#metal storefront signs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

steddielations · 2 years ago

Text

It's just another boring day running the store, even more boring than normal since Robin’s out sick. There’s not any kids around either, the beanbags by the bookshelves have been empty all day.

Steve’s working his shift alone. It’s all very mundane, just waiting for the clock to run out. That is, until the door flies open.

It’s just a flash of black clothing and the clinking of metal accessories as the figure suddenly barrels right over the counter. Steve shouts and immediately reaches for the nail bat— yes the nail bat— he keeps behind the register. He brandishes it menacingly as the person stands upright.

It’s a man, with crazy wild hair and even crazier eyes, widening comically at the bat and holding his hands up. He squawks at Steve.

“Whoa, hey! What is that thing?! What the hell, man!?”

“Don’t ‘what the hell’ me, I’m the one what the helling you here!” Steve snaps back.

“What!”

“Just tell me what you think you’re doing here, punk!”

Something like disbelief comes over his face, and he lowers his hands to gesture over himself, “Dude, I’m clearly a metalhead.”

“I’m gonna put some metal in your head if you don’t start talking,” Steve snarls, gripping the bat tighter.

“Okay, okay!” His hands flail, shifty eyes bugging out the front windows before he suddenly crouches down behind the counter, “Just let me hide out here for a minute, there’s— people after me that I can’t deal with right now.”

“Oh yeah, what 'people’?” Steve narrows his eyes at the expensive looking chain dangling around his neck, some kind of red pendant on it, “Did you get caught stealing from the jewelry store next door?”

Again, he gives that look, not the typical guilty look when Steve chases down the usual petty thief, he just looks like he can’t believe he’s in this situation, as if he’s not the one that hopped over the counter.

“I didn’t steal anything, alright? I just need to wait here until it’s all clear.”

“Mr. Simon is chasing you, isn’t he?” Steve groans, lowering the bat to rub his hand over his face. He hates that old jeweler, always complaining about Steve taking his parking space when he doesn’t even have a car to use it. “Christ, okay. He might have a war flashback and actually kill you, and I already have enough shit on my conscience. You got two minutes.”

“Five?”

“One and a half.”

“Okay, Jesus. Two please and I’ll let you have a picture after, whatever you want.”

Steve thinks it’s a weird thing to offer at first, then it clicks.

“Yeah, I do want a picture ‘cause your ass is going on the banned wall,” Steve points the bat to the array of photos on the back wall, right up there with the little pricks that kept asking what shelf the skin mags were on, and the asshole that was rude to Robin once.

The guy looks over and he… chuckles, “Starting to think I picked the wrong counter to hide behind.”

Steve glares when he’s met with the stranger’s smile, “You think?”

“The rainbows in the window caught my eye, thought they were pretty cool,” he gives Steve a kind, but measured look, “I’m assuming the bat is for people who don’t?”

That rocks Steve a little. The subtle touches of rainbow decorating the storefront were Robin’s idea, just a welcoming sign for those who know what it means, who need it. Which, apparently, is this guy too, dark eyes watching as Steve makes the connection.

Plus, the kind of kids that get off the bus and hang out in the beanbag corner of the bookstore, also tend to be the type that bullies flock to, but not here, Steve makes sure of that. Not with the nail bat, that’s for things more serious than school bullies.

“Is that who’s after you?” Steve asks, shooting a look out the window. His gut starts to twist in some form of empathy for the guy, it would make sense why he hurtled inside so quickly.

“No, nothing like that, but I still need to lay low for a second.”

Steve squints, empathy gone.

“Okay well, the bat is for thieves too, then. You know, Mr. Simon might be a mean old shit, but he doesn’t deserve to be stolen from. He’s got a family, dude.”

“Well, isn’t that admirable. Look, I appreciate what you’re doing here, the whole local protector, vigilante bat-man thing, it’s pretty badass,” A pun. This would-be thief really just made a damn pun about Steve’s would-be murder weapon. “But I didn’t take anything from anyone, Stevie boy.”

Pun forgotten, Steve grips the bat tighter, demanding to know, “How do you know my name?”

Another annoying smile as the guy gestures to his chest, where Steve’s name tag is. Right.

“Tell me yours,” he counters, noticing how the guy’s smile falters, looking hesitant, crouching lower, hiding. Steve sighs, “I’m not gonna go to the cops, man. Your face is going on the wall and your name is going on the list.”

This guy is just smirking way too much for someone in his situation, “Wow, I must be real special then. It’s Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

“Okay then, Munson,” Steve narrows his eyes at the necklace again, “If you didn’t take anything, then where’d you get that chain, huh?”

This Eddie looks caught off guard, his mouth already formed into some excuse that Steve cuts off.

“Just hand it over,” he flourishes the bat this time, satisfied with how Eddie looks both impressed and intimidated. His eyes stay on Steve as he removes the necklace, dark and alive with something, like he’s enjoying this somehow.

“Okay fine, easy with that thing, big boy. You can keep it for now as collateral for letting me stay.”

He passes Steve the chain, and Steve doesn’t want to fuss with his jean pockets so he just slips it over his head, Eddie’s eyes tracking where it falls around his neck. He sees it’s not a pendant like he thought, it’s a red guitar pick resting against his chest. Not Simon’s usual merchandise, but the chain definitely is, it’s expensive, Steve can tell.

“But, as good as it looks on you, I’m gonna need it back when you realize it’s not stolen.”

Annoyance. That’s the flare of heat Steve feels, it has to be, this whole exchange is getting him hot under the collar. He obviously knows Eddie’s hitting on him, not the first time he caught someone up to no good, and they clocked the rainbows and tried to flirt their way out of it. And this guy isn’t bad looking, maybe under different circumstances in a nice bar somewhere, Steve would flirt right back, but he’s not falling for it now.

He’s glad the couple minutes are up, doesn’t know why he checks out the windows to make sure it’s all clear for Eddie.

Bat still in hand, he makes Eddie stand while he fishes out the polaroid camera behind the counter.

“Don’t you want to get in the photo?” Eddie asks.

Steve’s free hand snaps to his hip, “And why would I want that?”

“Right,” Eddie grins, sticking out his tongue when Steve holds up the camera, throwing up that same hand sign that Dustin keeps making nowadays when the flash goes off. “No fun kissin’ a picture of yourself. Or, maybe it is when you look like you do.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Playing cute with me isn’t gonna get you off the hook,” and sits the newly printed polaroid on the counter, ignoring the way his cheeks feel hot. It’s just the adrenaline coming down.

He finally puts the bat away, still watching warily as Eddie comes closer, picking up a pen and scribbling what looks to be his phone number on the photo.

“Gotta say, this was nice, Steve. I’d love to do it again sometime,” he smirks, hopping back over the counter the same way he came, “I mean it though, give me a call about that necklace. What kinda rockstar would I be without my lucky guitar pick?”

“Yeah right,” Steve snorts, “I don’t wanna catch you around here again. I never forget a face, Munson, especially not yours.”

“I’m flattered,” he pats his hand over his heart, then throws Steve a wave as he pushes open the door, “Keep that up and you can call me anytime.”

One last wink that sort of makes Steve’s chest flutter and he’s gone. It’s nothing, just some crazy guy that annoyed him half to death, and he hopes he never sees again.

When his shift ends later that evening, he goes next door to try and return the necklace to Mr. Simon, but he insists that it wasn’t stolen from his shop.

Steve’s starting to think he may have accidentally robbed someone at nail-bat-point. But it’s not possible because that’s not possible. How do you accidentally rob someone? What crime would he even be charged with? A little oopsie burglary? Ridiculous.

No, the old man is just out of his mind and doesn’t recognize his own shit. It’s the only thing that would make sense in that whole bizarre situation. Who else would Eddie have been ‘hiding’ from? Why else was it so urgent that he handed over the necklace without much fuss?

It’s not until days later when Dustin hops onto the counter that Steve really realizes.

“Steve,” Dustin says slowly, “Why am I looking at a picture of Eddie freaking Munson on the banned wall?”

Steve looks around, “That guy? You know him? I caught him stealing from Mr. Simon the other day.”

“You— He— What!? He was here?” Dustin sputters, “Steve, I’m 1000% sure he wasn’t stealing shit! What did you do to him?”

“I did my job, Henderson. I banned him from the store and got back the necklace he took— What— Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Steve.”

It’s over the course of the next conversation, getting completely chewed up and spit out by Dustin that Steve learns he didn’t just accidentally rob someone.

“STEVE.”

He accidentally robbed a world famous rockstar.

Steve spends the next few days so deeply embarrassed that he can’t even dare to pick up the phone. He gave Eddie such a hard time when all he needed was a place to hide out so he didn’t get mobbed by fans and paparazzi.

Looking back on it, knowing what he knows now, Eddie handled it with such grace. Steve’s even more ashamed, not because of the whole rockstar thing, but because it's shitty to hurl accusations and a deadly nail bat at anyone, and take their stuff on top of that.

He finally bolsters up the courage to dial the number. As soon as he hears ‘what’s up, it’s Munson’ on the other line, he lets loose a string of apologies and a promise to give the necklace back as soon as he can.

It gets cut short with that same chuckle that still gives him a warm chill even down the phone line.

“Keep it. Looks better on you,” he can hear the smile in Eddie’s voice, “But that means you’re gonna have to come to my show tonight. Can’t play without my lucky guitar pick, can I?”

#and that’s steve’s meet cute gone wrong with his rockstar boyfriend #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson #steddie fic #famous eddie munson #steddie ficlet #bookstore owner steve #eddie munson headcanon #my fics #steve harrington headcanon #rueswriting #steddie headcanon #steddie fanfic #stranger things #meet cute #maybe i’ll fluff this up into a full fic at some point who knows

5K notes · View notes

momolady · 10 months ago

Text

Art the Orc

If you live in a small town, maybe you'll know this place. It's a little art store run by the same family for ages. It's not changed in all that time either. Picture it, feel it, you know it's the only place that sells that one supply you like. Now, imagine an orc behind the counter. Female Reader x Male Monster

The visage of the old place looked like it had once been a gas station. There was one of those big metal awnings and signs that gas pumps had once been outside. But everything else looked like the art supply store it was. The window was painted, done up with flowers and a flourishing font, but it hadn’t been touched in ages and was chipping and weathering away.

The old place had seen better days, you could tell. But you were excited to tackle such a special project with your own two hands.

Inside the place had a familiar smell of paint thinner, book pages, and coffee. You looked around the front as the bells on the door chimed. The old floor had seen better days and was worn out where you stood, even the welcome mat was hard to read.

“Welcome to Greengold Creative Station,” the deep voice came from behind the front desk where there was an open door. ‘I’ll be out with you in just a moment.”

“Take your time,” you replied. You continued to look around, noting the mismatched shelving and thrown together renovations dotting the place.

A moment later, a large orc came from the back. He was wearing thick glasses and had on a corded cardigan that covered a paint splattered t-shirt.

“Can I help you find anything?” He asked as he adjusted his glasses.

You approached the front desk again, extending your hand to him. “Hi! You must be Mr. Greengold, I’m from Regency Renovations.”

There was a surprised look upon his face as he shook your hand. “You’re the renovator?”

You smiled, half expecting some reservation based on your appearance. “I specialize in business and storefront renovations. That is what you wanted, correct, Mr. Greengold?”

He fumbled with his words for a moment, stuttering, touching his glasses until he spoke. “Call me Art, please.”

You held it in, but he knew where your mind went.

“It’s short for Arthur, but it's also my dad’s name so my mom calls me Art. Yes, I know, ha ha, very fun. A man named Art runs the art store.”

“It’s an easy target.” You tried to squash your giggling but a few came out.

He sighed and shook his head. “So, you’ll be handling the whole store. I want it updated completely. It was fine for my parents, but I need to bring in a new generation of artists and online shopping is destroying us.”

“It’s a common issue, Art,” you didn’t look at him as you said his name. “I already have some ideas brewing and I would be happy to discuss your thoughts for the business with you.”

He sighed heavily, gazing out at a store that was once his family’s legacy. “I would say I would like to keep some of what my parents did to this place, but I don’t think any of it is salvageable.”

“Well recycling is a thing.” You replied. “Like some of these old shelves, the wood can be reused to create a rustic facade for the front desk here.” You patted the worn out formica top. “And the vintage signage out from can be reused and framed, hung just right behind you there.”

Art made a face. “You can do all that.”

You returned his face, adding a smug smile to it. “I can do lots of things, Art. My father was a carpenter and my mother was a viper. Be careful of what you inflict about me.” You patted your chest proudly. You knew you were small and chubby, not many people expected much out of you, but your work spoke for itself. And that was how you told people off.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I have a lot riding on this so-”

“So you hired the best. That I can promise you. Now I know you said you didn’t have a lot of funds, but I already have my plans made for how to help you with that. I plan on doing most of the work on my own, but for heavy lifting and other things-”

“I don’t mind helping with that,” he said with a shake of his head.

You had planned to bring in your brother for help, he enjoyed the destruction part of your job and he worked for free food. “Well uh…if you’d like Art, I wouldn’t say no.”

“I wouldn’t want you getting hurt on the job. It would be best if I helped out,” he said.

You couldn’t tell if he was being kind or underestimating you again, so you brushed it off and continued. “I would also like to film the process of the renovation. Stuff like that will help reach your new audience.”

He frowned, and his thick brows pinched together. “You must be joking.”

“I am not. You’d be surprised what the kids these days are watching.” You smirked up at him. “I know what I am doing, Art. Have some faith.”

His face read: easier said than done.

Discussion and planning was always the hard bit. You had to convince your employer of what needed to be done. Art was hesitant about some things, after all it was a family business and a place he had grown up in. But for the most part he was willing to go along with some of your ideas.

Art started the clean up process by first putting away his stock and setting most of the mismatched shelves outside. Once that was taken care of you began ripping up the old carpet and ancient linoleum.

“I remember when my dad put that stuff down,” Art said from behind you.

You looked up, eyes covered by goggles and mouth surrounded by one of those thick industrial masks. “Oh really?”

Art gave you a look. “Is all that necessary?”

“You’d be surprised.” You stacked another chunk of the linoleum to the side. “Lots of debris and who-knows-what is under these old floors. Decades of dirty shoes, dust, skin, and life are stored here.”

Art’s grimace deepened. “Skin?”

“Oh yeah, we shed like mad,” you laughed. “If you have dust in your house you can be assured it came from you!”

Art looked perturbed by this revelation but he continued in moving stock to the back and other store property outside.

Once the flooring was removed, you accessed what was underneath. It wasn’t marble or granite, but it was some type of stony tile that had existed when it was a gas station.

“Mom said it was inhospitable.”

You used a dust cloth to clean off a bit of the flooring. “But it’s easy to clean, and it’ll make the whole place appear brighter and bigger.” You turned and looked back at him, taking off the goggles. “It’ll be so much better in the long run. Plus! You won’t have to buy anything new except maybe a rug or two if you wanted.”

Art’s pinched brow was becoming the norm to see, but you could tell it was because the gears behind it were working so hard to process everything going on.

Once the tiles were cleaned and all the old flooring was hauled off to the dump, you started working on the walls, taking down slapdash shelving, and anything else hanging up. The old paint job, or jobs really, were layered on so thick and hadn’t been properly done. They had painted over the trim and electrical outlets, all of which needed to be replaced. The holes in the walls needed fixing too, and there were a few dents and scrapes from the years.

“You’re not hiring a painter?” Art asked one day.

You zipped up your coveralls and turned around to face him. “Not unless you want to shell out twice the money. Besides, I’m a good painter. A great painter even! Maybe not Rembrandt or anything, but I can handle a roller better than most.”

Art looked over your paint supplies. After days of you working on freeing the electric sockets and scraping the excess from the trim you could finally start working. You were painting the wall white, but you had found cheap sticker tiles to create a great accent wall, which could then be used for photo opportunities and special displays. Then another wall would also be painted white and used to display local artists and projects from the art class that Art taught.

“Mom always wanted to put wallpaper up,” Art murmured. “But said it wouldn’t be practical with everything we needed to hang up.”

There was a melancholy to Art’s face and tone as he said this. “What kind?” You asked as you poured your paint into the tray. “We could always find something close to what she had in mind for the office.”

Art glanced over his shoulder then shook his head. “I doubt I could afford it. I tried looking already.”

You put the roller into the paint, sliding it back and forth until it wasn’t too soupy. “Was this place your mom’s idea?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze going all about the store. “I can’t believe how empty it is now.”

“It’ll be full again in no time.” You gave him a reassuring smile when his amber eyes returned to you. “Do you have any pictures of your mother you would want to hang up?” you asked. “I can plan a special place for it.”

He huffed, seeming put off by this suggestion. “Excuse me. The smell of this paint is giving me a headache.” He walked off, stomping his feet a little as he went.

Art came back by the time you were finished with the first coat of white. You were sitting in front of the checkout desk, leaned back against it so your foot propped the door open. He stepped over your leg and looked at your work.

“The white really makes this place look…different,” he murmured.

“Don’t worry, there will be some color back soon enough,” you sighed. “Is your headache gone?”

Art nodded, leaning against the desk. “Sorry if I’ve been…obstinate.”

You waved it off. “I’m used to you.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been questioning and judging everything, all because I never really wanted to do this.”

You tilted your head up to look at him. “Then why are you?”

He let out that heavy, burdened sigh again. “Because it was in her will.”

You clicked your tongue. “Oh.”

“She left me money, but only if I used a portion of it to renovate the old store. She said it was mine after all, it deserved to reflect the new generation. Even in death she was still hinting I get married.” He scoffed at this, but he still had a smile on his face.

“Sounds pretty motherly.” You stood up from the ground, standing beside him. Not feeling much taller than you did sitting beside his great size. You motioned to the front window. “Did she paint that?”

Art laughed. “No. I did. That’s why she kept it so long.”

Your smile beamed. “Really? That’s pretty adorable.”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “For years upon years I’ve looked at that painting and wished every day she would wash it off and do something different. But I suppose her sentimentality was far too deep for that.”

“It’s a good painting,” you offered.

“I never thought she’d keep it so I barely tried,” he grunted and crossed his arms against his chest. “Boy, was I wrong.”

“Would you like to paint the new display? I was planning on just hanging a new sign and leaving the window clean.”

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

You patted his arm, and his eyes darted down to your hand, his brows unpinching for that one moment.

“I’ll wait till you decide then.” You stepped away from him, but his eyes still lingered on where you had touched him.

A few days later, as you were working on putting the sticker tile onto the wall, Art came from the back and offered you a ticket.

“A friend of mine has a gallery showing tonight. He gave me two tickets so I thought-” He hesitated and cleared his throat.

“How fancy is the affair?” You asked.

“Nothing too fancy. I mean, dress up, but not like black tie event or anything.” He cleared his throat again. “I was going to get dinner at my favorite restaurant since it was close by if you wanted to come.”

It clicked and you looked up at him. Your cheeks flushed and your mouth started to go dry. “Oh. Sure.” You tucked your hair behind your ear. “If that’s the case, maybe we should go in together. You know? Save the earth and stuff.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Smart idea. How about I pick you up tonight. Say…around six? Since the gallery is at eight?”

You nodded, biting down on your lip. “Yeah. Perfect. That should give me enough time to get ready after work.”

Art turned awkwardly away then back towards you. “Oh I uh, I guess I should get your address.” You traded info and the rest of the day went by in a jerky, tense sort of way.

That evening you waited in your living room until you heard from Art. You were wearing your favorite dress, and had even gotten your next door neighbor to do your makeup. You got his message and went downstairs to meet him at the front door.

Art was dressed nice in a dark purple suit and he had his long hair slicked back and tied into a bun. He didn’t have on his glasses, which surprised you. His eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Wow, you look great!” He said, a touch breathless.

You blushed and smiled. “Thanks. You look pretty great too. I’m not used to seeing you without your glasses.”

“Yeah, contacts tonight,” he said shyly. He then took your hand and led you to his car.

The restaurant was nice, the two of you had a clumsy start to it, but eventually you both started having an in depth conversation about color. From there, you both laughed and joked around, having a good time with great food and even better wine.

From there you walked to the gallery, meeting his friend then roaming through the show. Her artwork was lovely, but you noticed Art’s pinch brow had returned.

“A lot more nudes than I expected,” he whispered.

“I think it’s nice,” you replied. “I can see what her intent with the motif is. How it’s classic, it's natural, but also subversive.” You turned to Art, noticing him fidgeting and adjusting himself.

“Yes. I understand what she is doing,” he muttered. “I must have had just a little too much wine I think.”

You smiled at him, chuckling as your cheeks grew warm.

The car windows were fogged over, and in the dark all you could do was touch. His kisses felt rough but intimate. His tusks brushed against your skin, making your shiver. Every so often the darkness was halted by the motion light of the parking lot turning on. You’d still for a moment, then continue on with your youthful antics.

“We should stop.”

“We should.”

“Why aren’t we?”

“It’s hard.”

“Very hard.”

You kissed Art and breathed, looking into his eyes while you clasped your hands around his face. Maybe it was the wine or the nudes on display, maybe it was weeks of working so close and holding back so long.

“It’s hard.”

“Very hard.”

You smiled at him, kissing him again while his hands moved below. Your panties were pushed aside, his zipper brushed against your thigh. Big. Oh my god it was big!

You gasped softly and he stilled, watching your expression. You eased over him, taking as much of Art as you could stand. You pressed your palms to the roof of the car for balance, his strong hands kneaded into your thick thighs.

“Aren’t we a bit too old for this?” he breathed.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we.” Your laughter turned into moaning. Maybe you were both a bit too old for this, but you’d never had so much fun before! He pressed deeply inside you, and his hands couldn’t stop touching your body. He roamed over the soft curves, and plump form, his desire seeming to grow the more he did.

The next morning you came into work, seeing Art standing in the middle of the room. You held your breath, wondering if it was all a wonderful dream. He turned and smiled, his thick glasses back in place.

“Hi” he said breathlessly.

Your smile bloomed. “Hi.”

Art motioned to the desk. “I brought coffee.”

“I see that.” You smiled and took a cup he offered.

He sighed then laughed and you laughed. “So uh…last night.”

“I liked your friend’s gallery. It was very nice. I also liked your favorite restaurant.” You took a sip of the coffee, testing it before you added anything.

Art nodded, his gaze drifted until it fell back onto you. “Is that all?”

You smiled over your coffee cup. “No. Just barely.” You looked into his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate work topic.”

“Not exactly but uhm…I just wanted to check.” His eyes darted over you. “Were we really too old for that?”

You laughed and cupped your hand over your mouth. “A little. But I’m not too sore. Are you?”

“No. But I would prefer somewhere much comfier next time.” he leaned in close and you closed your eyes, accepting his kiss and the touch of his tusks against your cheeks.

“Yes, it would be nice.” You saw he had paints and brushes set on the front desk. “What’s this for?”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I thought I’d paint the window. I got a bit of inspiration last night.” He grinned your way. “Plus, I think mom would like to see how I’ve improved.”

You grinned. “I’ll be very excited to see how you work. Outside a car at least.”

931 notes · View notes

carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 1 year ago

Text

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 4

Part 1 Part 3

We should go to the store,” Steve says.

He says it mostly to get Munson’s blood up. The silence is digging into his head, making every breath the other takes sound like the ragged wail of that fucking monster.

The longer he stays there, crouched in the trees, the harder it is to tell how much of the ache in his stomach is fear, and how much is hunger. They should find food, water, shelter, a way out of this bullshit.

Munson scoffs. “Looks like you’re getting your way, huh King Steve?”

Steve stands, legs unsteady. His feet are cold and bare in the dirt, gone numb around the ants under his skin. His hand aches from clutching the other boys. He drops it, shaking out the clenched nerves. “Yeah,” he says, channeling all the bitchiness Carol had hammered into his head over pseudo girls nights, “I summoned that thing into my bedroom just because I really wanted to go on a shopping date with you Munson.”

He starts through the woods in the general direction of the store, smiling at the sound of Munson sputtering incoherently behind him before the other boys jogs to catch back up.

“Careful there, big boy.” Muson leans into his space, smile saccharine around all its cracks. “I might just go and catch feelings.”

Steve rolls his eyes, shoving the other boy a few steps away. He can’t stop looking around for a threat, or some tear in the air that’ll lead them back home. He wants to be warm.

The rest of the trip to Melvald’s is quiet, but every time Steve glances his way, Eddie’s biting his lip against the words practically bursting from him.

He’s always been a talker. In the hallways, on cafeteria tables, even beneath the bleachers when he’s trying to keep a low profile. His voice carries. It’s almost painful to watch him try and suppress it.

No wonder teachers are always cursing his name.

Prying the door open is louder than Steve wants—metal creaking on hinges aged decades in a matter of hours. It echoes off the vacant shops loud enough that both boys stop, staring into each other’s panicked eyes as they wait for a sign that something is coming. The silence echoes around them, bouncing off the storefronts like a physical force.

Nothing stirs.

Steve pries the door open a tiny bit more, gesturing Munson inside. He does a dorky little curtsy on the way, pulling the gaping knees of his jeans like they’re the hems of a skirt. Steve rolls his eyes, but follows him in.

The door resists closing, but Steve pulls it shut, around the sounds of its own groans. The illusion of safety and all that. Munson must feel the same because he immediately starts chattering.

“Is this how you feel, all the time, Harrington?” he asks, bounding over to the cereal aisle and pulling a luridly orange box down from the shelf. He pries the box open, pulling at the seams of the bag like an impatient child on Christmas morning. “No budget, no coupons, just—shit.”

He drops the box around his startled expletive before immediately ripping into a new one.

“What?” Steve asks, but he’s already following in Munson’s wake and reaching down for the abandoned box. Before he even pulls the plastic bag out, he can smell the stench of food gone off. He pulls it out anyway.

Just like the door, and the street, and the water in his tap—the cereal in the bag has seemingly aged years in a matter of hours. Each wheaty bite has shriveled into itself, turning an off-putting grey and smelling like a stack of cardboard left to mold in the rain.

Munson’s still picking up and discarding boxes, movements growing more frantic with each new discovery.

In a state beyond horror, Steve wanders over to the water aisle. There’s no light on in the store, but the bottles almost seem to glow—an unholy green, murky and brackish in their pristine bottles, still lined up like it was opening day. It looks like some sort of gone-wrong science experiment from those science fiction movies Carol pretends she doesn’t like to watch. They look just like the sludge in his pipes back home.

Munson is cursing up a storm as he rounds the aisle, but he goes quiet when he sees Steve. He’s not sure what he looks like, but Munson’s hand reaches out and lands on his shoulder. Steve can barely feel its warm squeeze—can’t bear to tear his eyes away from those bottles.

It’s becoming a pattern, the way they’re always stuck together in horrified silence. It’s also becoming a pattern that one of them breaks said silence with some convoluted bullshit.

“Where’s your shoes, man?” Munson asks, like he’s only just noticed the flesh beyond the caked-on mud.

Steve sighs, shrugging off the other boy’s hand. His toes are numbed past the point of pain as he limps to the first-aid aisle, Munson trailing in his wake.

He ends up on the ground, clutching a roll of bandages, staring down at the bottoms of his feet. The bandages are soft and spongy. Clean. But he can’t even see the abrasions on the bottoms of his feet past the dirt and mud. There’s no water. There’s nothing. So, he just sits there, feeling nothing.

He’s still on the ground. Time must be passing but he doesn’t feel it, can’t see it in the dank light of the store.

He blinks and Munson’s sitting in front of him, Steve’s right foot in his lap. There’s a crumpled pile of used wet wipes beside the other boy’s hip, the brown and red from his own feet smudged across their normally pristine white surfaces.

The package crinkles as Munson pulls the plastic lid open to tear off a fresh wipe. He’s gentle enough that it tickles slightly between the toes and on the arch of his foot as Munson scrubs the last of the dirt away.

Steve clears his throat.

Munson snaps his gaze up, fingers twitching flightily on his foot, but doesn’t stop his ministrations. “You back with me?”

Steve nods. He wants to ask where he was before but can’t force the words past his constricting throat. He feels alarmingly close to tears.

He feels like he’s been sucked out of his body and into a very small tube, compressed until his breaths come in short, punched-out bursts that never fully enter his lungs.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Munson says, voice even. He’s looking down at Steve’s foot again, stroking it almost soothingly with the dirtied towelette. “I need you to breath with me, okay?”

Munson’s breathing gets loud and purposeful—long breaths in through his nose, longer breaths out through his mouth. Steve stares, enraptured, and gasps along.

Time passes. Steve’s shoulders slump. His fingers are tingling like they do sometimes at the end of a long basketball game. Sweat dripping down his face, body buzzing with excited adrenaline, fingers buzzing with the need for the ball.

The squeeze of Munson’s hand around his ankle catapults him out of the tube and back into Melvald’s.

Embarrassment crashes into Steve. He crawls to his feet, using the shelving behind him to steady himself. He stands, with creaking knees and hobbles stiff-legged out of the aisle, tossing “I’m going to to find some shoes,” over his shoulder.

“Okay,” Munson replies, so quietly Steve can barely hear it.

There’s a thank you stuffed deep in Steve’s throat, trying to crawl its way past his mortification. There’s gauze wrapped around the soles of his feet, containing the damage. He’s not sure when Munson even did it.

There’s not a single fucking shoe in any of the aisles–not even a fucking pair of slippers. He’s three seconds away from duct taping the bottom of his feet and calling it good when there’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls, slipping as his gauze, covered feet try to keep traction. Munson steadies him with a hand to his elbow.

There’s a pair of ratty sneakers clutched in his other hand, and he’s smiling dimples popping.

“Where’d you get those?”

Munson beams, skipping in place like a kid playing hopscotch. “Found them in the breakroom,” he says. “Do you think your highness can lower himself to wear a poor, lowly worker man’s shoes?”

His eyes are fucking twinkling. Steve’s heart fucking twitches. This whole thing is too fucking derranged for him to handle.

“What size?”

Munson cackles tossing the shoes into Steve’s chest.

Steve bends down, pushing his feet into the shoes sockless, hoping the gauze will do enough to keep blisters at bay. They’re a little loose, so Steve ties the crumbling shoelaces tight, hoping against Munson’s fucking dimples that they don’t break. He double knots them. They hold.

“Thanks,” he says, still looking down at the ratty things.

“Gotta clothe our knights properly for battle!” Munson says. Steve looks up just in time to see that same goofy curtsey.

“I thought I was the King?” he asks. “Have I been demoted?”

Munson laughs again, bringing a curl to his face, as if to hide his grin. “I don’t see any of your subjects around,” he says. It should be mocking, but the elbow he drives into Steve’s side is good-natured. Playful. “Besides, knights are way cooler.”

Steve sighs, can’t believe he’s devolved to playing along with this level of nerdom. “Where’s my sword then, huh Munson?”

Munson sweeps his arms wide encompassing the entirety of Melvald’s in his gesture. “You’re down on your luck, Sir Harrington. You’ve lost your noble steed and your enchanted sword to a suductress from a rival kingdom. Now you’re on a perilous quest to reclaim your property, and regain your rightful place by the King’s side!”

“And where are you in this whole mess?” Steve asks, already kicking himself for playing along.

“Well, I, Sir Steve, as the King’s devoted jester, am on this quest with you to save you from a fate worse than death.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks, inching closer to Munson, unsure of why. “What’s that?”

“Boredom, of course!”

Munson’s hair is a mess. It’s more fly-away than contained. His skin looks a little oily around his forehead, and he looks absolutely ridiculous with Steve’s clothes on. But his eyes are shining, and his smile is beaming, and Steve wonders how someone can be that bright in the literal bowels of hell.

“Shove off, Munson,” Steve laughs, shoving his shoulder lightly as he walks past.

Munson skips up to keep in pace. “Now, what, my liege?”

“So what, I’m the King again?”

Munson puts a hand over his heart, gasping dramatically. “You’ll always be a King to me.”

Steve feels warmth in his cheeks, pushes it down, doesn’t think about it. What now, he says. What now?

“Now,” he says, thinking aloud as he eyes the aisles around them. “We collect anything useful around here and go.”

“But–”

“We’re not going to last much longer without water, man.” he replies.

Munson sighs. “The quarry?” he asks, sounding like he’d rather say anything else.

“The quarry,” Steve agrees, feeling just the same.

Part 5

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #my fic #they are finally Sort Of getting along!!! maybe someday they'll even be on a first name basis!!!

431 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 1 year ago

Text

Royal Pain Part 1

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the story that has had my entire weekend on lock. Like every spare moment was writing this story. I wrote over 6000 words in two days. So yeah. Don’t worry. I’m still working on Boy With a Bat (I just need time to research season 3 so I don’t over step on the show’s timeline {like I did with “Little Runaway”}). And of course I love working on “All My Roads Lead Back to You” and will continue working on it as well. Also these first two parts are long. I don’t know if all the parts will be as long, but as you can see when you read them there isn’t a lot of places to stop (and not make them super short).

Summary: No Monster Modern AU. Eddie and his band, Corroded Coffin, have a steady gig at a bar in Indy where they play every weekend. Eddie's life takes a left turn when his regular tattoo artist, Max Mayfield, moves to New York with her boyfriend Lucas Sinclair, newly traded to the New York Knicks. Now needing a new tattoo artist, Jeff recommends "Royal Pain", which even Max agrees is a good shop. On arrival, Eddie is shocked to find Steve is the shop's artist. They hit it off, and slowly move from the barest of acquaintances to boyfriends.

***

“God damn it!” Eddie growled, throwing his phone at the sofa and snarling when it bounced to the floor.

“One day you’re gonna throw it so hard and it will break,” Gareth grumbled from behind his drum set.

It was Corroded Coffin’s weekly practice. They weren’t big or anything, but they had a steady gig at a local metal bar and it paid good money. They drew large enough crowds that they were able to play their own music.

Eddie hopped to his feet to retrieve the discarded phone from the floor. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered darkly.

“What’s got your panties in such a twist?” Jeff asked from the same sofa Eddie had tossed the phone at. He was tuning his guitar, ear bent toward the strings.

Eddie scoffed. “Like you have any interest in my panties.”

Jeff lunged and grabbed one of Gareth’s drumsticks from the bucket he kept at his side and threw it at Eddie.

“Hey!” both Gareth and Eddie protested.

“Just answer the damn question!” Brian sneered from his place on the battered old floral armchair. “You usually like bitching, so what’s your deal?”

Eddie flopped gracelessly on the lavender two-seater. “That was my tattoo artist,” he groused, crossing his arms petulantly. “Her boyfriend got traded to the New York Knicks so they are moving there and if I want to get my dragon finished before she leaves, I better ‘haul ass’ according to her.”

Eddie’s friends winced. They knew finding a tattoo artist you could trust in a style you liked was hard. And for Eddie to lose his? That sucked. Max Mayfield was one of the best in Indy and to lose her to New York? That was even worse. But her boyfriend, Lucas Sinclair, was an NBA raising star and she went where did. Which meant Eddie had to start all over with a new artist.

Suddenly Eddie straightened up. “Hey, Jeffie!” he said. “Did you ever get that tattoo you wanted done?”

Jeff lit up. “Oh yeah!” He set his guitar aside and rolled up his sleeve and showed them his tattoo. It was of a bullet tearing through the flesh. It was fantastically rendered, where you could see the torn muscles and broken bone. It covered the scar there perfectly. “Isn’t it fucking amazing?”

“Holy shit!” Brian cried. “That is so wicked.”

Eddie leaned forward, eyes wide with wonder. “Yeah fuck, man. Where did you get that?”

“It’s this little place called Royal Pain,” Jeff explained. “The artist, Stevie is so fucking good.”

Eddie chewed on his lip, thinking hard. “Hey, can I get the number?”

Eddie was standing in front of a shop that he wouldn’t have in a million years would have even suspected was a tattoo parlor. It was a clean and bright storefront. The sign was black with a golden crown was on the R. It was a far cry from any other tattoo parlor he had ever been to. But despite his reservations, both Max and Jeff highly recommended this place and specifically this ‘Stevie’.

Sighing deeply, he yanked open the door and took two steps into the shop. The decor was nice enough, it had a ‘royal’ theme to it, he supposed, but he really didn’t look that much. Because suddenly Eddie knew who Stevie was. The name, the royal decor, and Robin fucking Buckley as receptionist.

He was going to kill Jeff. Or maybe just his next three D&D characters. Because there was no way on this insignificant planet did Jeff Lawrence not recognize King Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. They had all gone to school together. Robin was Steve’s best friend. His soulmate if the rumors were to be believed.

He was about to turn around and walk out, Jeff and Max’s recommendations be damned. Even he wasn’t that masochistic. But he was stopped by the cheerful, “Welcome to Royal Pain! How can I help you?”

Eddie winced and rubbed his eye in frustration, but made his way up to the counter. “Munson, Eddie. I have a two o’clock with Stevie.”

Her smile grew genuine. “Not your first tattoo, I take it.”

Eddie pulled down the collar of his shirt to show of his finished dragon tattoo. “Yeah, no. Some asshole jock absconded to New York with my tattoo artist, so here I am.”

She grinned. “Stevie will be out in a moment.”

Before Eddie could chicken out, the man himself came out of a backroom, wiping off his hands. Eddie gulped. Steve looked very much the same as he did in high school. Same hazel eyes, honey hair, tight jeans and a fucking polo. This guy couldn’t have looked less like a tattoo artist if he tried. Except for one thing.

He could see tattoos on Steve’s arms. He couldn’t get a good look at them without staring but yeah, okay. Steve Harrington, tattoo artist. Who would have thought?

Steve looked up and smiled brightly. “Eddie?” Eddie nodded. “Hey! It’s so good to see you. I had hoped when I saw the name that it was you. How’s it been?”

Robin tilted her head in confusion and made an odd chirping noise.

“Come on, Robs,” Steve teased her. “You can’t tell me you don’t remember Eddie from school.”

She looked Eddie up and down and then cocked her head. “You do look vaguely familiar.”

Steve laughed. “You know, ran the D&D club, had that rock band–”

“Metal,” Eddie corrected. “Not rock, metal.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “That’s right, sorry. Oh! And stood on tables ranting about the man and how schools fail the kids they are supposed to teach.”

“You stepped on my sandwich,” she said deadpan.

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Whoops.”

She grinned and pushed his shoulder. “Just kidding. It was Tammy Thompson’s sandwich.”

“Isn’t she the one that sings like a Muppet?” Eddie asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Steve laughed. “That’s what I said.”

Robin looked between them both and growled, “I hate you both.”

“You’re only saying that because you had a crush on her,” Steve teased.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t know you swung for the other team, Buckley.”

She grinned. “What can I say, I do love a pretty girl.”

Eddie shrugged and cocked his head, nonchalant. “I wouldn’t know.”

Robin wagged her eyebrows at Steve, who rolled his eyes. He turned to Eddie. “So what am I doing for you today?”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment. “Oh!” He pulled out a picture from his back pocket and handed it to Steve.

“This is the Evenstar from Lord of the Rings, right?” Steve asked, tapping the picture. “Arwen’s necklace.”

Eddie lit up. “Yeah. I’m impressed, even uber fans have a hard time remembering that.”

Steve blushed, ducking his head. “I have this friend that hosts huge parties watching the extended versions of the movies every year. Complete with full Hobbit meals. It’s hard not take in something from the films.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, suddenly feeling less like murdering Jeff with each passing moment.

Steve smiled back. “Actually, you might remember him. He was in your club, your final year at school.”

Eddie cocked his head. “Oh?”

“Actually, you had three of Steve’s nuggets in your club,” Robin interjected.

Eddie turned to Steve. “What nuggets would those be?”

Steve blushed again. “I used to quasi-babysit these kids. There were about seven of them, if you count Erica and Elle.”

“Which I absolutely do,” Robin crowed delightedly.

Eddie’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he leaned forward. “You babysat kids?”

Steve shrugged. “They were good kids and their parents worked a lot, so they just kinda imprinted on me. Like ducklings.”

“Wait...Lucas, Mike, and Dustin, huh?” Eddie asked putting two and two together. “Holy fucking shit. I loved running their characters. The ranger, the paladin and the bard.” He couldn’t believe it. He had missed out the chance to run with their friend Will, but he had come back to Hawkins after Eddie finally graduated. “Which one was Dustin?”

Steve smiled and then ran his tongue over his teeth. “Floofy hair, trucker hats, Weird Al shirts, and a huge theater nerd.”

Eddie clapped and pointed, “That’s the one!” He tapped his finger over his lips. “Which means it’s Dustin that hosts the Lord of the Rings fest, isn’t he?”

Steve beamed up at him. “Yeah. Sadly I haven’t been able to go the last couple of years.”

Robin made a sympathetic noise.

“Why not?” Eddie asked, the curiosity getting the better of him.

“Migraines,” Steve said with a wince. “Too long staring at a TV set can trigger them, who knew?”

“That sucks.”

Steve looked back at the picture in his hand. “Did you draw this?”

Eddie grinned. “Sure did, big boy!”

“And would you want me to tattoo it in your style?” Steve asked.

Eddie blinked rapidly. “You can do that?”

Robin folded her arms, looking smug. “Hell yeah, he can!”

“I mean, if you can that would be amazing,” he said breathlessly.

“Where is it going, the tattoo, I mean?” Steve asked.

Eddie tapped his chest. “Sternum.”

Steve chewed his lip thoughtfully. “That would be awesome, but have you thought about putting it on your back. Like a shadow covering your spine?”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up.

Eddie shook his head. “As tempting as that would be sweetheart, I have plans for my back.”

Steve looked a little disappointed. “And what would that be?”

“I want big black bat wings on my shoulder blades,” Eddie said gleefully. “I just haven’t found anyone who’s style I liked well enough to trust doing it.”

Steve hurried around the desk and pulled out a large three-ring binder. “This is all my work, flip through it, see if you like my style enough for me to do it for you. Because I would love to. So take a look and let me know if I could be your man.”

Eddie blinked. “Yeah, sure.”

Steve smiled brightly. “Great! I’ll go set up and I’ll call you back when I’m ready.” He practically skipped to the back room again.

Eddie opened the binder slowly and began to shift the pages. They were all amazing pieces of work that only seemed to get better the further he got into the pictures.

“These are amazing,” he breathed.

Robin leaned on the counter and stage whispered, “If you do not get his number after he does your tattoo, I will murder you and no one will find the body.” She leaned back to look down the hall. What she saw Eddie didn’t know, but she leaned back into whisper to him, low and menacing, “I am not paid enough to listen to his rom-com pining bullshit.”

Eddie looked behind her and then back at her. “I’m–I mean–what the hell?”

“Eddie!” Steve called.

Eddie slammed the binder shut and stomped to the back. He stopped short when he got to room. Again he was blown away at how opposite it was from other shops he’d been to. It wasn’t sterile white or anything like that but it was brightly lit and nicely decorated. It was a place that most ‘normies’ would feel comfortable getting their first tattoo. And he got the appeal.

Steve looked up at him with a lopsided smile as if he understood why Eddie was brought up short. “Other tattoo artists give me such shit about my set up, but it’s not about the aesthetic of what people think a tattoo shop should look like. It’s about people feeling comfortable about permanently altering their bodies.”

Eddie nodded. “No man, I get it. It’s just a pleasant surprise, you know?”

Steve grinned at him. “Thanks. Come on, have a seat. Take off your shirt. Relax.” He paused for a moment. “But not necessarily in that order.”

Eddie laughed and pulled off his shirt, tossing it on a nearby chair. He got on the lounge chair and laid back. He noticed the way Steve dragged his tongue over his bottom lip and smirked. Maybe Buckley was right.

“You’ve got a lot of great tattoos,” Steve said, wiping down Eddie’s chest with a mild anesthetic to clean the area. “Your old tattoo artist do those?”

Eddie shrugged. “Yeah, I mean most of them. A couple were stick and poke when I was high school.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Shit, really? I wouldn’t have guessed. They’re all really good.”

Eddie blushed. He figured Steve was just being polite because he thought it was fairly obvious which ones were the stick and poke. “Speaking of high school, I would have never in a million years thought that King Steve would become a tattoo artist. You been doing this long?”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, I got voted most likely to run my own business, but I’m pretty sure they thought something closer along the lines of hair care or some such shit.”

“At least yours was nice,” Eddie grumbled. “I got voted most likely to still be high school at the ten year reunion.”

Steve winced. “Was that the first time or the second time they held you back?”

“First.”

“That’s harsh, man,” Steve commiserated. “Yeah, no, I’ve been doing this for the last five years. Three years at my own shop.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Wait really? That’s epic, dude.”

Steve nodded. “I went with a friend of mine to see about apprenticing under Hop. He caught me doodling on myself because I forgot to bring my drawing pad and offered the apprenticeship to us both.”

“I can see why,” Eddie said. “You do some pretty impressive work. Who was the friend? Robin?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, no...I love Robin, and she is a lot of wonderful things, artist just isn’t one of them.”

Eddie laughed, too. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

Steve picked up his gun and sat down on the rolling stool. “Nope, Max Mayfield. One of my nuggets, as Robin called them.”

Eddie blinked. “Shit, dude. She was my old tattoo artist? You two really apprenticed under Hop?”

Steve hummed. “Yup.” He turned on the gun and then shut it off again. “I know you said that you wanted it in your style, but can I add my own flourishes to it?”

Eddie cocked his head. “Yeah, sure. I liked what you did with Jeff’s tattoo, so yeah. Knock yourself out, man.”

Steve grinned. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

***

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

Permanent Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @renaissan-vvitch @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #tattoo artist steve #modern au #ladykailtiha writes

542 notes · View notes

kkeidawrites · 1 month ago

Text

A Gemstone’s Worth

Welcome to Day 29 of Blacktober!

The next day arrives and Bruce Wayne is driving through downtown Gotham City as he makes his way to the irate woman he had met the night before.

Her secretary has claimed that she was currently in her office at the parlor today and this was a great opportunity for him to give her some information about what his brokers had done behind closed doors.

As he arrived at L/n Styles, Bruce could see that the area where the store was located was just a ways off of where the shopping district is located and would hope that it was getting just as much revenue as the other stores.

The storefront was painted with white and grey accents and neon aesthetics, a cozy greeting for those who entered. It had a window that displayed three mannequins, styled with both street fashion and jewelry, along with the prices.

Entering the store, Bruce adjusts the Manila folder tucked under his right arm and looks around the store, rows of clothes were neatly lined up on racks, each color coded and style wise on each metal frame.

“Hello, welcome to L/n Styles!” He looks to his left and sees a young girl come up to him. Her style was streetwear with a touch of goth and her hair was long and bright blue.

“Can I help you with anything? Looking for anything special?” She asked professionally.

“Just the owner. I was told that she would be here today.” Bruce says and the young girl hums in thought.

“Ms. L/n doesn’t allow anyone in her office unless it’s an appointment. Did you have an appointment set up with her?” She asks tilting her head.

Her name tag read: Luda and Bruce digs in his pocket to take out his business card, handing it to her.

“I would appreciate it if you would give this to her, Miss Luda. It’s imperative that I speak with her.” Bruce insists and Luda shrugs before leaving to head to the back of the store.

Bruce takes this time to look around the store, taking note of the intricate details and makings of the store. It really fit a young people and teenager audience unfortunately Bruce wasn’t too understanding of fashion.

“Mr. Bruce Wayne?” Luda calls and he looks up to see the young girl waving him over to her.

Walking over to her, Luda parts the curtains that leads to the back of the store and motions Bruce to enter.

“Ms. L/n is down this hallway to the right, you can’t miss it.” She instructs.

“Thank you.” He says and Luda hums in response leaving him with a swish of the curtains adjusting back in place once she’s gone.

Bruce follows her instructions and is now standing in front of a tall white arched closed doorframe. Knocking, he waits for the command to come inside.

“Come in, Mr. Wayne.” He heard the tired voice of Y/n speak through the door.

He twists the silver knob and pushes the door open to reveal a quaint office that fit the aesthetic of the storefront.

Writing on a piece of paper, Y/n was busy making sure that all the money that she spent this month was balancing with the amount in her ledger.

“You can have a seat. I’ll be right with you.” She tells him.

Bruce does so and checks out the decor on her desk especially the photo that sat on the left of her pencil cup. In the photo was a picture of two women, twins hugging one another with bright smiles on their faces and a man with both his hands on top of their heads.

“So,” Y/n begins and sets down her pen, looking up at him with her hands folded in front of her.

“You have information on what is going on with your company and mine?” She gets straight to the point.

Bruce pulls out the folder and sets it on the desk, opening it to show a stack of paper clipped forms inside. He hands the stack over to Y/n who looks over the paperwork, flipping to the next page to read over each one.

“The first two pages are apart of a contract that one of the brokers investing in my company has signed. It would seem that they had added a clause involving your store and has been taking 40% of the shares since the start of this year.” Bruce explains.

“And you just so happened to just find out about this?” Y/n questions as she flips through the rest of the paperwork, seeing that they were obsolete to what she needed to know.

Bruce waits patiently as the woman continued to read the documents in hand. He then jumps back in his chair as the stacks of paper is thrown into his face, falling into his lap.

“What-“

“I think you’re full of shit, Mr. Wayne,”Y/n folds her hands on her desk again and gives him a blank look.

“You’re not going to just say that and think everything will be all good after what’s happened to my family business. I lost money, lots of money because you didn’t read the fine print, my business is at a point where I could lose it. So, I would suggest you and I swap our lawyer’s information because I am officially going to take you to court.” Y/n declares and Bruce’s eyes widen.

“Wait, Miss. L/n that is not necessary, I’m sure we can come to a conclusion-“

“Either hand me the information or I’ll call security to escort you out of my store. There should not be any more contact between you and me unless legal counsel is present.” Y/n slides over a pen and notepad then waits and Bruce sighs as he pulls out his phone and wrote down his lawyer’s phone number.

Y/n writes down her lawyer’s information and slides it over to him. Getting up, Y/n walks to her door and opens it, motioning for him to leave her office.

“Have a lovely day, Mr. Wayne.” Y/n says, not a once of sincerity in her tone. Bruce leaves and nods politely to her in passing.

Once Bruce is back in his car, the sigh that leaves him is long and full of aggravation. His phone rings in the cup holder and he picks it up, seeing that it was Alfred calling.

Answering it, Bruce puts it on speaker as he starts up his car.

“How did it go with Miss. L/n, sir?”

“Alfred, I need to have one of my suits ready for the next couple of weeks.” Bruce rubs his temples in annoyance.

“What for sir?”

“I’m officially being sued.” Is all he says and Alfred sighs through the phone.

“Well, I suppose this would happen sooner or later. Didn’t expect it to be so soon.” Alfred says.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Sir, there is an emergency beacon going off.” Alfred alerts

“Where?”

“I’m sending the coordinates to you now.” Bruce puts his car in drive to head into the city.

“Send the Batmobile to the coordinates I sent you, I’ll drop off my car and keep going from there.”

“Right away sir.” Alfred says and hangs up.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The security alarm blared from inside the jewelry store while the one who was sitting on a velvet Victorian chaise was busy looking at the necklaces of geodes and gems.

Black Sparrow puts back the less valuable items in the display case and takes the ones she wants over to the counter. The store owner was cowering behind the register and the woman couldn’t care less about the fear he felt.

“Look, why don’t you be a nice little man and wrap these up for me? Make sure you wrap it up nice, they’re presents for someone special.” She smiles and the owner trembles as he takes the handful of geodes in his hands.

“But, these aren’t worth a lot, why take them?” The man questions.

“I have more important things to answer than that. Still don’t know why you even set the alarm off for, all I did was walk in.” Sparrow shrugs.

“Well, you were wearing that getup and I thought that you were like that Catwoman, thieving about through Gotham.” He stutters. Sparrow hums.

“Oh yes, she is actually very cool, beautiful as well but, she doesn’t necessarily steal, just takes and puts it back. Also I’m not stealing this stuff, I’m buying it from you.” She says.

The manager didn’t know what to say but, diligently grabs the small boxes filled with cushions and places each necklace into them.

Once all twenty boxes were packed and wrapped, Sparrow pulls out a wad of cash and hands over the right amount of money to the man. He carefully takes the money and pushes the three bags across the counter to her.

“Thank you sir, have a great day.” Sparrow offers a smile and walks out of the store. Her bags rustled against her hips as she walked down the street to look over her new purchases.

“Hmm, I’m pretty sure they will like these necklaces.” Sparrow mutters and walks over to a nearby building, climbing up the fire escape ladder.

Once she was at the top of the building, Sparrow runs and jumps over to the next building over and onto the next.

Batman just so happens to see her figure jumping from roof to roof and gets out of the Batmobile.

Sparrow saw the dark knight and put it in the back of her head, she didn’t have time for him right now and thought it best to lose him.

Jumping through a window of an abandoned building, Sparrow made her way down the steps it held and climbs out another window leading to the building she was heading to.

The Gotham Orphanage sat in its wake in the lower banks of the city of Gotham and Sparrow made her way up the stairs to walk through the double doors.

Children were busy playing around the building, some taking turns on the playground that was in the middle of the house and Sparrow puts a hand on her hip.

“Hey, where’s my hello?” She announces and almost all of the children come rushing up to her in excitement.

“Sparrow is back!” One boy yells.

“Welcome back, Sparrow!” A girl exclaims.

Sparrow brings the majority of them into a big hug, and then hugs the rest individually that wasn’t able to get the loving she had plenty to give.

“Hey everyone, look what I got you.” She pulls out the boxes and hands each one to the children. They all gasped and awed at the presents then look up at her.

“Well go on, open them!” She encouraged them and they all scamper into the living area to open their gifts. The necklaces they held up in their hands gleamed in the light and some even placed them around their necks.

“Now, you don’t have to wear them as a necklace if you don’t want to,” Sparrow says and gently takes one of the children’s necklace from them. She shows them how the chain can be shortened and the geode charm was put on, now fancied into a bracelet.

“It can also be a chain to hang on your jeans as well, so it’s very versatile.” Sparrow hands the bracelet back to the girl she demonstrated and she happily put the now bracelet on her wrist.

“Thank you!” They all chimed and run off to go and play.

The head director of the orphanage comes up to Sparrow with a tired smile. She was a middle aged woman with dark grey hair and green eyes.

“Giving them more jewelry again, Sparrow?” She asks and Sparrow shrugs.

“I even got you something Miss. Janis.” Sparrow hands over a small bracelet to the woman who takes it in her right hand.

“Thank you. But you know you need to stop spoiling these children.”

“I’ve always told the kids that they can do what they like with their jewels so it’s no harm in giving them more.” She says. Miss Janis nods but then frowns sadly.

“What’s the matter?”

“Well, it would seem that the kids are handing over their jewelry to me for me to pawn it. The bills are beginning to pile up and I unfortunately don’t have any other options in order to pay for the house to stay running.”

“What? I thought the city was taking care of the expenses?” Sparrow asked, shocked.

“Just the food and clothing but not the property itself. I’m afraid we have another year left before we have to move out.” She said.

“I’ll get the money for you-“

“Sparrow, I don’t want you to worry about that, I’ll figure something out with the other directors. You just keep coming to see these children, they really love you.” She said and came close to hug her. Sparrow squeezed her close and sighed.

“Well get through this my dear, don’t you worry.”

“All I do is worry.” Sparrow pulls away.

&$$$$&&&$$$&&&$$$&&$$$$&&&$$&

This was suppose to be out yesterday but, my tumblr is acting up. Enjoy, make sure to like, reblog, and comment!

30 notes · View notes

heavenlytouches · 2 months ago

Text

Erik Lehnsherr- my hero

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

GN reader

<3 (SFW)

TW-none

Erik saves you with his powers <3

I know his name is Max but I'm used to -Eric- TwT

Erik Lehnsherr

The midnight air was crisp and eerie, the streetlamps barely piercing the darkness that enveloped the small, empty town.

You strolled alongside Erik, the glow of distant stars reflecting in his eyes. Even in the hushed silence of the night, you could feel the warmth radiating from him, a blend of bravery and an aura that drew you in.

Erik was unique—self-conscious yet sarcastically funny, and somehow heroic without even trying. With every step, his casual jokes eased the tension of the deserted streets, making you laugh despite the chilling wind that bit at your cheeks.

An ordinary evening had turned into something enchanting, and part of you never wanted it to end.

Suddenly, a loud clang echoed down the street, shaking the stillness and causing your heart to race.

You both turned toward the source of the sound: a rusted metal sign teetering above a forgotten storefront. You barely had time to process the sinking realization when it came crashing down, aimed straight for you.

In an instinctual blur, Erik leaped forward. Time slowed as you watched him extend his hands out towards the sign, and with a flick of his wrists, the metal twisted mid-air, veering away from you and slamming harmlessly against the pavement a few feet away. Stunned, you stood frozen as he turned, breathless but steady.

“Did you just-”

You stammered, looking at the now-still sign with wide eyes.

“Eh, just a lucky catch.”

He replied with a dismissive wave, although the humor in his voice was tinged with relief. Yet, the way he brushed it off didn’t convince you.

Your heart raced not just from the near-miss but from the realization of how close you had come to disaster, your thoughts swirling as you attempted to comprehend what just happened.

“Lucky? Erik, that sign could have crushed me! You… you just moved it with your...with...”

He looked at you, an awkward smile creeping across his face.

“I don’t have a mind, just a really good reflexes.”

“Reflexes? Come on. That was amazing!”

You felt a tingling warmth spreading through you, not just from gratitude but an undeniable spark of connection.

“You saved me, Erik. You’re a hero.”

You said, a small but terrified grin on your face, your eyes widening.

“Hero?”

He chuckled, yet you saw a hint of pink creeping up in his cheeks.

“I just don’t want you to end up as a pancake. That’s not exactly my idea of a good night out.”

As the adrenaline faded, a comfortable silence replaced the previous rush. Stars twinkled overhead, and you both stood in the middle of the desolate street as if the world had paused.

“I want to know more about you...”

You finally said, words spilling out before you could think them through.

“About your powers… How do you do that?”

His gaze caught yours, and you could see a glimmer of reluctance mingled with curiosity.

“I’ll tell you everything. It might be a long story, though.”

“Perfect. I’ve got all night.”

You grinned, trying to lighten the mood, but deep down, you could feel the impending weight of his truth.

“Okay. How about this…”

Erik’s demeanor shifted, the care in his voice overriding his self-consciousness.

“Let’s make it a date—just the two of us. Tomorrow night, same time? You can ask all the questions you want then.”

You felt your heart flutter at the prospect.

“A date sounds fantastic—if you promise no more heroics.”

“I make no promises.”

He winked, and for a fleeting moment, the normality of it all felt surreal.

As you both continued your walk—slower now with a different kind of energy buzzing in the air—you felt a sense of gratitude wash over you. Not just for his powers saving you but for his courage to open up, to share his unique world with you.

The chilly night air no longer felt as empty as it once had. It was filled with possibilities, with a spark of something that was as intoxicating as it was scary.

You couldn’t help but wonder how many more hidden depths this man had—this hero who was so much more than just a power, and how he might change your world.

As you approached the edge of town, where streetlights flickered a bit brighter, Erik turned to you, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“So, do you always get nearly crushed by signs on your evening outings, or is it just an exclusive thing for us?”

You laughed, your heart racing at the thought of what more was to come.

“I hope it’s just a one-time thing.”

And in that moment, you knew this was only the beginning of something brilliant, a magnetic force pulling you together into an adventure neither could have predicted.

Well, well, Erik welcome in my Marvel universe! This was such a sweet one, idk why I love it so much TwT

I write for multy fandoms, just ask and remember, requests are always welcome!

I love you guys so much

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)

30 notes · View notes

anna-hawk · 10 months ago

Text

Red Blossom

Based on a deliciously hot fanart by @nkeiiin, whose art never stops inspiring me 🧡🧡🧡

Frank Castle x Matt Murdock

Summary: Frank Castle has an auto repair shop next to flower shop owner Matt Murdock. Frank finds himself regularly observing the florist moving easily through his plants and flowers. They haven't talked a lot, but after they mutually help each other out, they slowly get closer.

Rating: E 🔞 // Status: 6/6 // Current WC: 26,9k

Tags and warnings: Alternate Universe – No powers, Flower shop AU, Mechanic!Frank, Florist!Matt, slow burn, friends to lovers, fluff, explicit content, semi-public sex

Read it on AO3

Excerpt:

Frank was sitting at his desk in the manager’s office, and taking a long drag from his mug of coffee while he browsed through the more urgent invoices he had to send out. A loud, metal sound coming from outside his repair shop had him lifting his head and turning it towards the source of the noise. His office’s window was giving onto the corner of the narrow alley running to one side of his building. Right next to Frank’s shop and across that alley, was a flower shop, where Frank was currently watching a man in the process of rolling up the rolling shutters. Frank checked the time on his wristwatch and smiled to himself; 7.30 on the dot. The flower shop owner always arrived at the same time, right on time, five times a week. Since he tended to get to work before 7AM on most days, Frank had had the time to notice the ritual of his neighbor in the six months since he’d opened the repair shop in Hell’s Kitchen. During that time, they had exchanged a few quick words, but Frank hadn’t found out much more about him, both of them busy with their respective jobs. He knew the obvious, like his name, since it was written underneath the shop name on the storefront, that he was punctual, and most of all, that he was blind. The latter information was something that had Frank speechless whenever he saw Matt Murdock gracefully navigating the flower displays outside the shop, a large pot or vase in each arm, or showing his customers to this or that plant and flower, with no sign of the white cane he used when he arrived or left.

After outgrowing his previous auto repair shop in Queens and opening this one right next to a florist, Frank had expected Murdock to complain about the noise and the smells. Frank had walked up to the flower shop a couple of days after they’d opened up for business, to introduce himself and excuse any future racket. Murdock had smiled lightly and waved away Frank’s concern, but Frank had still waited for the other shoe to drop. The street they were sitting on was rather busy, meaning that Frank’s shop wasn’t the one making the most noise, but the place he’d bought used to be a row of three garages and caused minimal disturbance. Murdock had never said anything, however. He’d even gifted them a small potted plant a few weeks in. The plant was now sitting in Frank’s office and one of his employees was taking care of it because Frank had no idea how to look after anything green.

#frank castle x matt murdock #fratt #the punisher #daredevil #frank castle #matt murdock #fratt fanfiction #frank castle fanfiction #matt murdock fanfiction #frankmatt #mes fics #complete fic

80 notes · View notes

bettyfrommars · 6 months ago

Note

oh my oh my oh my... I'm here to break the rules...

S3 and E1, &, 🖤💙

I'm awaiting your wrath

oh Somna you sneaky little gremlin you! absolutely anything for you

your People are nightmare!Steve and gargoyle!Eddie

your Place is Dealer's Choice, so I'm giving you Thrift Store

your Things are a Photograph and a Mixtape

word count: 800

18+ONLY, no major warnings just nightmares, Steddie-ish, mention of migraines, monsters, taxidermy. I write these fast and post them without much fuss in an effort to not get too precious about things and just have fun, I love you for reading. Also, I have at least 30 of these asks sitting in my drafts, but this might be my last one for a while.

pick your poison

You'd walked down that same street a million times when the glass storefront with the sign Lost & Found on the door appeared out of nowhere one day. You were certain there'd been nothing but an alleyway in that space the day before.

A bell above the door dinged when you went in, heralding your arrival with an exceptionally shrill clanging that reverberated off your skull. For a second you feared it might trigger another migraine.

"Can I help you find anything?" Steve said from behind the desk, peeking around a tall stack of books, adjusting his thick, tortoiseshell glasses. Behind him was an old Zenith box television showcasing nothing but static.

"Um," you felt suddenly overwhelmed by the shelves of oddities stuffed into the small space, not sure where to look when your eyes landed on what appeared to be a taxidermied squirrel with tiny fangs.

"No, I think I'll just look around if that's alright," you pivoted to avoid a mound of used shoes that were piled up to your hip. At a glance, none of them came in pairs.

"I moved the mixtapes over by the radios," he shuffled around to come out from behind the desk, a familiar glint in his eye. "Found a few new ones since last time."

You assumed maybe he thought you were someone else, so you didn't try to correct him. Must've been a coincidence that he knew about your affection for music relics from another age.

"Where did you find all these?" You asked a few minutes later, pawing through the bins of personalized tapes in in awe. There were handwritten lists of songs and notes inside the hard plastic covers, along with drawings and names on the spines. "For Terry, Love Emily" and "Favorite Metal Mix" along with different bands and titles to the collections.

You picked up a bright neon Memorex tape to inspect the songs on it penned in blue ink with a curious smile on your face. Steve came up behind you and stood with his hands in his pockets. He smelled good, like honeysuckle, sawdust, and freshly mowed grass.

"People lose things and I find them," he said with a shrug. "Have you lost anything? I might have it."

You turned to him then, and really took the time to appreciate the details of his face. The square of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, and the moles dotting down his flesh.

"We've met before, haven't we?"

He shifted his weight forward, leaning into your personal space with the ease of someone who had been there many times before.

"Are you lost? Do you need to be found?"

Something flashed in his eyes, something dark. Sinister, even. But it didn't make you afraid, it gave you comfort, like the thrill of entering a haunted house when you've paid to be scared.

You went back to rifling through the tapes before moving on to turn the knobs on the radios, and then check out the cameras. Some still had film in then, some were broken, and one was a folding Polaroid Land Camera with a processed photo next to it.

The image edged in white was of a magnificent gargoyle in a red rose garden with its head down and wings pinned to its sides. Chiseled muscles and clawed hands. The statue had long dark hair and wore what looked like a guitar pick on a chain around its neck.

"He's beautiful," you whispered, turning the photo over to see if there was any description on the back.

"He's a pain in my ass," Steve mumbled, slamming a few books into their respective slots on the nearby bookshelf.

"Why is that?" His annoyed tone made you chuckle, craning your neck to see where he went.

"Look at the photo again," he said with his back to you.

You did as you were told, struck with confusion to find that there was no longer a statue in the garden. You blinked a few times, thinking it might've been a trick of the light.

"Well, that doesn't make any sense. Where did it---"

"Now look behind you," Steve crossed his arms to lean against the bookshelf, waiting.

You turned, expecting to find another photo or something else besides...

Your blood ran cold at the gargoyle man standing an arm's length away.

He was naked, with lips the same slate gray as his skin, and his black eyes sought yours for reassurance.

"Eddie will you please cut it out?" Steve put his hands on his hips. "You're going to scare all of my customers away."

"Eddie," you cocked your head. "Is that your name?"

He offered one long nod, bowing his head to you, wings twitching.

"He won't hurt you," Steve assured softly. "He loves you as much as I do.

#Pick Your Poison #nightmare!steve #gargoyle!eddie #the nightmare factory #somna my liege 💙#Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington

28 notes · View notes

fortheloveofwonderland · 1 year ago

Text

Midnight | Chapter 12 | SR

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - after arriving in Crested Butte, things seem like they might finally be getting better between you and Spencer. But when Spencer meets a beautiful, young local, can he resist temptation?

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - brief mention of oral (m receiving) and brief mention of penetrative sex, a surprising amount of fluff, swearing.

WC - 4.4k

Chapter 12 - Better Than This

By the time you finally arrived in Crested Butte, Colorado it felt like an entire lifetime had passed since you left DC. You’d changed so much as a person in that time you weren’t sure you even recognised yourself anymore.

Somewhere along the drive from Albuquerque Spencer had detoured off into the mountains where you watched from the car while he dug a hole in the middle of the forest and buried the body of Duncan Green.

You’d made another stop at a pay-by-the-hour motel in which you’d showered and changed into clean clothes. And maybe during the course of cleaning yourselves up you’d found yourself on your knees for him, worshipping him with your mouth, despite the fact he didn’t deserve it.

Driving up through the small town of Crested Butte you found yourself in awe of the quaint little place. It was nestled right into the base of the town's namesake mountains, this time of year lacking their winter snow but they were no less breathtaking.

You drove down Elk Avenue, the town’s main street just as the sun was beginning to set. The dainty street was lined with wooden buildings of every colour of the rainbow, with eccentric signs promoting each business. Benches and trees periodically lined the kerbside and a few people meandered the street but very few cars were around.

Spencer slowed the Nissan so the two of you could take it all in. The place was free of any big corporate chains, opting for that small town charm you found in really rural parts of America. Boutique storefronts boosted names such as Townie Books, Milky Way Boutique, Scouts General Store and the Oh-Be-Joyful art gallery.

You spotted at least five coffee shops, with equally cutesy names, a breakfast diner called McGill’s, a surprising array of restaurants including Garlic Mike’s and Uley’s Cabin and Ice Bar and an even more impressive selection of bars. It was a small community, the kind of place where you assumed everybody knew each other’s business. Maybe not the best place for two criminals to hide out, but you could only hope Spencer knew what he was doing.

But as if reading your mind he inhaled sharply with a shake of his head.

“Jesus Christ, everyone is looking at us.”

“It’s like being under a microscope.” You agreed.

“We’ll just have to be on our best behaviour, Rose.” He shot you a sideways glance.

He turned up 4th Street which thankfully didn’t have as many onlookers and was soon taking a right onto Gothic Avenue. He pulled the Nissan to a stop outside the house at the very end of the road, shut off the engine and jumped out of the car. With a roll of your eyes, you followed him.

He grabbed your bags and led you to the front gate. Your heart swelled in your chest as you took in the facade of the newly renovated cabin, secluded at the end of the street.

A little cobbled path led to the house, with a neatly trimmed lawn either side. The house itself was made of rustic, dark wood, with a couple of stone steps leading up to the front porch with two rocking chairs side by side and a cute little window complete with a flower box with some beautiful red flowers blooming inside it.

There was a black metal lockbox next to the front door which Spender tapped a code into and fished out the keys sheathed inside. He handed them to you and motioned for you to do the honours. You felt a surge of excitement and couldn’t hold back the grin from your face as you took them from him and eagerly slotted them in the front door.

The door opened into the cosy living room with hardwood floors and an exposed brick fireplace which were strangely juxtaposed against the large flat screen TV hanging on the wall. All the furnishings were miss matched which you found extremely endearing, no two cushions were the same, let alone the couches and chairs.

To the right of the door was the open plan kitchen which was decked out with all new appliances, marble countertops and a huge double fridge. Out the back of the kitchen was the dining room with a low hanging chandelier over the table which you didn’t think would look out of place in an Arthurian castle. A bathroom was off to the side and another living room out the back, this one was much more modern yet still kept with the miss matched furniture theme.

You followed the staircase behind the dining room up to the first floor and quickly located the master bedroom. By this point your mouth was hanging open in awe. The bedroom was large and light and airy, all white painted wood with a sloping ceiling but was still tall enough for Spencer, at just over six feet tall, to stand without hindrance. The bed was a huge king sized, with the softest looking sheets and big fluffy pillows. The light grey carpet was plush and you couldn’t wait to run your toes through it.

On one side was a built-in wardrobe and a door leading to a very modern en-suite. On the other side was a large grey armchair and double doors leading out to the first floor patio area. You ambled forward, looking much like a kid in a candy shop and pushed open the doors.

The patio overlooked the garden and you estimated by the placement that it most likely got sun for most of the day, not that it was warm enough in Crested Butte in spring to sunbathe. It had a couple of wicker couches with more miss matched cushions lining them and a little glass coffee table. On the far side was a spiral staircase that led down to the neat backyard, which had a raised decking with more garden furniture and a fairly decent sized hot tub.

From the first floor you had the most perfect view of the sprawling Crested Butte mountains as far as the eye could see. Your heart yearned for this place, like for the first time in your life you could breathe easily. You immediately felt at peace here, maybe you had finally found your way home. It was as though someone had plucked your ideal home straight from your brain and made it a reality. It was a flawless recreation of all your hopes and dreams.

Spencer dumped the bags on the floor in the bedroom and watched you curiously from the doorway. He folded his arms across his chest and leant against the doorjamb while he watched the back of your head. Somehow he already knew you were smiling.

When you turned to him, the tears behind your eyes were immediately noticeable but your lips were turned up into the brightest smile you’d ever seen.

“How did you know?” You croaked, not daring to walk over to him.

“You’re kidding right?” He chuckled with a shake of his head. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve talked about living off the grid, in some backwater town where everybody knows your name. Quaint, you used that word a lot. Rustic. I remember once or twice you mentioned the Gilmore Girls?”

Your smile grew and you had to fight back the tears.

“You found me my very own Stars Hollow.” You felt so emotional that Spencer would do this for you. You’d genuinely started to think he didn’t care about you and that your presence was a burden to him. But how many men would do this for you?

“Yeah, well don’t read too much into it.” He rolled his eyes. “You know it's great for me too because it's close to a ton of other states so I have a wealth of targets and small town charm has its appeal.”

“You found me my own Stars Hollow.” You repeated as you started towards him across the patio.

He dropped his arms to his sides but his back went rigid, a frown forming on his brow.

“What are you doing?” He grumbled when you were suddenly throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into your body.

“It’s called a hug, Spence.” You giggled, and god if he hadn’t heard you made that sound in so long.

It melted him, truly turned him into a puddle and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around you in return and hold you close. He breathed you in, mesmerised by the way you felt tucked in his embrace like you’d belonged there all along. It felt so much like old times and maybe Spencer hadn’t completely ruined things with you after all.

This town, this cabin had been another way for him to show his gratitude towards you when he had such a hard time expressing it with words. And seeing how happy it made you caused his heart to explode in his chest. You deserved so much better than he’d been offering you lately. Something had to change.

When you pulled back to look at him, you both kept your arms around each other and the way Spencer was looking at you was different to anyway he’d looked at you as of late. His smile reached all the way to his eyes and if you weren’t mistaken, he looked almost bashful. It was a side of him you hadn’t seen in so long and so you couldn’t help but get up on your tiptoes and place a soft kiss to his lips.

He hummed into the kiss, large hands flush on your back and he used his tongue to tentatively part your lips. The kiss deepened but it wasn't so animalistic and frantic as usual, he was soft and almost shy, his hands not hungrily pawing at your body like you were used to.

You gently moved the two of you further into the room until Spencer’s legs hit the bed. He pulled away from your lips and looked down with a doe-eyes stare.

You smiled at him and nodded, motioning for him to get on the bed. He swallowed and bent down to remove the Colt from his boot, setting it on the nightstand before kicking his shoes off. He lowered himself to the mattress and shuffled up the bed until his back was against the pillows.

He seemed nervous, such a strange change in character to the way he’d been the other times you’d been in this position. He was giving over full control to you and for once he didn’t care.

You crawled on the bed and into his lap, knees either side of his thighs. You could feel his erection pressing between your legs but he wasn’t grinding against you or rushing you to get undressed. His hands found purchase on your hips but it wasn’t his typical firm grip, his fingers brushing lightly against your shirt.

His lips were slightly parted, as if waiting for another kiss. You bowed your head closer to him to offer him what he wanted, and once again the kiss was much less hurried than you were used to. Spencer seemed to want to explore every inch of your mouth with his tongue, languidly venturing to commit every corner to memory.

You placed your hands against his chest while his fingers started to knead your sides. You could feel his heart beating beneath your palm. It felt somewhat erratic.

“Are you ok?” You whispered against his lips.

“Very much so.” He replied just as softly.

“Your heart is racing.” You giggled again and felt his heart actually skip a beat.

“Because I want to tell you how much you mean to me, but I don’t know how.” He pulled back and looked deep into your eyes. “I’m…I…”

You noticed his hesitance, you knew what he wanted to say but you knew how hard it was for him. You cupped his face and stroked his cheek lovingly.

“How about, you’re my partner in crime?” You smiled softly at him. “That can be our own little way of saying it without actually saying it.”

He mused on it for a second, rolling his lip between his teeth before he started to nod.

“I like that.” His hand found its way to the back of your neck. “My partner in crime.”

Using his hold on your neck he pulled you close and kissed you again. Piece by piece your clothes landed on the floor until you were both naked and you were straddling his lap once more.

You ran your fingers briefly over the uncovered wound on his abdomen, the first time you’d seen his crude stitch work. He didn’t seem to mind, offering you a slightly melancholy smile as you did so.

This time when you had sex it was so different from the others. Spencer let you set the pace as you rode him and he looked at you with so much love in his eyes you thought you might burst. It was slow and sensual, like you had all the time in the world.

After you both came he immediately pulled you into his arms and placed tender kisses on your head muttering over and over again, my partner in crime.

Eventually you both fell asleep like this in your beautiful little cabin, wrapped up in a blissful blanket or adoration. Maybe you’d both finally found what you’d been searching for. Maybe together you’d found a home.

***

The following morning Spencer woke you up by placing kisses on your neck. The two of you had sex before you’d barely opened your eyes and it was equally as sweet and sensual as it had been last night.

You showered together in your en-suite and all the while he couldn’t take his eyes off of you and he had a dreamy smile on his lips.

After you walked into the town hand in hand. The sun was shining but it was bitterly cold, you’d need to invest in some big sweaters or something if Spencer planned on staying here.

He took you for breakfast at McGill’s. It was a tall, narrow turquoise building with large front windows which let the sun shine through. The two storey building was already packed with townspeople.

A friendly older man who’s name badge announced him as Fred seated you on one of the last free tables downstairs and took your breakfast orders. Spencer held your hand across the table and still the smile couldn’t be wiped from his face.

“This is how I pictured it.” He spoke after your coffee was brought over.

“Pictured what?” You used your free hand to pick up your mug and take a sip.

The coffee was like liquid heaven as it passed your lips, as if this place couldn’t get any better. It warmed your insides as it made its way down, the way Spencer was looking at you warmed your heart.

“This. Us.” He shrugged and you swore you saw a light blush creep to his cheeks.

It was a complete one eighty from the Spencer you’d come to know recently. Just yesterday he’d been violently fucking you over the hood of the car and today he like being with a different person. This was the sweet and dorky Spencer Reid you’d worked with at the BAU, the one you’d called your best friend.

“You thought about us? Like more than friends?” You dared to ask and his blush seemed to deepen.

“Sometimes.” He admitted. “Sometimes I wondered what it could be like. This is pretty close to how I imagined it.”

“Me too.” You agreed.

Your food was brought over soon after and you ate in relative silence while shooting each other the occasional smile. After breakfast you stocked up on supplies at Scout’s General Store which from the outside you thought looked more like a school or community hall.

According to the little hanging sign in the window it was only open Wednesdays to Sundays. It sold most everything the two of you could need for the time being, all your grocery essentials which were locally sourced, it even stocked clothes, gift cards and jewellery. The one thing it didn’t seem to sell was alcohol.

You filled up a trolley of goods, taking note of the high prices of the artisan goods and wondering if you wouldn’t have been better to drive out of town and find a Walmart. But Spencer didn’t seem phased.

When you ambled over to the single checkout, the girl in her twenties, with fire engine red hair, didn’t even notice your presence. She was sitting cross legged on the chair behind the counter, a magazine open in her lap which her eyes were trained on. You and Spencer and exchanged a glance and he shrugged and started unloading the groceries onto the counter.

Her eyes suddenly snapped up, bright green and large, and landed straight on Spencer. You watched the way those eyes grazed him up and down before landing back on his face and her lip quirked into a smile.

“Well hello there.” She pushed herself to her feet, not even so much as glancing at you. “You must be new in town. I’d surely recognise a face like that.”

Spencer pulled that tight lipped smile you knew meant he was uncomfortable as she started ringing up the items and he grabbed a few paper bags.

“Uh yeah, arrived last night.” He nodded.

“You look like a city boy. What brings you to a place like Crested Butte?” She kept her eyes on him and didn’t even glance down at the groceries.

City boy? You frowned to yourself. He looks like a teacher's assistant.

“Uh, just, uh…travelling.” He shrugged awkwardly.

“Travelling, huh?” The girl repeated like she’d never heard of the concept before. “Well welcome to our little mountain paradise. I’m Mary.”

“Sp…” he started but quickly corrected himself. “Andrew.”

“And I’m Rose.” You cleared your throat as you spoke. “His wife.”

Mary glanced up at you finally, scrutinising you a little before looking back at Spencer.

“Huh.” She shrugged. “Nice to meet you, Andrew.”

You rolled your eyes and decided not to let it bother you. If you let yourself get annoyed by every woman who was attracted to Spencer you’d spend your whole life frustrated.

Mary finished ringing up the items and Spencer handed her some cash, all the while looking a little like a deer in headlights. Sure Mary was cute, animated eyes, a little button nose and pouty lips. But she had to be almost half Spencer’s age, you were almost embarrassed for her.

“I, uh, noticed you didn’t sell any alcohol here?” Spencer took the change from Mary and pocketed it.

“You’ll have to go to Mountain Spirits just down the road.” She smiled at him and you saw Spencer swallow.

“Th-thanks.” He scooped up the bags but kept staring at the young redhead.

You rolled your eyes and pushed him by his shoulder.

“It’s time to leave, honey.” You spat, ushering him towards the door.

Maybe you should have been worried. Maybe you should have considered that just because Spencer seemed smitten with you now, it was only a few days ago you caught him making out with that blonde in Edwardsville. Would you even have a right to be annoyed? Your rings were simply for show and apart from being partners in crime, the two of you weren’t strictly partners in any other aspect.

You weren’t his girlfriend, you most certainly weren’t his wife, so what if Spencer dabbled in a little harmless flirting, if that was even what it was. Mary was not a threat, at least you didn’t think so.

But you didn’t take into account how rapidly Spencer was able to shift between his two personalities, and that just because he seemed like the old Spencer now, it didn’t mean it would last. And you’d find yourself on the receiving end of his darker persona once more, a lot sooner than you would think.

***

Townie Books, the olive green building just across the street from Scout’s General Store doubled as the Rumours Coffee and Tea House. Spencer had been thrilled to find they had a bookstore in town and couldn’t wait to check it out.

You’d opted to stay at the cabin, with a nice glass of red wine you’d picked up from Mountain Spirits on the first floor balcony while Spencer strolled back into town.

He was busy perusing the aisle, running his fingers along book spines and relishing in the smell of old books you rarely found these days. He was a little lost in the displays, and so he didn’t notice he was being watched until he turned from one rack towards another and found a large pair of startling green eyes staring back at him.

“I pegged you as a book lover.” Mary’s eyes sparkled at him as she leant back against the shelves, looking him up and down.

“You met me for all of five minutes, how could you have possibly pegged me as a book lover in that time?” He folded his arms across his chest, returning her scrutiny.

“I’m really good at reading people. No pun intended.” Her lip quirked at her own bad joke.

Oh sweetheart, you have no idea, he thought to himself.

He’d profiled her with ease the minute he met her. Oldest of many siblings, which was why she was able to concentrate so hard on her magazine and distance herself from what was going on around her. Daddy issues, that was a given in the way she was clearly interested in a man much older than her. Maybe an abusive father, certainly absent. Mother was emotionally unavailable, probably working long hours to try and make ends meet for all her kids, leaving Mary to pick up the slack and take care of her younger siblings.

Attention starved, she dyed her hair red in an attempt to get people just to notice her. The tattoo he could see peeking out of the top of her shirt on her collarbone only went to further prove that point. She projected confidence to hide the fact she was deeply insecure and desperately lonely.

“Huh, you don’t say.” He nodded.

“So,” she glanced around for a moment or two. “Where’s your wife?”

“At the cabin.” He tried to hide his smirk.

“If I had a husband who looked like you, I wouldn’t let him out alone.”

Spencer felt a stirring in his groin, he couldn’t help it, he was only human and she was beautiful.

“Duly noted.” He replied, the smirk starting to spread to his lips. “So you seem well informed, what’s there to do around here on a Saturday night?”

“There’s a surprising amount of bars around here, but my favourite is the Wooden Nickel.” She shrugged, puffing out her chest a little and causing Spencer’s eyes to glance down at her cleavage.

He swallowed and tried to focus himself.

“And why is that?”

“I work there.” She shrugged again.

“You work there and at the grocery store?”

“Sometimes I help out here too. I’m saving up to get my ass outta here.”

“Fair enough.” Spencer nodded, trying not to think too much about her ass now she’d put that idea in his head.

“So I’ll be working tonight, maybe you can come and keep me company?” She took a step forward and reached for him, her long nail grazing the under side of his stubbly chin. “With or without your wife.”

With a wink sent his way, she was suddenly turning and sauntering away and she knew he was staring at her ass as she went. Spencer fell back against the bookshelves, heart racing against his chest and a semi growing in his pants.

He owed you so much more than this and he knew it. But he also knew he was weak and he was almost certain, given half the chance he would most defintely fuck that beautiful, young red head into oblivion.

He watched her go, feeling light headed with arousal, knowing he was playing with fire. It was wrong for him to even be thinking such things and you deserved better than he was giving you. If he kept on like this it was only a matter of time before he lost you for good.

You were his partner in crime, he’d never forgive himself if he pushed you away but pushing you away was sometimes easier than loving you. He needed to make a change, he needed to love you better than this before he ran out of apologises and you walked away forever.

But fuck if Mary wasn’t so goddamn tantalising.

Wide awake on the couch,

Don't know what we're fightin' 'bout.

This isn't the first time,

Said some things I didn't mean,

Acting like we're seventeen.

I hate making you cry.

Running out of times to apologize.

I need to love you better than this,

What am I doin'?

One more slip and I'm gonna lose you,

I got to get my shit together and love you better, yeah.

Better before you change your mind and slam the front door,

Leave me behind,

And I think I'd hate myself forever.

I need to love you better than this,

'Cause there's nothing better than this, no.

Swear to God, I'll get it right,

Won't turn my best into a lie.

I'll pay more attention,

I don't want all of this.

To turn into what could've been,

A chance at redemption.

Runnin' out of times to apologize.

I need to love you better than this,

What am I doin'?

One more slip and I'm gonna lose you,

I got to get my shit together and love you better, yeah.

Better before you change your mind and slam the front door,

Leave me behind,

And I think I'd hate myself forever.

I need to love you better than this, ooh yeah,

'Cause there's nothing better than this, no.

Shadows on the ceiling,

Like I'm upside down and feeling.

Like I don't even know me at all.

Waiting for permission,

To be everything I'm missing,

Isn't the way I planned this at all.

I need to love you better than this,

What am I doin'?

One more slip and I'm gonna lose you,

I got to get my shit together and love you better, yeah.

Better before you change your mind and slam the front door,

Leave me behind,

And I think I'd hate myself forever.

I need to love you better than this, ooh yeah,

'Cause there's nothing better than this.

No, no, no, no,

I wanna love you better than this,

Ooh yeah, ooh, there's nothing better than this, no.

I need to love you better than this.

@muffin-cup @andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @takeyourleap-of-faith @ssa-uglywhore27 @bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world @thebloomingeagle @daddy-dotcom @dreatine @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland

#spencer reid #unsub spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

112 notes · View notes

shootybangbang · 10 months ago

Text

The Nature of Hounds [Part 1/?]

[Ao3 link]

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Mature

Tinkering around with low honor Arthur Morgan. Unedited, feel free to point out errors and give criticism.

------

When you shake the pocket watch, it rattles with the jingle of loose parts. You frown and set it back down on the table. “This is broken. Best I can do is three dollars.”

“Get outta here with that shit.” Arthur taps the metal casing. “This is real gold. You can do at least ten.”

You weigh the watch against your palm.

“Well?”

“Gold plated.”

“You’re kiddin’ me.”

“You know I don’t kid when there’s money on the line.”

“Lowest I’ll go on this is nine.”

“Four.”

He gives you a look.

“You think that yokel over in Emerald Ranch’ll give you a better deal?” you ask.

Seamus would buy this fucking watch for no less than fifteen fucking dollars. He’d give the thing a once over, offer a timid “I can give you five”, then buckle at a glare and go triple. And yet here he is. Following the whim of his cock and his own misplaced affections, like a bull with a lead strung through its nose.

“I’ll tell you what. Mr Kuang downstairs used to be a watchmaker. This thing doesn’t sound that busted, and he owes me a favor anyhow. I’ll do you four fifty.”

He raises his eyes up to high heaven and sighs. “Fine.”

“So adding up the rings, the pendant, the cameo, and the, uh… the teeth… I’ve got you totalling seventeen.” You slide a neatly penciled memorandum across the table. “Check my sums if you don’t believe me.”

“I ain’t botherin’ with that.”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t.” You sweep the little pile of stolen goods into a drawer. “Is it because you’re stupid or you’re sweet, I wonder?”

“Prob’ly the first.” He dips his head down to steal a kiss, but you press a stern palm against his shoulder and hold him at arm’s length.

“Not when I’m behind the counter.”

“Take care of this shit later.”

“Down.”

“C’mon—”

“I said down.”

So he steps back with his heart sunk one notch lower. Posts himself near the front door, arms crossed, hat brim tipped low, cleaning the dirt beneath his fingernails with a pocket knife as the rectangle of light spilled from the window begins to tick across the floorboards in a dimming dial. He presides over the thin trickle of customers and peddlers alike with a baleful eye, and it’s not until the bell tower in the square tolls five and you swing open the side gate in a flurry of swirling skirts that he can pull you in by the waist and sink into the frantic kiss that you press him with.

Locked door, shuttered windows. Hurriedly, you flip the sign posted against the glass from OPEN to CLOSED as he flattens your back against the wall and pulls the ribbon at your throat loose with a yank of his teeth. You sift your fingers through his hair, then grip hard, yanking his head back. “Three weeks without a letter, you bastard,” you snarl. “Thought they’d hanged you someplace out west."

“Aw, don’t tell me you was worried.”

“‘Course I was worried. You’re my best earner.”

The smile you flash along the slight is sweet and quick as a fleeting slip of riverlight, and he forces himself to smile back, but the truth remains that he has never come here empty handed. Still fearful of the risk that you might cut him with the same expectant look Dutch has at the end of deals gone wrong and scores lost.

Your eyes shut slow as you kiss him again. He runs his palm up your back as he finds and unclips the clasp of your blouse and the tension in your hand loosens like weakening resolve. It surprises him still, that gentling spread that flows arterial at the simple touch of his hand.

The room tucked behind the storefront is cramped and cluttered with belongings that you have only recently begun letting him examine. When you lead him in, it’s with your hands clutching his neckerchief like reins, tripping over the hazard of table corners and your lone, bystanding chair. You walk backwards into your unmade bed, and he lets you pull him atop you with an obedience he scarcely understands. You fumble to pull down his belt and he yanks down your skirt in a confusion of hands as you work to lay each other bare. “Did you miss me,” you murmur, and he answers not with words but with a violent jerk of his hips, relaying with friction what he does not know how to otherwise.

Arthur cups his hand to your cunt, trails his middle finger along the wet seam like tracing the crest of a wave. In red fantasy, he takes the time to prime you for him, spreads and sucks the soft furl of flesh with his mouth, but you have never had the patience for foreplay. It's as if the unselfish act of pleasuring you were a step too intimate; even in this, a necessary expectation of quid pro quo that you have not the inclination to entertain.

“Come on then, gunslinger,” you growl. Another kiss, fierce and carrying the admonishment of teeth. You jerk the fabric of his shirt up to reveal his chest, then stiffen and splay your hand over the filthy bandage wrapped there. “Christ.”

“It’s nothin’.”

The cloth is stained with old blood that has seeped from the locus of his wound like a rust colored bloom, and is grimy from sweat and travel. You stare at it with revulsion. “Morgan, this is disgusting.”

The prickle of shame that stretches up his spine has transitioned to sullen indignation by the time it reaches his head. “Didn’t figure someone in your line of work to be so goddamned squeamish.” He tries to pull his shirt back down. You grab his wrist.

“Keep this off,” you say. “I’m running you a bath.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #fic #my work #the nature of hounds #this is totally unrelated to talking bird btw

40 notes · View notes

callmelittlebuttercup · 8 months ago

Text

Peace Offerings Pt.4

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Chapter Summary: Joel and Reader pack up Bill's truck and get back on the road. After Reader is hurt in a raider attack in Pittsburg, Joel attempts to comfort her. Then the two seek out a safe place to sleep for the night: on the 33rd floor of a high rise apartment building.

Series Warnings: Slow burn, 18+ Minors DNI, Sexual Themes, Violence, Injuries (depictions of blood, bruising, broken bones), Grumpy!Joel, Minimal depictions of reader's appearance (hair color/length.)

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part Four

The next morning, I helped Joel load up Bill’s truck as the battery charged. We took everything we would need, and everything we could fit. Joel started off the drive, and I was in charge of the map. I’d done this for my parents for every roadtrip since my brother couldn’t be trusted to pay attention. I stayed focused, making sure to not worsen the tension between us by steering him wrong.

We approached the city. Its condition was almost identical to the Boston QZ, except for one thing: No FEDRA. “That’s not a good sign.” I mumbled to myself as Joel backed the truck away from the congested tunnel. “No shit.” He replied. We drove around the tunnel and through some smaller, more narrow streets. I could tell Joel was stressed, and he became even more so when a young guy limped out into the street while waving his hands and screaming “Help! Please help!” Joel sped up and I gripped the door handle and the center console, “What are you doing?” I asked panickedly. Joel pressed his foot farther down on the pedal and sped towards the guy. I closed my eyes and braced for impact, but it never came. I looked back to see the damage, but the guy was walking away without a limp. “Those were raiders.” I realized. “Yea, and we’ve gotta get the fuck out of h-” Joel’s words paused when he saw another man drop a barrel straight onto the windshield of the truck.

“Belt off, now!” I heard Joel call as the truck crashed into a storefront. I looked down and saw shards of broken glass scattered across my abdomen. I gasped and moved to take my seatbelt off, but as I reached down I ran my hand straight into a huge shard sticking up between the seats. I yelped in pain, and saw Joel run to my side of the truck. He practically ripped the door open and leaned over me to undo my seatbelt. “You okay?” He asked as his eyes scanned my face. “My hand,” I said as I lifted it up to show him. “Shit. Okay come on.” He pulled away and helped me out of the truck. We covered our heads with our backpacks as we ran to the nearest source of shelter. My hand stung as I dug through my pack to find extra ammo while Joel kept a lookout.

We heard men approaching and hurried to press our backs against the truck. I looked at Joel, his eyes were wild. They had the same look as when he beat the shit out of the FEDRA gaurd back in Boston. He looked at me and quickly looked back down to my gun. “Hey! We know you’re back there. You can come on out with your hands above your head.” A man’s voice called out. Joel looked at me and shook his head. I kepted still, and waited for my next demand. All of a sudden, Joel stood and began shooting at the men. I did the same alongside him, and took out two of the three. Once we thought we were clear, we turned around and headed for the door in the back of the shop. Before we could reach it, the door burst open and a teenage boy appeared screaming. He held a baseball bat above his head and wielded it wildly. He saw me and aimed, but a shot rang out, and more screaming filled the air. “Please! Please my mom will give you whatever you want if you don’t kill me. Please.” He begged. Joel stood over him, and I watched. “Joel, he’s a kid.” I whimpered. He looked at me, and his eyes widened. I felt two hands grab onto my shoulders and I was yanked back. My body slammed into a taller, more muscular form, and I felt the cold metal of a gun pressed against my head. “Let him go, or Kathleen won’t be happy.” the man holding me demanded. I struggled against his grip, but there was no point, I wasn’t getting out of his hold. The man’s hand moved from my neck, his fingers never left my body as he slid his hand over my breasts down to my torso, then settling it into the curve of my hips. “Got yourself a pretty one, don’t you? It’d be a shame if I took her for myself.” He purred. My stomach turned sour and my cheeks burned with anger. Joel’s face twisted in disgust, “Get your fuckin’ hands off of her.” He growled. “You get your hands off the boy first.” My free hand felt around my thigh for the knife I had strapped onto it. I breathed out in relief when my fingers grasped the wooden handle. I pulled it out slowly, then as soon as my grip on it was good, I jammed it into his thigh. He let out a gutteral scream, and his grip on me loosened. I jumped away from him, flinging my body to the floor. Joel fired two shots into his chest, and the huge man crumpled to the ground.

I sat up and shook off whatever had just happened. Joel kept his gun trained on the kid who was slowly losing his strength, but his eyes were locked onto me. “You o-” He started to ask, but I cut him off as I stood up, “I’m fine.” He nodded and turned his attention back to the boy. His eyes had closed and his chest was no longer moving. I swallowed back the tears that were forming in my eyes and picked my backpack off the ground. “We need to move.” I said before opening the back door of the shop and exiting into the alleyway. Joel followed me.

We broke into another vacant store to recuperate for a second. I slid down the wall and onto the floor, folding my legs against my chest and Joel sat on a desk across from me. He was checking how many bullets he had in his gun, but his eyes kept drifting over to my crumpled up form. I had been staring vacantly at the floor. “Better get that hand wrapped up.” He said as he gestured to my shaky, blood covered hand. I picked bit up and looked at it, reminded of the injury. My mind had been so focused on the way the man touched me. The places his hands violated, though not injured, hurt worse than the slice taken out of my hand. I wanted to shed my skin. Just slough it off in one piece and walk away. I nodded and reached into my backpack for a roll of bandaging that I’d stolen from Bill’s medicine cabinet. I sucked air through my teeth as I finally felt the pain of the wound while wrapping the bandage tightly around it. Once I’d tied off the wrapping, I shoved the roll back into my pack. My eyes lifted and met Joel’s. He was staring at me with a look I’d never seen before. It was soft, almost resembling pity. “Are you okay?” He asked again. I raised my hand in front of me to show him the bandage, “Yup.” I sighed. “No… like…” He groaned, clearly tripping over his words, “He shouldn’t have touched you that way. That’s all.” I swallowed, becoming uncomfortable with the vulnerability Joel had seen from me, then spoke, “Not much we can do about it now. After fighting for so long, women are back to being pieces of meat.” I mumbled. His brows furrowed, he wasn’t a fan of that sentiment, “That’s happened to you before?” He questioned, his eyes following me as I lifted myself off of the floor. “No personal shit. You said so yourself.” I grunted as I walked over to the window to peer out into the street. Joel remained quiet, tending to the bruise from his words being thrown back at him.

The truck was not drivable. Kathleen’s men had looted it, leaving nothing behind. Joel and I decided to find a place to hunker down for the night while we figured out what to do next. We’d found what looked to be a high rise apartment building. We climbed 33 floors before we were both desperately gasping for breath. “Jesus, I thought I was in shape.” I coughed as we both sat on the floor with our backs to the wall. Joel was wheezing so hard he was unable to answer. I pulled my canteen out of my bag and handed it to him. He took a few sips and closed his eyes in relief before handing it back to me. I did the same.

Once we had our breaths back, we began to make ourselves comfortable. I lined up couch cushions to act as beds, and Joel broke glass and sprinkled it all around the entrance of the room in order for us to hear any intruders. I laid down in the makeshift bed and sighed loudly as my aching back settled into the soft cushions. Sleep was not far away, but before my eyes fully closed, Joel spoke, “Make sure I stay on this side. I’m deaf as shit in my other ear.” I raised an eyebrow, “Uh…Okay?” He pressed his lips together, “From shootin’.” I nodded in understanding and returned to my back. Though the information was minimal, it was yet another peace offering. I decided to accept it and offer another in return, “G’night, Joel.” He opened his eyes and grunted, “G’night.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry for the length of this one ! You know what that means though.... next part is going to be GIRTHY ;)

Next Part | Masterlist

49 notes · View notes

crackedpumpkin · 2 years ago

Text

|| ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʀᴇᴅ ʜᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ ||

Hello everyone! Welcome to part one of my seven-part series featuring the one and only Neon Leon. I’m so excited to be sharing this with you all, and I hope you enjoy! Part two will be coming next week :)

| next | masterlist |

You stifle a yawn, rubbing your eyes as you sit back up from where you had fallen asleep in the kitchen. You stretch, feeling your spine pop. Your lips part for a solid yawn to escape, sleepily blinking a couple times.

You glance at the clock on the top of the archway that connects your kitchen to the storefront, realizing that your cookies are about to be burnt. You grab the oven mitts, avoiding the cloud of hot steam that escapes once you swing open the door to your oven.

You take out the tray, hissing when your finger barely touches the burning hot metal. You place it on the wooden counter, allowing the freshly baked cookies to cool. You hurry over to where you had set down another tray from the same batch of chocolate chip cookies you had made, still unbaked. You slide it into the oven, shutting the door with a relieved sigh.

You look down at your crumpled dress, trying to brush out the creases but failing miserably. You shrug, deciding to take a quick shower. You change into a fresh set of clothes, slipping a recently-ironed cerulean dress onto your shoulders. You brush your tangled hair, brushing your teeth after.

By the time you were done, the new batch had finished baking. You repeat your actions from earlier, but this time putting all the cookies straight into a basket lined with a red checked cloth. You lock the door behind you, heading out into the market.

Today was the day before the week-long festival celebrating the return of the long-lost princess. In the years she had been missing, the king and queen of the kingdom had hosted a small celebration of lights, calling it the Sun Festival in honour of their missing child in hopes that she would one day return. However, that had been last week, and now, they had extended it to celebrate her return.

You participated every year ever since moving to the kingdom five years ago. And every year, you repeated the same routine of giving away free samples of your pastries, and you gained recognition for having some of the best baked goods in town.

However, the reputation came with its downfalls. Every year without fail, a thief would steal at least five of each baked good you set out on display. You knew it was the same thief because they'd leave a tell-tale sign - an almost cocky way of letting you know they would never be caught. It came in the form of an italic capitalized '𝓛,' which was their initial, or so you suspected.

You knew almost everyone in the village, and every person whose name started with L had reassured you that they had never stolen a single item before. You believed them, especially since they were all decent people with alright reputations.

As such, the search continued for five years, and the thief managed to escape the countless traps you set each time. It was absolutely infuriating.

You hand a cookie to Margaret, a girl only one year younger than you who helped to run her family's clothing store. They were your go-to for new clothes, and without fail, they'd always produce the most gorgeous dresses with subtle details that made them stand out.

"Thanks, Y/n!" Margaret greets you with a smile, taking the cookie you hand to her. You chuckle at the messy bun she sports, helping to brush a few strands of her hair away from her eyes. She brings the cookie close to her face, inhaling deeply with a blissful sigh.

"No worries, here's some for your parents, too, as thanks for the dress you made me." You hand her another two, and she takes them gratefully.

"Aw, yes! They love your cookies! I had to convince them not to buy thirty like they did last year." Margaret groans at the memory of the entire bucketload of cookies her parents had brought back home. You giggle, remembering how excited her parents' faces were when buying a few loaves, croissants, and cookies.

"The dress looks great on you, though!" She looks you up and down, her eyes calculative as she views how the cerulean compliments your hair.

"It's a little loose on the waist, but I think that's just the stress for this year's festival."

"Oh, that can be fixed in a second! Hang on." She pulls out a few safety pins from her skirt pocket, approaching you and taking some of the material, fiddling with it. She takes a step back after a few moments, a satisfied smile on her face as you beam, the dress resting perfectly and allowing your corset to settle nicely on your skin.

"So, how's preparation to catch the thief going?" Margaret asks, putting the rest of the safety pins back in her pocket. You smirk.

"Safe to say, that thief won't get away so easily this year." You hum, placing your hand on your hip with a smug smile. Hours of brainstorming for ways to catch them had proved fruitful, and you now had various plans in mind.

"That's good. Update me when you can! I gotta go off and finish another order."

You wave goodbye to Margaret, who hurries off, watching her weave through the crowd and back into her shop. You continue to walk, handing out cookies to anyone in sight.

The crowd of tourists almost made it impossible to squeeze through the public, and you had to hold your breath every now and then for some wiggle room. Your basket is practically empty, save for one last cookie. You were almost home, so that cookie would be saved as your late-night snack.

"Ugh!"

You stumble, almost falling to the ground if not for a gloved hand holding your arm. You steady yourself, breathing a sigh of relief and glancing at the cookie in your basket. Thankfully, it was still in one piece. You look back up with a glare, the cloaked stranger in front of you taking a step back.

A hood covers their face, casting it in shadow. You wait for an apology, but none comes. So you stand and wait silently. They're adorned in a simple brown cloak and about a head taller than you.

"Well? Aren't you going to apologize to me?"

Your brows furrow, taken aback by the stranger's question. His voice is deep, yet there is an underlying playfulness within it.

"Excuse me, you bumped into me." You point out incredulously, raising a brow.

The stranger chuckles, shaking his head. "You were the one not looking where you were going. Oh well, I'll accept this as an apology."

Before you can even blink, a gloved hand snatches the cookie from your basket, holding it up to his eyes. (Or where you believe their eyes were. It was hard to tell.)

"Hey!" You protest, "That's mine!"

"What about all the other cookies you were handing out? Aren't they yours too?"

You fall silent, fingers curling into fists as you rein in your temper. You can hear the conceit in his voice as he tucks the cookie into his pocket. So much for your supper that night.

"Fine." You snap, feeling irritated by the man's presence.

"So, you're a baker?" You can almost hear the smirk on his lips.

"Yeah, I am. So you'd better enjoy that cookie because there sure won't be any left tomorrow." You nod towards his pocket where your precious cookie rests, and he chuckles. You cross your arms, ready to end the conversation with the rude man in front of you.

"Is that so? Well, I'll be sure to stop by then." His words have an almost impish edge, and your frown only spurs him to take a single bite of the freshly baked good he had snatched from you earlier.

He hums, and your curiosity overrides your disdain for the man. You wait for his reaction, expecting nothing less than a sigh of bliss.

"Kinda salty."

"Salty?" You repeat, flabbergasted by his response. He shrugs nonchalantly, watching your shoulders slump. You run your fingers through your hair, a few strands falling across your eyes as you laugh in disbelief.

No. You shouldn't believe in the words of a stranger who bumps into you without so much of an apology, much less blaming it on you.

You had better things to do, like catch a thief.

Besides, the thousands of people that flock to your store every year are more than enough to validate how good your baking is.

"Well," You address the stranger, and he shifts his weight to rest on one leg, "Thank you for your feedback, but I will not be changing the recipe to suit the taste buds of one man when many others enjoy my baking." You plaster a fake smile onto your lips, your words are emotionless, and your eyes regard him coldly.

"Goodbye." You walk past him, brushing against his cloak and approaching your door. You can sense his gaze on you, and you almost fumble with the keys. You unlock the door, cooly making your exit and shutting it behind you before heaving a frustrated groan in the comforts of your own home.

You leave your basket on the counter, eyeing the empty shelves of the store. You quickly eat, preparing for the all-nighter ahead of you if you want to get those pastries out by the morning. You push all thoughts of the earlier encounter out of your mind, washing your hands and turning out batches of dough that had been resting.

You work into the rest of the night, restocking empty shelves until the rooster that usually wanders into the empty streets of the early morning crows loudly. You look up from the piles of washed and dried metal trays, wiping off the sweat on your brow.

You glance around the store, a satisfied smile on your lips as you survey the shelves filled with loaves of bread of different varieties and, of course, your famous chocolate chips on a table in the centre of the store.

You head upstairs to your bedroom, quickly washing up in the bathroom before collapsing onto your bed in a tired heap. You nap for an hour, your clock soon ringing to wake you up. You drag yourself out of bed, putting on a new peach-coloured dress after a cold shower that wakes you up.

Sliding on a pair of comfortable flats, you head back downstairs where a crowd of regulars that visit your store every festival await you. You wave hello through the glass windows, setting up the drawer where you store your coins for change after the customers make their payment.

You take off the cloth covering all the shelves of baked goods, everyone outside becoming visibly excited. You fold them and put them away into a separate drawer, taking a deep breath before unlocking the door.

Customers pour in, making a beeline for the products they want. The bell hooked up to the top of the door jingles every time it's open, and it was a constant sound with the stream of people flooding in.

You take your place behind the counter, calculating the right amount of change and bagging the baked goods in paper bags.

"Hey, Mr. Smith, how's the missus?" You greet the tailor, who holds three loaves of rosemary and olive bread and two medium-sized bags of cookies. He hands you three crowns, and you open the drawer to give him the change.

"She's back home with Margaret, but she says hello, and to pass you this." He takes out a small handkerchief with your initials embroidered, and you gasp in delight. Cerulean lace surrounds the edges, the soft material like a cloud against your hand.

"Thank you!" You gush, folding it gently and placing it in your pocket. "I love it." You hand him back the change, bagging up the loaves in the paper bags. You wave him off with a toothy smile, paying attention to the next customer in the queue.

You take a break in the afternoon to have lunch, shutting the door much to the chagrins of others. You wave the tourists off, directing them to other stalls while you have lunch and prepare the first trap of many.

During the past few years, you had noticed that the thief always came around nightfall when everyone was distracted by the sunset.

Not this time.

This time you had a plan and were confident it'd succeed.

You restock the shelves, making sure to leave the last bag of cookies sitting on the table. You grab some pepper, sprinkling some inside the bag. You grab a small jar on the counter, coating the bag's underside and making sure it isn't apparent to the thief.

It was a jar of finely ground rose petals, the pigmented powder a gift from Margaret as a lip stain for your lips. However, you were using it to set the trap instead. Hopefully, she'd understand.

You hum a cheerful tune under your breath, heading into the back and waiting for the familiar chime of the bell. You grab a tray of croissants, heading back into the storefront. You fill the empty shelf, ensuring the wax paper is lined properly so the pastries wouldn't touch the bare wood.

You turn, glancing over your shoulder at the cookie trap you set.

Or at least where the cookies were a minute ago.

The tray clatters to the floor as you stand still, stunned by how the thief had managed to slip in and out without so much as a sound. This was the first time this had happened. You had even locked all the windows as a precaution, so how had he managed to get in??

The door was firmly shut, and the bell hadn't made a single chime or jingle.

The edge of the table has a faint dusting of red, and an italic '𝓛' is once again written in it. You grit your teeth, seething at the fact that the thief had not only managed to elude your sight yet again, but the cocky inscription of their initials was the tipping point.

"UGH!" You throw your hands up in frustration, your blood boiling as you storm back into the kitchen. You see yourself in the mirror, cheeks red and nostrils flared. Your eyes are filled with frustration.

You were so sure that it'd work!

You quickly march out the door to your store, eyes darting around as you try to spot the thief in the crowd. They had to be around somewhere.

You spot a flash of red, and you run, gently pushing past people and muttering, "excuse me!" in a rushed tone. You couldn't let them out of your side. They pause at a booth, and you finally catch up. "Got you now!"

Your words die in your throat when you finally look up from where your hands are on your hips, panting heavily to catch your breath. A tall, muscular man looks at you with wide eyes, confused by your sudden accusation.

You look down at his hands. You had seen red, hadn't you?

He holds a bouquet of roses, glancing down at it and back to you in a mildly unsettled manner. "Can I help you…?" He questions. He looks nervously at the owner of the booth you both are at, the owner shrugging helplessly.

"I must have mistaken you for someone else," You stammer out, cheeks flushed from embarrassment, "Have a free cookie at my store as an apology."

The man's face lights up, smiling broadly. "Gee, thanks!"

You hear a faint chuckle, instantly looking up at the crowd and scanning it intently. You were sure that had to have been the thief. It had to be.

You try to catch every face in the crowd, attempting to narrow down who it could have been. Unfortunately, it seemed that they had made yet another clean getaway. You practically deflate, almost tearing up out of frustration.

"You all good?" The man you accused earlier asks, and you respond with a simple nod, wiping your eyes roughly with the back of your hand.

"Yeah." You trudge back to your store with a forlorn look on your face. You clean the dust off the table along with the initial and restock the bags of cookies before opening for the evening crowd.

You focus on handling the customers, finally closing when the clock strikes midnight. You slide the lock shut on the front door, the now empty shelves a stark contrast to the early morning. You count the profit you made from the first day, sorting it into a small coin pouch and leaving the rest to use as change for the next day.

You wash up and head to bed, your body on autopilot. Your mind races with thoughts as you lay in your bed and stare blankly at the ceiling.

Today, the trap had failed.

That was what Plan B was for. It was only the first day, and there were still 6 more.

A spark of indignation is all it takes to get you fired up for the next day, and you drift off to sleep with a newly steeled resolve to catch that thief, even if it takes you countless plans from A through Z.

The following day, you wake up bright and early, changing into a rosemary-coloured dress, planning to upsell your herbed loaves of bread. You descend the stairs in your flats, brushing your hair back into a low ponytail.

You restock the shelves again, welcoming yet another crowd into the store. The day passes, and you're so caught up in promoting and selling your products that you almost forget to take a break for dinner.

Your hair is slightly dishevelled, locks framing your face as you wipe away the sweat with a damp cloth in the kitchen. You sit down, grab some baked potatoes and load them up with cream, sliced spring onions, and pickles. You set the plate down on the table, preparing the next trap.

You set down five loaves of bread where the cookies used to be(they had all sold out in the morning), securing a small bell to the last one and leaving a small hidden loop on the floor. It was a standard rabbit trap.

When the thief inevitably steals the loaves of bread, they'd pull on the last loaf, which would trigger the bell and the rope attached to it, causing their foot which would land in the small loop, to be trapped in the tightened rope, leaving them dangling and helpless.

Was it too much for Plan B?

Yes.

Would it stop you from using it?

Absolutely not.

So you stay in the back, choosing to sit so that you are close enough to the storefront and can rush out immediately. You eat your baked potato slowly, catching your breath from the hectic morning and taking the time to recharge for the evening crowd.

Minutes pass, and you begin to think the thief will never come.

The bell jingles.

You can hear muffled grunting, grabbing a solid frying pan on your stove, and slowly approaching the front. You peek out from behind the arch wall dividing the store's front and back, seeing a cloaked figure dangling by their green foot from the ceiling.

Wait.

Green?

Your brows furrow in confusion, walking towards them.

You recognize the cloak. It was the stranger you had bumped into the other day. The one who had said your cookie was too salty.

"Juuust great." His sarcastic comment makes you frown. He hadn't noticed you yet. You suck in a sharp and audible inhale through your teeth, and his body visibly stiffens, turning around.

His hood still shrouds his face in shadow, though you were pretty sure the rest of him was green too. His hands are holding down his cloak from exposing more than just his legs, and he gasps.

"Uh, rude?? You can't just stare at people like that, pervert."

Your face heats up at the lazy accusation he throws your way, eyes narrowing into a glare. You hold the frying pan defensively and turn it, so the handle is facing him instead. You poke his chest a few times.

"Ow." His deadpan voice makes you flinch, and you raise your brows.

"Look, this is all just a misunderstanding. I came here to check out the cookies again, and your stupid trap thing," He gestures to the rope around his ankle, keeping him dangling from the ceiling, "is making me late to meet my brothers." When gesturing, he lets go of the cloak, and it falls towards the ground. He yelps, clumsily grabbing it and holding it back to hide his body.

You catch a glimpse of two swords he has tucked away on his waist, along with more green skin. Your eyes study him until something catches your eye. You grab his hand, leaning in and looking at the bright red coating his fingertips.

"Ha!" You gasp as elation begins to rush through your body.

You did it! You caught the thief!

The thief sighs, his hands going limp. "Okay, fine. You got me." He caves easily, and you rejoice with a victorious giggle.

"I did it! I caught you! Ohhhhh, you've been such a pain in the side for five years. Five years! I've waited for this day. Now, pay up for all the stuff you took." You demand, lips pursed as you point the frying pan at him threateningly. You lean back smugly, your head tilted. There was nowhere for him to run, much less escape.

"So, about that…." You frown at his response, firmly pressing the frying pan's tip against his chest. "Wait! I don't have money. Can't you just put it on my tab, and we can settle this later. You can contact me through my lawyer!" He cries out.

You were getting tired of talking to a shadowed face. You wanted to see the face of the man who had been an irritating source of loss for you over the years. You use the handle to flip back the hood.

Your eyes widen, looking down at the thief in front of you.

Was he even human?

His entire body was lime green, a blue bandanna around his face with holes carefully cut out for his eyes. The tails of his bandanna fall out of the hood, dangling upside down above his head. Red crescent-like stripes over his eyes add a pop of colour, and you're stunned by the creature in front of you.

Your grip loosens, the frying pan sliding out of your hand to meet the floor with a loud clang. You take a step back, almost stumbling back.

"So... this is awkward." You flinch when he speaks, blinking rapidly as you process the sight. You don't know where to look, eyes darting from his face to his legs. He watches you with an almost amused smile, and you don't know whether to take that as offensive.

You’re a hundred percent sure you voice is shaky, scrambling to pick up your frying pan - your only weapon. Your legs give out, and you fall to the ground, pointing it at him with trembling hands. Your lips part.

"What are you?"

#rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt leo x reader #tmnt x reader #leo x reader #leonardo x reader #enemies to lovers #rottmnt leo x female reader #100 followers celebratory fic #CaughtRH #x reader #series

250 notes · View notes

ashwritesmonsters · 1 year ago

Text

The Thru-Hiker (interlude)

Female Reader x Male Mothperson (Desmond)

Prev: [Part 1] Next: [Part 2]

Words: 2k

Note: Just thought I'd put out something sorta cute and short to set up for the rest of Desmond's story! There's more coming, I'm just slow 😭

Long before Willow Grove wakes, Martha has already begun her day. The sky is still painted with stars when she ascends the spiral stairs of the old lighthouse.

Inside her cozy studio, built into the circular brick room just below where the lighthouse's lamp used to be, she brushes a hand over her equipment, the cool metal as familiar and comforting as an old friend.

She pours herself a steaming cup of coffee blacker than night. With the practiced ease of decades, Martha adjusts her headphones, the soft padding a familiar weight against her silver-streaked hair. She takes a moment to gaze out of the window at the slowly brightening sky. From here, she can see the town stirring to life - an early bird Selkie heading out to the sea, the night-shift Mothman flying home, a Lupine yawning on a porch.

As she takes her last sip of coffee, she turns the dials on her control panel, and with a deep breath, she begins another day in Willow Grove. The gentle crackle of the airwaves, then her voice, warm and comforting, fills the silence.

"Good morning, Willow Grove! It's your favorite voice, Martha, back again to brighten up your morning here on WG 98.5. What's the buzz around town, you ask? Well, let's dive in with the morning news!

Remember the Langston's garden gnome that mysteriously disappeared last week? Yes, that cherubic one with the red pointy hat. Well, it's been found! Our mayor's son, Desmond, found it perched on a pine tree during his nightly flight. Nothing like some harmless mischief to add a dash of excitement to our lives, isn't it?

Now, our Selkie friend, Bella, deserves some applause. She's just returned from a successful sardine run. Ah, to be blessed with such fresh catch for the upcoming town bake-off! Do drop by the dock to show some love. I'm sure she's got something delicious in the works.

On the Lupine side of things, have you seen the majestic new mural on the side of the grocer's? Talented painter and Lupine, Marla, has been adding the finishing touches under the moonlight. Don't miss it when you're in town for groceries, it's a true masterpiece.

Now, for the drumroll, folks! In just under two weeks, our favorite time of the year will be upon us. That's right, the annual Founding Festival is right around the corner! I can already taste the moon cakes and hear the shell flutes piping. Mothpeople, Selkies, Lupines, and Humans alike, let's get ready to celebrate the vibrant tapestry that makes Willow Grove our home. So, mark your calendars, folks!

That's all for the morning roundup, Willow Grove. Let's have a splendid day and remember - keep your smiles wide and your hearts open. Martha, signing off. Now, the music."

***

As you stand at the edge of Willow Grove, your heart swells with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. The last leg of your hike along the Appalachian Trail has left you feeling haggard, your once-neat hiking outfit now with far too many holes, and the straps of your camera bag digging into your shoulders. But as you gaze upon the town, you can't help but feel that it was all worth it.

"Here goes nothing," you whisper to yourself, taking a deep breath and stepping onto the cobblestone streets.

The quaint charm of the town immediately envelopes you. The buildings are an eclectic mix of architectural styles – from Victorian cottages to modern storefronts, each adorned with colorful shutters and planter boxes overflowing with flowers. The scent of fresh-baked bread wafts through the air, tempting you to forget everything and eat your way into a carb coma.

"Wow," you murmur under your breath, already feeling your weary limbs lightening at the sight of this picturesque haven. It's unlike any place you've ever been before, and yet, it feels strangely like home.

You walk further into town, your eyes drinking in the lush, wooded surroundings. Leaves of every shade of green rustle gently above you, casting dappled sunlight onto the cobbled path. Birds flit between the branches, their cheerful melodies sounding suspiciously like a welcome. You can't resist snapping a few photos with your trusty film camera, capturing the beauty of this magical place. Maybe Desmond would like these shots; perhaps he'd be proud that you followed through on your promise to visit his hometown.

"Keep it together," you chide yourself, shaking off the butterflies threatening to take flight in your stomach. "You came here for a fresh start, remember?"

But even as you remind yourself of your initial intentions, there's no denying that the thought of possibly bumping into Desmond again sends a thrill down your spine. You went on this insane journey seeking solace in nature and photography after the breakup, but now that you're here, the possibility of rekindling things with Desmond is too close to ignore.

"Focus," you tell yourself firmly, snapping one last photo of a particularly charming ivy-covered house before making your way further into town. "You're here for you, not just for him."

With that in mind, you continue your exploration of Willow Grove, utterly enchanted by its beauty and magic. And as you wander the streets, camera in hand, you can't help but feel that maybe – just maybe – this place is exactly what you need.

"Excuse me," you approach a group of friendly-looking townsfolk, hoping they can point you in the direction of a place to stay. "I just arrived in town and was wondering if there's an inn or something nearby?"

"Of course!" one woman replies with a warm smile. "There's a lovely little bed and breakfast run by a Lupine named Evangeline. It's just down the road, on the left side."

"Thank you," you say gratefully, already feeling welcomed by their kindness.

"By the way," another person chimes in, "You're just in time for our Founding Festival! We're all getting ready for it, so there's a lot of excitement around town."

"Sounds like fun," you reply, imagining the celebrations and camaraderie that must come with a big event in a small town. "I'll definitely check it out."

With their directions in mind, you continue on your way, finding yourself in the town square not long after. A weathered, important-looking statue stands at its center, depicting a Mothman, a Selkie, and a Lupine, all standing tall and proud in unity. The plaque at its base is weathered to the point of being near-unreadable, but it's easy to gather that the town has been quite diverse ever since its founding hundreds of years ago.

Around the statue, townsfolk are busy setting up stalls and decorations, their laughter and cheerfulness filling the air. You can't help but feel a sense of belonging in this close-knit community, and the anticipation of the upcoming festival only fuels your excitement. You raise your camera to your eye, and unlike people in the big cities, the townsfolk don't mind that you're snapping a picture with them in it. If anything, you think they smile a little wider.

After taking in the scene, you make your way to the bed and breakfast, finding it as charming and inviting as described. The scent of fresh-baked bread wafts through the air as you enter, and a fire crackles in the hearth, welcoming you with its warmth. You can't help but smile as you approach the front desk, where a friendly Lupine woman greets you, her fur dark brown and shiny. She's slightly hunched over in a way that makes you think either the ceiling is low or she is huge.

"Welcome to my bed and breakfast," she says with a kind smile, tactfully baring only the faintest hint of her sharp teeth. "I'm Evangeline. How can I help you?"

"Hi, Evangeline," you reply, returning her smile. "I'd like to book a room for a couple of weeks, if that's possible."

"Of course! We have plenty of availability." She begins the check-in process by pulling out an actual paper and pen with her paws, and you feel a sense of relief knowing you've found a place to call home during your time in Willow Grove.

As you settle into your new lodgings, the excitement of the upcoming Founding Festival mingles with the possibility of seeing Desmond again. You remind yourself not to let that prospect overshadow the personal journey you're on, but there's no denying the allure of reconnecting with him. For now, though, you focus on the present — immersing yourself in the charm of Willow Grove, camera always at the ready for picture-perfect moments in this picture-perfect town.

The late afternoon sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room as you close the door behind you. Your new temporary sanctuary is cozy, with a plush bed and antique wooden dresser, adorned with framed photos of Willow Grove's natural beauty. The anticipation of meeting Desmond again brings a fluttery sensation to your chest, like butterflies dancing between each heartbeat.

"Alright," you say to yourself, trying to shake off the nerves. "Get it together."

As you unpack your belongings, your thoughts drift back to the night you shared with Desmond on the trail. In the grand scheme of things, it was so brief and quick. But between the vulnerability you both had exposed to each other and the heartfelt conversation around the fire (and the mind-blowing sex), you couldn't help but feel drawn to him. So deeply drawn to him that you were here now.

"Wish I could've called ahead," you mutter, placing your camera on the dresser. "Would that have been less... weird?"

You pause, staring at your reflection in the mirror above the dresser. A tired but determined face gazes back, and you take a deep breath. You paid for two weeks in this room—there's no turning back now.

"Okay, let's think this through," you tell yourself, sitting on the bed. "If Desmond thinks I'm crazy for coming here, I'll just... deal with it. We're both adults. Right? Besides, I didn't come all this way just for him. I came for me too."

You shuck off your dirty windbreaker, shaking your head. You're too tired to think things through. You lay back on the bed, the soft mattress embracing you like a specific long lost lover. The tiredness you feel goes beyond the physical. You're mentally and physically exhausted from living like a cavewoman the past few months. But here, in this cozy little room, surrounded by the enchanting beauty of Willow Grove, you finally feel a sense of peace. The kind of peace that comes from being in a place that feels like home, even if it's your first time being here.

As you close your eyes, you think of Desmond, his chitinous features and piercing carnelian eyes. You can almost feel his touch again, his mandibles on your lips, his strong arms wrapped around your body, his proboscis... elsewhere. You let out a sigh, knowing that there's no point in kidding yourself. You came here for Desmond, and Desmond alone. You're not sure where things stand between the two of you, but you know that there's a connection between you that can't be ignored. Even if it makes you look a little crazy. Okay, a lot crazy.

But for now, you allow yourself to drift into a peaceful slumber. This is the first real bed you've slept in for months, and tomorrow, you'll take the first real shower in months. And also apologize to the kind Lupine lady downstairs for getting your filth all over the sheets.

#ashwritesmonsters #monster x reader #monster x human #terato #exophilia #mothman #mothman x reader

82 notes · View notes