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steddielations · 2 years ago

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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

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momolady · 11 months ago

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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.”

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rhiannonsknife · 23 hours ago

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── SHATTER YOUR ILLUSIONS OF LOVE

— summary: lucy finds something interesting in an abandoned store. it’s not what she thinks it is.

— warnings: fem!reader. implied lesbian!reader. nsfw content. mdni. strap-on usage. for the sake of the fic, we gotta ignore the sanitary aspect of this.

the wind howls through the cracked windows of the abandoned storefront, rattling the metal grates hanging half off their hinges.

you’re leaning against the weathered brick wall right outside, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, and your eyes scanning the empty street for signs of trouble.

traveling through the wasteland was a gamble already, and stopping anywhere for too long only upped the odds of drawing unwanted attention. but lucy had insisted she needed to check inside, claiming she’d seen ‘something interesting’ through the remains of grime-streaked glass.

that had been ten minutes ago.

“lucy,” you call, raising your voice over the wind. “are you done yet?”

her laugh echoes from inside, light and carefree, followed by her reply: “almost” lucy calls. there’s a long pause, then the unmistakable sound of something heavy clattering to the ground.

you groan, letting your head fall back against the wall. this wasn’t unusual; lucy’s curiosity was perhaps simultaneously her best and worst trait. she had a knack for finding weird, useless junk and being way too excited about it. not that you minded. most days, her by wasteland standards unique disposition was the only thing keeping you sane. not today though, today, you’re cold, tired, and running low on patience.

finally, the door creaks open behind you.

“hey!” she calls. “look what i found!”

you push off the wall and turn to face her…and immediately feel your brain short-circuit.

lucy stands before you, beaming like she’s just stumbled upon the wasteland’s greatest treasure. she’s wearing…something: leather straps crisscross her chest, looping around her shoulders and down her torso in a series of buckles and loops. the centerpiece, an empty ring attachment, sits just below her chest. clearly not where it’s supposed to be, but it’s not like lucy knows that. nor does she seem aware of what she’s put on to begin with.

it’s a strap-on harness.

“oh my god,” you choke out, heat rushing to your face so fast you feel dizzy with it.

“what?” lucy looks down at herself, tugging lightly at one of the straps. “pretty cool, right? it was just lying there in the back of the store! i think it’s some kind of…uh…” she frowns, tilting her head as she spins to give you the full view. “tool belt? or maybe armor? either way, it’s really sturdy! feel this leather!” she grabs one of the straps near her shoulder and holds it out to you.

you don’t take it. matter of fact, you can’t. you’re too busy trying to remember how breathing works, because all you can think about is the way the harness fits snugly against her body, though entirely wrong, the leather gleaming faintly in the dim light, and how absolutely oblivious she is to what it actually is.

“lucy,” you manage, voice embarrassingly high-pitched. “that’s not- it’s not- oh my god, take it off!”

she blinks, startled by your reaction. “what? why? did i put it on wrong?”

“no, i mean…yes, but that’s not the point!” you gesture at her frantically, as if that’ll somehow distract from the mortifying situation. “it’s just- it’s not what you think it is, okay?” you try to explain, pointing at the leather “that is not a tool belt!”

lucy’s brow furrows in confusion as she adjusts the straps around her shoulders. “then what is it?”

you gape at her, torn between laughter and sheer disbelief. how do you even begin to explain this to her? clearly, she hasn’t seen those in her vault.

“it’s- it’s a-“ you cut yourself off with a groan, burying your face in your hands. there is no way you’re explaining this to her. absolutely not.

“what?” lucy presses, her curiosity clearly piqued. “what’s it for?”

“nothing!” you yelp, your voice cracking. “it’s for nothing! just take it off before-” you gesture vaguely at the very much empty street. “…before someone sees you!”

she glances around, perplexed, following your outstretched finger. “but no one’s here…?”

“that’s not the point!” you can feel your cheeks burning hotter by the second. “lucy, just- just trust me on this, okay? please?”

lucy hesitates for a moment, clearly not understanding but willing to humor you. “alright, alright,” she finally agrees, reaching for the buckles. “but i still think it’s a good find! i’m keeping this!”

you turn away as she starts to unstrap herself, both to give her privacy and to avoid spontaneously combusting from sheer embarrassment. despite all the dangers of the wastelands, you’re pretty sure traveling with lucy maclean is what’s actually going to kill you.

by the time lucy gets the harness off and stashes it in her pack (for some unfathomable reason), the sun is starting to dip low on the horizon, painting the scenery in streaks of amber and rust. after a full day of walking and scavenging, this crumbling storefront seems as good a place as any to settle down for the night.

“well,” you say, clearing your throat and trying to move past the initial awkwardness, “i guess this place’ll do. better than sleeping out in the open, at least!”

“it’s not bad,” lucy says cheerfully, looking around the store’s interior again.

the place, from which you can only assume that it is the ruins of what once was an adult store, is mostly empty, save for a few rusted shelves, a broken counter at the far end and a few boxes left in the old shelves.

there’s no sign of wildlife, which you consider a plus, and the building’s thick walls provide decent protection from the wind. “way better than that place we stayed last week. remember that weird smell? ugh…”

you hum in agreement, busying yourself with clearing a space on the floor. truthfully, it isn’t the worst spot you’ve camped in.

“you take first watch,” lucy says, dropping her pack with a soft thud. “i’ll take a quick nap and take over in a few hours?“

she’s adapting to how sleep works out here, at least, and you nod your head. “i could use some quiet time anyway,”

lucy nods, satisfied, and stretches out on the ground, rolling up her jacket like a makeshift pillow. “wake me if anything weird happens,” she says, closing her eyes.

you lean back against the wall, rifle propped an arm length away, trying to ignore the ache in your muscles and the stubborn heat still lingering in your cheeks.

now, the image of lucy in that harness races unbidden through your mind. it comes in flashes; pictures of her, with a strap now firmly attached to her body. lucy, on top of you, her face pressed to the crook of your neck as she rolls her hips. behind you, with her fingers curling up in your hair as she forces you back against her. above you, with your lips stretched around her-

you shake your head violently to banish it. you need to focus. there are bigger problems in the world than your ridiculous crush on someone who might not even swing your way at all.

but, of course, lucy doesn’t make it easy.

after barely twenty minutes of silence, she stirs and sits up, rubbing at her eyes.

“couldn't sleep?” you ask, raising a brow at her.

“nope,” she reaches into her bag and pulls out the leather harness again. “i keep thinking about this thing…” she mutters, running her fingertips over the ring.

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. “lucy, just drop it! it’s-”

she doesn’t. of course she doesn’t,

instead, she flips the harness over in her hands, fiddling with the straps as she examines it from every angle. instinctively, you reach for your rifle just to have a distraction.

“i mean, it’s pretty well-made,” she muses, tugging on one of the buckles. “whoever made it must’ve known what they were doing. and it’s got this…ring thing? maybe for carrying tools?”

“it’s not for tools!” you blurt, louder than intended. lucy looks up, startled. “well, then what is it for?”

you sigh, setting your rifle aside.

“can't you just let it go?”

you stare at her. lucy is watching you with those wide, curious eyes, completely oblivious to the mortifying reality of the situation. a part of you wants to lie. to make up some ridiculous story about it being part of a long-lost survival kit. another part of you knows you’re a terrible liar, and that she won’t drop it until she gets a real answer.

“well, i could,” lucy shrugs, “but you're being…weird about it, which makes me think it's actually kind of important! and now i really want to know!”

you glance at the open doorway, down rows of shelves, the faint breeze stirring the dust on the floor, as if hoping for some kind of divine intervention to save you. it doesn't come.

“fine,” you mutter, standing. “come on!”

lucy grins triumphantly, bouncing to her feet and following as you lead her to the far corner of the store.

she trails after you, harness in hand, until you crouch down by one of the dusty shelves, brushing aside cobwebs before pulling out one of the few remaining boxes you passed by earlier. it’s heavy and battered, but the faded label on the side is still legible and it is still sealed shut

“alright,” you say, placing it on the ground before you. “this,” you tell lucy as you pull a knife from your belt. “is the counterpart to what you're holding!”

without another word, you cut the plastic open and, after some more layers of carefully sealed packaging, pull out the bright neon-pink silicone dildo. you hold it up just long enough for her to get a good look before tossing it back into the box.

lucy blinks, eyes wide, and for a moment, she says nothing. then her mouth opens in a soft “oh,”

she kneels beside the box, staring at its contents with an unreadable expression. “wait, so...” she picks up the dildo again, and turns it over in her hands, her brow furrowing as she connects the dots. “this goes with the harness?”

“yes,” you say quickly, folding your arms across your chest. “and that's why i didn't want to talk about it. can we move on now?”

lucy, on the other hand, doesn't seem remotely embarrassed. if anything, she looks intrigued.

she puts it back in the box and stands, holding the harness up to her hips as if testing its fit.

“so it's, like... for, uh... intimacy stuff? sex?” she asks, her tone genuinely curious.

“yes, lucy,” you say, your voice tight as you force your gaze away. “it's for ‘intimacy stuff’,” then, after a beat of silence, you decide this might be your only chance to get your truth out as well: “specifically for people like...like me, i guess?”

she looks at you then, her eyes softening slightly. “like you?”

“yeah,” you shift uncomfortably under her gaze, heart pounding. “you know? people who don't really, uh, like guys…that way…?”

understanding dawns on her face, but instead of recoiling or making a joke, she simply nods. another pause, then: “so, like, women who…prefer other women?”

your throat feels dry. “yeah. something like that,”

lucy looks back at the harness, a thoughtful expression on her face. then, to your utter horror, she starts fiddling with the straps again, this time more deliberately.

“what are you doing?” you ask, your voice rising slightly.

“trying it on,” she replies matter-of-factly, stepping into the harness and pulling it up over her hips. she tightens the straps with surprising ease, the leather settling snugly against her body. “it's comfortable,” she says conversationally, running her fingers along the waistband.

all you can do is stare at her dumbfounded. “lucy,”

she glances at you, her face the picture of innocence. “what? you said it's for people like you, right? i just want to see what it's like!”

“people like me using it,” you practically hiss. “not people like you…wearing it around like it's a pair of pants!”

lucy laughs, but there's a glint in her eye now, something playful and teasing that wasn't there before. she shifts her hips slightly, the leather creaking, and you have to fight the urge to look away. or worse, stare.

“calm down” she says. “it’s not a big deal, right? just a harness!”

your heart pounds in your chest as lucy tilts her head, watching you with that same curious gaze. there's no judgment in her expression, nor is there discomfort. just a quiet, steady interest that leaves you completely off balance.

“look,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “you...you don't understand what you're doing right now!”

“don't i?” her tone is light but her eyes are searching yours. lucy steps even closer, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “you're blushing,”

“i'm not-” you take a step back, bumping into the wall behind you. “i'm not…blushing!”

“you totally are. is it the harness?” she pauses, her voice dropping just slightly. “or is it…me?”

your breath catches in your throat. for a moment, you can't think. you can't move. the tension in the air suddenly feels electric, heavy with the weight of everything you haven't said and everything she might not even realize she's doing.

“lucy…” you manage. “you should- uh- you should probably take it off now, yeah?”

she only grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. “why? am i making you nervous?”

yes. absolutely. but you don't tell her that. instead, you stand frozen as lucy leans just a little closer, the leather harness shifting as she moves. the air between you is stifling now, charged with something you can’t quite name. she hasn’t moved back. if anything, she’s standing closer, the faintest grin on her lips, her eyes locked on yours.

“lucy,” you say again, but her name catches in your throat, sounding more like a ragged plea than a warning.

“yeah?” she asks, her voice teasingly playful.

you glance down at the harness, that stupid harness, and then back at her, hoping she’ll take the hint. lucy doesn’t. instead, she shifts her weight again, the leather creaking softly. you swear she’s doing it on purpose now.

“why are you…” you trail off, biting your lip. “why are you doing this?”

her smile falters slightly. “i don’t know,” she admits. “i guess i just…like seeing you like this,”

your breath hitches. “like what?”

lucy tilts her head, her eyes searching yours. she pauses. then, her gaze flickers to your mouth and heat floods your face. you try to think of something -anything- to say, but the words won’t come.

“do you want this?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper now.

you nod your head slowly, your throat feeling too tight to speak.

her smile softens, and she takes another step forward, close enough now that you can feel the warmth of her body through the faint chill of the room. “good,”

and then she kisses you.

the shelves behind you clatter as your body is forced back against them by lucy’s own, trapping you against the metal.

it surprises you how fast her mouth is moving. how desperate and hungry. in all the times (more than you’d ever openly admit) you pictured yourself kissing her, she’d been the careful one. you should’ve known better than that. way better.

now, she is all over you, eager hands cupping your cheeks as she presses you against the cold surface. your whole body shivers as lucy licks into your mouth experimentally, humming when you gasp in response.

“for the record,” she mumbles against your mouth, barely breaking away from you enough to get those words out. “you want to have sex with me?”

you almost laugh at the absurdity of the question, would lucy not force one of her thighs between yours, keeping you on the tip of your toes with a strangled gasp. it doesn’t occur to you to question where she knows all this from. instead, you just nod, panting as she pushes her knee further up.

pleased with all those reactions she’s getting from you, lucy hums. “and you want me to use…that?” she nods towards the now unsealed box at your feet.

“uh huh,” is all you can manage. it seems enough for lucy, who flashes an excited smile before walking over to pick it up from the floor. for the first time, you dare to breathe.

she fumbles with the box momentarily, struggling to free the toy from its plastic packaging in her excitement. before you can offer your help, she has figured it out and carelessly tosses the container aside, leaving only the dildo in her hand.

“hm,” lucy hums, taking it in from all angles under the dim light.

“this goes through the…” you start breathlessly, nodding toward the ring that sits right above her still fully clothed pubic bone.

it’s not often that you find yourself longing for a life a little more like lucy’s. this is one of those rare moments though. the things you’d do to have her in an actual bed, in a place that belongs to just the two of you. somewhere where you can actually take your time to undress her, see her fully, and not just rushed glimpses in the barely lit space around you.

“okey dokey,” she fumbles with the toy, experimentally tracing the buckles and straps before pushing the dildo through its designated hole.

then, it’s just you, her, and the shuddered breath you exhale into the small space left between you when lucy steps closer again.

you briefly wonder if it would overwhelm lucy if you’d go down on your knees before her right then and there. if you’d force her down your throat and show her just how much of her you’re willing to take. but then you turn to look back at her and decide that this is not the time.

lucy is watching you attentively, her eyes darting between yours and the strap attached to her body. there seems a newfound sense of pride in the way she carries herself as you feel her press against your inner thigh. it draws a gasp from you, an expression on your face that lucy instantly mirrors: mouth agape, eyes slightly widened.

it is your hushed, shaky “lucy, please” that sets her into motion.

her fingers, once resting on your hips, jump into action before you know it; roaming all over your body. into your hair, over smudged, dirty clothes, underneath them…her nails briefly scrape the expanse of your stomach, the fabric of your shirt riding up your torso, and lucy seems satisfied with the way you exhale into her open mouth. then, she drops them lower.

it doesn’t take her long to unbuckle your belt and pull it free from your pants. the setting doesn’t allow any slower, more sensual undressing. instead, you push your pants down your legs until they’re polling around your ankles and you can easily step out of them, leaving you exposed from the waist down except for your underwear -which is doing a terrible job in covering the arousal there.

you’ve been wet from the moment you started fantasizing about her, and your little make out session has only made matters worse. lucy, who’s pushing her fingers past the waistline of your underwear, notices too when she’s met with your wetness once they slide through you.

“fuck-“ you mutter, your head falling back.

lucy studies you attentively once her fingers find your clit, rubbing it in clockwise circles underneath the fabric until your thighs are trembling and instinctively closing around her wrist.

“sit,” she orders, jerking her chin towards the shelf pressed against the back of your thighs.

stunned into silence, you hop onto the cool metal, your legs spread enough for lucy to stand between them. her palms stroke along your thighs as she bites her lip, now able to see the wet patch your arousal has left in the fabric of your underwear.

“can you take it?” she whispers, immediately earning herself an eager nod from you.

lucy pulls you forward until you’re sitting on the edge, then forces your legs apart further with a sudden motion. only once she’s reached out and pushed your underwear aside, does it seem to occur to her that she’s never been on this side of things before.

nervously, she glances up at you. “i’ve never-“ lucy begins, gesturing downward.

“that’s okay!” you interject instantly. at this point, you don’t care what she does, as long as she does it inside of you.

“okay,” she echoes, before focusing on the matter at hand.

absentmindedly, though it sends another wave of arousal down to your center, lucy uses what’s left of your wetness on her fingers to coat her length in it. you watch breathlessly as she pumps her fist along the silicone shaft until it's glistening with the makeshift lube.

immediately, you wrap your legs around lucy, closing your ankles behind her and urging her closer. she complies gladly.

her eyes flicker up to your face when she lines herself up and moves forward. your fingers reach around lucy’s back, desperately grasping for something to hold onto as her cock sinks into you inch by inch. her nose nuzzles against the side of your neck as she fills you up slowly, her breath warm against your skin, until she’s pushed it in as far as it’ll go and your bodies are nestled flush together.

“good?” lucy whispers, slowly pulling back just enough to look up at you.

“mhm” you hum, struggling to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head.

her hands fall to your waist again, squeezing you gently as her eyes remain fixed on where she has pushed into your body, where the toy is pressed against your walls just right.

“can i move?” lucy husks, looking like she’s barely containing herself from doing so.

for a moment you wish that her impatience was actually justified. not that it isn’t already, you are dying to see her in a similar position, but you wish she could feel you too: all around her, taking it greedily, sucking her in deeper.

once again, you nod.

pressing your palm between her shoulder blades is about all the bracing you get to do before lucy starts to move. she pulls her hips back slowly as if she’s testing the waters, before slamming into you faster and deeper than expected.

“o-oh!” you gasp, your mouth falling open over lucy’s shoulder. the relief of finally feeling her against your g-spot is immediate and has you seeing stars behind your closed eyelids.

you arch your back against her, involuntarily searching for more as lucy starts thrusting into you more confidently. you meet each of her thrusts, gently lifting your hips from the shelf to rock back onto her strap. like this, she’s fucking you properly in no time, falling into an easy rhythm.

the sound of your skin slapping together echoes through the otherwise abandoned store, accompanied only by your occasional ragged moans. you don’t bother to hold back anymore, not when you’ve spent half of your travels fantasizing about her like this.

it only vaguely registers that lucy’s mouth is pressing against the side of your neck, sucking on the soft skin there as she keeps fucking the strap into you. she’s reaching depths you could never quite find with only your fingers during your rare attempts to find some sort of relief, depths that have you trembling already.

“lucy please!” you cry, unsure what you’re even asking for as one hand holds onto the back of her neck whereas the other grips the edge of the shelf for dear life. “please,”

“does that feel good?” she asks, her voice genuine and amazed despite her relentless pounding.

“mhm, so good!” you nod. your legs are shaking around lucy, trembling more with each thrust that makes you gush around the strap.

the longer lucy moves like this, the more confident she gets in her own movements. despite the occasional grunts of exhaustion, she does not let up. it doesn’t take her long to find the perfect angle either, your cunt throbbing once you feel her right where you need it the most.

too eager for your own release to feel embarrassed, you drop your hand between your legs, rubbing your clit at a pace that matches the one lucy has set.

the space around you smells of sex and her hands are carefully holding your legs apart, keeping you open for her. the shelves creak under the force of her pace, slamming against the wall so loudly you will have to check if the noise has attracted any unwanted attention once she’s done with you.

for now, all you can focus on is the pleasure in your system, which only intensifies when lucy starts talking: “god” she groans, eyes narrowed down on your body to watch the way you take the full length of her strap over and over again.

she pulls out almost all the way once, the motion agonizingly slow so she can see the way you part for her as the silicone slides from your body. the toy is glistening with your wetness in the barely lit room.

“fuck-” she grunts, before snapping forward and sinking back into. there’s sweat collecting at her temple from the efforts of her constant rolls of her hips. “are you close? tell me!”

your weak whine seems to sound agreeable enough for lucy to double her efforts. not once does she falter, her hips thrusting forward effortlessly and desperate cries of her name are all you can manage. they're your only prayer as she gets you closer and closer to the edge.

“that’s it,” she praises absentmindedly, her eyes glued to what she can see past the fabric of your underwear and the frantic movement of your wrist as you rub yourself to the rhythm of her thrusts. “that’s it!”

lucy seems almost as eager to make you cum as you are yourself, panting: “are you gonna cum?” as though she can hardly believe that she’s the one to get you there.

“oh my god, are you gonna cum on my- on my cock?” the distant realization dawns upon you that she doesn’t even know the proper words, but the way she’s put it -albeit clumsy and unsure- works. it is what you ultimately need to be pushed over that edge.

a breathless “oh my god!” is the only response lucy gets before your orgasm rips through you. with a prolonged moan, you slam your head back, only vaguely aware of the dull pain as your body convulses around her strap.

your hips are still rutting back and forth uselessly, grinding against your hand as she stills inside of you. when the pleasure finally subsides, your body goes slack and you fall against lucy with her strap still buried inside you.

her arms wrap around you soothingly, pressing you as close to her chest as the current position allows. you stay like this for a while, just enough for you to catch your breath and ground yourself. the stillness of the night settles back into the store as the two of you adjust in the dim light. she pulls back gently and you pull your jacket tight, brushing stray bits of dust from the sleeves, while lucy fumbles with her gear.

the wind that blows through the creaks in the wall seems louder now, as the silence between you stretches on. finally, lucy dares to speak. “well,” she begins. “this has officially been my favorite pit stop so far!”

you can’t help but laugh, your cheeks heating up all over again as you carefully reach down to push your underwear back into place.

“and these?” she jerks her thumb down to the strap that’s still fastened to her body. “these are definitely coming with us!”

you freeze mid-motion, “lucy, you can’t just carry that around like it’s-“

“like it’s what? a perfectly good survival tool?” she interrupts. “come on, think about it! it’s sturdy, lightweight, multipurpose and-”

“multipurpose?” you cut in, raising a brow.

she shrugs, unbothered. “sure. you never know when you might need something to hold up supplies!”

your lips part to protest, but no words come out. instead, you watch as she unbuckles the harness. this whole situation is ridiculous. it’s so lucy. you feel warmth spreading through your chest at the sight.

she glances over at you, her head tilted when she catches you staring. “are you alright?”

you nod quickly, forcing yourself to look away before your face betrays you again. “yeah,” you swallow audibly. “yeah, i’m good!”

but you’re not. not really. because she kissed you. she kissed you, and then she fucked you, too. and now, instead of brushing it off like another one of her impulsive experiments, she’s acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like it’s you that’s natural to her.

“alright,” she says, her voice pulling you from your thoughts. “let’s set up camp for the night. i’ll try to get some actual sleep this time!”

you nod again, following her toward the back of the store where the shadows are deepest. as you lay out your bedroll, you glance at her from the corner of your eye. she’s humming under her breath as she secures her pack.

this wasn’t just a one-time thing, you realize as she packs up both the harness and its counterpart. it wasn’t just a kiss or a moment or something you won’t speak about in the morning, otherwise she would not be keeping this.

it was lucy, and it was you.

and whatever comes next on your travels, you know there’s no going back from this.

— a/n: my first lucy fic!! you can thank @lottiesgrl for this, they helped me turn my silly little idea into…something!!

#˙💌 ̟ !! ─ my works #˙🔞 ̟ !! mdni #lucy maclean #lucy maclean x reader #lucy maclean x female reader #lucy maclean x fem!reader #lucy maclean x you #fallout

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kteezy997 · 23 days ago

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Heyyyy love!

I know you’ve probably been busy but could we get a new Christmas Timmy fic or series whatever you want!

Of course only if you can and want.

Thanks love!

A Love Story for Christmas-Part One//t.c.

Thank you for the request, anon! You’re so sweet! @thebetawolfgirl and I went a little (or a lot) hallmark on this one.

You had to admit that it was quite relaxing to return to your small hometown for the holidays, especially since you had been living in the city for so many years. You couldn't believe how familiar this place felt. It was also bittersweet, this being your first holiday season since your mother passed away.

Sadly, you had grown apart from your mother before she had gotten sick. But you remembered that one of her favorite places to go in town was the local bookstore. One thing you knew best about your mom was she was an avid reader. It was always a safe bet to buy her a book for any gifting occasion.

You were desperate to feel closer to her, so your plan for the day was to visit the bookstore. You hadn't been since you were a kid. You never even got to purchase a book from there. But hey, you moved away when you were only ten years old. It was hard to remember life before the big move.

It seemed they had kept the name Reader's Realm but updated the sign. The storefront looked really sweet and quaint. The instant you stepped through the threshold and heard the tiny ding of the doorbell; it was like stepping back in time. Nothing about the place had changed. It was just as clean and cozy as you remembered. And it was decorated for the Christmas holiday, so the touches of red and green and the glow of the Christmas tree in the front window really added in the right amount of nostalgia that you were seeking.

The bookstore itself seemed much smaller, though. It's funny how some places seem so big and vast when you're a kid. You used to think that there were millions and millions of books in the place, but really it was only a few hundred, a thousand, at most.

The bookstore was nearly empty of people, so you were able to slowly stroll through the aisles. After a couple of minutes, you heard a set of wheels rolling on the floor and the squeaking of a metal cart being pushed around.

The man driving the cart was tall, and he had pale, porcelain skin and dark, short hair that drooped with rich curls on top of his head. He was really cute, like a heartthrob on one of the teen magazines you used to thumb through.

You weren’t expecting to see someone so attractive. You blushed, trying not to stare, trying to browse the books on the shelves, but he was awfully distracting.

The clinking of the wheels stopped, and the young man saw you, "Oh, hello. I didn't realize anyone was in here; I didn't even hear the bell."

You looked over at him, he had a friendly grin. You noticed a light mustache and a dusting of a goatee on his chin. "Hi, yes I just popped in. You work here?" Damn it, y/n, ask a more stupid question, would you?

"Ugh, yeah, I'm actually the owner." he said, parking the cart to the side to allow you space to pass. "I'm Timothee, but you can call me Timmy."

"Oh, the owner? That's pretty cool." You were genuinely impressed, he seemed to be about your age, so to own a business was quite a feat.

"Yeah, I guess so." he said, grabbing some books to place on the shelves. "It was my grandfather's business, but he passed away a couple years ago and the bookstore was left to me."

"Aw, I'm sorry for your loss. My mother just recently passed, so I know how you must feel." you said, no longer browsing as you found yourself just watching him work.

Timmy was crouched down, shuffling some books around on a bottom shelf, "Oh man, I'm so sorry to hear that. I bet this holiday season is hard for you." He looked up at you, his eyes looking like a puppy.

It was then that you saw how broad his shoulders were. He wasn't a large man or buff by any means, but he was lean and sexy. And he had the most incredible bone structure, like he was hand carved, just for you. You weren't thinking about your mother at all.

"Yeah," you cleared your throat, "it's my first Christmas without her. I don't really know what to do. That's kinda why I came here. This was one of her favorite places to be."

"Oh? So, your mom was from here?"

"Yes, technically I am too. But we moved to the city when I was ten. I haven't been back since. My mom loved to buy books and read them here. She used to say, 'There's no place like Reader's Realm.'"

Timmy had a little grin at that, "Well, I hope this place can bring you some comfort while you're here. I don't want to bother you, so I'll leave you to it, but if I can help you with anything, please let me know." he smiled kindly, taking his cart of books away to another aisle.

"Okay, great thank you." You returned a smile. You tried not to blush as you continued shopping the books. As you picked up one to read the synopsis on the back here and there, you could not get Timmy off your mind. You came into the bookstore in hopes of feeling your mother's presence, but this beautiful stranger was now at the forefront.

Then, a wild thought came to you: was he sent by your mom, perhaps? For the rest of your shopping trip, you could not shake the feeling. You noticed that he wasn't wearing a wedding band. Maybe he was single? You tried to not burst with giddiness. Should you engage with Timmy more? Maybe even ask him to go out for coffee? At least try and get his phone number, right?

You carried your handful of books for purchase up to the front counter, where Timmy was standing at the computer, reading something on the monitor screen. He perked up and looked at you with bright eyes as he heard your footsteps coming toward him.

"Find everything you needed?" he asked as you gently sat your books on the counter.

"Yes, thank you." you smiled.

"Good," he grabbed your books, scanning them one by one, "I'm sure you found your books easily, but I truly meant: was the store everything you remembered, I mean, was your mom with you today?"

Your heart melted, it was like he knew exactly what to say and he cared, sincerely. "Oh, yes, I definitely felt her in this place."

"That's awesome. I'm really glad that you could feel such a comfort in my place." He started to bag up your books. "I wish it was moments like this that paid the bills, because then I'd be able to stay in business passed the holidays."

You frowned, you really weren't expecting to hear this. There's no way that your sweet little hometown bookstore could be going out of business!

to be continued...

if you would like to ever be added to my taglist, just message me!

i hope you are all enjoying this holiday season, and i will try to not make you wait too long for the second part of this(:

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive

#timothée chalamet #timmy chalamet #timothée imagine #timothee x reader #timothee fanfic #christmas #christmas love #bookstore #holiday #love story #small town aesthetic

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 1 year ago

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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!!!

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hyunnielix · 23 days ago

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read your mind. | h.h

Series Masterlist

'Decompressing, tryna ease the tension. But you got me stressing'

— hyunjin x (f) reader

— word count: 1.6k

— genre: non-idol au, artist!hyunjin, second chance romance (I know who would've thought. eventual smut (not in this chapter sorry).

— warning's: bestie!felix (and minho), jisung mention/cameo, angst! fluff. Felix being a cutie pie as usual. Baking! sort of...

→ playlist on spotify

The walk to the baking class was brisk. You pulled your coat tight against the cool air and approached the storefront with its polished gold-lettered sign reading 'Tiff's Bakery Masterclass'.

You paused, your lips quirking into a faint smirk at the name. It was a little pretentious, wasn’t it? The building itself felt charming enough, with its warm brick façade and a row of flower boxes spilling violets and rose blossoms over the ledge. A chalkboard easel sat by the door boasting, "Perfect Your Pastry Skills Today!" in a looping cursive font, complete with a few flourishes you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at. You could only hope Felix understood exactly what he’d gotten you both into.

You pressed your palms against the opaque glass door, pushing it open. A soft chime rung out as the smell of warm sugar and cinnamon wafted through the establishment. The interior felt cozy but modern, with rows of gleaming countertops and shiny stainless steel appliances reflecting the glow of vintage-style bulbs hanging from the ceiling. For all its pretension, the room was inviting—enough to almost make you forget how silly you felt walking into a class with total strangers.

Felix's aura radiated like sunshine through stormy clouds, his energy demanded attention with golden hair and freckles dusted like sprinkles on a cupcake. His deep laugh echoed through the room and you tilted your head. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, unbidden and slow. You were supposed to be annoyed with him damn it! Yet every time you saw him you melted, like seeing a kitten playing with yarn for the first time. Too damn adorable.

You approached his table. He sat next to another boy, one with brown Boba eyes and shortish onyx hair. Your eyes travelled to the boy's tank top, drawn to the tattoo peaking out which read— 'blessed'.

"Y/N, you made it on time!" Felix wriggled in his chair, blonde hair slightly tousled and dressed in a white apron. He embodied the confidence of someone who’d done this before.

"Lix," you sighed, shaking your head as you pulled out one of the tall stools. The scrape of its metal legs echoed in the tiled room. "I thought this was a beginners’ class."

He grinned, the kind that tugged at the corner of his lips and added a spark to his pretty eyes. "It is!"

The door opened, the chime reverberating once more as it revealed a tall figure. She entered the room with flour-dusted hands and a smile which softened the stern lines of her face. Her voice carried over the hum of excited chatter, authoritative yet calm. "Welcome everyone, to the beginners masterclass. Contradictory, I know," She began and picked up a wooden spatula that sat on the desk before her. "Familiarise yourselves with your stations. Everything you'll need is here." She pointed toward the tools.

You took a moment to glaze your eyes over the bench before you. A gleaming metal mixing bowl sat beside a whisk. While an array of sharp knives glinted under the kitchen lights, rolling pins positioned beside folded aprons.

“Ingredients are premeasured and labeled to avoid confusion,” she added, nodding toward the small, clear containers of sugar, flour, and butter at each station. Her eyes scanned the room, pausing to offer a reassuring smile to a student gripping their whisk like a lifeline. “Don’t be afraid to make mistakes!” she proclaimed, “Baking is equal parts strategy and art, today, you’re all artists.”

Your lips twitched into a bitter smile. Artists. Sure, let’s call them that.

"Today we will be making an assortment of puff pastries."

You hated baking. The delicate techniques required a patience you didn’t possess, and your heavy-handed attempts only made things worse. The instructors hands moved with a precision one could only acquire through relentless practice, slicing the butter into thin sheets and layering them over the dough. You leaned closer, brows furrowed and attempted to mimic the fluid motion, your fingers awkwardly pressing the butter too deep into the dough.

The instructor began to move around the room. You felt the looming presence over your shoulder and sighed.

"Gentle precision," The instructor corrected, and guided your hand.

The scent of flour and yeast mingled in the air while rolling pins clattered against the metal tables. The dough stretched, folded and thinned. You abandoned using your hands and reached for the rolling pin, hoping your determination could make up for your lack of finesse.

The instructor’s words rang hollow in your ears as you tried, and failed, to fold the dough without tearing it. Every mistake seemed magnified under the scrutinizing gleam of the overhead lights. It wasn’t just the technique—it was the vulnerability of it, the need to be careful, precise and tender. You didn’t know how to be gentle anymore.

"Oh for fuck's sake," You muttered under your breath as the dough resisted the smooth glide of your pin. The quip earnt a soft chuckle from the instructor and she moved on around the room toward other students.

You sat up, taking in the other students and how they worked with varying degrees of success, their voices mixed together, airing questions and nervous laughter. One, which included Felix.

Your mouth fell open at the sight of his dough. The sheen of butter glistened on the surface, whispering a promise of a golden flaky crust.

Felix halted his motions, setting his rolling pin on the bench. "You seem a little spaced out. You okay?" He tilted his head ever so slightly.

You sighed and slouched, staring mindlessly at the dough. "Would you believe it if I told you I just bumped into Hyunjin at my favourite coffee spot?"

Felix's eyes widened and his lips parted, caught somewhere between disbelief and alarm. “He’s back?” he breathed, his voice low but taut.

"Yeah." You poked your finger in the dough and cringed at the consistency. No way you were saving that...

"For how long?"

"I didn’t ask. I wasn’t really thinking." You reached for your rolling pin, letting it twirl absently between your fingers, the rhythm grounding you.

"Are you alright?" he pressed gently, his voice steady but laced with worry.

"I—I’m not sure," you admitted, the words tumbling out like they’d been waiting at the edge of your tongue.

"I just hope Minho doesn't get any ideas."

The offhand comment made you pause, a flicker of confusion flashing across your face as your brows knitted together. Minho. Your roommate.

“What do you mean by that?” you asked, your voice cautious, leaning into the kind of question which already carried an answer you might regret hearing.

Felix shifted, his lips twitching with hesitation before he let out a soft, dry laugh. “He literally threw a plate at Hyunjin's head.”

Your stomach dropped, envisioning the scenario. "He did what?"

"I forgot I wasn't supposed to tell you that." Realisation washed over Felix's features.

"When did that happen?"

"Before he left. A few years back."

"He told you two before he told me didn't he? I remember that."

The memory of that night hit you with a wave of heaviness. You had returned to the apartment, the door clicking shut behind you, but the reality inside felt more chilling than the cold air. Minho broke the news, his voice low, but the words still sharp, cutting through you. The silence that followed was suffocating, each second stretching out, thick with the weight of unspoken grief. Then, Minho had pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up as if he could protect you from the world and all its terrors.

"Yeah, Minho made me promise not to tell you how he lost his shit over it," Felix whispered. He shook his head, as if the memory still surprised him.

"He doesn't need to protect me. I can handle Hwang Hyunjin."

"I know you can. I just think Minho doesn't want you to do it alone. Y'know?"

You pursed your lips and the sentiment made your chest ache. How blessed you were to know these boys.

The boy from earlier leaned over Felix's shoulder, his arm casually draping across it as he grinned wide, his expression full of mischief. "I can't help but overhearing, this Hwang guy seems like an asshole."

Your brow rose and Felix shrugged.

"Jisung." He reached out his hand. "You'll be coming to more classes right? you two seem cool."

Felix gazed at you with wide, pleading eyes, his lashes fluttering. He tilted his head just enough to make his expression unbearably cute.

You let out a resigned sigh. "I'll think about it."

"That's not a no! it's not a no!" Felix celebrated, his hands raised in triumph before turning to Jisung. Without missing a beat, they both exchanged a quick, energetic dap, the sound of their hands slapping together echoing in the air. The camaraderie between them both made the atmosphere feel lighter and you couldn't help but grin.

A vibration in your pocket drew your attention. You pulled the phone out, trying not to dust it with flour remnants.

Hyune: Le Lux Charm, booked for seven thirty tomorrow night? :)

Y/N: You're lucky my schedule is free.

Hyune: I'll see you there.

You expelled a breath you didn't realise you were holding, placing the phone face down on the messy bench. "I'm catching up with him tomorrow night apparently."

Felix leant forward and reached for your dough covered hands. "If you need anyone to save you. Me and Minho will be there."

Jisung piped up. "Me too. for y'know emotional support." He gestured to his head with his pointer finger then winked at you.

"I just met you."

"And? who could resist this cute face!" Jisung slapped a hand on his chest with a dramatic flourish.

Felix's giggle sounded and you couldn't help but follow in tow at the absurdity of it all. Maybe the baking classes weren't a bad idea after all.

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ladykailitha · 2 years ago

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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

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

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kkeidawrites · 2 months ago

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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!

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heavenlytouches · 3 months ago

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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)

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anna-hawk · 1 year ago

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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

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fortheloveofwonderland · 1 year ago

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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

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shootybangbang · 11 months ago

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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

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burdened-android · 29 days ago

Text

XS/XV

@markofthefallen

Palm trees quietly whooshed in the early evening's breeze. The sky overhead was a flat, metallic gray. It was going to rain soon, a line of low, heavy clouds approaching slowly from the churning black sea. In the distance, the boardwalk was beginning to vacate, the colorful LEDs adorning the Ferris wheel twinkling in the haze.

The storefront overhead was simple, but elegant. Shiny bronze tint obscured what happened behind the floor length windows. Upon a glossy black fascia, the word "Serapis" glowed, the sign's design matching the text on the business card in his hand. Her card.

#ic #excess series #markofthefallen

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callmelittlebuttercup · 9 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.”

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

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