#been saying it's because of delayed shipment

[solarwynd]

I just saw that Golden landed #11 on the BB vinyl chart. Quite surprised with that. Is it because of the holiday season? Or ARMY not just buying (hello funds) with the successive releases? Haven't seen any JJKs raising hell, but I am pretty sure they aren't that giddy with the result.

There aren't any Christmas vinyls in top 10 for this week from what I could see, so it's not that. It's either lack of buyers or there wasn't enough interest in it to meet the desired and anticipated results

[pandapetals]

Back Off

origins logan howlett x fem!reader - angst, creepy guy, harassment, established relationship, logan being protective, no y/n used, no reader description, soft logan, some fluff

You work at the lumberyard as the secretary, and all the guys like to tease/flirt with you. Except one guy takes it too far, leading to Logan standing up to the guy for you.

a/n: thank you anon for the request!

read on Ao3

The typewriter keys sat waiting beneath your fingertips, but your attention was elsewhere, juggling the phone tucked precariously between your shoulder and ear. Your voice was crisp but strained with professional courtesy as you wrapped the coiled cord around your fingers, a nervous habit you couldn’t quite break.

“Well, that shipment should’ve been here two days ago,” you said, your tone clipped as you shot a glance at the clock on the wall. Its hands seemed to taunt you with their sluggish pace.

The faint creak of the door hinge made you glance up. Logan stepped inside, the scent of sawdust and pine trailing him like a shadow. His shirt clung to his chest, damp with sweat from the afternoon’s hard labor, and dirt smudged across his forearms. He stopped mid-step when your eyes met, a flicker of warmth softening the usually sharp lines of his face. His lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile which he quickly masked.

Your chest tightened, but you swallowed your reaction, pressing the receiver closer to your ear. “My boss isn’t going to be happy to hear that,” you continued, voice steady but lacking its usual bite. Your fingers tightened around the cord.

Logan leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, his flannel shirt stretched taut over his broad frame. He didn’t say a word at first, just watched you in that quiet, brooding way of his. His dark eyes pinned you in place, carrying a weight that made your heart race. The faint furrow between his brows and the way his jaw ticked told you more than he ever would aloud.

“You okay?” His voice was low, carrying that gravelly edge that made it sound like he’d just finished a fight—or was about to start one. The question sounded casual enough, but the tension in his tone was a dead giveaway. He wasn’t asking about the phone call.

You pressed the receiver closer to your ear but covered the mouthpiece with your palm, cutting the conversation off for a moment. A pointed look passed between you. “I’m fine,” you said, softly enough that no one but him could hear.

But Logan didn’t look convinced, and truthfully, you weren’t fine. The delayed shipment had already left you teetering on the edge of frustration, but the day tipped over completely when Bruce from the lumber shed had sauntered in earlier, tossing out a crude comment about how nice you’d look without the office dress code. The memory left a bitter taste in your mouth and a knot twisting in your stomach. You hadn’t said anything about it at the time—you never did—but you knew Logan had heard. The dark glint in his eyes told you as much.

Your glance to the side must’ve given you away because Logan’s nostrils flared slightly, his jaw tightening like a vise. He looked away, but not before you saw the flicker of something dangerous in his expression. He crossed the small room in two steps and grabbed the battered water bottle off the desk, unscrewing the cap with more force than was necessary. He tipped his head back, taking a slow, deliberate swig, but his eyes flicked toward you between gulps. He wasn’t drinking because he was thirsty. He was buying himself a moment to swallow down whatever he wanted to say—or do.

The tension in his shoulders practically radiated off him, and you felt it from across the room. It made the tiny office feel even smaller, as though there wasn’t enough air left for both of you.

You forced yourself to turn your attention back to the phone. “Yes, I’ll make a note of that. Thank you.” The brightness in your voice was as practiced as the steady rhythm of your fingers tapping the edge of the desk. Professional. Calm. Controlled. But beneath it all, your heart pounded too hard, and your stomach was still coiled tight from the weight of Logan’s gaze—and the ghost of Bruce’s earlier comment.

As soon as you hung up, the silence in the room closed in like a heavy fog. You didn’t have to look to know Logan had stepped closer, his presence a tangible thing that wrapped around you like the smell of sawdust on his clothes. It invaded all of your senses.

“They giving you a hard time again?” he asked, voice still calm but lined with an undercurrent of restrained anger.

You sighed, trying for a dismissive wave of your hand. “As always,” you replied, finally daring to meet his eyes. His stare was as steady and relentless as ever. You forced a wry smile and added, “I’m sure if Michael were on the phone, they’d be tripping over themselves to fix it and have the shipment here within the hour.”

Logan’s expression darkened. “That what this is about?” he asked, though his voice was quieter now like he was trying to rein himself in. “The shipment?”

You hesitated, your hand hovering over the desk. “Partly,” you admitted, your gaze shifting to the typewriter as if you could bury the rest of your frustration under the blank page waiting there. “Bruce decided to get creative with his commentary again.”

Logan’s jaw tightened so hard you could almost hear the grind of his teeth. His hand flexed around the water bottle before he set it down, a little too carefully, like he was afraid it might crumple in his grip. “He said something to you?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you said quickly, but the words felt hollow even as they left your lips.

Logan huffed out a humorless laugh, his lips curling into a sneer. “Sure you can,” he said, his tone dripping with that quiet, simmering anger he never seemed to show unless someone had pushed him too far. “Doesn’t mean he should be sayin’ it.”

You didn’t answer, because what could you say? You both knew Bruce was the type to run his mouth until someone shut him up. You also knew what Logan shutting Bruce up would look like—and how that would ripple through the lumber yard.

“Logan—”

“I’m not gonna start anything,” he interrupted, holding up a hand before you could even finish. “But if he doesn’t quit…” He trailed off, leaving the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air.

Logan took a step closer, leaning down just enough to catch your eye. His voice softened, that gruff protectiveness slipping through. “You tell me if he does it again. Don’t care what the situation is or who’s around. Okay?”

The look in his eyes sent a wave of warmth coursing through you, equal parts frustration and affection. He wasn’t asking for permission to defend you—he was reminding you he could if you needed him to. 

You nodded finally, letting out a breath. “Okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He lingered for a second longer, his hand brushing against the desk like he wanted to reach for yours but thought better of it. Then, with a slow inhale, he turned on his heel and left, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click.

You sat frozen for a moment, staring at the desk where Logan’s hand had rested just minutes ago. The faint warmth of his touch lingered in your memory, even as the tension he left behind coiled in your chest. You let out a heavy sigh, shaking yourself free of the moment, unsure whether you felt more exasperated by his overprotective streak or comforted by it. Maybe both.

Dragging your focus back to the task at hand, you grabbed the phone and dialed into your work. The rhythmic clatter of the typewriter keys soon filled the small office, a steady noise that you clung to like a lifeline. You knew if you let your thoughts wander, they’d drift back to Logan—his brooding gaze, the way his presence seemed to fill the room, the tension in his voice whenever someone crossed a line with you. No, work was safer to think about.

But only a few minutes had passed when the door to the office trailer swung open again, the hinges groaning in protest.

You didn’t bother to look up, hoping it was one of the guys just passing through to grab a clipboard or clock out for the day. The last thing you needed was another interruption.

“Ah, glad I didn’t miss you.” The oily drawl froze your fingers mid-keystroke. 

“Thought you’d have gone home by now, honey,” Bruce added as the sickly sweetness in his tone made your stomach turn.

Your jaw tightened, and you forced your hands to keep moving on the typewriter, willing yourself not to react. “We both know I work later than you,” you said, your tone clipped, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the paper in front of you.

Bruce let out a low chuckle, the kind that always seemed to ooze condescension. You could practically feel the smirk stretching across his face. “Sure do, darlin’,” he said, taking a step closer. “But I work harder. Real hard.”

The way he said it made your skin crawl, the implication heavy in his voice. Your fingers faltered on the typewriter, hitting the wrong key, the sharp clack echoing like an accusation. You straightened in your seat, keeping your gaze locked on the page.

“Good for you, Bruce,” you replied dryly, trying to keep the bite out of your tone. “Guess we’ve all got our talents.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lean against the edge of the desk, too close for comfort. His cologne, heavy and cheap, wafted over you, and you had to fight the urge to wrinkle your nose.

“Aw, come on now,” he said, voice dipping lower. “Don’t be like that. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be so uptight.”

Your hands stilled completely, hovering over the typewriter keys. Your jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

“I’m not uptight,” you said evenly, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “I’m busy. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Bruce’s grin didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face. He straightened, shrugging as if your comment had rolled right off his back. “Busy, huh? Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it. But if you ever need help with anything…” His gaze raked over you, lingering long enough to make your skin crawl. “You know where to find me.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” you said evenly, though your voice came out quieter than you would’ve liked. “But I’m good.” You tried to sound firm, but the way he loomed closer—like he thought this was some kind of game—made it hard to keep your voice steady.

Bruce chuckled low, the sound grating against your nerves. “You sure, sweetheart? You’re looking a little tense.” He tilted his head, his grin smug. “Could be you’re working too hard in this little office all by yourself. Maybe you just need someone to... take care of you.”

The words sent a rush of heat to your face, not from embarrassment but from anger. You pushed back slightly in your chair, forcing some distance between you. “I can take care of myself just fine, thanks,” you said, sharper this time.

Bruce’s smirk faltered for a split second, but he recovered quickly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back like he had all the time in the world to pester you.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said, his eyes roaming over you. “Still, wouldn’t hurt to have someone like me around, you know? A woman like you shouldn’t have to do it all alone.”

Before you could think of a response sharp enough to cut through his arrogance, the door to the office swung open with a sharp creak.

The sound hit you like a lifeline, and you snapped your head toward the entrance. Relief flooded through you the moment you saw Logan step inside, his broad shoulders filling the doorway like a shield against everything wrong in the world.

He didn’t say anything, but the air in the room shifted. His dark eyes swept over the scene—the way Bruce was standing too close, the tension in your body—and his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitch.

Bruce turned slightly, his smirk fading when he saw Logan. “Hey, man,” he said, attempting to sound casual, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. “Didn’t know you were still around.”

Logan took one slow, deliberate step inside, his boots thudding heavily against the floor. His eyes never left Bruce, sharp and unyielding like the edge of a blade.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Logan said finally, his voice low and even, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “You were just leavin’, weren’t you?”

Bruce chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, sure. Just checking in on her. You know, being neighborly.”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t say a word, but the silence was louder than anything he could’ve said. It stretched long enough that Bruce shifted uncomfortably, his confidence clearly cracking under the weight of Logan’s stare.

“Right,” Bruce muttered, stepping back toward the door. “See ya tomorrow, sugar,” he added over his shoulder, flashing you one last grin before slipping out.

The door clicked shut, and the tension in the room snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight. You let out a shaky breath, slumping slightly in your chair as the adrenaline drained from your body.

“You okay?” Logan asked, his voice softer now as he stepped closer, his eyes searching your face with an intensity that made it hard to keep up the façade. His brows furrowed slightly, the hard edge of his earlier anger melting into something gentler only meant for you.

“Yeah,” you said automatically, nodding, though your voice wavered. Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, and the knot tightening in your chest threatened to unravel.

But then you shook your head, a trembling breath escaping before you could stop it. “No, I’m not—” The words broke free, and with them, the tears you’d been fighting blurred your vision. You quickly turned your head away, swiping at your eyes with the back of your hand, embarrassed at letting him see you like this.

Logan closed the distance between you in two steps, crouching slightly so he could meet your gaze even as you tried to look away. “Hey,” he murmured, laced with concern. “C’mere.”

Before you could protest, his calloused hands gently took hold of your arms, pulling you to your feet and into his chest. The solid weight of him wrapped around you and you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt, the faint scent of sawdust and pine filling your senses as you buried your face against him.

“It’s okay,” Logan said, his voice a soft rumble against your hair. His arms encircled you, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back. “It’s okay. I got you.”

You let out a shaky breath, the tension in your body slowly easing as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek calmed you. For a moment, you let yourself lean into him fully, taking comfort in the quiet strength he always seemed to carry.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice muffled against his chest. “I just��he was being such a creep, and I didn’t know how to get him to stop without making it worse—”

“Stop,” Logan interrupted firmly but gently, leaning back just enough to tilt your chin up so you were looking at him. His dark eyes were sharp and fierce, but there was something softer beneath the surface that made your breath hitch. “You don’t need to apologize. He’s the one who crossed the line, not you.”

You nodded weakly, though the knot of guilt and frustration in your chest didn’t entirely fade. Logan studied you for another beat, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek where a tear had streaked down.

“He’s lucky I didn’t walk in earlier,” Logan muttered, his jaw tightening again, the earlier anger creeping back into his tone.

“Logan—” you started, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

“No. He doesn’t get to talk to you like that,” Logan said, his voice steady and unyielding now. “Not him. Not anyone.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening again—not from fear or anger this time, but from the overwhelming comfort of knowing someone had your back.

Logan stepped back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on your arms as he gave you one last searching look. “You gonna be okay if I step out for a minute?”

You hesitated, knowing exactly what he meant. “Logan, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “He needs to know to back off, and so do the rest of those idiots out there. No one gets to mess with you. Not anymore.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with promise. Finally, you nodded. “Okay,” you whispered.

Logan leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple that sent warmth flooding through you. “I’ll be back,” he murmured.

Outside, the guys were wrapping up for the day, the hum of machinery and the thud of lumber filling the late afternoon air. Bruce was leaning against a stack of pallets, laughing with two other workers, clearly unfazed by what had just happened.

That changed the moment Logan came into view.

The look on Logan’s face was enough to make most of the guys freeze in place, their chatter dying down as they caught sight of him. He moved like a predator, shoulders squared, his eyes locked on Bruce.

“Hey, Logan,” Bruce said, straightening up with a nervous laugh. “What’s up, man?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. He stopped a few feet from Bruce, his posture loose but coiled with restrained energy. The other guys stepped back instinctively, sensing the shift in the air.

“You got somethin’ you wanna say to me?” Logan asked, his voice low and calm—the kind of calm that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand up.

Bruce blinked, his grin faltering. “Uh, no? What’re you talking about?”

Logan took a slow step closer, his gaze never wavering. “I’m talkin’ about you runnin’ your mouth to her,” he said, his tone sharpening. “That stops now.”

Bruce tried to laugh it off, but it came out weak and shaky. “Come on, man, I was just joking around. She knows that.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You think that was a joke? Do you think it’s funny to make her feel like that? To act like you can say whatever you want ‘cause she’s too polite to tell you to shut your damn mouth?”

Bruce’s face paled, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Logan cut him off.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Logan said, his voice quiet but carrying enough weight to make every man within earshot listen. “You’re gonna keep your distance. No comments. No looks. Nothing. You so much as breathe in her direction, and we’re gonna have a problem. You got that?”

Bruce swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.”

Logan didn’t move, didn’t even blink. “Say it.”

“I got it,” Bruce repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Logan stepped back, his gaze sweeping over the rest of the crew, making sure they were all paying attention. “That goes for all of you,” he said, his voice louder now. “She’s off-limits. You got a problem with that, you can take it up with me.”

No one said a word.

Satisfied, Logan turned and walked back toward the office, the tension in the yard following him like a shadow. From that day on, no one dared mess with you again.

[world-of-aus]

The Arrangement - Chapter 3

Pairing: Mobboss!Bucky x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angsty Dialogue. Longing????

Author's Note: Chapter 3 is finally here, I apologize for the delay, but I wanted to make this as good as I could for all of you. Also the vows used are my personal favorite and I think they fit the story well. I hope you enjoy, thank you, and happy readings!

You’re looking over the latest shipment, fingers dancing down the list of numbers, eyes scanning over the page from left to right. 

“You know, I heard most brides should be relaxing before their big day, having a night out on the town with their friends. Why am I not surprised you’re still here sweetheart?"

Your fingers still, eyes flitting up to see you father at the open door of your office, you offer a warm smile, “m'about done, just doing a final check before the weekend, wanted to make sure our numbers were right come Monday when we merge with the Barnes, didn't want a single hair out of place. And I'll have you know that Becca and I had a girls night yesterday by the way, we plan on catching a late dinner tonight as well so consider that my night out on the town.” 

Your father chuckles stepping into your space, your eyes flit back to the sheet as he draws closer, his presence looming at your side as he watches you. He waits till you’ve skimmed the last of the page, till you’re relaxed back against the office chair eyes on him before he speaks. 

“How are you doing my girl,” he murmurs reaching out to stroke your head, “I’ve been worried about you since your mom called you home and delivered the news.” 

“I don’t know how to feel dad,” you answer honestly, “should I feel happy, sad, angry, regret?” 

“Regret?” he questions. 

“This isn’t the way this was supposed to go,” you say. “I planned a wedding for tomorrow that isn’t mine, everything up to the last detail is hers, it's not mine and now I’m expected to step up – to step in for my family. Do you know what that’s going to feel like? To look like? Stepping in to a wedding that screams ‘This isn’t yours’, a wedding that you didn't invision." What if she comes back dad, what if she comes to her senses and decides she wants him back? What then? Are you going to discard up the contract like you did that night? Discard my feelings as if they meant less than hers?” 

Your father looks stricken by your words, “but we thought it’s what you wanted sweetheart, you didn’t fight us on it, you willingly let him sign so we assumed it's what you wanted too."

You scoff with a shake of your head, maybe you’d settle on feeling anger. “Of course I made it seem like it's something I wanted. Forgive me for not wanting to put myself through a one-sided marriage. He fell for her dad the first night he laid eyes on her and he was locked in, he loves her, he chose her. So of course I let him go despite my breaking heart. I refused to be the cause of someone’s unhappiness, to be the cause of my own unhappiness because I deserve someone who will love me back, who would choose me and he wasn’t going to chose me.” 

‘I can’t do this to her.’ 

But he could do it to you. 

“Sweetheart I’m -” 

You bring a hand up, “Please don’t dad, I’ve agreed to this because I know what it meant to our family, and I’ll play my role just as you asked but please don't ask more of me, there's only so much that I can give, and I think I've given enough."

Your fathers struck by your words, and he can only watch as you stand from the seat gathering your things. It’s only once you’ve reached the door of the office you turn to regard him, “I’ll see you tomorrow dad.” He wants to call you back,  to get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness because how could he have not seen it. Seen what that night did to you, he should have done more for you, fought it, but all he could think of that night was the merger, the safety it would bring both families. He thought of everyone’s happiness but your own that night. They all did. 

“You know my offer still stands to be your getaway driver for tomorrow right?” 

Despite the tears blurring your eyes you still manage to snort out your laughter, “Your brother would have us tracked down in minutes Bec’s there’s no where you could go that he wouldn’t find you, he has plenty of people that owe him favors just ready to cash in. Also don't get me started on the hell my father would reign, I don't take his position till after I marry."

“It was a worth a try,” she grumbles stabbing a noodle, “I just hate to see you hurting y/n, this isn’t how the night before your big day should be going, you should be happy – those tears shouldn’t be sad ones.” 

You smile sadly at the noodles in the takeout box before looking over the coffee table at your best friend, “but this isn’t my big day Bec's, I'm doing this for our families." Rebecca abandons her noodles all but crawling over the wooden coffee table to get to you, her arms crushing you in a welcomed embrace. “Tomorrow is for you y/n, I know none of it feels like it is, but its for you, I promise it is.” 

Your fingers curl around your friend as more tears slip from your eyes, god how you wish that were the truth. You would give yourself tonight to cry, to be hurt, to feel angry, but tomorrow, tomorrow it would all be different - you'd learn to mask it. You would no longer cry, no longer allow this pain to consume you, you were going to fight for your happiness - real happiness, and ensure you got every bit of it you deserved. 

Bucky remembered the nights the two of you would be out in the backyard of the Barnes residence, a soft blanket laid out beneath the two of you, the stars coating the night sky as you two drew up the image of the ‘perfect wedding’ a wedding between the two of you that was written in the stars. Looking around the chapel now he doesn’t see a single speck of you in the details. Though why would he, this wedding wasn’t yours despite all the effort you had gone to make sure it was perfect and it really wasn’t his – was it?  

He still recalls the day your sister eagerly announced their engagement to both families, he had imagined this being one of the most exciting moments in his life but where was that sought after feeling? He had found no excitement when she mentioned that you and her would be going dress shopping for the first time since the engagement dropped, no eagerness in wondering what she would look like in her chosen all white dress. If anything he felt like he had been outsider to most of it, the cake testing, the linen choosing, the food tasting, and at the time he couldn't quite understand why. Where had that rush he felt with you in his backyard gone? This was his wedding, he should feel happy, so why didn't he, what was missing?

Bucky thought he might be devastated when his mother rang him to tell him about your sister not being able to go through with the wedding. He thought he might have been crushed when he received her text: Please forgive me. I love you, but I can't do this. He thought he might feel hurt when his number was blocked shortly after, but he felt nothing.

Now though as he stands at the head of the chapel, Steve and Sam at his side a feeling Bucky can’t place his finger on crushes his chest as he looks over the families lining the pews of the church. There are quiet whispers filtering through the air, and Bucky thinks that's what may be causing the feeling. Or maybe it was the fact that you still hadn’t entered through the closed doors of the chapel.  

Had you unlike your sister gotten actual cold feet, or maybe you finally decide to do something for you, something that wasn't at the benefit of your family.

Steve leans in from where he’s stood at his side, “would you like me to go check on them pal?” Bucky’s lip's part on an answer but the doors to the chapel are pushing in, his sister albeit a little disheveled makes her way down the aisle, quiet apologies on her lips as she takes her spot on your side.

He looks at her in question, "we hit a bump in the road," she mouths, "she's coming."

Bucky wants to question her further, but then the piano is being queued, the doors swinging open and just there at the entrance you stand with your father, your arms entwined together.

He forgets how to breathe.

Bucky watches your father guide the two of you down the aisle, both family's stood on their feet. The feeling that weighed him down earlier is now replaced with something new as your father closes the distance. You're dressed in a silk white dress, a delicate veil placed in your hair, a simple piece yet on you it looked incredibly stunning, so this was the bump in the road.

He meets you and your father, your hand being placed in his, "take care of my girl son." Bucky looks at your father, his hand squeezing yours, "I give you my word sir." your father nods placing a kiss to your cheek before taking his spot by your mother.

It's just you and Bucky for a moment as he leads you up to the officiant, "I'm sorry for being late," you whisper, "I -" He turns to you then as you stop before the officiant, his other hand taking yours, "there's nothing to be sorry for I understand, you're here now, you look beautiful sweetheart."

He's left you speechless, but there's no room for words as the officiant begins the ceremony.

Bucky can't take his eyes off you, not even as he repeats the vows he's supposed to, his eyes only ever part from yours when he goes to present you with the ring Steve passes him, and even then they're on yours shortly after as he makes his promise to you. He cant quite describe the feeling that passes over him when you take the ring from Becca eyes locked on his as you make your vows to him sealing it with the ring over his finger.

Why did he ever let you go?

"James Barnes and Y/F/N Y/L/N, having proclaimed your love and commitment to one another in the eyes of these loved ones, and with the power vested in me by the Universal Life Church and the state of New York, I am so happy to pronounce you husband and wife." The officiant turns his attention to Bucky then, "You may kiss your bride."

You and Bucky had only ever kissed one other time, and it was a moment like this one that he knew he would never forget.

He's on his side looking down at you, taking in the beauty of your features as your eyes dance across the starry sky. "I'd want to write my own vow's," he proclaims, "it would feel more personal, more us."

He loves when your eyes find his, there's a brightness in your eyes at his proclamation, "I'd love that too B, care to share with me a bit of what you'd say?"

He know's you're teasing but in that moment he doesn't care, he thinks he may be able to tell you tonight, to show you just how much he cares, how much he loves you. "I vow to fiercely love you in all your forms now and forever," he breathes grinning at the soft surprise that skirts over your features. "I promise to never forget that this is a once-in-a-lifetime love. And to always know in the deepest part of my soul that no matter what challenges might carry us apart, we will always find our way back to each other."

He thinks you might have been the first to move, your hand finding the back of his head, the other the side of his face as you caressed his cheek, he knows there's love in your eyes as you pull him a little closer, the whispered words, 'you may now kiss the bride' ghosting over his lips just before they met yours.

He's certain he's the one that's moved first this time, one hand finding your waist, the other your cheek as he pulls you closer. He can see the fear, the worry there in your eyes, and he caresses your skin in hopes of easing that worry as he closes the distance between the two of you.

And just before his lips slot over yours Bucky vows then to mend the promises he had broken.

The Arrangement Taglist:

If you'd like to be added or removed please let me know, Many Thanks <3

@learisa @greatenthusiasttidalwave @barnesxstan @calwitch @h0nestly-though @wintrsoldrluvr @esposadomd @roofwitty779 @pattiemac1 @sebastians-love @scott-loki-barnes @mrsnikstan @metanoiablxxm @lostyx @missvelvetsstuff @casa-boiardi @shoutingcardinal @tiedyedghoulette @littleeuphoriaelf @polireader @armystay89 @cjand10 @railmesebstan @agardenflower25 @brckenmemories @mcira @loki-laufeyson68 @edelweissbarnes @unaxv @ghalouha @wasalreadyhere @broadwaybabe18 @mavs101 @stormy-stardust @shadowrose13-blog1 @laha1na

[unholyhelbig]

https://www.tumblr.com/unholyhelbig/748001277238181888/ive-reread-the-entirety-of-oversight-again-and

i’ve done this as well. i think u should 😌😏😉☺️🥰

Title: Rose Colored Glasses [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Reader gets word that Natasha is hurt and rushes home to assess the situation.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): injury to nose & foot, slight blood, and shrimp

[a/n: Did someone request more oversight? Because I've got you covered. This is pure fluff, sorry for the lack of angst! It's short, and sweet, and not proof read because I don't have time :( ]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

A quiet house was never a good sign. Growing up in the foster care system teeming with other wards of the state had taught you that. Often, you were three or four to a room. There were bunk beds with sheets slotted against the ceiling or stuffed under the mattress above your own, just for some type of barrier. It was an illusion of privacy, most of the time. Because houses like that were never quiet.

When you’d moved in across from Darcy after your 18th birthday, things weren’t quiet. Above you was a Latin-American couple that would wait until just past midnight to turn on a slow, rhythmic song and dance. Their steps were soft, and calculated. They carved out time for one another every single night between shifts. Just for the two of them. You often let the thumping base lull you to sleep.

The city was just outside your window. In the summer, you could prop it open with a brick and let the sounds of cars become a backdrop. There were sirens, and when the fire hydrant on the corner was loosened, the world welcomed a cold blast of water, sprinkling into the street. That was the opposite of quiet. That made your chest feel light, and warm.

After marrying Natasha Romanoff, you settled into the loudness of her home. Your home. Veronica was constantly running around the twists and turns of the bottom floor, Clint or Kate or Darcy galloping after her with a big smile on their face. They slowed themselves to make sure they didn’t break anything, but they wanted her to win, too.

Yelena often came with the muffled sounds of Russian techno bands coming from the headphones around her neck. It was a staple to find her in the kitchen with her head down, slicing into an apple from the backyard with precision unknown. Natasha would tug the headphones off to get her attention, or to send her into annoyance.

The night that Natasha got hurt was stifled with the sound of rain. It had soaked you to the bone, dripping onto the linoleum floor and then the carpet as you ascended the stairs two at a time. You’d been at the docks later than usual, the storm that had plagued the side of the harbor was relentless and delayed shipments.

The captain of the shipping boat your family had utilized for decades wanted to discuss something over whatever crap coffee you could beat out of the machine in your office. He spoke with a thick southern drawl, his mustache was encrusted with salt and sand. You had shed your coat and tried to warm yourself up by hugging your mug to your chest. Nothing seemed to work.

While you weren’t opposed to giving the man a raise, you were not the final say. Natasha was, and you figured he could use the company more than anything. The captain flicked through books that were on the shelf, taking two or three for his next journey out to sea. It was like clockwork with him, and you indulged his need for quiet companionship each time.

When your phone rang, you never looked at the caller ID. Those who were privileged enough to get your number knew to talk without any of the pleasantries that they were used to. Clint’s voice came through the receiver in a smooth, hushed tone that made you believe he wasn’t supposed to be calling you in the first place.

“Look, y/n, there’s been an… incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

He was meant to escort her to one of the many cocktail parties that Carlos LaMuerto was throwing at his mansion that bordered the same body of water that you resided on now. They were lovely get-togethers that you often attended with your wife. This, however, was the fourth one this month and your stomach was turning at the idea of another cocktail shrimp and lamb pate.

Clint had offered, seeing the desperation in your eyes. And while Natasha was reluctant, she ultimately agreed. No news of a bust had reached you yet, nor had a gun blazing argument. While the Captain licked his dry lips and scanned the books in front of him, you continued in hushed tones.

“Nat’s hurt. It’s not a big deal, you can finish up your business. She’s just being stubborn is all.”

An escaped sigh “I’ll be there.”

No shit, she was being stubborn. Your wife was bull-headed and wouldn’t admit to the smallest defeat. It eased your nerves slightly, and only slightly, that Clint said it wasn’t a big deal. No gunshot to the back, or knife to the throat. It wasn’t good enough, however.

Natasha would be upset that you tracked mud into the house and left your boots sloshing by the door. You were panting by the time you reached the double doors that led to your bedroom. They were, of course, blocked by Clint and Kate. Yelena was leaning lazily against the railing that was parallel. She regarded you with an uninterested stare.

“You did not have to come here.” She said, “We’ve got it handled.”

“She kicked all of you out, didn’t she?”

“What? She certainly did not!”

Yelena’s voice pitched with her lie. Kate’s cheeks turned an off-shade of pink and Clint just rthe hallway, that was a good sign. Still, neither of the two moved to let you into your own room.

“If you’re not going to get out of the way, can you at least tell me what happened?”

There was a muffled reply from behind the door. With the way that the voice flitted, you knew that she was trapped on the bed. Otherwise, she would have leveled you with a glare right here and now. The words were simple “Do it, you die.”

“Oh, come on,” You whispered harshly, turning your attention to Kate instead. She was the easiest to break. “Katie, what is the harm in letting me through? I’m going to catch my death if I stay in these clothes.”

“Catch your death?” Clint scoffed “What are you? A poet from the 1800’s?”

“I’m about to be breaking your fingers if you don’t-“

“You can’t even break wind,”

The two of your voices combined as you kept at it. You didn’t’ miss the wary look that Kate shot Yelena. One way or another, you’d get into your room. You refused to be banished to the couch again, especially in wet clothes. If you had to threaten ruining the rugs with your muddy footprints, so be it.

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” You held up both of your hands, silencing the chaos of the corridor. “Nat, you are my wife, you’re hurt. Whether you like it or not, I’m coming in. Does anyone have any objections?”

Kate went to raise her hand, but Yelena yanked it back down and shook her head no. You tore into Clint with a look that could drop him dead. He relented and stepped away from the door. While you had a moment of peace, you walked into the dark of the room. She’d turned out the lights, save for the half-moon that showed a pale pattern against the carpet.

When you reached for the light switch on the wall, Natasha let out a noise that was similar to a wounded animal. You halted, your actions and made out her form on the bed. She was folded in on herself, her silhouette rigid.

“Baby,” you cooed, closing the distance between you and the bed. She grunted again, this time in pain. She attempted to turn away from you. You lowered yourself onto the sliver of bed, approaching the situation softly. “Can I turn on a light?”

“No, I’m hideous.”

You chuckled softly “I highly doubt that, my love. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Natasha had never liked being vulnerable around you. It had taken a full weekend of you nursing her back to her feet after the incident on the pier for her to let herself cry. You held her for hours, her nose pressed against the small of your neck. She’d gripped onto you, as if you’d leave. But you never would.

Eventually, you saw her shadow nod. Before she could change her mind, you flicked on the lamp on the side table. It didn’t’ have a far reach, but the light was less harsh on the both of you. It was impossible not to notice the blood that had dried against Natasha’s nose, a split right down the middle.

You’d seen her with broken bones before, bruises that wrapped around her midsection. You’d put ace bandage around her ribs after drawing her a bath. This was nothing to be ashamed about. In fact, she often saw them as battle scars that would heal in a pink gash.

Her foot was wrapped up with a bag of peas and one of frozen carrots that Clint, or even Yelena had situated. There was bruising around her ankle, it looked painful and you internally winced at the coloring. She groaned into the small of her elbow.

“I want to die”

“Natty, it’s okay. This is nothing a cozy weekend inside can’t fix.”

She said something that was quiet and muffled by her arm. You didn’t understand her one bit, but she squeezed a single tear from her eye that you wiped away dutifully before it could reach the silk of sheets.

“What was that, baby?” You asked gently.

She threw both of her hands down and glared at the ceiling. Her fingers eventually found yours, squeezing your palm in reflex. Her words came out in a quick breath, “I tripped over a carpet at the stupid dinner party and hit my face on the catering table.”

You were effectively silenced. That was very un-Natasha. But lately, you and Clint had been pestering her about her eyesight, especially at night. It wasn’t something she wanted to hear. In fact, each time you brought up the idea of glasses, she would effectively silence you with a glare, or even a kick to the shin under the kitchen table if you had company.

You bit the inside of your cheek and ran your thumb over her hand. She clutched your hand tighter. Now was certainly not the time to laugh, and while you fought back the initial giggle, you were more concerned about your wife.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I bet you got right back up.” You said, pressing your palm against her cheek. “None of those fancy party types would dare question your influence on this city.”

“Shrimp went flying everywhere.” Natasha pouted.

“Everyone was tired of shrimp anyway, even the shrimp.”

She grasped at the collar of your jacket and pulled you closer to her, pressing her lips against your own. They were warm, the warmest thing that you’ve felt since getting caught in the passing storm. You were careful not to lean on her ribs, breathing in the rosewater scent of her.

Natasha pressed her forehead against yours, running a hand up your spine. She grimaced. “You’re all wet.”

“Well now I am,” You smirked against her jawline, leaving a little nip in your wake. “You need to get glasses.”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re getting the sheets all damp, and you smell like fish.”

“I smell like fish?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to the exposed part of her neck. You felt Natasha laugh too, using her hands to cover her face from the blush that was blooming against her cheeks. “We’re talking about me?”

She laughed harder, attempting to shove you off but you let your body go slack against her, not using your arms to hold yourself up anymore. “Yes! Go shower!”

“Mm, but you’re so warm.”

“You’re not going to be warm if I make you sleep on the couch.”

You gasped dramatically, pulling your head off her stomach and meeting her dark green stare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. After the day I’ve had, I refuse to sleep next to my wife when she smells like a marina.”

Even while she said it, her voice was gentle, her fingers working over your scalp to brush the wet hair from your eyes. You pulled yourself up to give her another peck on the lips, careful to avoid the split nose and busted ankle.

“Fine, but only because you need more aspirin.”

She grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can’t believe I let you through my defenses.”

“Uh-huh. Get some rest. I’m going to go talk to your defenses about getting you an appointment with an optometrist.”

You turned to move towards the bathroom, already craving the warmth of a shower and some clean pajamas. Two steps from the doorway and you felt a plush throw pillow hit you directly on the back of the head. Natasha had amazing aim, always had, and always would.

You bent down and picked up the gold upholstered pillow, giving her a faux glare. “You’re not getting this back.”

“Oh, come on, baby.” She stuck out her lower lip “I have to prop up my foot.”

“You should have thought of that before you launched it at my head.”

 [Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[bellaxgiornata]

Seeking Forgiveness [Part Three]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3k

[Full summary and installment list for this series can be found here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains angst, emotional hurt, delayed comfort, pregnant Reader

a/n: This one is entirely in Matt's POV and I'm curious to see how y'all react to his side of things! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @mattmurdocksstarlight @just-going-through-the-motions @paracosmic-murdock @yeonalie @auroraslibrary @1988-fiend @will-delete-this-later-probably@two-unbeatable-beaters @danzer8705 @ragamuffin285 @callmebrooklynbabes @spookyboogyuniverse @peachy-aisha @stevenknightmarc @nerdytreeflower @fucktthisworld @remuslupinwifee @kmc1989 @mywellspringoflife @thornbushrose @yarrystyleeza @shiorimakibawrites @thychuvaluswife @marvelcinematiquniverse @vallovesthedilfs @scoliobean @this--is--music

The ear-splitting and repeated honking of car horns on the street below harshly woke Matt, the sound shrill and piercing first thing in the morning. Seconds later the continuing noise drew forth a pounding headache that reverberated painfully in his head. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he rolled onto his side with a groan, his entire body loudly protesting the movement. He could feel a few new bruises he'd added to the others already scattered around his body, the new ones violently throbbing along his lower back and his left shoulder as consciousness abruptly returned to him.

Matt had been out well into the early morning hours running around Hell’s Kitchen tracking a man by the name of Petrov. He was the man that Matt had recently come to learn was the current leader of the Russian mafia now settled in his city. All of last night he had been trying to figure out where the new shipment of drugs would be coming into Hell's Kitchen at, but he'd yet again come home without the information he'd wanted. In a sour mood, he'd taken his anger out on a mugger while returning to his apartment, leaving the man more battered than he probably should have. 

And his sour mood quickly returned when he realized he was alone in his bed again, the cold from the lack of you often curled under the sheets with him exceptionally noticeable this morning–more than it had been for the past few weeks. Because you had left him, deciding not to stay and wait for him to return the other night. Leaving him like everyone else always did, unable to accept that he and the Devil were the same man. That he needed to let that other side of himself out to protect Hell’s Kitchen.

He'd heard the way you'd slammed the door on your way out of his apartment that night. He knew how hurt and upset you’d been. But when you’d started crying because he had been planning to go out again, he'd wanted to comfort you– tried to–but you'd rejected him so easily instead. And that hurt him deeply. Because Matt had always thought you were different, that you understood him. That you loved him for who he was–you'd certainly always assured him that you did. 

But it sure as hell hadn’t felt like that to him the other night. Not with how quick you were to reject him and walk out on him. You’d never tried to reach out to him all of Friday, either. Whatever important thing you’d wanted to discuss with him the other night must’ve been what he’d initially suspected it to be. That you wanted to end the relationship. Truthfully he hadn’t wanted to hear you say the words out loud which was partially why he didn’t want to give you a chance to speak.

Matt knew he'd been canceling plans on you repeatedly, though he admittedly hadn't realized just for how long he'd been doing it with the way his days had been blurring together from his lack of proper sleep. But it hadn't been intentional. He hadn't meant to hurt you and he'd felt terrible every single time he had. It always nagged at him while he was out, the memory of the way your heart stuttered each and every time you saw him in his suit never far from his mind as he tried to focus on his late night task. 

And it wasn't like he was out cheating on you or ditching you for his friends. What he was doing was the equivalent of being needed at a job–because that's how he saw what he did. As a responsibility he had to the people of Hell’s Kitchen. He'd honestly thought he'd be able to make it up to you once he'd gotten the situation with the Russians under control, but apparently he wasn't important enough for you to wait for him. And sure, he had to admit that he'd been awful to you the other night with the way he'd spoken to you, but the judgment and rejection from you had really upset him, as did the fear of hearing you tell him you were done with him. So he'd closed himself off to you, hoping to lessen how much you leaving him would hurt.

But Matt didn’t want to think about that this morning. His head ached enough from all the physical exertion last night and from not getting enough sleep. Those damn cars honking had ruined whatever sleeping in he hoped he’d have this Saturday morning, the sound of the city far too loud for him to lay back down and fall asleep now. 

Though if you’d been here–

With a growl Matt tore the sheets off of himself, tossing his legs over the side of his bed and shoving all thoughts of you to the side. He didn’t want to think about you right now. He wanted coffee, desperately hoping that would wake him up and help the throbbing of his head.

Shuffling out of his bedroom, half limping in pain as he walked, he navigated his way through his living room and into the kitchen. He went straight for his coffee maker, turning it on and preparing a pot of coffee. He knew he was going to need a few cups already. 

As the coffee brewed, Matt leant his back against the kitchen counter. His eyes closed as he ran a hand over his tired face, aware that his apartment seemed noticeably quieter and lonelier without you here. He’d been noticing that for weeks now, and every time he did he felt his heart sink a bit in his chest. Though this morning he almost felt sick at the emptiness here, as if someone had punched him right in the gut when he realized you were never coming back.

But you’d made that choice, he reminded himself. You had walked out on him. That thought only had Matt grinding his teeth together, anger coursing through him.

You weren’t the woman he’d thought you were after all. And that hurt.

The coffee machine began to sputter out his coffee, the noise loud and irritating to his ears this morning. Matt turned around, reaching a hand up to grab a mug from the open shelf on the wall. But a round of knocks coming from his apartment door rang out and he hesitated, his hand hovering just before the row of coffee cups. Brows furrowing together, his head shifted over his shoulder as he wondered how he’d been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized someone had approached his door. Though after a few seconds he soon realized that it was Foggy standing in the hallway and flipping through some paperwork that he’d brought with him.

Matt’s hand dropped to his side and he turned, a frown settling on his lips as he made his way through his kitchen and down his entryway hall. He unlocked the door, briskly swinging it open. It didn’t escape his notice how Foggy had startled in the hall at the abruptness.

“Fog,” Matt greeted flatly.

He could practically feel the way his friend’s eyes scanned over him, the sound of Foggy’s face shifting into a frown not lost on Matt. He imagined the bruises were quite visible, especially since he hadn’t managed to put a shirt on.

“You look like shit, Matt,” Foggy stated bluntly. “How long were you out last night?”

Matt turned, leaving the door open as he half-limped, half-shuffled his way back down the entryway hall. He listened as Foggy stepped inside, closing the door after himself before slipping out of his shoes. By the time Foggy had followed Matt into the kitchen, Matt had already managed to pour himself a cup of coffee, drinking a sip of it black.

“You want some coffee?” Matt asked him, avoiding the initial question.

“No, I’m good,” Foggy answered slowly, resting his arms on the kitchen counter and leaning over it. “I had some earlier before I left to come deliver the documents I told you I was bringing over this morning. Which I’m guessing…you forgot about, judging by the fact that it looks like you just rolled out of a dumpster that you used for a bed.”

Matt’s lips pursed together at Foggy as he drew his mug back up to his mouth, his eyes narrowing in obvious irritation. “Not a morning for jokes, Fog.”

“Is there ever with you lately?” Foggy grumbled. 

Matt drank down more of his coffee, the throbbing of his head not helped by the way Foggy was drumming his fingers along the countertop. He could hear the way his friend was looking around his apartment, probably noticing the way it had looked neater than usual. Which was due to the fact that neither of you had been in his apartment much for the past few weeks. The moment he heard Foggy’s mouth open, inhaling that small bit of breath, Matt knew what he was going to say. And it wasn’t a subject he wanted to discuss.

“Where’s your other half?” Foggy asked, glancing back towards the closed bedroom door, entirely missing the way Matt had winced at the question. “Thought she usually spent the weekends with you. Is she still asleep?”

Matt ground his teeth together, roughly exhaling a sharp breath. He knew he’d ask about you.

“No, she’s not here,” Matt replied coldly.

He heard the way Foggy had stiffened against the counter at his words and the tone of his voice. Slowly, Foggy’s head turned back towards Matt. Matt’s lips thinned out in irritation, not liking the minute shift in Foggy’s posture.

“So the documents–”

“What’d you do, Matt?” Foggy asked sharply, cutting him off.

Matt’s hand gripped his coffee mug tighter in his fist, surprising even himself when it didn’t break in his grip. His jaw clenched at the question and the accusation from his best friend.

“What makes you think this was my fault?” he growled back, voice low and dangerous.

Foggy was nodding swiftly as if he’d known something had happened. He didn’t seem remotely affected by Matt’s obvious anger, clearly prepared to discuss this more. That only annoyed Matt further.

“So you two broke up? Karen and I thought as much with the way you’d been mopey and snippy around the office yesterday,” Foggy said. “What happened? Because one minute you’re telling me she’s the one, that she’s going to move in with you soon, and the next–” he waved a hand around the apartment, “–you’re a damn bachelor again. So what’d you do? Because I know damn well she didn’t end things, not with the way she always looked at you like the sun rises and falls out of your ass, Matt.”

“ She left me ,” Matt snarled back. “Why the hell is that so difficult for you to understand, Fog? Why must you always assume that I did something? Clearly she wasn’t who I thought she was because she couldn’t accept me and what I do. Who I am .”

“Ahh,” Foggy said, pushing off the counter. “This is because of Daredevil. I figured as much. So tell me what happened then, because I’m about to slap you upside the head and tell you you’re wrong.”

Matt stalked across the kitchen in aggravation, slamming his mug down onto the counter that separated him from Foggy. The hot liquid splashed over his hand as Foggy briefly jumped at his outburst. The faint scent of fear soon hitting his nose was what had Matt’s eyes snapping shut, aware he was getting too riled up at this topic. That his anger was finally starting to make Foggy nervous.

Because it was about you and it hurt.

“She said she had something she needed to tell me,” Matt replied through clenched teeth, trying to rein in his frustration and heartache. “But I needed to go out as Daredevil. I was planning to interrupt a meeting with the Russians. The ones I’d been telling you about.” He exhaled a sharp breath, his left hand clamping onto the kitchen counter as he continued, hoping to ground himself and control his rage. “She was upset that I was going out again when we’d had plans. Said she really needed to talk to me. So I told her she could tell me afterwards when I came back and she got upset.”

There was a brief silence following his explanation, Matt hearing the way Foggy’s head had shifted to the side.

“And you were…growly Devil when you were talking with her weren’t you?” Foggy asked, gesturing a hand at Matt. “Like you are now?”

Matt grunted, shame burning through him as his eyes once again fell shut. Yes. 

“Maybe,” he grumbled.

“Okay, so,” Foggy continued carefully, “if I’m understanding this right, you’ve been canceling plans on your girl for a while now and she’d been upset about that. And then she comes and says she really needs to talk to you, and you what? Bail on her again? Quite aggressively, I’m gathering?”

“That’s–that’s not exactly right,” Matt said, shaking his head. “I didn’t bail on her. The city needed me, Fog.”

“Sounds like she needed you more, buddy,” Foggy countered.

Matt’s eyes snapped open, his sightless gaze landing somewhere near Foggy in a glare. “I gave her the option to stay and wait for me to come back. To tell me what she needed to then. She chose to leave. I haven’t heard from her since, so I’m guessing her important talk was about her wanting to tell me that she wanted to end things. That she couldn’t handle me being Daredevil after all.”

Foggy scoffed, shaking his head at Matt. He could hear the way his friend’s mouth had yet again curved into a frown. Something like guilt twisted in Matt’s stomach at the way that night had played out but he quickly buried it under his anger and hurt. 

“Why do you do that?” Foggy asked softly.

“ What ?” Matt snapped.

“This,” Foggy answered, waving a hand frantically at Matt. “That self-sabotaging thing you do. Things were good with you both. Great, actually. You were happy , Matt. And then you go diving into your hero bullshit and push people away. Making assumptions about her wanting to end things like you know that’s exactly what she wanted to talk to you about.”

“I do not self-sabotage,” Matt shot back. 

“Then why’d you push her away?” Foggy countered.

“Because the city needs me!” Matt exclaimed in exasperation, throwing his hands on his hips. “You know that and she knew that!”

A glaring silence settled in Matt’s apartment after his loud outburst. Matt’s tongue slipped out, wetting his lips repeatedly in his agitation. He heard the very faint sigh Foggy emitted, even with the way his headache had worsened.

“I think you’re reading things entirely wrong, man,” Foggy said, tone softer. “I don’t think she was trying to break up with you. I think you fucked up. Big time. And judging by the way you’re incredibly defensive and angry, you really, really love her.”

Matt’s nostrils flared, his eyes still glaring sharply in the direction of his friend. Though a part of himself was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Foggy was onto something. At least, about him fucking up. He was still pretty certain you’d wanted to break up with him. Because he had been canceling plans on you for weeks now. And you’d been getting hurt by him doing that pretty quickly, too. And he’d noticed, but he kept on putting off making things up to you because he’d been too focused on prioritizing the Russians. He’d hurt you, too. Long before you’d hurt him.

That guilt and shame stirred in Matt’s stomach again, threatening to overtake his own rage and heartache. But he couldn’t have been wrong about what you’d wanted to talk to him about, right? Because what else could it possibly have been besides an ultimatum for him to quit being Daredevil and to choose you instead?

“I think,” Foggy continued slowly, “that you need to go call her up. Put your tail between your legs and go beg for her forgiveness, Matt. Because you fucked up, admit it. I can see that realization dawning on your face right now, buddy. Talk to her. Apologize on your goddamn knees every day until she takes you back. Because we both know she was the best damn thing that ever happened to you.”

“She was,” Matt whispered, his gaze dropping down to the floor. “She always was.”

“Then go get her!” Foggy exclaimed, slamming his fist onto Matt’s countertop. “Fix things!”

He stepped around the kitchen counter, reaching out to slap Matt good-naturedly on the shoulder. Matt winced at the gesture when Foggy’s hand landed on a bruise and Foggy quickly muttered out an apology. 

Rubbing his arm, Matt let out a sigh. “How am I supposed to fix things, Fog?” he asked. “What if she really doesn’t love the part of me that is Daredevil like she thought she did? I can’t give this up. I’m not going to.”

“There’s no way that bullshit is the reason,” Foggy told him. “Not with all the different ways she’s been there for you and your vigilante ass this whole time, Matt. She loves Daredevil just as much as you. But as for fixing things?” Foggy shrugged, shaking his head. “I don’t know, man. I think your first step is to reach out to her, though. Try to get her to talk to you. Apologize and maybe find out what it was she needed to tell you. Because I’m guessing knowing what that was will tell you how royally you fucked up here.”

“Yeah,” Matt said with a sigh. “You’re probably right. Though I have a feeling she’s not going to want to talk to me.”

“You just keep trying until she does,” Foggy told him. “And if all else fails, maybe you can romantically show up on her fire escape and profess your love to her or something?”

Matt scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m sure Daredevil showing up on her fire escape would go over real well with her right now.”

[cinnamonest]

Uwahhh ty anon <3 I had two other requests for more Xingqiu content as well so please appreciate this thought blurb I've had drafted for a while

Something I've been thinking a lot about is that not only is Xingqiu so incredibly petty and picky and controlling, but it's made so much worse by the fact that he lacks self-awareness of it.

Like, he's always been told by adults that he's oh-so-mature for his age, and he's internalized that, made it part of his internal self-image. Not to mention, becoming a successful author isn't something most teens his age have accomplished either — he feels very “adult,” like he's smarter, more conscientious, more considerate than his peers, and better than them for it too.

And it’s true that most of the time, he usually is all of those things, but this makes him entirely unaware of the ways in which he is, in fact, very much immature.

He's picky. He likes to have things the way he wants them. Part of why he fails to realize how picky he is, is due to the fact that all his life, he's usually had anything he wants handed to him, and anything he finds issue with resolved, and it all comes so easily that he's never considered that perhaps it doesn't go that way for normal people, and that perhaps he wouldn't be quite so agreeable if he was ever told “no,” that his agreeableness and easygoing nature is really just due to the fact that he's never faced with anything to be disagreeable about, a near-total lack of resistance to his will. Even outside his family home, usually waving around money or speaking his father's name is enough to get him what he wants.

And being raised in an environment where he's only ever known a marriage dynamic where one specific partner is completely submissive to the will of the other, he's not even prepared to conceive of anything short of it. After all, his parents arranged the marriage to begin with, surely they would pick someone just as agreeable as his mother.

He likes to pick what you wear each day. When the servants ask what you'd like to eat that day, he answers for you. When people ask questions about you, he answers for you too (although to be fair, in those social circles, they usually direct questions at him anyway, as if you're some animal that can't answer yourself).

He always tells you what you'll be doing, where you'll be going for the day, never asking for your preference — it quite literally simply does not even occur to him that you might have one.

It's not malicious, and he's got that usual cheerful and easygoing demeanor about it all, but it's a clear total disregard for your personhood nonetheless, even if not intentional or conscious.

But you can tell there’s a certain degree of stubbornness in him. It comes out the moment there’s any resistance to his will, when there’s a moment where something can’t go exactly as he wants. It’s never directed at you, at first, since you have done everything in your power to comply, but you notice it coming out towards others — that time one of the family servants had to inform him they didn’t have something he asked for because a shipment was delayed, or when they tried to stop the two of you from leaving because his father needed to speak with him first, so on and so on. The sudden change in expression, tone, body language. Crossed arms and heavy irritated sighs, frustration in his voice — deliberate, a tone he knows will only make the poor family servants that much more apologetic. Maybe he likes feeling that power over them, you think.

The first time he hears no from you, though?

He doesn't even really know how to process it. Just a blank stare of stupor, a few blinks, the usual gentle smile hasn't even faded from his face.

…Huh? Come on, get up, like I said, we're leaving…

He reaches down to grab your arm — and you pull back. You swat his hand away. You cross your arms and clench your jaw and say that word again — no.

And there's a long, long pause.

…What?

You feel his hand wrap around your arm, this time too quick to pull back. He says it again, a tone that's merely confused, not angry, still in a state that's struggling to comprehend your resistance.

What are you doing? I said—

And you interrupt him.

You jerk out of his grasp. You scowl and tell him he can leave, that you're staying home, that you're mad and need time alone. You turn on your heel and start to walk away.

Once again, you feel his hand wrap around your arm.

Only this time, it's harsh.

And this time, it jerks you backward with a force that slings you down onto the ground.

There's a few seconds of silence. You hear his heavy breaths from the exertion of the movement.

You don't get to say something like that.

His words are still not angry, per se. Not harsh, more disbelief, almost intonated like a question.

Likewise, his expression and tone aren't ominously dark like some might be. It's more of a scoff, stubborn and still somewhat baffled. More petulance, rather than outrage.

And there's that same shift in expression and posture — the crossed arms, brows furrowed in disdain.

Really, what's gotten into you?

It's said more quietly, almost like a hissing sort of voice, grumbly, bitter. You're still in too much of a daze from the fall to react beyond a surprised grunt when you're pulled back up onto your feet, a few quick swipes of his hands dusting your off and smoothing our your clothes, only for him to notice a newly-formed tear in the fabric from the harsh movement. You get another exasperated sigh.

Now we'll have to have someone fix that…

This time, you're drug forward with force, a firm grasp on your wrist, a subtle threat that this time you ought not pull back.

And this time, as your feet stumbled forward in compliance, your obedience is clearly a source of satisfaction, based on the shift in his expression, the soft hum of contentment. Now that you, like everyone else, have bent to his will, as everything does with enough pushing.

It's good that whatever came over you was over so quickly. That was very unlike you.

Still, of course, he's going to be a bit cold and petty about it for a day or so, and you just know you'll get yet another overbearing mother-in-law lecture when he inevitably goes whining to her about your behaviors like he always does, always getting her to try and teach you how to behave properly, rectify any perceived flaw he finds with you, like a child begging Mom to repair a malfunctioning toy.

Can't have you thinking you could ever do something like that again. You really need to be more mature, he tells you. You can't always have things go the way you want in life.

[frostyhelltime]

Favorite Touches

Vox x GN!Reader

No warnings. Just fluff.

Some of Vox's favorite things you do are all related to touch.

Not just the sexual kind either.

Although he quite likes those as well.

His anger simmers down a little bit when you place your hand on his arm gently, rubbing soothing circles to help calm him as Velvette yells about another Valentino tantrum.

You do your best to relieve his annoyance before he has to deal with that problem and for just a moment there is no problem to be fixed, just the two of you there and he holds on to those moments when his head is pounding from explaining to Valentino AGAIN that he can't just murder Velvette's best models just because he's upset Angel Dust is hanging out with friends outside of the studio or whatever bullshit has him in a tizzy that day.

It doesn't soothe him enough to not yell at Val, of course. But it certainly helps make the experience more bearable.

His classic showman grin falters to become genuine but still filled with pride when you take a second to brush dust off his suit and make sure there are no wrinkles before he steps out. He knows you do it for him because he places such importance on appearances, and while you don't personally care that much...you know it's important to him so it's one of the ways you show your love.

When he's too wrapped up in his work, exhausted but with still so much to do, it revitalizes him when you take his free hand and wrap it around the fresh cup of coffee you made him, offering him a smile as day falls into night, taking your place alongside him to keep him company as he works.

When he's had an absolute shit day, with too many Valentino tantrums, some bullshit run in with Alastor, and some idiot fucking up the new shipment so a product's release date is delayed...he doesn't even have to say anything. He steps through the door and you take one look at him and just know, and before he can find the energy to speak your arms are around him, trying to give him something good to end his day on.

He feels the tension leave his shoulders as he lets out a sigh, his arms sluggishly wrapping themselves around you too. Damn, had they been this tense all day? He hadn't even noticed.

He's still tired and annoyed but all those annoyances seem so distant and so far away from him for now.

Yeah, he does very much love the more... salacious touches you grace him with, but he didn't think he would enjoy the innocent touches as much as he does.

Such a surprising delight you turned out to be.

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. viii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter |

chapter summary: Both you and Joel feel there is no use in keeping secrets anymore. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 5.4k chapter warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY. References to absent/abusive parents, alcohol and marijuana mention. A little angst but mostly fluff. As always please dm if you have questions. a/n: If you got notified I posted this at 3am accidentally, no you didn't. this isn’t even a long chapter but i fought with it so much because i was terrified it wouldn’t live up to the hype. Like….everything has been building to this one and I don’t know if it feels right. I love crippling self-doubt. I love being insane! I’m fine. 

-July 9, 2003-

Joel is falling in love. 

He doesn’t know it yet. That’s how love works, right? No one can really pinpoint the exact moment it happens. Most of the time, it’s recognized in hindsight.

What he does know is that you love Sarah. Do you love him? He’s not sure yet. Right now, it almost doesn’t matter. Of course you would love her first. He imagines – he knows – how easy it is to love her. So, he can’t fault you for that. And it’s all that matters. Every other relationship he’s been in has lacked this one critical element. Including his relationship with her own mother. 

Now, he feels there is no use in keeping secrets. He can trust you. He knows Sarah likes you. It all makes sense. 

But he is worried about you. It’s been a few days since the fair, and he hasn’t heard from you. He had seen something from you that so rarely surfaced. Vulnerability. As much as you had tried to hide it behind clenched fists and a sharp tongue – you had been scared. Not just in the moment, but after. Scared to show any weakness, scared to let him in. Maybe you were ashamed, and maybe he’d pushed you too far afterwards. But all he wants is for you to realize that with him, you are safe. 

Joel gets out of his truck and slams the door shut, looking over at your house out of habit. The blinds are shut, your garage closed. It’s six o’clock. He’s home earlier than usual, but he’s used to a different view. Front door hanging open, with warm light beckoning through sheer curtains. He has stood in this very spot and watched Sarah from a distance as she comes back home, the sounds of your combined laughter reaching his ears even from across the street. Where have you been? He wonders. 

Once he’s inside, he doesn’t bother getting too comfortable. Sarah’s at a pool party, and he has to pick her up within the hour. It’s not enough time for him to bother with showering, but he does make himself a peanut butter sandwich for dinner. All that’s left of the loaf is the two end pieces. He needs to go to the store. 

He sits at the kitchen table to eat. Sarah’s only gone for the day, but he wonders why his house feels so big and empty without her. For two weeks she had been away at camp, and he hadn’t felt this lonely. It takes him a moment to realize it’s because he had spent all his time with you. 

The sound of the phone ringing interrupts his sulking, and he answers without checking the caller ID. It’s probably a vendor. Another delayed shipment. “This is Joel.” 

“Hey, Joel.” It’s you. 

“Hey,” Even though you aren’t physically here, he straightens up, wipes his mouth with the paper towel he’s using as a napkin. “How’s it going?”

“I’m good,” you say, your voice sounds….light. Normal. He hears phones ringing in the background. “How are you? How is Sarah doing?”

“I’m good,” he says. “And she’s good.”

“I’m glad,” you begin. “Listen, I uh, I feel like I’ve been MIA the last few days. Work’s been crazy, I’m actually still at the office right now. But I wanted to call you….I’ve uh….I’ve missed hearing your voice.”

Joel feels his shoulders sag in relief. “I missed hearin’ yours.”

You hum softly. “Are you around this weekend? I’d like to see you.”

“I’d like that.” Joel sighs. “I’ll be around. I could make you dinner.”

You don’t answer right away. Joel strains to hear, but all he can make out is keyboards clacking faintly in the distance. “Can….can you make dinner? Like physically. Is that possible?”

Joel looks down at his half-eaten, all-crust peanut butter sandwich. It’s not a very good indicator of his abilities. Maybe you’re right. Nevertheless. “I’ll have you know, I make a mean macaroni and cheese.”

“If it’s from a box, that doesn’t count.”

‘It should, though,” Joel defends. “That’s basically all Sarah and I eat.” 

“Oh, god,” you laugh. “Have you had your blood tested for nutritional deficiencies? Because I’m concerned for your health.” 

“Yeah, actually, I have and I got an A…plus.”

The line is silent again for much longer. Joel thinks the call might’ve dropped, so he says your name. “Hello?”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Of course I’m joking.”

You giggle. “Okay, just making sure,”  you sigh, then add. “We have the same blood type.”

“Guess that’s serendipity,” Joel says. 

“Well, I think you’ve made me go soft….“ you groan. “But I’ll eat your boxed macaroni and cheese if it makes you happy.” 

“It will.” 

Joel leaves the conversation feeling reassured. Truthfully, he’s not sure what he’d call you, if someone asked. He’s never asked you to be his girlfriend, but he knew you were only seeing each other. There had been that other guy, whose name he didn’t care to remember, but Joel had asked you about him in a moment of weakness while Sarah was away at camp, and you hadn’t hesitated. There’s no one else. It’s just you. A confession whispered while you were laid bare and pliant beneath him, his hand resting lightly, but still possessively – over your throat. 

This dinner is reasonably the next step. It’ll be a good opportunity to let you know he’s going to tell Sarah. To make sure you are on the same page. And then he can sit down with her and have the talk alone. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey Dad, can I ask you something?” 

It’s later in the evening, and Joel is mindlessly flipping through channels on the TV when Sarah enters the living room from the kitchen. She stands with her hands clasped, shifting from foot to foot. Noticing her body language, he leans forward and hits the mute button. 

“Yeah, what’s going on, babygirl?” 

“Before camp….you went on a couple dates. Are you still seein’…whoever that was?”

Joel hesitates a minute. This is a conversation they’ve only ever had a handful of times before, but rarely initiated by Sarah. “Uh, yeah…sweetheart but uh….it’s been a little. We’re both busy people.” 

Sarah studies him for a moment, and it’s hard to recognize the look in her eyes. “What makes you ask?” Joel prompts. 

“Just curious,” she shrugs. “You uhm…you seem…happier. More relaxed.”

Joel’s face feels warm. “Yeah, she’s….she’s pretty great.” 

“Will I get to meet her?”

You already have, he wants to say. And he should just tell her now. Get it out of the way. But if he tells her the truth without letting you know first, it feels like it will make the already messy situation even messier. “Eventually,” he nods. 

“Cool,” His daughter smiles at him, but he sees the way her shoulders remain slumped. Sarah crosses the room to sit next to him on the couch. “Can we watch a movie?” she changes the subject.

“Sure,” Joel gets up to look at their collection of DVDs, thumbing over them and listing off some of her favorites. “Let’s see….Scooby Doo, Bend It Like Beckham, Clueless….” When she doesn’t answer right away, Joel looks over his shoulder to see her curled up,  head turned to stare out the front window. “Sarah? Any of those sound good?”

“What?” she turns back towards him. “Bend It Like Beckham? I haven’t watched that in awhile.”

Joel pulls the movie from the shelf and puts it in the DVD player. When he sits back on the couch she lies down and puts her head on his knee. He knows she’ll be out within minutes.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-July 11,2003-

Standing on the front porch of Joel’s house, you realize you feel more calm in this moment than you have all week – and you haven’t even seen him yet. The prospect of spending time with him alone is enough. 

You don’t even need to fake your smile as the door wins open – it happens on its own accord. But as soon as it comes, it falls away when you are met with – 

“Sarah?” 

It’s her name, but it sort of sounds like it’s a question. You force the smile back onto your face because looking shocked is the opposite of what you want to do. Where is Joel? Are you early? Incredibly, incredibly late? Your heart rate picks up, as you rack your brain for something to say. Some kind of excuse, some kind of explanation. 

“Uhm…I uh, I was wondering if I could uh, borrow a….drill? I’m uh….assuming your dad has one, right? I have this picture….that I’m hanging.”

“Oh yeah,” Sarah nods, lets you step inside, but she only backs up a few steps, and stays facing you. Her chin tilts, giving you a once-over. It’s then you remember what you look like. You’ve styled your hair, you’ve put on makeup. She crosses her arms. ”You look pretty.”

“Oh, thanks,” you nod. “So do you.”

“Are you goin’ somewhere after you hang your picture?”

You shrug, like you don’t know what she’s getting at, and then shake your head. “Maybe.”

Her eyes narrow, but her lips curve up just a little. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” 

“I’m sorry…” you play dumb. “What?”

“My dad’s date. It’s you.”

The thing is, you’ve been so tied up in keeping the secret from Sarah, and feeling guilty about keeping the secret from her, that you haven’t really thought of what could happen when she found out. And when you did, the idea of the worst case scenario – her rejection, made you feel sick to your stomach. 

Directly in front of her, she looks at you dead-on. Everyone has a different definition of what lying is. Deflecting, dismissing, are fine in your eyes but….denying? Especially when the question being asked is so….direct? That would be lying. And sure, you’re not even above that sometimes. But you can't lie to Sarah, regardless of the consequences.

You take a deep breath. “Look, Sarah I wanted to tell you, but-”

“Oh my god, I knew it!” she punches your arm at first. You reach to quell the ache it leaves behind, but before you can, she throws her arms around your neck and squeezes you tightly. 

“Thank God it’s you.” Slowly, your arms raise to return the hug, but you’re really at a loss of words. Her voice is muffled against the shoulder of your shirt. “I’ve never wanted to be right about something so bad in my life.”

“Sarah,” you hear Joel’s voice call from upstairs, and she pulls back. “Is that you I hear downstairs? I thought Emily was supposed to pick you up a half hour ago!” 

Sarah keeps her eyes on you, grinning widely as she answers. “She’s running late.”

“Well, babygirl, I’ve gotta-” Joel’s footsteps pause on the landing, and you look up to see him staring at you both. He looks like a deer trapped in headlights, and you see his expression shift through every possible emotion – concerned, fearful, regretful, apologetic, but by the time Sarah turns to face him with her arms crossed, it’s gone blank.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Dad?”

Joel looks at you, as if you can somehow get him out of this situation. All you have to do is raise your eyebrows. She knows. He rolls his shoulders back and looks up at the ceiling, taking a deep inhale, then drops his gaze to his daughter. “I was gonna tell you soon. Probably later tonight I had to talk to-” he gestures to you, then pinches his temples. 

“I knew it,” she repeats herself.

Joel makes a skeptical face, easing the rest of the way down the stairs. “No you didn’t.” 

“No, I did,” she smiles. “I always thought you had a crush or somethin’, and then I saw the way you were looking at her last weekend, and you were so weird yesterday when I brought up the fact that you were going on dates, and you’ve kept the house way too clean, and-”

“Okay, fine!” Joel cuts her off, and you see his cheeks flush slightly, like he’s embarrassed. “You knew it. I believe you.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Sarah elbows you.

“I asked her not to,” Joel defends. “We were figuring things out.” 

She backs down, then looks between you. 

“Everything good?” Joel asks. “Everyone happy?” 

Sarah nods, then grins. “Good.” Joel wraps an arm across each of your shoulders and pulls you against his chest. Then he plants a kiss on the top of both of your heads. 

Outside, a car horn honks. 

“That’s Emily,” Sarah mumbles, her cheek smushed up against Joel’s bicep, and he loosens his grip, but still keeps you both close. “Will you be here when I get home?” Sarah asks, looking at you.

“I can be.” 

“When’s curfew?” Joel asks. A test. 

“Ten-thirty,” Sarah says confidently. 

“Good,” he says, patting her shoulder. “Have fun. We’ll see you when you get home.”

Sarah grins and gives you one more quick hug before bounding outside. Both you and Joel watch her get into the car through his screen door. You turn to him first after the car backs out of the driveway. 

“Well,” you cluck your tongue. “So much for sneaking around.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Joel covers his face with his hands and groans. “You don’t understand. I had this whole plan tonight to cook you dinner and talk to you about this. I wanted to see if it was okay before I told her but I had no idea her friend was running late and I should’ve-”

“Joel,” you interrupt.

“I just wanted to do one thing right.”

“Joel,” you repeat his name, reach out and put a hand on his arm. “Best laid plans. It’s alright. Really.” 

“You’re not mad?”

You shake your head vehemently, give him a gentle smile. He pulls you back against him and kisses you tenderly, hands on either side of your face. “I’m just glad she’s not mad,” you confess. “I thought she’d hate me once she found out.”

“I knew she wouldn’t.” He chuckles. “She loves you.”

If he had known she wouldn’t be upset, you wonder why Joel would want you to keep it a secret? What revelation did he have that suddenly made him okay with it? Maybe he’s trying to tell you something right now. Without saying it. So do I. 

Before the kiss gets too heated, Joel pulls away. You’re led into the kitchen, where he pours you both glasses of chilled white wine, and you sit at the counter, chatting with him about his day while he cooks you chicken alfredo.

“I felt like if I was going to talk to you about this….kind of serious thing, we shouldn’t be eating a meal made primarily for college students and five-year-olds,” he explains. There’s a piece of hair falling onto his forehead. You gravitate closer to him, sipping your wine and leaning back against the counter to study him carefully.  

“Dang,” you reach out, pushing his hair back away from his face. “This whole week I kept seeing traffic cones and craving boxed macaroni.”

“Well you might still get to eat it,” he laughs. “Because I have no idea how this is gonna turn out.”

“I’m sure it will be alright,” you assure him. “Thanks for taking such good care of me.” He gives you a sweet smile in response, and you relish in it – press your cheek against his shoulder, and hold it there for a moment, looking down with him at the stovetop.

It’s a milestone, of sorts. Sarah knows about you. And from everything Joel’s told you, not everyone he is with gets that privilege. Even if he’s asked you for nothing else, this means something. To him, and now to you in turn. There’s a version of yourself from not long ago that might’ve run for the hills at the implication. But you’re tired of running. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-August 14th, 2003-

You’re roused awake by the feeling of the mattress dipping beneath the weight of another body next to yours.  Being the light sleeper that you are, you get bits and pieces of the unfamiliar room you are in through bleary eyes. And it’s cold. Somewhere during the night, you'd kicked off the fluffy duvet and comforter, and now you’re completely nude underneath nothing but a sheet. 

“You still sleepin’?” It’s Joel. Even though sleep still obscures most of your base-level functioning, you recognize his low, easy drawl. He tugs on the thin layer of fabric that covers your body. Your fingers curl, fisting into the gauzy fabric tucked under your chin. 

“Please don’t,” you croak out, shivering. “I’m freezing.” 

Joel tuts lightly, and slides under the covers to join you. His skin is slightly damp against your own – he’s just gotten back from his morning run. With anyone else, you’d be disgusted, maybe even snap at them for soiling the sheets. But somehow, he smells fucking incredible like this – all salt and sweat, and so warm. 

Pressed against him, you thaw. His hand slides over the dip in your waist, paws at your thighs. “Joel,” you whisper, but it’s not at all a protest. You’re used to this, all handsy in the morning and especially after he works out. 

“I need you,” he murmurs into your ear and you feel him, already hard and grinding against the flesh of your ass.

You hum your affirmation, and that’s all it takes. Joel shifts behind you, probably pushing his shorts down, before lifting your thigh and lining himself up with your entrance. You groan at the feeling of him stretching you open. One of his hands clasps over your mouth, the other holds your hips in place as he drives himself as deep as he can go. You moan louder. 

“Shh, shh, baby,” he murmurs, voice still raspy from lust and sleep. “Don’t want to wake anyone else up.” 

Right. You aren’t alone. Tommy and Sarah’s rooms are just across the hall. The knotty pine walls of the cabin start to shift into focus. With this in mind, you do your best to stay quiet as Joel starts up a callous pace that you think for a second might be a little too aggressive, until the sound of his needy panting in your ear makes you reconsider. You can’t help yourself. 

That’s all this, being with Joel – is. You keep giving more and more of yourself over to him. You can’t stop, you don’t want to. It feels good, the surrender. However slow it may be.

Your body thrums to life before you know it, and then you’re overly sensitive and desperate in-kind, clenching around his length as he ruts into you. 

Joel’s hot mouth trails sloppy, wet kisses along your neck. “Always feels so good, pretty girl. Like you were fuckin’ made for me,” his words buzz against the shell of your ear, fall down where they break at the base of your spine, a hundred shards shattering upon impact. Whatever expletive that leaves you comes out, muffled by his palm. “Hard to stay quiet, huh?” 

It’s already too much. You’ve gotten sinfully wet within minutes. And when you grind back against him involuntarily, that pulls him farther forward. “Touch yourself, darlin’,” he commands. “Not gonna last long.” 

You can feel him throbbing, right on the brink, so you reach down to circle your clit with two fingers as Joel movements grow sloppy, and uncoordinated. The feeling of him spilling deep inside you is the catalyst for your own orgasm, and Joel manages a few more thrusts to work you through it, his grip tightening over your mouth to hold back the noise.

He doesn’t pull back right away, just strokes your hair and peppers kisses on your shoulders. You listen to his sweet nothings, and savor the thump of his heart against your back. 

“I should hire you as my personal alarm clock from now on,” you say, voice hoarse, once you catch your breath. You feel the evidence of what he’d done to you, and press your thighs together at the sensation.

Joel chuckles. “You wouldn’t have to pay me. I’d volunteer.”

“So selfless,” you quip, and he drags his nose up the middle of your back, dazed and content. “Okay,” you wriggle from his grip to sit up. If you don’t leave the bed now, you don’t think you will ever find the strength again. “I need to shower.” 

“Can I join you?”

“Sure,” you say. “But you’re not allowed to distract me.”

“We’ll see about that…” Joel tickles your waist. 

“Joel,” you say, sternly. “I have shit I want to do.”

“Oh, really?” he seems unconvinced. “You’re finding tasks on vacation?”

“I wouldn’t call them tasks,” you explain. “But Sarah and I were gonna walk to that coffee shop in town.” 

“Coffee shop? Without me?” 

“I mean….last night you and Tommy promised to make breakfast,” you ruffle his hair affectionately, and he wrinkles his nose. “So I think we’re expecting it. But I’ll bring something home for you.” 

Joel grins, and pulls you in for another kiss before letting you retreat first to the bathroom, before following after you dutifully. 

He had driven the four of you a couple hours to some wildlife reserve you’d never heard of for a long weekend before Sarah went back to school at the end of the month. It’s your first trip together, and while you were excited to get out of the suburbs, it was a far cry from the vacations you had been used to growing up, and renting out a cabin had been a compromise, instead of straight-up camping. 

Still, you make the most of it. You and Sarah walk to the lake, and lay out on towels reading books and laughing until the sun dries out your skin. Tommy tries to teach you both to fish, but you’re too grossed out to touch the nightcrawlers he buys so you can’t even bait the hook. Joel takes you hiking and Sarah nearly breaks her foot trying to climb a tree. In her defense, you tell Joel it looked very climbable. 

Sarah demands to do a photoshoot when she finds the digital camera you brought, much to Joel’s dismay. He grumbles under his breath and rolls his eyes when you pick pink wildflowers and tuck them in his curls, then behind his ears, before you and Sarah do the same for each other. You snap portraits of each other – you and Sarah, then Sarah and Joel, then Tommy and Joel, and so on. 

When you get the pictures developed, and you see the photo on the top of the stack, you nearly return them, thinking there’d been a mistake. It’s one Sarah took of you and Joel. He’s kissing your cheek, arms encircling you, and you’re laughing so hard that your eyes are closed. The woman in the photo doesn’t look like you….she’s so happy.

Each night of the trip, you take turns on dinner duty – usually something that involves a grill. And the dad in Joel cannot help but hover around whoever is the chef, giving them pointers until he ends up taking over the meal entirely. The weed you brought mysteriously disappears one night after Tommy’s leaves to ‘go for a walk’, and you make s’mores over a fire. It’s so normal.

On your last night, you lay on the hammock next to Sarah, the mosquitoes unable to penetrate the protective circle of citronella candles and incense you’ve surrounded yourselves with. The cool breeze rustling through the trees is a reprieve from the unforgiving heat and humidity of the day. You’re making progress on The Da Vinci Code, even though Sarah is reading The Hobbit and periodically interrupting you to ask questions. 

The back door slams and you hear shoes approach, crunching over gravel. “Hey girls,” Joel stands over you with his hands on his hips. He gives the hammock a push that sends it into motion, swinging back and forth gently. You laugh, but Sarah wrinkles her nose, clearly disturbed by the movement. “Room for one more?” 

“No,” Sarah lifts her arm to try to keep him from climbing beside her. “Get a chair.”

Joel huffs, but doesn’t argue, pulling up the folding chair to sit next to you both. “It’s a nice night, ain’t it?” 

“Yeah,” you answer. Sarah puts the book closer to her face, gives a mumbled yes.

“Sarah, honey, have you enjoyed yourself?” 

“Did you not bring something to read out here?”

“No, I thought I’d come talk with you both because I was gettin’ bored all alone.” 

“Maybe you should go get your guitar,” Sarah suggests. 

“Where’d Tommy go?” you ask. 

“Met some girl who’s stayin’ two doors down,” Joel raises an eyebrow at you. 

You shake your head. “Incredible.” 

The night is loud, but ambient, crickets chirping. “It’s definitely starting to get dark earlier,” Joel observes. 

Sarah lets out a long sigh at that, shuts her book with a satisfying snap, and shifts to sit up. “I’m going inside.” 

“You don’t have to go, babygirl,” Joel reaches to steady the hammock and keep you from flipping out of it. 

“I’m tired,” she says. “And I gotta pack my stuff up.” 

“Do you want me to-”

“No, please, Dad, just…let me be.” 

Joel frowns, and he stares at her dejectedly as the door slams shut. He turns back to you. “Did I do something wrong?” 

You smirk, shake your head. “End of summer blues.” 

“Should I talk to her?”

“Maybe give her some time….check in later.” 

Joel sighs, stands from his chair, and takes Sarah’s place next to you on the hammock with incredible grace, considering the task. Smooth motherfucker, you think to yourself. 

“Tell me how you know more about parenting than I do?” he asks, rolling onto his side and propping himself on an elbow. “Sometimes I feel like you’re better at it.” 

To be fair, Sarah had been hinting at it all week, but you didn’t want to pry until she said it outright. Plus, it’s a familiar feeling. “I guess it helps that I was once a teenage girl. I used to get angsty before school started up every year.”

“How’d your dad handle it?” You realize that Joel is asking the question completely innocently, without thinking, but the second it leaves his mouth he realizes his mistake, and you can see the apology written in his features. 

It’s nothing, you shake your head. “Do you…” you trail off. “Do you want to know?”

Joel nods carefully. 

“Well,” you bite your lower lip. “He didn’t really handle it at all. I didn’t like being sent away. The one time I came to him in tears over it, he told me to quit being a crybaby and sent me to my room. So after that, I just never bothered him about it again.” 

Almost twenty years ago, but it’s like you’re there, in the dim light of your bedroom, biting on a corner of a frilly pink throw pillow and not bothering to wipe the tears that track down your cheeks and stain the embroidery. It wasn’t the first time. And it wouldn’t be the last.

“How old were you?” Joel asks. 

“I don’t know,” You pick at the corner of your book, avoiding his eyes. “Younger than Sarah. Nine or ten?” 

You wait for Joel’s expression to shift to one of pity. But it never does. There’s only something steely in his gaze. He winds an arm around your waist and brings you up against him. “I’m sorry.”  

“It’s okay,” you assure him, because it wouldn’t be opening up if you didn’t feel the need to immediately downplay everything you had said. “My brother ended up sneaking me out and taking me to get a milkshake.” 

“I’m glad he was there.”

“Me too,” you nod. “He was- is a good brother. Things are just….complicated now that we’re older.”

“I know that feeling,” Joel strokes your hair, runs his hand up the side of your waist absentmindedly. You find his quiet empathy – the space he holds for you – incredibly rewarding. That wasn’t so bad.

After the moment passes, he tugs on the collar of the flannel you’re wearing over a tank top. “This my shirt?” he asks. You nod, give a cautious smile. 

“Hope it’s okay,” you said. “I was cold. I didn’t think it’d get this cold at night.”

“It’s more than okay,” he mumbles, nosing past your hair and pressing his lips to your throat. You shiver. “You always look so pretty. But being out in nature really suits you.”

“Okay,” you say sarcastically, and don’t believe him for a second.

“You should really let me take you camping sometime. Proper camping,” he continues. 

“Joel, we talked about this,” you recall the conversations leading up to this trip. “If I am not within walking distance of an actual shower, I will die.” 

Joel laughs. “I’m not being dramatic. It would kill me.” 

“Don’t say that,” Joel scolds. “You’d be fine.”

“I’m not built like you. I’m a City Girl.”

“You’re not at all curious about the idea of having sex in a tent?”

“We have sex in a bed just fine. Why do we need to do it in a tent? Wouldn’t that just make it worse?”

“It’s a change of scenery.” 

“Okay so if that’s all it is, just hang a different picture in your room or something.”

Joel laughs again. 

“Look, I’m open minded about a lot of things, but if you took me camping, properly, out in the wilderness, you would hate me by the end of it.” 

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Joel answers. “I bet I’d still think I’m a pretty lucky guy.” 

You roll your eyes, pick your book back up and scan the pages, none of the words hitting. “You have too much faith in me. Truly.” 

“I’m serious,” he mumbles, hand under your chin. “Look at me, just let me sweet talk you for a second, alright?” 

Sighing, you let the book fall on your chest and clasp your fingers over it, turning to face him. “You’re so good. To me, to Sarah. Even to Tommy, although that’s not very important,” he smirks at his joke, almost like his brother could hear him. Quickly, he focuses back on you. “You fit in so well, and you don’t even have to try. I’m just so….happy.” 

Joel isn’t a poet or anything, but it’s one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever said to you. And it means more since it’s from him. You give him a gentle smile. “Me too.” 

But before anything can settle, you’re made aware of the deep ache within you. All you’ve ever wanted, all your life, is to not feel like a burden. To be cared for, paid attention to, without having to do anything to earn it. Do you really deserve this? Him? Sarah? How long will it be before it gets taken away, like it always has.

You feel like a toddler. A shiny toy is being dangled in front of you, but the second you reach for it, acknowledge how much you want it, it’s pulled away. You’re so uncoordinated, you fall on your face.

“Are you with me?” Joel asks, and you realize you’ve been staring absentmindedly at your feet. You nod. “What’s on your mind?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do.” 

You scrape your top teeth together for a second. “I’m really happy. I am, Joel,” you promise him. “But for me, good things don’t usually last.”

Joel’s hand circles yours, brings it so it’s pressed against his heart. “This will.”

You chose to believe him.

------

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----

[drdemonprince]

Keep Unnecessary Meetings to a Minimum 

“Don’t attend unnecessary meetings,” advises Jersey, an Autistic activist in the San Francisco Bay Area. 

Jersey has been on the front lines of numerous pro-Palestinian actions in the past several months, serving as a medic during the #BlocktheBoat action to delay the shipment of munitions to Israel, shutting down the Oakland Federal Building, and blocking the Bay Bridge, an action for which he was arrested and charged with false imprisonment (among other laughable charges) by the San Franciso District Attorney. Since the siege on Gaza began in October of last year, Jersey has been living and breathing for the Palestinian cause. Yet even he has limits. 

“Tell [fellow organizers] that your capacity for meeting, especially in real life, is low,” he says. Instead of having to speak at length with organizers about your interest in getting involved, see if you can articulate your own role within the movement. That way, you won’t have to be “managed” as much. 

“For example, if you’re a photographer, tell people that and then demonstrate that you can show up relatively independently, take great photos, and then show them with the group,” he says. Once you have proven yourself to be reliable and competent, you can skip meetings without facing as much criticism. 

Many organizing spaces are oriented around neuro-conformist standards of what socializing and planning for an event must look like. Non-Autistic people generally process new information socially as part of an ongoing dialogue, whereas many Autistics prefer receiving all the relevant facts in a single, linear document they can read and process on their own. Many activists also enter a movement with intense emotional needs, and wish for others to bear witness to their suffering and share how they are feeling too. This means that those of us who find socializing and emotional processing to be draining will have to advocate for ourselves. 

“We can remind organizations to be intentional about what does and does not have to be a meeting,” says Aeryn, another organizer. “Sometimes all you really need is an online survey, a memo, or a thread where people can ask questions online.” 

If you can, tell meeting organizers that you are unavailable to meet often, but that you will listen to meeting recordings or read the agenda on your own time, and then communicate through email or private message to indicate that you have. Depending on how much you trust an organization and its leadership, you can either explain directly that you cannot process information in real-time easily because of your disability, or you can simply say you’re busy with school, work, or family obligations. 

Operating independently may require being strategic in the roles you take on within an organization. Jersey says: “If you’ve never done security but want to do security, you will have to do a lot of training and meeting with people. But if you’re already a trained medic and have some type of credential… you can probably just tap into a medic chat and sign up for events as they arise.” This, in fact, is what he’s done. 

Of course, it will be sometimes be necessary to get to know other members of your organization of choice, express your own perspectives to the group, and receive updates through some form of meeting. However, there are still many accommodations you can request to make those meetings more accessible: 

Push for Accessible Meetings

When an activist movement is new or its resources are limited, its meetings may tend to be urgent, somewhat disorganized affairs, rife with lots of thinking out loud and amorphous brainstorming and possessing little in the way of an agenda. 

Autistic people typically find it very hard to contribute to such meetings, because the flow of conversation is unpredictable and confusing, and most of us struggle with knowing when it’s appropriate to jump in and offer a comment. The constant flux in conversation topics is exhausting for us to keep up with, as are all the social and emotional undercurrents bubbling beneath what’s actually being said. 

After the meeting is over, we may have almost no recollection of what was shared, because we were putting so much energy into masking and wearing our “listening faces.” Critiques and questions may occur to us hours after the discussion has ended, after we’ve had some time alone to digest and reflect. Even if we are physically present within a space, we are pervasively excluded when meetings are conducted in such an unstructured, overwhelming way. 

Thankfully, all of this can be avoided. Here are some of the accommodations that organizing meetings should provide in order to maximize their accessibility — not just for the sake of Autistics, but for anyone who struggles to process verbal information quickly and form their own immediate verbal responses to it on the fly: 

The full essay and toolkit of resources is free to read (or have narrated to you!) at drdevonprice.substack.com

[bekkathyst]

So the month of March is essentially going to decide if we can keep the shop open or not.

I have my extremely delayed shipment of crystals finally getting here - I believe next week. We will be adjusting our shipping policy (people who already have an open box sitting here don’t worry - your current box will follow the old rules, but then any box you open after will go by the new rules). This will help us accommodate for the Austrian post raising their prices so much on us.

And then toward the end of the month, I’ll be releasing this jewelry collection I’ve been working on. I deeply hope it isn’t my last collection ever, but just in case, I really am pouring my heart and soul into it.

And of course I have my prints and journals available in the shop! No one has bought any yet, but I’m still planning to release more designs this weekend. They’re fine to sit in the shop for however long since they print on demand anyway.

As long as we’re able to come out of the negative and are able to pay our rent and bills again this month, we’ll be able to keep the shop open.

If not, we will be saying goodbye. I wish I could keep working at it until we recover, but I have to be careful since a certain income is required by the government to keep my husband’s residency here. I don’t want to mess around with that.

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask here or in an ask. I truly hope things can turn around because I am really not ready to say goodbye to a career I’ve been building for 11 years. ❤️

Oh and of course the custom wire wraps are still on track to ship at the end of this month! I don’t want anyone to think I’ve forgotten, they’re also in the works and almost done now.

[boredzillenial]

Delisssious

Authors note : just a silly lil text fic between Anselm and you because why not inspired by this silly lil gif. But seriously why is he hot wtf

Theme: flirty, sexting with this weirdo below

Hello

Yes?

Are you around here somewhere?

I’m on the grounds, what do you need sir?

So formal. Has the grocery shipment delivered yet? I’m feeling peckish

Truck was delayed. Those responsible have been dealt with.

Good good

….

I have another question, about last night.

Sir, we really shouldn’t discuss that over text.

I’m aware. But I do believe I can discuss what I want, where I want, in whatever manner I want

Affirmative 👍

Don’t get sassy with emoticons. I was going to say last night was astonishing.

Thank you?

Who knew you were so flexible my dear

Please don’t

Or so dexterous

Call Denied

Answer your phone

So bossy. I’m in the middle of a meeting

You’re in a meeting sexting me?

I do believe sexting involves photographs

Sometimes - shouldn’t you be paying attention to the presentation?

Photo recieved

Anselm I really don’t think having your cock out under your desk is a good idea

I was just teasing I’m not in a meeting

Video received

However I am in need of your assistance my darling.

Is a video of you stroking yourself in your empty office necessary?

I’m showing my need for you 🌽 Did you watch with the volume on?

No - your incorrigible. Why corn?

I was told it’s an innuendo, watch again with the sound

I think you meant 🍆

Is that my yogurt on the desk?

Either way my point was made. I told you I was peckish

You owe me

I intend to repay you as soon as you come to my office 👅

————————

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[innocentlymacabre]

Terms and Conditions Apply

Micro Monday Edition 6 was sent out Monday morning! Sign up now to get priority access to more of my writing.

Alastor McGumbo had a name almost as ridiculous as he looked, not that anyone would ever dare tell him so. He took a long drag of his cigarette and turned to his top hat-wearing client, an accessory he believed to be universally nonsensical. The job had been beyond insane to begin with, but it had only gotten steadily worse since work began; the chocolate river running across the entire compound had been the least of his worries.

“Look, you can make the ground edible, but to keep it cured and set you’re going to need to keep this room chilled. And for a room this size, that’s going to a few thousand right there – and no, you cannot pay me in chocolate. The answer to that question will never be yes, so stop asking.”

William’s face fell. “No matter, my good man,” he said, recovering with a literal pep in his step. “You will be paid in full. With legal tender from this here country!”

Alastor’s response was to grunt. He barked an incomprehensible order at one of his people, but the boy scurried off anyway, apparently having understood him perfectly.

William leaned over Alastor. Standing almost a whole foot taller than him, he was able to do so very literally. Everything was literal with William, as Alastor learned only too late. When William said he wanted pneumatic tubes big enough to fit an elephant, Alastor had just laughed – until the job began and he had to figure out a way to do just that.

“Anything else?” William asked in a voice laced with artificial sweetener. Although he apparently wouldn’t dream of putting the stuff in his chocolate.

Alastor straightened up and pushed past him. There was lots else. “With all the extra pipes you’ve got running through the place – the chocolate, the transport, what have you – in the confusion, it seems regular old plumbing has been neglected in Room 2. We’re going to have to rip up the flooring and lay that down. We’re looking at about a month’s delay there – and that’s if I can get Romey to wrangle a couple extra hands for the job. I told you adding all of those pipes would only lead to disaster, and here we are. But no matter, it doesn’t matter who was right – I was – and who insisted on eccentricity.

But, blessing in disguise, because the “cooking marble” you insisted upon for the room’s walls so that you could “roll and dole” – was it? – has come in but there are cracks in the shipment. I warned you that would happen, if you remember, so you can’t hold me liable. Ordering something that delicate from that far away, no way it was going to arrive undamaged. I can fix it, but it will no longer be sanitary enough to bake on. Even if you manage to get the health department to sign off on the rest of this lawsuit waiting to happen, no way will they go in for that.”

William seemed unbothered by the issues. “Oh, no matter. Pipe a little frosting into the cracks and throw it into a kiln. That’ll fix it right up without invoking the ire of the health department.”

“Uh huh,” Alastor replied uncertainly. “Okay, well, moving on. Those trees you wanted? Candy cane and gummy worms for vines?” Alastor internally groaned at the words coming out of his mouth. “They need two different soil types if you want them to continue to grow and putting them next to each other would mean erecting an impermeable barrier between the two, which in turn means an extended timeline and extra cost for the barrier. I would say move one of them to another room. Keep things simple.”

“Oh no, that simply won’t do,” William said firmly. He had been fiddling around with something in his hands the entire conversation but this seemed to demand his full and present attention. “Those trees need to stay together. Pulling from all sources of cacaotastic fauna is an unmovable requirement of what that room represents.”

Alastor let out a heavy sigh. He was losing his patience with this man. “William -”

“- my name is Willy. Willy Wonka. You’ll do well to use it.”

“I am not calling you that.”

“You are aware that all of these extras mean extra manhours, yes?” Alastor pushed on. “Come payment time, I don’t want you dragging your feet and whinging over all the charges.”

“Yes, by my estimations we’re already a hundred and twenty percent over the budget I gave you. How’s that? Am I right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I already said you’d be paid in full, so I really don’t see what you’re standing here for. And no, not in chocolate, although I still think you should at least consider it.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a squat square wrapped in yellow, a golden W stamped across it.

“I don’t want your candy, Willy,” Alastor pushed out slowly, forcing a tenuous smile across his face. Willy didn’t bring up the fact that Alastor had already pocketed the chocolate for himself. “I just want to make sure my people are paid.”

“It’s chocolate, not candy, but fret not! You just handle the construction and I’ll handle the little stacks of paper."

“I’ll send you an invoice...” And with those inspiring words, Alastor walked off, readying himself to deal with whatever new thing was due to go exasperatingly wrong.

↝✧↝

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[tennessoui]

Kisses to distract for the playmaker au 🌌

omg from this prompt list, kisses to distract from the au where all the kisses are basically to deceive and to distract???? hell yes!!!

so i couldn't pick which kiss i wanted and then i remembered i made a playmaker post once about how vos is probably sent undercover/ends up at anakin's table and obi-wan freaks out and corners him and they're found and its so suspicious that they would be so close talking in a secret corner that before they're found, vos kisses obi-wan so that people will just think that they're horny only for vos to then die because That's Anakin's Little Mouse

so this is that....except a little different cause obi-wan's daddy issues are Daddying rn

(2.6k) (cw: a nonconsensual kiss. but also. like. murder???)

Obi-Wan can feel his heart beating. It’s so loud in his mind that he can barely hear what Vader is saying, and he’s sitting in the man’s lap, face tucked up beneath his chin.

He can’t remember a time he’s felt more exposed, not even the very first time Vader’s hands had found his waist and pulled him into his lap in front of half his highest ranking men. 

In the intervening weeks, it’s even been—well. It’s become rather…comfortable. If he doesn’t think of all the reasons it isn’t. 

Perched on Anakin’s thighs, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other held to his lap, he can press his face up against the man’s hair. He can close his eyes and commit himself wholly to listening to the men and women around him talk. Talk of shipments and delays, money owed, lives taken in payment. Obi-Wan can memorize everything and he can do it from the throne of the very mob his department has tasked him with bringing down. He can memorize it all and spend the moments in between pressing kisses to the tendons of Anakin’s neck, trailing his fingers along the in-seam of his suit pants, rubbing at the mob boss’ shoulder with the palm of his other hand.

Because—because that’s what the mission instructs that he do. He’s supposed to gather intel, gather evidence. And he’s supposed to do it without Anakin realizing that there’s a rat wrapped around his heart. The kisses—the kisses help. Distract him.

And it feels good. To kiss him.

To tease him into fucking him up against the wall the second they get somewhere private. To coax him into such violent need he dismisses his men and has Obi-Wan right where they’re sitting. 

It feels good, to be so desired that it’s uncontrollable. To be so desired that the desire must be dealt with, must be whittled down simply by the act of having. Of taking.

Obi-Wan doesn’t feel guilty about how good it feels. It should feel good to be touched. It should be some sort of bonus to the undercover mission that it is sometimes him whose hands shake with the desire to be on Anakin’s skin. It is not something he needs to feel guilty about.

It is not something his father needs to know about either, the way that the son he raised turns into a slut the moment a criminal gets between his thighs.

And luckily enough, right now, Obi-Wan is the sole decider of what Qui-Gon Jinn gets to know. That’s the nature of being the only rat to have lived this long in the Skywalker mob. That’s the nature of being the only rat. Obi-Wan gets to decide what he tells his team and what he leaves out of their quick and hurried meetings when Obi-Wan’s supposed to be on a run.

But—but he was supposed to be the only rat.

He was not supposed to look across the long table laden with food that Anakin uses for his mob meetings and see a face he recognized. 

Obi-Wan’s head is swimming, and his heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that Anakin must be able to hear it too. That must be why he adjusts his grip on him, dragging him further into his arms as if that will make him feel safer.

All it does is drag the hem of his shorts further up his thigh, exposing the lace end of the stockings he’s wearing. All it does is tug the droopy material of his shirt off his shoulder—revealing the strappy red lace of the bralette beneath.

It has happened before—hell, Obi-Wan has dressed like this in front of these men for the express purpose of this happening, of his outfit revealing what lies beneath while he can feign ignorance. Nothing gets Anakin’s hands on him faster than other men seeing what he thinks is only his.

What is only his.

He came tonight wearing the brightest colors of pretty things he owned in order for this to happen because it has been far too long since Anakin last snapped. He has been far too put together lately, far too...distant.

It makes Obi-Wan’s chest tight with anxiety. He has not yet been able to figure out what attracted the mob boss to him in the first place, and he’s spent the last several days wondering if it’s gone. If he’s about to be tossed to the side, ripped out of Anakin’s bed with the same ease he was granted entry.

Or—maybe worse, what if Anakin has made him as a rat? What if he’s to be killed?

What if his father knows that and he thought to send in Obi-Wan’s replacement before he can die? It would be less suspicious, wouldn’t it? 

No. Obi-Wan is being paranoid. Too paranoid. Even if he were to lose Anakin’s attention, he has the twins wrapped around his thumb. Anakin cannot kill him, his children would not stand for it. 

And—it would give him time to figure out what he did wrong, what made Anakin’s eyes stray. He could be better. Figure out how to do better, be what he needed.

For the sake of the mission.

And…there would be no way for his father to catch wind of the mob realizing there’s a rat before Obi-Wan knows. 

So the fact that Quinlan Vos is sitting close to the foot of the table…that he’s here, in this room, as a ranking member of Anakin’s mob….

That must mean that his father does not trust him to be doing his job. That Obi-Wan’s performance has disappointed him somehow, that he hasn’t been enough. He has not given them the information that they need and so his father has found a replacement.

And now the man who used to help Obi-Wan sort his father’s highlighters by color and size is staring at him from down the table, looking at the lines of his lingerie as he sits on the lap of the most dangerous mob boss in the city.

“Well,” Anakin says, tossing his napkin onto his empty plate. “Let’s break so that they can clean up this mess. And then—to business, men.”

The words are met with the thud and scrape of twenty or thirty chairs pushing back from their seats as the owners vacate them obediently. Obi-Wan, just as obedient, stays still. Anakin’s hand has clasped around the back of his neck, keeping him in position. 

“You’re shaking, little mouse,” the mob boss murmurs.

“It’s cold,” Obi-Wan replies automatically, turning his face into his neck. He presses the faintest of kisses there and thinks about ripping the man’s throat open with his teeth, ending all of his problems now. 

“Aw, baby, but you look so pretty like this,” Anakin says, ghosting his hand up the outside of his thigh and resting it just beneath the hem of his shorts. Then, his tone changes, growing lower, darker. Vader.  “The men couldn’t look away.”

Obi-Wan tries to draw a breath, but it stalls out in his chest. He stills, and then immediately tries to pretend that he hasn’t, that his thoughts have flown to Vos, who had been just as surprised to see him in Anakin’s lap as Obi-Wan had been to see him at Anakin’s table. 

“Hm?” Vader continues, as if Obi-Wan has spoken.

“I didn’t notice,” Obi-Wan finally says, sitting back so he can look fully into Vader’s eyes. “All I was looking at was you.”

They’re different from Anakin’s, Vader’s eyes. He would include this in his reports if he could figure out a way to say it that doesn’t make him sound insane. It’s been a long-held theory, that Anakin Skywalker isn’t always just Anakin Skywalker, but no one’s ever been able to have irrefutable proof.

But looking into Vader’s eyes, Obi-Wan knows. Knows it’s Vader who is looking back. Anakin is a dangerous man all on his own, but Vader…Vader is another beast entirely.

One that Obi-Wan isn’t prepared to deal with right now. Not when he is so on edge. When Vos is here. At Anakin’s restaurant. At his table.

Does Obi-Wan’s father really think he has failed so entirely? Does he really think he needs to be replaced? Needs support?

“I need to stretch my legs,” Obi-Wan says, pushing away from Vader’s chest. “I heard you and Ahsoka talking over it, I know this meeting will be a long one.” “My, what big ears you have, little mouse,” Vader says silkily, even as he drops his hands and leans back in his chair. The dismissal is clear; Obi-Wan is being given what he wants.

He gets several steps away before he looks back at Anakin, hands tightening into fists and releasing. 

The man is watching him go, wine glass raised in front of his lips. He hasn’t closed his legs yet, sprawling out on his chair like it’s a throne.

And Obi-Wan is—torn. He needs to track down Vos. He needs to find a place to talk with him. 

But he needs—he needs to stay here, with Anakin. He needs to turn back around and press himself up against Anakin’s chest once more, spread himself over him and make him feel good. So good that Anakin will not kill him nor tell him to leave and kill him all the same.

The shame and guilt that come on the heels of that thought are strong enough to force him to look away, force him out of the room.

He doesn’t get far.

A hand wraps around his arm and pulls him aside almost as soon as he’s exited the wide main room of the second floor of Anakin’s restaurant.

Obi-Wan makes an automatic, furious sound, but the hold on his arm only tightens as he’s pulled further into a dark and quiet alcove, mostly shielded by a marbled statue.

“What the hell are you doing,” the man who has grabbed Obi-Wan whispers furiously, and Obi-Wan goes almost boneless with relief. Oh, thank God it’s Vos.

“Me? What are you doing—” he turns around to face him fully, as much as the tight space can allow. “Did my father send you?”

In the shadows of the alcove, Obi-Wan can barely see Vos roll his eyes. “Probably in his mind, yeah, he did. I got back from one undercover mission, got sent the contacts for another almost immediately, wound up here, where his precious son’s whor—”

“What does that mean—”

“And he should have, Jesus, Kenobi! They told me you were making nice with the mob, wait until they hear you’re grinding up on Vader during his business meetings, what the fuck—-”

“No!” Obi-Wan doesn’t mean to say it so loudly or so vehemently, but he can’t. Qui-Gon was never supposed to know, no one was supposed to know, and now they will, and maybe his father will pull him off the case, can he do that? Would he try? If he thought Obi-Wan was doing a bad enough job, he would. He would take him away, get Detective Secura to arrest him next time they meet for information, it wouldn’t blow his cover, but it would take him away from—

From Anakin.

Obi-Wan can’t let that happen.

He hears footsteps, pointed and loud, coming down the hallway toward them. The break must nearing over, it’ll be time to get back to the real meat of the meeting, the actual mob business now, and then Obi-Wan won’t see Vos again. No way Anakin would let him spend a moment alone with another man—it would look suspicious anyway, if Ben knew this random mobster. Two rats getting cozy under the same roof, it doesn’t look good.

Anakin can’t know. Obi-Wan can’t lose him. He can’t lose him.

He can’t.

I’m sorry, he thinks and he knows it’s not good enough but the guilt does not drown out the need burning in his chest. The desire that cannot be controlled.

In the next moment, he’s pushing Vos up against the wall of the alcove, forcing him back with a grunt that’s loud enough that the footsteps outside pause.

Turn.

Just as Obi-Wan presses his lips against Vos’, pulling his own shirt down to look dissheveled. Messy. Like someone has been running their hands over his clothes.

“Oh, now that’s something Vader will want to know about,” Ahsoka Tano says. Obi-Wan rips himself away almost as fast as he pushed himself into Vos’ space.

It isn’t an act when he rubs the back of his hand over his lips. He’d kissed Vos mid-word, gotten the man’s spit in his mouth. He doesn’t like the taste, wishes it was Anakin’s.

“Tano,” he says. “Just making friends.”

Tano’s eyebrows fly up further than Obi-Wan’s ever seen them. “You get all your friends killed, Ben?”

Vos moves to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and the guilt and shame slam into Obi-Wan so suddenly that he almost rocks back from the blow. Vos is eight years older than him; was just fresh from the academy when Obi-Wan was still just a kid left to twiddle his thumbs at the police station waiting for his father to take him home. He’d gotten him take-out before. Coffee. Water. Little games to play with.

And Obi-Wan has gotten him killed.

“A little kiss won’t kill me,” Vos says, clapping a hand to Obi-Wan’s shoulder. There’s a note of bravado in his voice.

“Not quickly,” Tano promises. She raises her hand, snaps it when Obi-Wan doesn’t exit as quickly as she wants. “Come on, Benny. Let’s get you back to daddy.”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan says, taking a shaking step forward. All he can think about suddenly is Vos, a decade younger and relegated to a shitty desk in the back of the station first year out of the academy, shoes up on his files, biology flashcards in his hands as he ran Obi-Wan through the questions.

What has he done?

What has he done?

“Please,” he finally says, stumbling out of the alcove, and when his voice wavers, he’s not faking it. What has he done? He has gotten Vos killed—and for what? Why had he kissed him? He could have—he could have talked to him, he could have begged. He could have explained the situation, why did he have to—

Because there is nothing Obi-Wan can say that will make Tano hold her tongue.

And there is nothing Obi-Wan can do to stay Anakin’s hands. He has murdered people for less. Perhaps this time he’ll murder Obi-Wan too, that way Obi-Wan will not have to live too long with the weight of this guilt.

“Ladies first,” Tano says as she opens the door back into the room. It’s buzzing with the sound of other people’s voices, the movement of them as they find their seats once more.

Obi-Wan walks forward and Anakin’s eyes snap to him immediately. They’re dark and narrowed, as if he already knows more than he likes.

The walk has never been longer to get to Anakin’s side once more. 

He’s pulled to stand in between Anakin’s spread thighs, the man’s hands falling to his waist and pulling him in, splaying out across his hips.

“Mm,” the mobster murmurs, and Obi-Wan’s legs are so shaky that he has to clamber up onto his lap just to avoid falling apart then and there. What has he done. What has he done?

“You smell different, baby,” Anakin says. “What have you been doing?” Obi-Wan wonders suddenly, wildly, if he can smell his fear. If he could see it in his eyes as he approached.

“Making friends,” Tano reports as she drops into the chair next to them. “Tongue first.”

Anakin’s hands still and then tighten. When he speaks, his voice is low and deep and all Vader. “Is that right, little mouse?”

And Obi-Wan—there is nothing Obi-Wan can do save for letting the guilt kill him.

So Obi-Wan nods. He nods and raises Vader's chin with his hand, forcing him to look at him. "I told you I was cold," he said as if he'd been so cold he found another man's body to keep him warm in the minutes he was away from Anakin.

Anakin's eyes are like pieces of ice. There's no warmth in them, but there's a glowing light of something that looks a lot like hunger. Fascination.

It's the same way he looked at him when he first saw him. As if he were intrigued.

The expression makes something that has been wound tight these last few weeks dissolve into nothing. Anakin's eyes promise that there will be no more distance between them. That he has not grown so tired of him that he will be discarded with next week's recycling.

And despite the guilt, the worry, the shame that's burning Obi-Wan's insides to ash, that look in Anakin's eyes warms him to the core.

[nocanonhere]

Happy Wyll's Week! Day 7/7

-What Time Brought (More NSFW, Fluff, and the babiiiiessss). Here they were, navigating parenthood, and everything that fell outside of that. He loves this life, but would very much like some alone time with his spouse. (centered around my Tav, Aiya. Elf-Dragon Sorceress)

A light roll of thunder slipped through the halls of the estate.

“Thank gods,” Aiya praised, sliding into her side of the bed. “That dry spell needs to break. So much more difficult to garden when there hasn’t been rainfall.”

Wyll closes his book shut and sets it on his side table. Truthfully, he hadn’t been focused on it. The past few days have left the both of them too busy to really even chat before sleep came. He had been pulling late nights and early mornings, and she had an estate to look after, among other things.

And he wanted to make up for it.

She is barely settled in before he is rolling over, encouraging her to lie on her stomach and laugh into her pillows.

“Duke Ravengard,” she teases. “You should let a lady sleep.”

“I’ll get you to sleep,” he responds, making her laugh harder.

“You really should get some rest,” she tries again. “You’ve been going nonstop lately.”

He had. His back hurt from all the sitting, his throat was dry from all the talking, and his left hand was actually swollen from how much writing he had been doing.

The summer season was coming to an end, meaning preparations for the cold were in full swing. Another storehouse needed to be built, because they had another influx of citizens settling in the city and around the outskirts. Travel ways needed to be cleared and secured in case of another freeze. Last winter had made the ports all but inoperable, and so many shipments had been delayed due to no way for the boats to travel.

Not to mention, the autumn season contained many annual celebrations in one stretch. The city would start putting out decorations soon. He had spent his lunch break earlier writing a letter to Sorcerous Sundries regarding preparations.

And yes, the heat had been harsh lately. He was just as thankful as she was to hear more cracks of thunder splitting the skies.

But right now, there was nothing else he’d rather do but have some intimate time with her.

These past few days left little time for them to talk, but their life in general lately had left even littler time to make love. And he missed her, dearly.

He threw one of his legs over her side, straddling her thighs without sinking down.

“Let me enjoy you, please,” he asks, lifting his hands to lightly massage her back through her night gown.

She sighs, but makes no further commentary. For a moment, she is content with the tender care, but eventually starts to squirm and breathe deeper. And Wyll knows that’s his signal.

He leans over her, moving her braid to the side and kissing the back of her neck. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she answers. “So much.”

His chest swells at hearing it.

He moves down her body, hands already sliding up her gown. She fakes sounding put off.

She has on nothing underneath, and Wyll is ever so thankful.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, staring at her body. “I’m so blessed.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He leans back down, kissing the small of her back, planting his hands on her hips. The days of being on the run and fighting to survive had kept her lean. But with a life where her basic needs were met, along with other factors, she had more weight to the muscle that had built there. He loved to sink his hands into it whenever he got the chance.

“I see the pink with the rising sun, and the purple of its’ setting everyday, too. And am no less enthralled by its beauty. Always ready to see it again.”

“Wyll,” she sighs.

He encourages her to lift her hips up, groaning quietly at the sight and smell of her; ready, for him.

He’s barely able to lean in before their door is opening.

Wyll flings himself to the side so quickly his head meets the headboard. He rubs it, briefly thankful that he no longer had horns to worry about. That would have scratched the wood for sure.

“Daddy? Mommy?”

Aiya is still buried in her pillow, trying to quiet her laughter. Her hands had already reached behind her and slipped her nightgown down.

This isn’t exactly how he wanted to spend this night, but he should have thought about it more. Nima didn’t like thunderstorms.

“Come here, Nima. Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

They already know the answer, but she shakes her head, and climbs up to his side of the bed. He picks her up, joking about her being too heavy for this, making her giggle. He lays her in the middle.

“Mommy. Are you sleeping?” voice lowering into a whisper.

She is certainly not, as she lifts her head from her pillow and has tears of laughter in her eyes.

“No, mommy’s awake,” she says, turning back to her side and moving in closer. “Your daddy hit his head.”

“Oh no,” Nima responds, with every bit of concern in her voice that a three year old would have about something they truly care about. “I can kiss it and make it better.”

She doesn’t wait for his response, sitting up and giving him a kiss on the forehead.

“Thank you, bean,” he says, kissing hers in return.

“Where’s your other half?” Aiya asks.

“He’s sleeping,” she answers, sliding back down and choosing to lay sideways, leaving her head on Wyll’s chest, and feet extended in Aiya’s direction.

“He’ll be along soon enough,” Aiya mumbles. “He’ll know you’re not there.”

Seiha didn’t have a problem with thunderstorms, or loud noises in general, like Nima. But he did have a problem with not knowing his sister’s whereabouts, and not being in her proximity.

Nima starts talking about her day to Wyll, and he listens and comments with intent. They hear another patter of steps at their door, and in pops the other bean at large.

“Nima, mommy, daddy.”

Seiha trots over to Aiya’s side of the bed, climbing in over her to join the gathering.

Aiya is quiet as she watches the three of the interact. They are very sweet on their father, and he is over the moon for them. Two was certainly a surprise. At a midpoint check up, when the midwife hovered her glowing hands over her swollen stomach and her eyes widened, Aiya wasn’t sure if she should be afraid.

Wyll had not been with her that morning, but Ulder had been so kind to stay at the estate with her until her appointment was over. When she walked out of the bedroom and told Ulder the news, his eyes lit up in a way she had never seen before.

Her and Wyll were both only-children. Both had expressed to each other how having a sibling would have been nice. They are glad Seiha and Nima have each other.

It’s only been three years, but the shock of it still grips her sometimes. How had they done something so wonderful?

Nima goes a bit quiet when the thunder picks up. “When will the sun be back?”

“In the morning when you wake up,” Aiya answers, grunting when Seiha accidentally shoves a cold foot into her stomach.

“Can you tell us a story?” Seiha asks, brown eyes staring up at his father.

Wyll sat up a bit more. “One story and then we all go to sleep.”

The twins cheered in agreement, and Wyll reached back over to his side of the bed and grabbed the book from earlier. It would have its uses now.

As he starts reading the first sentence, Nima interrupts.

“Wait, can Papa come?”

Both Aiya and Wyll answer. “No.”

-

The next morning, Ulder has a child on each side as he walks them out to the carriage waiting to take them closer to the city. The kids were in school, and Ulder was happy to take them each day. He claims it was so Aiya and Wyll could have a small break, but they both knew he would do it even if they were willing.

Aiya is glad he stayed. At first, it was awkward, living with her fiancé and his father. The estate was large enough that no one was stepping on each other’s toes, but she wasn’t accustomed to seeing the man every day.

As she was, she didn’t open up to him very much. And despite Ulder’s political experience, he had difficulty navigating getting to know his soon-to-be daughter-in-law better.

When he had brought it up to Wyll, he told him that Aiya’s tendency to be more reserved was for a reason, and she would open up over time. And not that he retold their private conversations, but he did let his father know that Aiya wanted him to stay. She didn’t grow up with a large family, and she really didn’t want him to leave. Especially when they explored expanding their family in the future. She wanted whatever child(ren) they had to be surrounded by as much love as possible.

That settled his father a bit, and now here they were.

They kissed their kids as they prepared to leave for the day. As soon as Ulder opened the door, Nima yelled.

“Hello, sun!”

They set off, pulling Ulder along with them.

Aiya and Wyll sighed, standing there and watching them load up before they departed.

“Leaving soon?” she asks, still looking ahead.

“I should. But…

He trails off, and she nods her head, glad that they both seem to be of the same mind.

“Athenia and Hallael won’t be here for another hour to start on the garden. We have time.”

Once the carriage was riding off, Aiya gently closed their door, then turned around to find Wyll staring at her with mischief in his eyes.

She hardly had time to react as he picked her up and began carrying her bridal style back to their bedroom. She laughs, kicking her feet and telling him she can walk. But he kisses her face and tells her to let him have his moment.

They can’t go as slow as they normally like. It’s been weeks for them, and despite it being their home, they didn’t want to be tangled up together when more of the groundskeepers arrived to help for the day.

But he does keep their fingers interlaced, planted by her head as he kisses her. His hips move with a determination to get them both there quickly. But his searching lips make her feel like they have all the time in the world.

They hadnt even bothered taking their clothes off. He peeled off the robe she wrapped around herself and pushed her nightgown back up. And she had reached down to pull him out of his sleep pants.

“I love you,” he gasps, hips stuttering.

She looks up at him, adoration and devotion in her gaze. “I love you too,” she pants.

They finish together, his hands gripping hers to an almost bruising degree. It may not be the slow, sensual, communicative loving he preferred to give her, but it was enough to make her spine bow , and cry out his name.

He falls over to her side, both of them laughing at the mess they’ve created; chests heaving.

“We made good on time. I don’t hear anyone yet,” she said.

Wyll hums, still a bit too stunned from his climax to say much right now.

Time, he thinks. Him and time used to have an onerous relationship. He briefly recalls the night he confessed his desires to her, how he led with that speech about time erasing all.

But time has been kind to him lately. His father was here, their relationship stronger than ever. He had a council he trusted to help take care of this city and its inhabitants. He had not one, but two extraordinary parts of his and Aiya’s souls running across the house every day.

And as he turns his head, and sees his love lying there with her eyes closed and a gentle smile on her face, he silently thanks time for what it brought them too. They found each other in darkness; on the edge of the world with an abyss in front of them. And they still created something out of that. Life-long friendships with others, and loyalty to each other.

Time took him away from his father for years; left him wandering the lands searching for purpose. It brought long nights of loneliness, and many unanswered questions.

But time had given him answers too. Nights full of company, now.

Because time did erase, but it always began anew.

[bullet-prooflove]

UC!Series Part Two: Grit - Jubal Valentine x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond  @darqchilddaydreamz @trublu2u @greenies-green @proceduralpassion @burningpeachpuppy @evee87 @delightfulheroshoeflap @iworldlywriter @helsinkibaby @penguin876 @justamadgirlinabox @a-noni-love @brownskinbaby22

Living without you is an adjustment for Jubal.

You’ve been a part of his life for a long time, even before the two of you got together. Two weeks in, he’s still removing both mugs from his cupboard first thing in the morning. It’s a stark reminder that you’re not in his life right now.

He tries to fill his time the best way he knows how, with work and his kids. His takes on additional shifts, covering other Special Agents in Charge and spends weekends up in Scottsdale, immersing himself in Tyler and Abigail’s lives.

His ex-wife Sam knows that something’s up. She’s always been able to read him, especially when it comes to you. She’s the one that realised he had feelings for you way back when. The one that encouraged him to make a move when the time was right, to stop delaying his happiness because he deserved a little light in his life.

He doesn’t tell her all of the details, but she knows enough about the work he does to read between the lines. Your sudden disappearance from his life, the tender way in which he talks about you. She knows it’s an assignment, not a breakup. She can see that he’s hurting right now, trying to keep the pieces of his life together by sheer force of will.

“How are you holding up?” She asks him, sitting down in one of the patio chairs that her husband Alan bought for the back yard. Jubal’s eyes remain fixed on the kids, the two of them chasing each other with bubble wands.

Jubal shrugs his shoulders in response to Sam’s question.

“Some days are better than others.” He says quietly, his hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket. “I keep wondering how she’s doing, if she’s being safe.”

It’s ridiculous to think like that, he knows it. You’re a decorated FBI agent with years of UC experience under your belt, and the thing is, you’re good, really good.

The first time he’d met you, he’d been trying to purchase several cases of assault rifles and you had been the one arranging the buy. At the time he remembered thinking it was somewhat refreshing to meet a female arms dealer.

Nikki Delphino, you had introduced yourself, when he handed over the cash.

He’d looked you up after the arrest. Daniel Moreno’s partner in crime. The guy had put a bullet in two federal agents who had been escorting the original shipment before it was hijacked. His plan had been to flip you, to leverage the charges, the relationship, whatever else he could so they could get their hands on Moreno. The two of you had sat across from each other in that interview room for hours, he went at you with everything he had but you, you were something else. Evasive, cold, and if he was honest, a bit of a smartass. It was infuriating.

It wasn’t until your handler made an appearance that they realised you were one of them. His frustration had turned to respect because game recognises game, and you, you didn’t fucking flinch.

An agreement was struck after that. You would catch up with Moreno, try and lobby a confession about the murders. It was dicey, they weren’t sure if news of your arrest had hit yet. Jubal admired your dedication, when you saw the mess that Moreno had left behind at the site of the hijacking, you’d been eager to help.

They watched it play out over a camera affixed to the necklace you were wearing. It was a lesson in manipulation, something they could use at the academy. You used your sex appeal to draw out the details, teasing, cajoling, pouting until he told you exactly what you wanted to know.

“I never asked…” Jubal had said after the arrest. “What’s your real name?”

“Stefani.” You tell him, the left side of your mouth tipping up into a smile. “Stefani Romano.”

“Welcome back Stefani.” He says holding out his hand to shake yours.

“You have no idea how good it is to hear someone actually use my real name.” You tell him as you clasp his hand. There’s a spark, one that he feels the instant the two of you touch. He doesn’t know it in that moment, but his life has just changed dramatically.

“She’s got grit.” Dana says when the two of them are sitting in her office at the end of the day. “I like her.”

“Yea.” Jubal remembers saying as Dana signs off on the transfer paperwork. “I like her too.”

“You’re not used to the shoe being on the other foot.” Sam remarks, drawing him out of this reverie. “Being the one that’s left behind. You’re used to being in control, knowing everything.”

“Yea, there’s probably something in that.” He says, his eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he considers Sam’s words.

Part of the problem is that he’s out of the loop and he hates that. He’s used to having the information at his fingertips but right now he’s in the dark and that’s a shitty place to be.

“I could say it gets easier…” Sam tells him before shaking her head. “But it doesn’t.”

“And I have a new appreciation for some of the stuff I put you through.” Jubal tells her, rubbing his hands over his features. “I guess I just didn’t realise it would be this hard.”

“You gotta have faith.” Sam says quietly, squeezing his arm lightly. “In yourself, in her. Trust that she will do anything to come back to you. That’s how I used to get through it, no matter what happened, I knew you’d do everything possible to get back to me and the kids.”

“Yea.” He says, his gaze straying back towards Tyler as he tries to pop the bubbles that Amelia blows in his direction. “Yea, you’re right.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[queenofthekings]

𝖆𝖑𝖕𝖍𝖆 𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖌𝖆, 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎 (𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊)

Summary: 25 years after a virus wipes out most of humanity, with the lucky ones dying and the rest are crazed and hungry, Lieutenant Eddie Munson is tasked to go into the Dead Zone to retrieve a shipment code named Babydoll; only it's not what he expects it to be and everything he thought he knew is about to change.

Author's note: I couldn't not write a zombie fic lmao. Also before anyone asks, no this fic was NOT inspired by The Last of Us and instead takes inspiration from The Girl With All the Gifts. So if I get any of yall in my ask box saying I "ripped off The Last of Us", get outta here. Also this will be told from a third person's perspective, sorry not sorry.

CW: 18+, swearing, sex references, Older!Eddie (mid 40s), Reader is mid 20s, mentions of character deaths, graphic depictions of zombies being zombies, no use of Y/N but Reader is referred to as "it", "Babydoll" and "Alpha", smut in later chapters.

Word count: 1.7k

Any hate will not be tolerated, constructive criticism is welcomed.

It had been twenty-five years since an infection so massive it spread across the world in a matter of days. The lucky ones died early on; the rest were left with an unsatiable hunger that could never be satisfied. Survivors were forced out of cities as the infected claimed them and thinking they would be safer in the countryside, but that safety didn’t last long as before they knew it, the infected found them.

Any attempt to keep the infected out failed, almost leading to the extinction of the human race. Their only salvation relied in General Martin Brenner who was successfully able to create a safe zone with all the power with what was left of the military. The base was eventually dubbed Hawkins, after Brenner’s hometown was completely ravaged by the infected.

Hawkins had been standing tall for almost twenty years now; surrounded by a minefield, barbed wire, and concrete walls – a warning to any infected to stay away. The base was more like a city than anything else; housing almost a thousand survivors comfortably with a cinema, endless stores and even a stadium on the grounds.

Who wouldn’t want to be there?

Well, Eddie Munson was one who didn’t. While everyone else was thankful for the safety Hawkins provided, he knew how Brenner ensured it. Every few months; a team would be sent into the Dead Zone, gather up a round of infected and bring them back to him for experimentation before extermination.

He’d spent so long in the Dead Zone, it felt more like home to him than Hawkins ever could. At least people in the Dead Zone were honest about wanting you dead, while in Hawkins, anyone could accuse you of stealing and get you taken away just because you looked at them funny.

Looking out of the window of the helicopter, seeing what once was the suburbs of a major city, now reclaimed by nature and the infected, he wondered if what they were doing had any real point at all. If they were really saving humanity, or simply delaying the inevitable. He even questioned if humanity was even worth saving; after all the terrible things they’d done to survive, did they even deserve it anymore?

The helicopter finally touched down in a clearing, with the entire team jumping out as quickly as possible to secure the area. The team was small, only comprising of ten people. Smaller was better, less noise and less opportunities of alerting the infected.

Eddie grabbed a map from his pack and checked it, looking at every crossed-out section before finding the red circle in the centre of a nearby city. “Babydoll was last seen somewhere in the city, approximately twenty klicks south.”

They’d been looking for Babydoll for the best part of a year, every team that was sent into the Dead Zone to find it never came back, and nobody ever truly figured out what had happened to them. Any attempts to find their bodies – infected or not – turned up nothing but blood trails that would lead to nowhere or ripped pieces of fabric from their clothes.

Despite multiple people telling Brenner to let it go and clearly Babydoll didn’t exist or didn’t want to be found, he refused. He was adamant to find it, and he didn’t care how many people had to die in order to get it.

Eddie only agreed to go if he knew exactly what they were supposed to be looking for and was given strict instructions not to tell the rest of his team. Keeping it a secret ate him up inside, he wanted to tell at least someone but the likelihood of not being believed always stopped him.

The only person he could’ve told was Steve, the only person from before who stuck by him, everyone else he knew had either left to go elsewhere or didn’t make it. They had each other’s backs, wherever one went, the other was sure to follow. But no matter how close they were, Eddie knew Steve wouldn’t fully understand how heavy his secret laid upon his heart.

The team moved quickly and quietly through the suburbs, being sure to have the silencers on their guns in case of trouble. Although, they knew the infected were more likely to be in city centre – they liked to be in groups.

The city didn’t look like a city anymore; leaves and flowers had sprouted all over the buildings and roads. There was a damp stench in the air, but nobody could work out where exactly it was coming from. Despite having potentially thousands of infected roaming the deserted streets, it almost felt peaceful to walk through. But Eddie knew he couldn’t let his guard down for a second, as peaceful and tranquil as everything seemed; the infected were still very much a threat.

It had been at least five years since Eddie had last been in the city, vowing to never return after the death of Dustin, someone who was like a brother to both him and Steve. His death was one of the main reasons why Eddie hated being in Hawkins; everything reminded him of Dustin.

But the only reason he volunteered to go into the city one last time was for the girl who tried to save Dustin. Eddie didn’t remember much of what she looked like back then, he only remembered her eyes being kind and calming as she tried to get Dustin away from the infected and save him, but when she realised she couldn’t, she stayed with both of them until Dustin died and made sure the infected didn’t take his body.

Then she was gone, and Eddie never even got her name.

But once Brenner got word of survivors living in the city, he instantly became obsessed. He found out quickly that the survivors weren’t like everyone else, they were the children of infected mothers and had been born as hybrids of humans and infected.

Ever since discovering them, he’d wanted one to dissect and see the inner workings of their bodies. They weren’t people to him; they were abominations and just part of the infected. And Babydoll was the ultimate prize.

From Eddie’s understanding, she was their leader – Brenner had done extensive research into her over the past half decade, giving her the nickname of Alpha. Admittedly, he was scared of her – not a lot scared him anymore but there was something about her unpredictability that absolutely terrified him to his core.

But he knew it was the same girl who’d tried to help Dustin, and he was forever thankful for that. He just didn’t quite know how to tell her that she was going to be killed at the hands of Brenner all in the name of science. No matter how many times Brenner or anyone else would refer to her as “it”, Eddie couldn’t bring himself to do it. What she had done for him was so human, he couldn’t ever see her as a monster.

Eddie was distracted with his thoughts for maybe a few moments until the cool barrel of a gun was pressed to the side of his head. Even without looking, he knew instantly who it was. “Clever girl,” he muttered.

The entire group aimed their guns directly at her head, with her being completely unphased and keeping her eyes locked on Eddie.

“Sir, do I kill it?” one of his team asked, his hands shaking while he held the gun. Eddie could tell that he didn’t want to shoot; the person in front of them looked too much like them to pass off as a nameless infected.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie looked at the person holding the gun. From what he could see, her right eye was completely grey with small purple-blue veins leading up her forehead and down her cheek, almost looking like scratches. There was no mistaking it, that was Alpha.

Shaking his head, Eddie slowly put his gun down onto the ground to have his hands on the back of his head in surrender. “Put your guns down, we do this their way.”

“Eddie-” Steve began, trying to stop him from putting the gun down.

“If you wanna get out of this alive, put your fucking gun down, Steve.”

She smirked as she watched both of them squabble like children, looking off to both sides of the street and nodding her head once, signalling for the rest of her people to come out of the shadows. Much to everyone’s horror, at least twenty people came out and surrounded them, taking their guns in the process.

“Why have you come?” she asked, slowly walking around to stand in front of Eddie, the gun still pressed to his head.

“There’s a shipment we need to retrieve, it’s somewhere inside the city. It’s codenamed Babydoll.”

She narrowed her eyes, letting out a small grunt as she lowered her gun. “I’ll take you to Babydoll.”

“You know where it is?” Steve asked, eyeing the gun in her hand as she placed it back into her holster.

She nodded. “You’re not the first to come looking for it. It’ll be sundown soon; you have to get inside. I’ll take you to Babydoll in the morning.”

“Stalling us?” Steve asked, hesitantly while raising an eyebrow.

She blinked slowly as if to say are you fucking kidding me. “I’m protecting you, idiot. Unless you want me to leave you out here to fight off every single infected by yourselves, I suggest you shut up and follow me.”

She didn’t wait to hear an answer and began walking away, her people pushing the team to follow her. Eddie took longer strides to keep up with her and walk beside her. “Why are you helping us?” he asked.

She didn’t look at him as the walked down the street. “Because I know you. Your friend died here, and I couldn’t help him.”

“Dustin. I remember you too, I’ve thought about that day and you ever since.”

She nodded once. “You’ve also shown me and my people a level of respect I didn’t think you people would have. You’re different, you didn’t shoot me even when you had the chance.”

“Neither did you.”

“Because I know I’m Babydoll. I know you’re here for me.”