasn't one to be at a lack of words; although she didn't speak when it was unneeded, she would always answer a question. this must have been horrible.

"okay." and you gulped, carefully placing your fingers around the marred skin. "this is going to hurt."

#aangelinakii #dc #dc comics #dc imagines #dc reactions #dc headcanons #dc universe #wonder woman #diana prince #diana prince x reader #diana prince imagines #diana prince headcanons #wonder woman x reader #wonder woman imagines #wonder woman headcanons

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vexedcreature · 7 months ago

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ALRIGHT! It's time again to decide which celestial body our newest life series winner is!

ZombieCleo is a tough one, but after about 5 minutes of research I've got an idea. She's the Gaslight in Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss, and is also in the divorce quartet, in which everyone else is also a winner so we've got something to go off of.

The moon, the star, and mars. What do they all have in common? They're all either very close to earth, or easy to see in the night sky. Now, which planet is easiest to see? Venus. Also I looked up pictures and it's orange so that's cool!

Theres some mythology parallels too! In the myths, Venus (Aphrodite) and Mars(Ares) are lovers, and Cleo and Martyn were soulmates! What's ironic is that Venus and mars weren't supposed to be together, because Venus was married (not of her own accord) to Vulcan(Hephaestus) Who is a cool guy, and did want to make thing work, but she rejected him. So I thought it was funny that Cleo actually rejected Martyn for Scott, sorta the opposite of the myth.

And and and!!! Venus and Diana(Artemis), the goddess of the monn often disagreed with each other, as Venus was the goddess of love, and Diana had sworn off romantic relationships.

Theres something to be said about the fact that Cleo also keeps saying that various teammates are her husband. (Bdubs in third life, Etho in limited life) also she was always fighting with Etho, which could tie in to the myths again!

Ive written a lot more than I thought I would, but im just so happy cleo won I've wanted her to win for ages!!!!

ANYWAY. Cleo is Venus case closed. <3

#life series #ZombieCleo #real life #life series winners

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chaosstude · 7 months ago

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Only a god can kill another god (Part 2)

↠Diana Prince x Goddess Reader [18+] Violence and fighting ↠Part 1

“sometimes you separate at the wrong time to meet at the right time” Rohit Totlani Diana's heart pounded as she held your lifeless body in her arms. She couldn't believe you were gone. It was as if the world had stopped turning and time had frozen still. But even in that moment of despair, Diana knew that she had to do something. She couldn't just sit there and let you slip away from her forever. With tears streaming down her face, Diana gently laid your body on the ground and began to search for any signs of life. She checked your pulse, your breathing, and anything else she could think of that might indicate that you were still alive. But despite her best efforts, there was nothing. No pulse, no breath, no sign of life.

Diana let out a gut-wrenching scream of agony, a primal scream that seemed to come from the depths of her soul. She screamed her grief and sorrow, her pain and despair, her fear and helplessness, all of it pouring out of her in a wave of anguish. Soon tears streamed down her face as she held you in her arms, her body shaking with sobs as she cradled your face in her hands.

She had lost you, and she blamed herself entirely.

___ Diana was looking down at the casket that was slowly getting on the ground to be buried. She stayed quiet the whole ceremony and only talked when her speech about you came. It hurt her deeply she had felt this pain before with Steve but this time the cut feels deeper she lost a huge part of her, she felt lost and blamed it all to her obliviousness to realize that she fought you..her love…for all this months and you had said nothing.

Gods the bruises you had on your body the last few months was of her own hand..of the fights. That realization broke her more she felt as everything was spinning. She bit the inside of her cheek holding back her screams of fury and anguish, she wanted you back in her arms. ___

She had tried her best to move on, to find some semblance of solace in her life after losing you. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and gradually, the weight of her grief began to lessen. She took hesitant steps forward, attempting to rebuild her shattered world. However, deep within her, a flicker of hope remained, a desperate longing for a sign that you might still exist in some way. Diana woke up startled by nightmares of your blood on her hands, consuming her. Unconsciously, her hand reached out to your side of the bed, hoping to find your hand. To her dismay, she was met with cold sheets she had grown to despise over time. She got out of bed and began her morning routine, unable to go back to sleep without the image of your pained face covered in blood haunting her. Slowly, she walked to the kitchen, looking from the doorway as she always used to do every morning. A smile graced her face as she saw your figure swaying your hips to the beat of the music. But as she was brought back to reality, she found the kitchen empty. She looked with sorrow, just as she has been doing for the last three months without you. A heavy sigh left her lips as she entered the kitchen and prepared her own breakfast. Lost in her thoughts, Diana made two plates of omelets, one for herself and one for you. She turned around, pressing her lips into a thin line. "Right," she said quietly, looking at the empty table. She places both plates down, takes a seat, and starts eating her own breakfast. She looks at the empty seat in front of her before retrieving her laptop from her bag, which was hanging nearby, and opens it.

She searched through her emails, checking for anything new about her work, but she found nothing. Only an invitation to Metropolis of Lex Luthor, who was hosting a gala with his new collaborator. Her name was unknown, as it was stated that it would be revealed at the party. However, something about the woman's signature at the bottom right caught Diana's attention. She would recognize that handwriting anywhere - from the little notes sneakily that would be placed in her bag to read at work, so Diana would have something of you every day.

Determined to confirm if this information was true, Diana gritted her teeth and clenched her fists before quickly getting up. If there was any wisp of hope left that you might still be alive, she needed to confirm it.

#diana prince x reader #wonder woman x reader #gal gadot #diana prince imagine #diana prince x you #diana of themyscira #diana prince #dc x you #dceu imagine #dc imagine #f/f fic #self ship #dealing with grief #greek goddess #fluff #action #wonder woman

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thank-you-miss · 5 months ago

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Superhero Steakout

@a-fantastic-time

After successful interrogation session with Nat, Diana had earned some privileges. She was assigned a task on a parole basis. She was contingently working with SHIELD now. She had an ankle around her waist which was pretty powerful, and had made a Goddess tied down to her handler, Natasha.

One such day on the task, they were on a steakout mission for a week. It was in a posh neighborhood so naturally they had gotten a posh villa to stay. They had set up their surveillance kit in one room, which was automated. They could roam around the house if they wanted to. Wanda also had joined them. After spending 4 hours in the surveillance room with both the superheroes, Diana stood up " This is rubbish. Going to get something to eat " She stood up and started walking towards the kitchen.

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farshootergotme · 3 months ago

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Do you have any dick grayson fic recs?

Do I have any? Thank you for asking. Yes, yes I have.

Here's a list of my recommended Dick Grayson centric fics!

(Will warn you that some of these could contain OOC moments, but I couldn't tell you which since most of these I've read a while ago. So, beware of that!)

The Fishbowl by LordLuxury

Summary:

Dick’s goal for Thanksgiving (code named Operation F.I.S.H.): A family outing to the aquarium.

It feels achievable - everyone has been getting along better lately, Jason is spiraling closer, Cass is coming home. But there is a lot of unspoken hurt in every direction, and Dick’s own position in the family is shakier than ever since Bruce returned.

If Dick wants to realize his dream of family bonding, there will have to be many painful conversations between all parties. Dick’s own secrets will need to surface, the ones he has long kept submerged, the ones he will fight to sink forever.

(Or: Where Bruce is just a bit darker, even less emotionally available, and treats everyone a little worse, and how they all fix their family anyway.)

Comment: I read it a while ago so I can't promise to remember everything there was in it, but I can tell you it was wonderful.

It's a long fic focused on Dick Grayson that explores the batfamily dynamics, but mostly focuses on Dick's relationship with Bruce.

It's a rollercoaster of emotions and you'll probably have to take a break as you read it but finishing it is so worth it.

It wraps up everything very nicely and it's just one of my favorite Dick Grayson's fics of all time.

Broken Boy Vacation by AuroraKant

Summary:

Tim and Jason and Babs were mad at him, and Dick couldn’t even explain himself. Only Damian – oh, and how his heart had soared, learning that his boy was ALIVE! – had welcomed Dick back, and… and in his desperation Dick had proposed spending the holidays together. No presents, of course. No pressure to be overtly nice to each other. Just… what was left of their family together in one place.

Tim had been the one who remembered Bruce’s skiing cabin up in Blue Ridge Mountains, and suddenly they had a plan.

Dick returned from Spyral in the hopes of reconnecting with his family - what he found instead was a Bruce who had forgotten them all and brothers who expressed their grief through anger. This holiday was supposed to let them heal. But can you heal something as broken as them?

Comment: Batbros bonding, many apologies and a lot of stress but happy (hopeful) ending for Dick.

Dick and Damian have an implied father-son dynamic so, if you don't like that, probably would avoid this one unless you can ignore that.

I know at the time I read it I liked it a lot, so you'll have to trust myself from about a month ago about this one.

Hey, Brother, There's an Endless Road to Rediscover by TheSilencer

Summary:

"Someone needs to go with him." Diana said. "She's a goddess of family. Her blessing will come from the strength of his familial ties."

All the more reason I should go. Damian thought.

Bruce and Dick shared a long look. Perhaps to the others in the room, it was a fast, indecipherable look, but Damian caught the pull of Dick's mouth and the tightness to his father's jaw. However, it was Bruce that said "Red Hood and Red Robin."

Damian's eyes widened.

Grayson was as good as dead.

Or the one where Dick's brothers manage to royally piss off an ancient deity that sends them careening through memories he'd rather they didn't see.

Comment: It's a work in progress, but it is long enough to keep you entertained for a while before the next update.

If you want a fic that covers basically all the struggles Dick's gone through? This one fic does exactly that.

Lots of secrets brought to light, reconcilation and drama.

Patchwork by Samuel_Walker

Summary:

Dick Grayson is made up of bits. It’s a habit he creates when he’s small, when he doesn’t know how to “person” quite yet. Others around him seem to know, so he just picks up little things from them and sews them together into a patchwork quilt Dick Grayson.

Comment: I'll be honest, I haven't read this one yet, but I have it bookmarked for later.

However, I do know it's sort of a character study fic of Dick Grayson and this type of fics are usually great, so I will recommend it.

fool me thrice by GalaxyOwl13

Summary:

In the wake of Gotham War, Dick decides to give Bruce one final chance, but he doesn’t believe it will last very long. Bruce claims that Zur is gone, and, well, Dick believes that. It’s just that the problem didn’t start with Zur, so why would it end with him? Bruce has been hitting his apprentices since Dick was eight years old. He’s said he would stop before, and sometimes, it’s even lasted a while. But Bruce breaks all of his promises, sans one, and Dick is just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Comment: It's a work in progress, but so far it's been great.

It explores Dick's feelings about Bruce's (canon) abuse in the past and his struggle to believe that now that Zur it's gone it's truly over since he can't forget about the things Bruce has done when Zur wasn't a thing.

Bruce himself is trying to do better in this fic, but in his usual 'we won't actually talk about it, let us just move on' way. So, yeah, not great of him. Hoping for character development there.

And, well, this is all for now. I have other recs, but many of them are post-spyral or have ships in it, so I tried to vary a bit and avoid romantic relationships in the recs I gave.

Thank you for the ask!

#dick grayson #nightwing #dc fanfic recs #dc

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formosusiniquis · 1 year ago

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diana prince and stevie h.: variations on a theme

Inspired by this post by @secondconcussion cause I saw it earlier this week and couldn't stop turning it around in my mind

also on ao3 for easier reading

It's not Eddie's fault he got lost.

That's the first thing he wants to get out of the way. He'll take his lumps if he has to, Uncle Wayne can be a surly fucker when he's woken up before his alarm, "Not all those who wander are lost, Ed, isn't that what you said. Just wander your way back home." But Eddie's heart is gonna wait to be warmed that Wayne loves him enough to quote Lord of the Rings until after he's back in the part of Hawkins he recognizes.

"It's the ‘not all’ that I need you to wrap your head around old man, cause I, your dearest nephew, am very lost."

"Your my only nephew, and gettin' less dear by the second," Wayne lied like a liar.

He wasn't above begging, not when he'd already walked fuck knows how far to fuck knows where. "Please, Wayne!"

He hears a grumbled sigh and knows he's won, "Where are ya?"

"Um, woods?" He can hear the thunk of the phone being slammed against something hard, but at least Wayne doesn't hang up.

Hawkins is a small town, by Eddie's standards, but it expands in strange ways. Every summer he spent with Wayne it seemed to unfurl in different directions, a flower blooming a little different each year. It was not the gridded out cityscape he'd grown up in.

So when Eddie came down from Indy every summer to escape parents who managed to toe the line of awful just well enough that CPS kept their noses out of the Munson’s business, he would wander but never far. Just far enough to find the park and the playground that Wayne hadn't thought to mention. Far enough to find a corner store where he can pocket the extra candy bar he couldn't afford with the spare change he had -- and he wasn't going to put back the magazine he was buying, Wayne had nothing good to read and he couldn't make a library card yet. Far enough to find an abandoned picnic bench to smoke up at so his borrowed bedroom didn't smell like weed. Far enough to make some friends.

Only now that he's twenty, and some change. Now that he's graduated high school, third time lucky. Now that he’s decided to leave the trouble he could feel stirring in the city for someplace that always felt more like home. Now that he is an official Hawkins resident, he's wandered a little too far.

And it's not his fault, but he's not gonna tell Wayne that.

Cause the thing is, Eddie has always thought better when his feet were moving. After an hour of pacing around his trailer, still full with half unpacked boxes of things he hadn't realized he'd collected -- boxes that make him feel like a caged animal, that he'll be living out of for the next two months at least -- he has to leave. His first mistake, trusting that his feet will lead him around the parts of Hawkins he knows.

His mind twists plot hooks and campaign NPCs around his head, determined to get ready for when his friends come around later that afternoon with the pack of freshmen, now sophomores, that they'd adopted. He won't apologize for wanting to impress a new group of kids and wanting to convince Jeff he wouldn’t be sorry about passing off his DM mantle to a guy they used to only see two months out of the year. As he's thinking about a sect of female warriors -- a mix of barbarians and rangers, buff and leveled way above where the party will be -- and whether it'll just come across as horny the way the DILF-y elven mages he'd tried to include last year did, he sees her. Notices her, more like; a nymph, a dryad, a goddess sprung fully formed from his imaginings.

She crosses his path at a light jog. The shortest green athletic shorts he's ever seen clinging to the shape of an ass he could bounce a quarter off of. He can see the way her broad and muscled shoulders shift beneath the white sports bra she's wearing. It's the cool down portion of her workout, he guesses, from the way he can mostly maintain the small distance between them and the way sweat runs in rivulets down her back and trim waist. He wants to lick it off of her. She looks like she was built to fire a bow or break him in half, a Kinsey Five, it's the women who could kill him that always capture his attention.

He trails behind her, mind still turning over his session prep for the day and maybe thinking a little bit about whether she had a boyfriend. Hindsight will grant him that it's weird, the way he trailed behind her like a stray dog like this. But then, as he's sitting in the cab of Wayne's truck, he'll remember the way her thick, muscled thighs moved, how she bounced on the balls of her toes. He'll remember the way her ponytail swished over her shoulder as she glanced back at him, his first look at the lady's fair face, the way she'd smirked at him before bounding off of the roadside into the woods.

So totally not his fault he got lost. It probably happens all the time. The payphone on the opposite side of the road for sorry suckers like him who fall into her snare. Shit, maybe he should have stayed put, he hadn’t been thinking about why she might have a snare.

Wayne found him eventually, even if he spent the drive back to Forest Hills muttering about how Eddie had even found his way over to that side of town. How next time he aimed to get lost he should bring a map or a compass or a dog, and find his own way back. So he doesn’t ask his uncle about the mystery girl that could snap him over her knee like a dry twig, cause in the mood he’s in right now Wayne might go find her and embarrass the hell out of him.

Later, when Jeff and Gareth and Joey have piled onto the broken in couch that Wayne had given him. When the first teen that he doesn’t know knocks a little too quietly on his door, but grins wide enough to split his face that they’ve got a new campaign and a place to play over the summer. When they’re waiting for the last one to arrive, Eddie thinks about asking about her. She had to have overlapped with them in high school for at least a year or two.

Eddie knows already though that he won’t. Plus there’s a chance they’ll tell him anyway. He’s been on the receiving end of enough ‘Is that supposed to be Ronnie James Dio’s’ and ‘Wait are you describing Sigourney Weaver’s’ to hope that once he starts describing the Amazonian warrior who will hopefully be haunting his dreams he’ll get a ‘Doesn’t that sound just like…’

And yeah, maybe he’s starting to get a little impatient. But with the way he’s got the campaign laid out it will be at least two hours in before he gets a chance to describe her. At least, and he has to know who she is tonight.

“Dude,” Gareth starts, probably sick of the way Eddie’s bouncing his leg, “where’s Dustin?”

Will, the quietest so far of the new recruits looks almost too concerned, “He knows where it is right? Has anyone-”

Sinclair, he thinks the group arrived in mass and he’s not sure he’s partnered faces with the rush of names correctly just yet, pulls a walkie talkie with bells and whistles he didn’t even know you could attach from a backpack on the floor. “Dustin, come in, what’s your ETA?”

The tension in their corner of the room ratchets up enough to have Eddie’s palms start to sweat. Will brings his thumbnail up to his mouth, worrying it enough that it’s sure to start bleeding soon. “I’m sure it’s-” Sinclair starts to say, interrupted by a clattering outside then a bang to his door that yanks on the frayed edges of Eddie’s nerves.

He feels a little like a squirrel trying to cross a highway, the way the babies about to join the party are watching him with the knowing terror you watch something about to die.

Except the thing at his door is not Jason or Freddy, it’s a half-pint with a white hat pulled low over his head. The missing Dustin, who has no problem bullying his way through Eddie’s now open door.

“Ew, dude, why are you sweaty?”

"Because, Michael, I had to bike all the way across town." Eddie, and it looks like half the group, is about to ask some variation on why when Dustin holds up a hand shutting them all up masterfully "Because," he stresses each letter like they're what's wronged him, "five minutes before we were supposed to leave mom catches Stevie gossiping with Robin and she totally flips out about how she didn't take Stevie in just to watch her get herself killed. And then when I asked who was taking me here, Ma said she 'didn't buy me that bike just to have it sit in the garage!'"

The kid is incensed so it doesn't feel like the time to ask what the fuck is going on. Not when everyone else snorts and snickers at Dustin's expense. "Damn Stevie really fucked up if Dustybun got sent out on his own," Gareth jeers.

"Your mom does know what Stevie keeps in her trunk right? And she ruptured Preston's balls when he grabbed her ass last year," Lucas points out.

Hawkins, Eddie is learning, might just be full of girls to fall in love with.

"Stop saying that like it's hot, that's my sister you're talking about. I'll tell Max."

"Max still thinks Stevie's hot, dude."

"Are we gonna have to walk home just because Stevie's done something stupid again?" Mike complains.

"You didn't care about Stevie doing something dumb when she climbed that tree in heels to get you down after you got drunk at winter formal. Or when she took her bat to those… things." Lucas shares a sly grin with Will, who looks torn between feeling awkward at the inclusion and the teenage bloodlust for giving your friends a hard time. "You can just admit you feel weird about having the same taste as your-"

"Oh my god!" Dustin shouts cutting Lucas off and sending the room, Eddie included into a burst of snorting laughter. "Dustin Henderson," Eddie gets himself under control enough to accept the offered hand, "excited to have a DM who isn't a total asshole."

"Eddie, sorry about your hot sister. Not sorry for being a new kind of asshole Dungeon Master. Let’s see them character sheets, kiddies, this ain’t your mommy’s book club, we aren’t just here to gossip.”

Things go off pretty well, for a seven person table where he barely knows half the players. Lucas has an impressive tactical mind, Mike is a passionate role player, Will has a character built so well it’s basically an art form, and Dustin is a wild card who can’t decide whether he wants to win or to walk into the obvious trap just to see what will happen. It’s not hard to adjust, even if the way Jeff keeps looking at him when he describes new NPC's is throwing him off his game a little bit. He can duck behind his DM screen and recollect himself, but seriously what the fuck.

“She stands taller than the tallest of you, bronzed skin and hair, imperious, she looks at you, Sir Jeffrey, and offers you a deal, ‘Best our strongest warrior and you can take him back with you. Fail and his impunity will be punished by death.’” He lets the threat hang heavy in the air, all eyes on him and desperately hanging on to every word. Minus Jeff who was giving him that look again. “And that’s where we’ll end things this week, boys.” Cause he really, really hadn’t expected any of them to just straight up steal the enchanted bow of the Amazons that they needed to fell the dragon; and he really, really hadn’t planned for the botched stealth rolls.

Everyone grumbles as they pack up their things, it’s music to his ears. A four hour session -- if he didn’t count the hour they riffed about character builds and backstory once Eddie had his hands on their sheets -- and they’re still itching for more. It’s almost enough to have him just call a dinner break, so he can hole up in his room and churn something out. But someone is beating out shave and a haircut on his front door before he can change his mind.

“It’s probably Wayne getting revenge,” Eddie says, “woke him up early this afternoon.” He taps back his two bits, swinging open the door, expecting to see Wayne’s smug looking face grinning back at him. He’ll take his ‘Don’t feel too good getting interrupted in the middle a something, does it?’ with grace.

Only instead of an old man with two days of scruff, the door opens on his modern day Aphrodite. A worn, grey athletic shirt bragging about being a 1985 Hawkins Swim Team Region Champ has covered the white sports bra, cropped it shows off a distracting sliver of toned stomach above a short green tennis skirt, and her perky ponytail is down in loose waves around a mole kissed face.

And he’s gaping like a fucking idiot at her.

“Dust, wanna introduce me to your new friend?” she asks, voice bourbon smooth as molten eyes rake down his body from the doorway.

“Eddie, this is my sister.”

Like her brother before her, Stevie has no problem shouldering her way through the door. Where Dustin had slipped through on a size difference technicality like a halfling, she places a warm hand against his shoulder and gently pushes until his feet and brain get it together enough to move with her. Even then they’re still screaming, god he’s positive she could have just picked him up. He really wants her to pick him up, maybe push him against the wall a little.

“Hi Eddie,” she says. Still in the doorway they’re hedged in by boxes marked ‘Kitchen Shit’ and ‘Unpack this first asshole’ breathing the same air almost, all because Eddie in his genius had dropped the last load of stuff from the back of the van right by the door. “Are we going to be seeing more of you around?”

“Obviously,” Dustin cuts in, “we only just finished the start of a totally epic campaign.”

“Obviously,” Stevie repeats, with a mocking tilt to her gorgeous smile. One he recognizes from this morning.

Jeff is still watching him, a set of eyes boring hard into the side of his face. “Eddie just moved to Hawkins, just spent summers here before.”

Something about that softens her. Her expression, her posture, easing into something a little less coiled to pounce but no less flirtatious. “To Hawkins?”

Shit, and she’s looking at him like he’s an idiot; but like a cute idiot that she’ll maybe want to put down on his knees. “Well the best band I ever played with is still in high school here, and a success story always sounds better coming out of a small town.”

“You’re in a band, huh?”

Dustin wrestles himself in the middle again, and it says a lot about his tenacity that he’s managed to rock Stevie back against the cardboard. “Whatever this is, I don’t like it and it needs to stop.”

“Load your bike up in the trunk then, shithead, and you won’t have to see it,” she fires back. He does push past her out the door, trying to let it slam shut behind him when she catches it in lightning fast reflex, “Scratch the paint cause you’re being a dick and your ass is grass!”

The rest of the sophomores are slow to pack up their remaining things, valuing gossip more than trying to comfort their friend on losing another soldier in the war of ‘thinks his big sister is the babest babe to ever hit Hawkins.’

“You should come to practice some time, band practice, for the um band."

Somebody behind him snorts, hears a whispered, "For the um band," that's probably meant to be a mimicry of him.

"Eddie's lead guitar," Jeff says, from a place of true friendship or pity. It's hard to tell.

Her eyes light up with a mischief, hair swinging as she cocks her head, and he can hear the requisite, ‘wow you must be so good with your hands,’ as clearly as if she had said it. Instead she says, “Gremlins, go get in the car. Tell Dustin, Ma’s pissed he didn't take his helmet and he should know first hand the dangers of head trauma.” It’s an inside joke, an unfunny one, from the way she grins as they grumble and groan and tell her to fuck off. Trooping out the door between him and Stevie they each let her pat them on the back or ruffle their hair, a little attendance check on the way to the car.

The trailer door shuts behind them with a slam, maybe not an attitude issue then and something to add to his to do list, but Stevie hasn’t left with them. “If you’re interested in what Hawkins has to offer, I could show you around.” She says casually. Conversationally. A comment for the room at large before she leans into Eddie’s space, warm breath against the side of his face making him shiver as she whispers, “I take the same run through town every day, and I always wanted a puppy to follow me home.”

Eddie is lost. In visions of the girl who just twirled out of his place on her heel after completely rocking his world. Has lost. His mind, his heart, and hopefully his status as single. But there are worse things he can think of than being lost in Hawkins.

#steddie #transfem steve harrington #stevie harrington #steve henderson #hopefully this is kinda what you were looking for?#i was inspired #stevie and robin were of course gossiping about the cute guy that was following her #and claudia correctly lost her mind #ambiguous presence of the upside down #which has warped stevie's sense of danger #my fic

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