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arcanefox207 · 9 months ago

Text

The Wolf You Feed (Part 1)

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 8k

Part 1 / ? (Ongoing Series) A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T

Summary: Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Warnings: No Outbreak, AU but with TLoU characters, Large age gap (Reader is 29. Joel is 50). This chapter includes smut with fingering and cum eating. Dominant Joel. Eventual Angst. Drinking Alcohol. Pet names but no use of Y/N. Reader is smaller than Joel and has hair he can grab.

A/N: Please hang in there. This chapter has a lot of setup and is a bit of a slow burn. Its also my first fic and I am pouring my heart and soul into it.

A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T | N O T I F I C A T I O N

“Remember, if you need anything you can ask Joel. He knows his way around the house” your mother reminds you.

“Thanks, I will be fine but I’ll keep that in mind.” You appease her but have no intention of bothering her neighbor.

“Love you, honey. Talk later!”

“Bye mom. Love you.” You end the call and slump back against the couch. This was going to be your home for the next few months. Your parents had gone south to avoid the brutal New England winter and had offered their summer vacation home in Kineo to you in the interim. No rent and plenty of free time to figure out what to do with your life next. All you had to do was pay the utilities and keep an eye on things.

The offer was genuine but also came from a place of concern. You had spent the last few years living a more-or-less nomadic life and poorly indulging your dreams of adventure. Your bachelors degree in Liberal Arts proving to be as useless as everyone told you it would be. It got you jobs easy enough but nothing that felt like a long term career. It all felt directionless but you also had been hell bent on proving everyone else wrong and keeping up the appearance that you were doing just fine.

Your past relationships were nothing too exciting either. Months of casually dating someone and it not really going anywhere or random hookups that you regretted the next day. One or two guys you were getting serious with but ultimately scared you off when they started talking about a family in their big picture. You were starting to get cynical about any compatible prospects.

You are only 29 and wonder if a midlife crisis before your 30’s is normal. At least, that is what it felt like was happening. You had been treading water for too long and felt like you were too tired to keep swimming.

Your mother finally wore you down enough when your lease was up at your Boston apartment and you had no real obligations. You hated your current job, your roommates were little more than acquaintances and the busy city life scene was starting to lose its charm especially when it was astronomically expensive to live there. It was getting harder to say no so you agreed to her offer.

You had to admit living in the country sounded like a nice change. You had a few months to figure stuff out and the thought of something new was exciting to you. Even if it meant continuing to endure the bitter winter, you had a chance to start fresh somewhere new. Something different.

You didn’t grow up here and spent most of your life living in suburban homes with slightly warmer climates. Your parents had bought a small one bedroom vacation home in a sleepy New England town that they mostly only enjoyed in the prime summer months. The home sat mostly vacant otherwise. They would rent it out for weeks at a time but in the winter months no one from away wanted to go there. Too far from ski resorts and civilization to be of interest to a casual vacationer. It had a lake that drew much attention from outsiders only when it wasn’t frozen. The town was reduced to just the year-round locals in the coldest months.

Your new residence was outside the main populous of Kineo and nearby the lake. In fact, you could see the lake peeking through the thick pine trees out the front window if you looked hard enough.

The closest and only neighbor in sight was the handyman your parents raved about across the street. He kept an eye on the place while they were away. You had never interacted with him on your occasional summer visits, but knew he had been kind to your folks and heard about him often enough. You occasionally saw him out in his yard from afar and he would give a lazy wave to your parents in passing. You never really got a good look at him up close but from what you could see he looked rugged and fit and always wore jeans and work boots. He had a modest waterfront cabin across the street and seemed to keep to himself.

You had arrived just a few days ago and already had a job lined up at the local coffee shop, Grind. You were getting your caffeine fix and saw a help wanted sign in their window and you had no trouble securing the job when you chatted with the owner. She hired you on the spot and seemed desperate but grateful that you actually had enthusiasm for coffee and knew your Americanos from your Lattes. Grind Coffee House was on the main drag along with some other quaint shops. It was charming enough and an easy 10 minute drive from your house. The pay was pitiful but would be enough to get by. Things seemed to be lining up perfectly.

You went to bed early that night and felt optimistic that this was going to be good for you. This was going to be the reset that you craved. A new adventure. It was like nothing you had experienced before and maybe that was exactly what you needed.

–

Shit. Your first day working at Grind and you can’t even get the car to start.

It was freezing cold. The kind of cold that hurts when it touches your exposed skin. You turn the key in the ignition again and the engine makes a pathetic attempt to turn over. Nothing. Fuck.

You turn the key again. Nothing. Fuck fuck fuck. You pull out your phone and realize you have no idea what to do other than call your new boss and make a horrible first impression. No, that wasn’t going to do. You look in the rearview mirror and see across the street that lights are on at your neighbors house, despite the early hour. As quickly as the thought crosses your mind you push it away. No. No way were you going to bother him at this hour. You hadn’t even officially met the guy yet.

You pull up Google on your phone and scan the first few results for “car won’t start” and narrow it down to engine troubles or dead battery. Either outcome is something you are not equipped to handle.

A few moments pass and you reluctantly weigh the options. Would a garage even be open this early? How long would that take to get someone out there? You were wasting time and had to do something. You curse to yourself and go back inside the house.

You walk over to the fridge where a note is hanging front and center “Joel Miller” with a phone number neatly printed. Your mothers careful handwriting to contact the poor neighbor that she probably harasses all the time. You sigh and open your phone to dial the number.

It rings a few times, and then you hear a gravelly voice that catches you off guard.

“Hello?” A deep and thick, unfamiliar accent answers. Not what you were expecting.

“Hi, Mr. Miller.” a long pause and you stumble over your words. “I uh, I’m sorry to call you so early. I'm Rick and Linda’s daughter.” and mumble your name. Another pause.

“Ah, right. Whatcha need, kid?” He asks with little expression in his tone. You can’t tell if he is annoyed or just sounded that way.

“My car won’t start and I–” you pause, not too sure how to ask for help from a stranger. “I don’t know what to do...” Your voice trails off with uncertainty on how to ask for help or what you are even expecting.

You hear a long exhale on the other end, like he is letting all the air out of his lungs while he is thinking on it.

“Dead battery most likely… on a day like this. I’ll be right over.” He hangs up the phone before you can say another word and instead say thank you out loud to yourself and let your voice trail off. You instantly regret making the call.

You zip up your coat, pull your knit hat snug over your ears and head back outside when you see a black Ford pickup truck ease into your driveway. A tall man wearing a brown suede jacket approaches. The morning light is faint but you can make out that he is much older and has some silver streaking his hair and beard. He looks weathered and rugged but also has a warmness about him that is hard to reconcile with his rough exterior.

“Joel Miller, I presume?” you nervously laugh and awkwardly introduce yourself for the second time. You attempt to be extra friendly and maybe penetrate his bristly wall. It seems to help when he notices you are a young woman and not some bratty teenager that your parents probably made you out to be. He takes a step forward and reaches a hand out towards you, nodding. He firmly shakes your hand and you are taken aback by how his grasp seems to engulf you.

“Pleasure to meet you, darling.” His voice is smooth and polite and has the tiniest hint of playfulness in his tone. You can’t place his accent, but you know it isn’t from around here and only someone from away would say ‘Darling’ so casually to a stranger.

His dark brown eyes hold your gaze for a moment and he has the faintest smirk as he subtly scans your body. It sends goosebumps down your spine. You are grateful that you made an extra effort to look cute for your first day of work. You realize your hands are still embraced and nervously laugh as you pull away. He gets right down to business, but not before stealing another peek of your body when he thinks you aren’t looking.

“Lets see what we got here.'' He climbs into the driver's seat and in no time confirms it's the battery when he hears your car's engine protest. He walks over to his tailgate and brings back some jumper cables.

You stand there with your arms wrapped around your body trying to hold in as much warmth as possible. Your bare hands clenched in a fist and tucked in as far as they could in your jacket sleeve to shelter from the cold. Your teeth chattering as you try to stand out of the way but want to be nearby too. At least give the illusion you can be helpful if he needs something. You regret your first meeting being a clueless damsel in distress, but maybe he liked that sort of thing. His tune did seem to change once he saw you.

Joel returns and leans over the edge of the seat leaving the door wide open, his large palm dragging up slowly from the floor to the steering column, searching for the hood release. His finger catches on the button and he pops the hood. It’s hard not to stare at him while he slides his expert hands with reckless abandon.

His eyes find yours and the corner of his mouth raises slightly. You question if you are mistaking his caught you watching me look for more than what it was. He seems to enjoy you watching him work. He steps away from the seat and pulls a pair of work gloves from his back pocket as he works to connect your car to his truck with the jumper cables. He starts his truck back up and approaches you. Your breath and his making little frozen clouds as you exhale.

“You can sit in my truck if you want, it’s plenty warm in there.” He gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “This will just be a minute.” You thank him and take him up on his offer and climb into his passenger seat. He has a classical rock station playing on the radio. A thermos sitting in the center console. You glance in the back seat and see some neatly organized tools and miscellaneous junk on the floor. It smells metallic and leathery.

You outstretch your hands to the vents that are pouring warm air into the cabin and relish the heat.

A few moments pass and you don’t see much of what’s going on with the hood of the truck blocking your view. You doom scroll on Instagram to keep yourself busy but your mind keeps thinking about Joel. You were in no way prepared for your neighbor to be so fucking handsome. It felt absurd to be so turned on by him.

He’s too old. You tell yourself. Don’t even think about it.

Your thoughts are interrupted as the hood slams shut and Joel opens the driver's door. He reaches his arm out to grab his thermos while he climbs into the seat with a groan. The door shuts hard behind him and a blast of cold air invades your space briefly.

“Damn cold one today” He says it with a huff as more of an observation than a complaint. He takes a sip of his coffee and looks over to you. You nod in agreement and find yourself caught up in what to say to him. He pulls off his gloves and tosses them in his backseat. He rests his arm along the back of the seat and it is nearly touching your shoulder. The way his body takes up the space makes you feel small and helpless. Then, you remember you are small and helpless compared to him. He doesn’t feel threatening towards you but you certainly does give off the aura that he could be intense in the right circumstance. You find that undeniably attractive.

“Your folks called me last week. Told me you were gonna be staying here a while.” His eyes are back focused on you. “Meant to come over this weekend and introduce myself.” he seems a little nervous and takes another sip of his coffee. “Didn’t wanna bother you, though.”

You feel a small smile start to grow on your face. The thought that he shared the same reservations brought comfort. Joel rests his thermos between his legs while still holding it with one hand. He looks like he is hesitating to say something but does it anyway. He looks over at you with tender eyes,

“Didn’t expect.. You know...” He makes an unreadable expression as he is searching for the words and scans your body up and down. “Someone like you.” You were not entirely sure what he meant by that, but his smoldered stare on your body made you feel hot inside and your cheeks flush. He looked at you with intrigue and it made you feel good. It made you feel wanted. It had been too long since you felt that way.

In fact, it has been too long since you had any sort of relationship. Even a casual lay.

“You really saved my ass this morning. Thank you.” You pause and feel yourself giving a sultry gaze back at him. “I owe you one.” Joel makes a no big deal gesture with his hand and a cocky smile as he chews the inside of his cheek. In that brief moment you feel something between the two of you. The desire to flirt; tempt a man with at least 20 years on you. An unexpected but undeniable magnetic pull. A curiosity to learn what lies beneath. A forbidden fruit that is ripe and beckoning for you to take a bite. Something different. Something exciting. Something you know you should stifle before it even begins.

His eyes reflect the same sentiment but also harbor concern and restraint. It’s a bad idea. The brief silence between you looms loudly. The elephant in the room.

“Where ya’ off to so early anyways?” he asks, eager to change the subject. He takes another sip of his coffee while you reply.

“Oh, first day working at Grind. You know it?” Joel's demeanor changes in a subtle way that you may not have seen if you weren’t so focused on trying to read him.

“Oh. Yeah..” he chides and looks down, pensive in thought as he brings his hand to the back of his neck and rakes it through his hair. “I know the place.” He glances back up and avoids eye contact. The bite in his voice does not go unnoticed, but you don’t pry.

An uncomfortable subject; noted.

“Better coffee than this I reckon” he says as he places his thermos back in the center console. He attempts to lighten the tone and then glances at his watch.

“I gotta get to work, sweetheart. Keep your car runnin’ for a bit and you should be all set. Probably get that battery replaced.” His tone is more serious now, more business-like. You realize you had been waiting in his truck longer than necessary. You really have to get to work anyways.

You thank him again and return to your car. He waits for you to get in and raises his fingers off his steering wheel in a lazy wave to signal he was leaving. He backs out of your driveway and heads down the road towards town.

You take a deep breath and adjust the knobs in your car. Joel had put everything on high heat and full blast for you and your car was now unbearably toasty. You tune your radio and ease into the road and on your way to work.

All the while your mind can’t stop thinking about your charming, handyman neighbor.

So that's Joel Miller. You smile to yourself and faintly feel butterflies in your stomach. Anxious thoughts that excite and frighten you.

–

It took Marlene all of five minutes to become your new work bestie. She was efficient and smart and knew her way around the place. She was the only one working when you arrived and despite the line of customers she was friendly and teased you for arriving late on your first day.

Marlene had great rapport with everyone. It was apparent that the customers were all regulars and she wasted no time introducing you to them. She had a somewhat forward style but it was well received because she knew exactly what she was doing and didn’t waste time being flowery and over the top. It reminded you of the brashness of Boston.

After the morning rush things were relatively calm. You had time to chat and get to know her a little more while she was showing you the ropes. It wasn’t complicated and you were a quick study.

By mid afternoon it was time to close up shop. The hours were a perk. You were scheduled to work weekdays from open till close and would have to occasionally help out on Saturdays. Marlene worked the same shift and the weekends were mostly covered by high schoolers.

It was just after 2 o’clock when the owner, Tess, stopped by.

“How did it go?” she asks you both as she takes a seat and rests her bag on the counter. Marlene had no intention of telling her you were late and talked you up, pleased with your presence. Tess had a few other properties she owned so her time at the coffee shop was only as needed and Marlene you learnt was more or less the one who ran things day to day.

You recap the day and thank her again for the job. You did genuinely enjoy the work. It was easy. Simple and straightforward. You got to know lots of town folk and everyone was curious and interested in meeting the new girl in town.

Tess seemed pleased enough and was quick to head out. She was friendly but brief and gave the impression she had other responsibilities that demanded her attention. She joins you behind the counter briefly and pours herself a black hot coffee in a to-go cup. Another perk of the job was indulging in all the free coffee.

“Let me know if you guys need anything!” She says energetically as she collects her bag and heads out the door. She flips the sign to “closed” as she leaves.

“Tess is cool. She doesn’t interfere too much and we only see her a few times a week, if that.” You nod to acknowledge Marlene. “Lets finish cleaning up and get out of here.”

It was nice leaving with the sun bright and warm. Winter meant shorter days, so getting out of work with a few hours of daylight felt luxurious. The bitter cold from the morning had made its departure.

You had been so focused with work it wasn’t until you got back to your car that you allowed yourself to think about Joel again. You know you shouldn’t but can’t help feeling turned on at the thought of him. He was handsome in that brooding, mysterious way and he emanated competence. It was refreshing and welcomed.

You decided to send him a text message. You had his number in your recent contacts after all and you were curious if he would play along. You were certain that there was something sparked between the two of you, but unsure if he would act on it. Unsure if there were too many obstacles between you.

You keep it simple and friendly.

You: Thanks again for your help!

Your car starts up with no issue and you head home. When you arrive you glance down to your phone to see a simple reply.

Joel: Anytime

It was brief but you couldn’t help but read it with that low, southern drawl. His voice was so distinct. Polite but stern. You add him as a contact in your phone and wonder if he did the same.

You take a shower, make some dinner and get comfortable in your bed. It’s early and you watch some TV when you hear your phone chime. You glance at your phone and see Joel Miller has you on his mind as he revives the conversation with you.

Joel: So how did it go?

You smile and recount this feeling like you were a teenager talking to your crush. You want to gush about your first day but you play it cool and brief.

You: Went good, I think I’ll like it there

A few minutes pass. Against your better judgment you start to go into details but delete it before you hit send. You recalled his strange reaction earlier when you brought up Grind. This man has you second guessing yourself and you don’t want to blow it before it even begins. He replies instead before you elaborate.

Joel: Glad to hear. Thought you would.

You: I’m exhausted though, getting to bed

You decide to be playful and see how he reacts.

You: Goodnight, Mr. Miller.

Joel: Just Joel.

Joel: Goodnight darling

Darling. Even if it was just a typical Southern phrase it made you wild. It was uncommon to hear in the north and felt so endearing and warm. The knots in your stomach return as you struggle to fall asleep. Your mind is too excited to see where things go from here. You knew he was interested in you enough to keep talking. It would have been easy for him to end the conversation there and keep things formal and neighborly.

Your mind wanders thinking about how truly handsome he is. How badly you want his manly, rough hands on your body. How his voice makes you melt. How his domineering presence makes you tingle in your core. You feel yourself starting to get wet just at the thought of his body and what you wanted to do to it. What you wanted him to do to you. Sinful thoughts.

You slide your hand between your legs and feel yourself already wet and wanting. Your delicate fingers tease circles over your clit and it doesn’t take long before you get off. You feel ashamed to be lusting over an old man you barely know, but nevertheless wish it was Joel’s rough hands on you.

You wonder if he is doing the same thing and sharing the same thoughts about you.

–

A few uneventful days go by and now it’s Friday. You haven’t seen much of Joel other than his truck occasionally driving off, but he had been stuck on your mind all week. Lonely nights accompanied by dirty thoughts of Joel that only fueled your yearning to get closer to him. Your inhibitions regarding age and disapproval of your parents were blinded by your building desire. It still weighed on you though. Your parents would be appalled and probably disown you if they knew. It would just be another tick on the disappointment list.

Work is busy and the day flies by. Just a few hours to go. You are taking a break, sitting at one of the tables by the front window and snacking on a blueberry scone. You reason with yourself that tonight is as good as any to try to make something happen.

You: You doing anything tonight?

An agonizing hour passes and no reply. Your message is on read. Marlene takes notice of your change in demeanor. When things finally slow down and its just the two of you waiting around to close up she presses you.

“So.. whats going on? You look distant.”

“Just trying to… make friends here.” You pause. “A friend in particular.” Your voice trails off. Marlene catches on quick and she had suspected you were starting to fall for someone.

“Anyone I know?” Marlene knows everyone. You don’t want her judgment on the matter so you keep it vague.

“My neighbor. He doesn’t seem the type to come to a place like this though.” Your phone chimes and you try to play down your excitement as you look down and see it’s from Joel. You can barely contain a smile.

Joel: Just got done a job. No plans

Marlene searches your face and rolls her eyes.

“Just go over then. Easy enough.” she was right.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

The rest of the shift goes by quickly and you are both out the door by 3 o’clock.

You sit in your car and decide to just call him already. You were craving to hear his voice again and you wanted to put him on the spot. He answers quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Joel. I still owe you, you know for helping me out earlier.” Joel sighs in defeat.

“I see you aint lettin’ that go. What did ya have in mind?”

“Can I come over tonight? I’ll bring over drinks.” Your offer was more forward than you intended, but you went with it.

“Yeah, ok. Sounds good.” He pauses and has a counter offer for you. “Come over for dinner first?” You melt at the thought and realize you haven’t responded and there is a silence while you are getting lost in your thoughts. “Grilling steaks. Nothin’ fancy.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” You can feel your smile spilling into the phone. That sounds more than good. It sounds really fucking good.

“Alright. Come over ‘round 7.”

“Ok. See you tonight.” You end the call and take a deep breath. Your heart is beating out of your chest in excitement.

–

Getting ready for the night you attempted a relaxed look. You wanted to look nice, but approachable. You had some worn jeans that tucked neatly into your Bean boots. A button down flannel that you left undone over an intentionally low cut, fitted shirt. It accented your chest just right. You wore your hair down and went light on the makeup. You threw on a light leather jacket and grabbed the six pack of beer as you head across the street.

Joel opens the door and leans in the doorframe with a casual figure, taking you in while he bites his lip,

“Evening' sweetheart” He steps back and holds the door open for you and gestures to come in. He was definitely a gentleman. You normally are not a fan of the pet names, but he worked them into his vocabulary so smoothly it was welcomed.

You step inside and turn around, holding up the six pack of beer.

“Sam Adams. That ok?” He shuts the door and nods in approval. “Figured I’d bring some Boston culture over.” You step further inside. His kitchen is just off the main entrance and has an island with some bar stools at it. You make your way over and take a seat and rest the case on the countertop.

Your eyes scan the room. His kitchen is tidy, save the spot where he prepped the steaks. You see an empty whiskey glass. Evidence that he had at least one stiff drink before you came over. You panic a little and regret not doing the same.

“That where you lived before this?” He interrupts your thought as he stands across you at the island. His crossed forearms holding him up as he leans towards you with intrigue. He is dressed plainly in a pair of worn jeans and a plain navy blue t-shirt that hugs his arms just right. His biceps bulge as he is leaning forward and your mind is now preoccupied with just how broad his shoulders are. You almost forgot he asked you a question.

“Yeah, for a few years anyways.” You briefly recount, distracted when Joel takes a beer bottle from the case and effortlessly pops the cap with his large, calloused hands. A satisfying hiss escapes the bottle followed by a clink as the cap falls to the countertop. He slides it over to you and repeats the motion again for himself.

“Oh, wow.” you say out loud, without realizing it. Joel has that cocky side smirk again, well aware of his impressive party trick. He holds the bottle up and towards you and you do the same, clanking bottle necks together and taking a sip. Your eyes are locked on each other for a moment; trying to read each other's intentions.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna put the steaks on.” he gestures his head to the back door that leads onto the deck. He grabs his suede jacket off the back of a chair and walks towards the back entrance. You trail behind and this was the first time you really noticed just how beautiful his home was.

His open living room and kitchen had a vaulted ceiling with massive windows lining the whole back side of the cabin. It faced the lake and you could imagine how serene it would be to watch the sunrise. The cedar walls and flooring made it feel cozy and inviting. There was a large wood stove in the center of the living room and an open loft above the back of the living room. The deck seemed to wrap along a good part of the home.

“Your home is beautiful.” It had looked so much more discrete from the road; tucked behind some pines and a long driveway. The backyard was a short distance to the lake and sloped slightly down to a dock. Joel probably had a boat parked there in the summer. The cabin was perched perfectly with a breathtaking view; isolated and private from the world.

“Thank you. I built it myself. Me and my brother Tommy.”

“Thats… impressive.”

“Eh, just comes with being a contractor. Made more sense to build my own place the way I wanted.” There it was again, that feeling in your core that excites you. Joel likes to be in control, and he has the skill set to back it up making it all the more alluring.

Its a cool night, but not uncomfortably cold to be outside for a few minutes with a jacket. In fact, you are grateful to have the crisp air to help ground you and calm you down. It was embarrassing how easily Joel could work you up. You lean over the railing and gaze out over the lake while he tends to the grill for a moment and then joins you at the railing.

“I spent a few years there myself. Boston.” This was news to you, but you were still curious about his Southern accent.

“And… before?”

“Texas.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Most my life.” You smile and give a slight laugh.

“Well, that certainly explains things. You don’t exactly sound like a New Englander” you tease him. Joel laughs and looks a little distant. Something you have come to realize about Joel is that he has a lot on his mind he doesn’t say out loud. His mysterious demeanor was something you found as attractive as it was frustrating.

“You like it here so far?” He asks.

“I do. Its simple and peaceful. Life is easy here.” you realize while saying this out loud that you mean it. You really are enjoying your time in Kineo more than you ever had expected. “And… my neighbor isn’t so bad.” You tease. Joel rolls his eyes and returns to the grill, pulling the steaks off.

“Mine is a pain in the ass.” He jokes as he closes the grill. He wasn’t wrong. You were persistent if anything.

–

Dinner is laid back and enjoyable. He has a small dining room table but you choose to sit next to each other at the island drinking your Sam Adams and enjoying your ribeye steaks. Joel cooked them to perfection. You stay seated long after you are done eating, getting carried away with conversation. Your bodies are facing each other and knees knocking into his as you get animated with your storytelling.

Joel mostly listens while you ramble on. The more you drink the lower your inhibitions get. You are a lightweight to begin with and it doesn’t take much. You don’t even notice that he isn’t really listening to you anymore. His focus has left your well intended words and shifted to your body. He’s looking at your low-cut shirt teasing him. The way you brush your hair out of your face when you laugh. How your neck looks so inviting when you tilt your head back to take a sip of beer, You don’t register that he is eyeing you crudely like you are a piece of meat. That he is fighting every urge inside him to just lose himself with you.

He inches his hand along the countertop closer to yours until he is grazing your wrist with a light touch and dragging his fingers back across yours. It sends a shiver through your body as you become aware how he is looking at you and how painfully reserved his touch is. It is polite but intrusive. He watches how it makes you feel. How you start to come undone.

Your pent up feelings are starting to overwhelm you and you excuse yourself reluctantly. Your heart starts to race and you wonder if he can hear it beating.

You get up and bring your plate over to the sink to wash it. It is a distraction more than anything while you gather yourself. Joel watches you from behind for a moment. You can feel his gaze burning into you and brace yourself against the counter. You like the way it feels. The way he makes you feel wanted.

That loud silence returns. The air in the room feels heavy. He joins you at the sink and you can feel his heat envelop you as he approaches you from behind. His broad body boxes you in and makes you feel small and vulnerable.

Joel takes his hands and dances his fingers down your arms lightly. His touch starts a fire inside you and you crave a heavier hold. You need him like you need air in your lungs. He presses a gentle kiss behind your ear and another one drags to your jawline and to the soft meat of your neck. His coarse beard scrapes against your skin and makes you shudder. You press your ass into him and feel him hard against your lower back. He responds by pressing into you firmly and brings his mouth to your ear.

“You feel what you do to me, beautiful girl?” He asks with his low, gravely voice and presses another kiss into you. His heat is searing into you.

He agonizingly slides his hands down to your hips and turns you to face him. He pushes your body gently against the countertop and moves one of his hands up to caress your face. He presses his hips into you and holds your chin gently between his thumb and finger. He stares down at you with a thirst in his eyes. He narrows his focus to try to get a reading on you. Your mouths are just inches apart. There is a hunger he is resisting but the wolf inside is slowly starting to win over reason.

“I want this, Joel.” You stare up at him and make sure he can see the desire in your eyes and that you are serious. You want to remove any hesitations he has on your account. You try to rock your hips into him but he has you pinned. He can feel your needy attempt.

“We shouldn’t…” Joel pleads, but his words are empty and not speaking the same language as his body.

Your age, your parents, your unfamiliarity with one another all should be reason enough to quelch this flame, but it just makes you want it that much more. He has wanted you since he first laid eyes on you that morning he came to your rescue. He wants to be respectful but fails, instead teasing you with how much he wants you. The hesitance is an illusion that he has kept up until that moment. Your body is trapped against his and he is looking at you like you are prey in his clutches. You had suspected and even hoped that Joel was a dominant lover with how confident he carried himself.

You seize the opportunity to show him just what he is doing to you.

You push your tongue into him and taste him; sweet and malty. His warm and wet mouth is inviting and intense. All reluctancy fades away as he gives in to you and takes control with his tongue. You can feel his cock is hard and straining against his jeans as he rocks into you. Your arms hang around his neck and tangle into his hair as you grind against each other. The friction of both your bodies sending each other into a frenzy.

He drags his mouth away, biting at your lower lip as he moves along your jawline to the soft skin at your neck. You stretch your head back giving him full access to your bare neck as he nips at you hungrily. His scruffy beard rubs roughly against your supple skin and feels so good. One hand roams up your shirt while his mouth traces lower and lower down to your collarbone. He thumbs and circles over your nipple. He can feel it harden through your bra and engulfs your breast with his large hand. His touch is brazen but you welcome it. You can feel just how badly he wants to devour you and it makes you moan.

He slides his expert hand from your breast and drags it down to your jeans. He unbuttons them hastily with force and works his hand slowly inside. Your underwear is already wet from your arousal. He pulls his mouth away from you and has a devilish grin as he grabs at your pussy and narrows his eyes on you.

“You’re so wet for me.” He says breathlessly with anticipation while he has you in his grasp.

He slides his hand inside your waistband and teases your clit as his hand slides against you. You want to reply to him but your words are trapped beneath the moans caught in your throat. He brings a finger to your opening and slowly pushes the tip inside you. The pressure from his large, calloused fingers makes you buck into him. He rubs his thumb over your clit as he slowly teases your entrance with his finger. He takes it slow and when he thinks you are ready he slips another one inside.

You can feel your walls clench around his obscenely thick fingers and he pushes deeper. Twisting and playing at your entrance and thrusting in. Your hips writhe in his grasp. While one hand is busy with your cunt the other has an iron grip on the back of your neck. His mouth messily returns to the soft skin above your collarbone and into the crook of your neck. You are completely at his mercy and can’t imagine any other place you’d want to be.

You are so tight but he stretches you open artfully. Moans escape your lips as you gasp when his fingers dip further into you, reaching that perfect part deep inside.

“Come for me.” He pants into you with a snarl as you convulse on him.

He doesn’t let up and fucks you relentlessly with his fingers until you are coming and moaning his name. Incoherent expletives escape you while you soak him.

You ride the wave of pleasure for as long as you can. It has been too long since you had fucked around with someone. However, no one had ever so masterfully gotten you off with just their fingers. The way he handled your body and worshiped you with his mouth was intoxicating.

As you come down from your high he slides his wet fingers from inside you and pulls his mouth away with a final ravenous kiss on your swollen lips. He places a kiss on top of your head and pulls you in close for an embrace. The hard protrusion against your body makes itself painfully known.

Joel presses his forehead against yours as he works to unzip his jeans and free himself. His fingers are wet with your slick. He smirks at you as his hand glides over his swollen cock and rubs your wetness all over his length. His breathing shallows as he strokes himself with one hand and braces his body on the countertop with the other. His swollen head grazes your belly with each thrust into his fist.

You watch him wantonly as he palms himself with more vigor. Joel’s cock is thick and intimidating, but you crave it in the worst way. It is by far the largest you have ever seen. It glistens in your slick and the precum that was beading at the head. A desire builds inside you and you yearn for more of Joel. Want him in your hands, your mouth, your cunt.

“Let me, please?” your voice comes out barely above a whisper. His hand slows and comes to a stop. He stretches out his arms to hold him up against the counter as he hovers above you and lets you take over.

You reach out and grab on to him. You marvel at its size and how weighty it feels in your hands as you start to rub them up and down. His skin is hot and velvety smooth and pulled tightly. Your pace is much slower but more precise. You feel the veins bulge under your grasp as your fingers glide up and down his length.

A moan hitches in his throat as you rub your thumb over his sensitive tip. You do it again and again. Teasing Joel Miller feels dangerous. You can feel how ragged he is and how close he is to coming. You want to make him come undone.

“God, damn it.” Joel grunts under his breath. He peels back your hand and painfully pulls it off of him. His cock twitches at the loss of your touch. He stands up straight and towers over you as you shrink back.

“Get on your knees.” He commands with his hand firmly on your wrist as he pulls your face closer to his. It sends a shiver through your body and you oblige. Any warmth in his eyes has been lost and he is staring at you; dark and menacing. He throws your wrist away and grips his hand along the side of your neck. His touch is rough and urgent. His fingers snake around to the back of your neck as he pulls you closer to him while you drop down. They twist into your hair and he has a hold on the back of your head. It doesn’t hurt, but his grasp is firm and might if you tried to fight it.

He takes his cock back in his grasp with his other hand and pumps it. His movements are jerky and his breathing is labored. You can tell he is so close. He roughly pulls your head back by your hair to look up at him.

“You gonna’ finish what you started?” he asks with darkened eyes. “Then open up.” He commands you through clenched teeth.

You respond with an uncontainable smirk. You part your mouth slowly and let your tongue hang out, never taking your eyes off his. You sit back onto your knees so that you are slightly under him and wait patiently. He widens his stance. His hand slides to the top of your head and tangles in your hair. You can feel him slowly starting to lose control and come undone before you while he strokes himself. You brace yourself, hooking your fingers into the back of his thighs and clawing at his jeans. You can smell his sex and feel his heat but he holds you just out of reach and makes you wait while your thirst grows.

Finally he taps the head of his weighty cock against your tongue and you lick at his slit, sending him over the edge. He groans as his thick spend coats your tongue and drips messily onto your chin. You close your mouth around him as he begins to stall out and swallow, pulling the final drops of cum from him while you choke his cock with your mouth.

“Good girl.” He rasps at you. “So fucking good.” His grip on you loosens and he tenderly drags his hand along your jawline. You relax your mouth and let him slide himself out. He groans when your tongue licks the underside of him as he pulls out.

He thumbs over some of his mess that falls out of your mouth and curls his thumb over your bottom lip. You lick him clean and he moves to hold your face in his hands while you look up at him.

“My good girl.” His words shoot straight to your core and make you weak. He brushes your hair behind your ear and helps you up. He places another kiss on your head and wraps his arms around you. His hot and heavy body feels so good against yours. You tilt your head up and press your mouth into him one more time.

“Are we even now?” you joke. Joel smiles. Everything about him feels warmer. He peels himself away from you and steps back, leaning against the island. You adjust your clothes and zip yourself back up while he does the same.

“Actually… think I might owe you now.” Joel says with a playful tone. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and shakes his head at you like he can’t believe his predicament. You like the idea of Joel owing you.

–

You don’t spend the night. He offers to walk you home but you opt to go alone. It felt good to get some fresh air, to clear your head and recap the night. You also wanted to leave him wanting more.

You weren’t sure what would come from this situation with Joel, but you knew you barely scratched the surface with him. He was rough around the edges but you liked that about him. You liked that a lot.

(Continue to Part 2!)

A/N: More to come! Undecided how many chapters but I have quite a bit mapped out. Please be kind. This is my first fic and it is nerve wrecking to post! If you loved it, PLEASE let me know. I'd love to know your thoughts so far! What did you like? What do you want more of? How much angst can your heart take? I aim to test it in future chapters. Comments/Reblogs are appreciated so much. Thank you all

Also special thanks to @magpiepills for the lovely cover photo (and her mood board inspirations she helped with along the way!) and to both her and @legendary-pink-dot for reading my first draft and giving their feedback AND courage to post this.

If you wish to know when I post the next chapter, please follow @ArcaneFoxFics and turn on notifications!

Love to my friends who give me the courage and support to do all the things @magpiepillsjunior @legendary-pink-dot @exquisiteserotonin @youandmeand5bucks @redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @for-a-longlongtime

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #the wolf you feed #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #New England Joel #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller series #fic: the wolf you feed #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfic

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camillelespanayesbtch · 25 days ago

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Seven Devils All Around Me (18+)

Summary: It isn't your fault you like the feeling of power, the sensation was addictive, and although it never worked out well for those around you, it certainly worked well for you. You weren't to blame that people seldom survived attacking you, it was their fault after all. But you can only run for so long before your misdeeds catch up to you, and where will you be left after? It's dangerous to walk certain paths alone as a young witch.

Content: Eventual smut, graphic depictions of murder and violence, character death, power imbalance, manipulation, addiction, grief, discussion of sexual violence (r receiving) (I will add more as I think of them)

Word Count: 4690

Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

I will block minors and ageless bios

Chapter One

You hum to yourself as you follow the marks you carved into the trees, a hidden path you had created that left those who follow you believing you were the perfect victim, blissfully unaware of the danger that followed you. You could hear the boys talking among themselves, their gleeful snickering as they think about all the things they could do to you now that they had you alone and unaware. Like most evenings, the forest was a cacophony of sound, there wasn’t an inch of space where there was silence, every crevasse had sound, even the ants clicked to one another to inform the other of the crumbs of bread that were left abandoned on the floor of the community hall that hosted giants. The leaves crunch underfoot, small twigs snapping as you step on them, continuing to hum the tune until you come to a clearing in the forest.

There was a space where no leaves were, a perfect circle that had been made over years of the same trick, black as the night sky is dark. “Look boys,” Douglas says with a grin, “She’s made a spot for fucking, just for us.” He moves closer to you, the others surrounding you as well, all of them giving each other encouraging looks. They didn’t believe the stories about boys going missing because every coven had tales like that, even the girls were told tales about their powers being taken when lured to walk the witch’s road, but everyone believed that it was just the danger of the road and not one of their own doing it. “I wonder if her tits are as big as her top makes them look,” Douglas says, advancing on you quickly, his hands twitching by his side as he thinks about tearing your shirt from your body.

“I’ve seen them through her window when she changes,” Clint says, “They’re small, no bigger than a handful, but at least they’re perky.” He cracks his knuckles, his eyes glinting dangerously. This wasn’t his first time taking what he wanted, and it wouldn’t be his last, just like the other boys he was with- if he sees something he wants, he takes it. His mother did raise him to be respectful towards women, especially those in the coven, but she always spoke about you as being the exception. You were the freak of the group, the one people whispered about, warned the kids to stay away from least you corrupt them. So, really, what he and his friends were about to do wasn’t a bad thing, it was deserved. “We should take pictures and add them to the wall.”

“We should take pictures and add them to the wall,” you mimic, turning to face them. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to keep trophies? Or was that too much for your tiny little boy-brains to comprehend?” You run your fingers through your hair, letting out a sigh as you shake a few knots loose. You were hungry, and these boys would be enough to last you a few weeks. Sure, they weren’t as powerful as the elders, too jumped up on the testosterone coursing through their bodies to focus on mastering the craft, instead relying on brute force to get things done. “Didn’t mommy teach you better? Or even your fathers? No, I suppose not. No, daddy left you boys behind, didn’t he? Went off to go fuck some young maiden the next town over,” you make a vulgar gesture, thrusting your hips before laughing when you see the group clench their fists in anger. “Oh no, did I hurt your feelings? What’re you gonna do? Blast me?”

It would only take one. It only ever takes one, but they didn’t know that. Of course they didn’t know that they barely knew how to groom themselves let alone see the signs of a trap, to even see that sometimes there is truth in the tales they have been told since childhood. You mightn’t have believed the ones about the Purple Witch, but you wouldn’t deny that there is something alluring about her. The ability to take someone’s powers? You wondered what it felt like, if it was as addictive as watching people burn, using their own powers to cause their deaths. “Lucas and Clint, hold her down,” Douglas orders, his eyes burning into yours.

The two boys he orders raise their hands, their magic shooting from their hands and wrapping around your wrists. They both were smirking until they see the lopsided grin on your face, a darkness settling into your eyes. You breathe in deep through your nose, tilting your head back up to the sky as your eyes drift shut, feeling the warmth starting to spread through your body and bloom out from your palms, “Oh boys,” you exhale. “Silly, stupid, little boys.” Your head rolls forward and you open your eyes to look at them, a fire burning in your eyes that makes them take a step back. “Didn’t you hear the stories? Didn’t your mother tell you not to go into the woods at night?”

“She’s just- She’s just bluffing,” Douglas stutters, “She’s just trying to scare us.” He puffs his chest out in false bravado before moving closer to you, his hands coming up to tear the front of your blouse open, but he hisses in pain, pulling his hands back. Your body had grown hot to the touch, as though he had just put his hands over the hot embers of a campfire, “What trickery is this?”

“You haven’t figured it out, have you?” You yank your hands free of Clint and Lucas’ magic, grabbing a handful of Douglas’ shirt, and pulling him so his body was against yours, a feral grin spreading across your face. “Smell that?” You lean in, taking a deep breath as the scent of burning fabric starts to fill the air, “Maybe you can feel it. It’s getting hot, isn’t it? I wonder if I’ll see eyes explode this time like popcorn.” You stare at him intensely, your hands glowing like magma as you start to cook him from the inside out, feeling his energy seeping out of him and into you. You let out a content sigh a the sensation, watching as his eyes go wide, his skin turning a deep red before starting to melt from his muscles and bones. He cries out in agony, trying to get away from you, to put the fire out inside of him but it was of no use, and soon he falls to the ground, his body quickly going up in flames. “Now,” you smile and turn to look at the other boys who were looking on in horror, “Who’s next?”

“You’re a monster,” Clint says, clenching his fists, “He didn’t even do anything to you! We were just playing!” He was quick to attack you, seemingly forgetting what he had just witnessed you do to his friend. You eagerly drink his energy up, your body glowing like a reactor before his body turns into barbecue. He claws at his clothes, trying to remove the flaming fabric from his body as he writhes on the ground, his screams drowning out the music of songbirds. You wonder if the woods would muffle the sound so it didn’t carry to the houses that lived along the edge of it, that the neighbors wouldn’t have their windows open to let the warm spring breeze in. Then again, if you didn’t want them to hear, you simply shouldn’t be doing what you are, but you couldn’t help yourself, could you? You enjoy it too much. You enjoy luring men into the woods, using their own powers to burn them alive as some sort of penance for all the women burned before you because their power was seen as a threat.

You take a few breaths to calm yourself, looking at your hands, they were turning black, tendrils creeping up your forearm and tickling your inner-elbow. This happened every time, the only evidence of your crimes. They were easy to hide though, you wore long-sleeves, and had a pair of gloves that your mother gave you to protect you from the judgmental gaze of your coven. Your mother wasn’t consciously aware of what you were doing, thinking you were just going into the woods to practice your craft, but she couldn’t deny it was suspicious that boys kept going missing whenever you did.

The remaining boys fall quickly, you wave your hands, letting out a hot blast of fire that turns their remains to ash. You knew the rain would disperse the ashes, returning them to the earth and helping to keep the forest alive, although your circle never grew back- the grass has remained dead and black for years. You were in your twenties now, and you had been doing this since you were sixteen. You do the buttons back up on your blouse then pull your sleeves down, doing the cuff buttons up so the sleeves wouldn’t go out of place. You flick your hair from your face, a smile settling on your features as you start to head back, humming to yourself once more.

As you walk, you stop occasionally to pick some flowers for your mom, making a bouquet for her. Your father wasn’t around to do this for her, not that he had done such thoughtful things when he was alive, that had always been your thing. You loved making your mom smile because it meant she wasn’t worrying about anything which had become her normal. If she wasn’t worrying about you getting in trouble, she was worrying about the coven being run out of town, and if she wasn’t worrying about that, she was worrying about taxes which only seemed to go up every year. It’s not that you couldn’t afford the taxes, she had been around for centuries, she had more than enough money to cover them, but it was still an unnecessary stress in her life that she simply did not need. If you could get away with it, you would burn the tax collector alive, maybe even roast him over a fire like you would toast a marshmallow.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” A familiar voice asks, disappointment evident in her tone. “I tell them- I tell them every meeting that it isn’t you, that my daughter would never bring harm to her coven, and every time you go out and prove me wrong.”

You look up from the flowers you were examining, your features falling, “Mama… I- They attacked me,” you explain. “I was just coming here to practice, like you always want me to. And they followed me, taunting me, telling me all the horrible things they were going to do to me.” You turn your head slightly, just enough to see the open area out the corner of your eye that was a few hundred feet away by now before looking back at your mom. You try to smile, holding the sad looking bouquet out for her, “I picked you flowers. Your favorites. I know you like having fresh flowers in the house because you like when the bees-“

“Enough,” she cuts you off, “Enough,” she repeats, softer this time. She walks closer to you, a sadness on her face as she gently takes your free hand in hers- your skin was like charcoal, and still hot to the touch like the furnace in winter. Her heart aches painfully in her chest, why was her only child like this? Had she done something wrong? Those questions hurt her; how could she think so poorly of you? She loves you dearly, she would do anything for you, absolutely anything for you, why couldn’t you do this one thing for her? Her touch was soft, cooling your burning skin as she runs her fingers over it, your skin slowly turning back to your normal shade. She turns your hand over so your palm was facing her, running her finger in a circle on your palm, a small smile tugging on her lips, “Round and round the garden,” she whispers, “Went the teddy bear, one step,” she walks her finger up your forearm, healing as she goes, “two step,” another step onto your bicep, “Tickle you under there,” she says and gently tickles your underarm, a soft giggle escaping her. “You used to squeal whenever I did that to you as a toddler.”

You can’t help the quiet giggle you let out, unaware of the tears spilling from your eyes, “Mama,” you whisper back, “I’m not a little kid anymore.” She gives your arm a squeeze at that, looking pained by the reminder. You rest your hand over hers, looking remorseful immediately, “I know- I know I’m still your little girl. You still make my boo boo’s better.” You look down at your hands, they were no longer black as tar, and you could see the blue and purple of your veins on the backs of them instead of a deep red that glowed against the black. You felt a knot form in your stomach, “They’re gonna kill me, aren’t they, mama?” You ask her quietly, a waver in your voice. “For what I’ve done- They’re gonna burn me.”

Your mom blinks back tears but it was futile, the salty liquid running down her cheeks, “When they find out,” she replies softly, “Yes. They will.” She raises her hand to tenderly stroke your cheek, and as always, you lean into her touch. Her thumb brushes against your rosy skin, wiping away any tear that dared to fall. She didn’t know how long you would both have together, whether she could wash your hair and braid flowers into it, or whether now was the only time you two would get. “Why couldn’t you stop?”

“I can’t help it, mama, you know that,” you answer, your eyes closing as you relax into her touch. Her hands never caused the same pain and suffering that yours have, they have always healed and protected. There was never a moment where she didn’t help someone, where she turned them away when they showed up to the door pleading for her to make their sick child better. There was always a spare bed for the child or adult to recover, your mother watching over them during the night to ensure their condition didn’t worsen. You. You had always been the one to hurt, to harm, to inflict suffering and pain. Your mother, try as she might to get you to do things for the betterment of the coven such as burning the fields to return the nutrients to the earth, or helping start the bonfires for when there was a community barbecue, even trying to get you to take out the wolves that threatened the farm animals, but it never satiated you.

It wasn’t until you turned sixteen did it become a problem, but she brushed it off because you had been terribly bullied, she kept brushing it off when the first group of boys went missing. She had moved you both after that, found another coven. Six months of peace before it happened again. Every time, you would come home with blackened skin and a bouquet of flowers. She never had to worry about running out of dried flowers for her potions, the basement was full of them, your peace offerings to her. You always were so sincere in your apologies, and she believed you every time, why wouldn’t she? “They deserved it,” you add, “They were going to hurt me.”

“Not every single boy was out to hurt you, surely, sweetheart. What about Tommy? He was always so kind to you, he tutored you. You were friends.”

Tommy had been your friend two moves ago, you two had bonded over being excluded from most of the college class you were enrolled in, even the lecturer refused to acknowledge you in class. You both were good students, handing your assignments in on time and not once even asking for an extension. You thought you were just friends, you told him you only liked women, and he told you he was okay with it. You had gone over to his house one afternoon to study for an upcoming exam, the two of you were in his room on his bed reading notes when he had asked you if you’d ever kissed anyone before. The question made your skin crawl, “No,” you had answered, “I haven’t.” He got this look in his eyes at that answer, his hand had come up to turn your head to face him before he leaned in to kiss you, his tongue forced its way into your mouth, pocking and prodding your throat. You had frozen; your eyes wide as he assaulted you. It wasn’t until he had pulled back did the anger kick in. You don’t really remember much of what happened, only running out of the house as the fire department showed up to extinguish the flames, two of the firefighters checking over you for injuries. You had told your mother what happened, what he did, and she had brushed it off, saying it was just how it was done- nobody needed to ask for permission to kiss, it was spontaneous. You had cried in your room that night, you didn’t understand why your mom didn’t see why it was wrong of him to do that to you. She knew you liked women, why on earth would you ever want some man to kiss you?

“We- You know what he did to me, mama. He hurt me. He hurt me,” you tell her, more tears falling onto your cheeks, “He knew I didn’t like him like that. Every single one of them deserved it.” That wasn’t true, there had been a couple of groups you took out because you enjoyed the thrill of it, the screams, the feeling of power that filled your system. Even thinking about it now made you giddy, your pupils dilating as though a drug was coursing its way through your system. “You have to believe me, mama, please.”

Her hand falls from your face, “We should head back. You need a shower, and I’d like to braid your hair.” Her voice was cold, the older woman turning her back on you, not even taking the flowers from your hand. She usually hummed with you, the same song she sang to you as a child, but tonight the only sound was the owls hooting in the forest. You wipe your eyes on your sleeve, holding the flowers close to you as you follow along behind her. You hum quietly to yourself, looking up into the trees to see the glowing eyes of birds watching you. There was something comforting about them being so attentive, like they were looking out for the inhabitants that called the woods their home, even as they swoop on the mice that scamper across the leafy floor. It was the balance of things, and even as they eat the mice, they too would return to the earth and continue the cycle anew.

When you get home, your mother sits on a chair and has you sit on the floor between her legs as she starts to braid your hair, her fingers working deftly. She carefully takes the dried flowers and works them into your hair, willing the protection to keep you safe when the leaders come knocking. Only now does she hum, the strands of gold that hold the flowers in place starting to glow. She new deep down this day would come, that moving towns, cities, states would only get you so far because the tales that were told about a witch of destruction would catch up to you, that one coven was going to be smart enough to figure things out and realize it is one of their own. “You’ve always had such beautiful hair,” she murmurs, adding another flower to the braid and tying it into place, “Ever since you left my body, you had a mop of hair on your head. Whenever you woke in the morning, your hair was all over the place, and it would take so much water to tame it.”

“I’ve seen the photos,” you reply with a giggle, your eyes closed as you relax, enjoying the calming sensation of your mom braiding your hair. There had been times she had yelled at you for not brushing your hair, threatening to cut it all off if you didn’t want to take care of it. She had always apologized afterwards though, blaming her anger on something that had been said in a coven meeting as she carefully brushed the knots and tangles from your hair. “How long do we have?”

Your mother doesn’t look up from your hair, the wards she had set around the house were starting to crumble, only meant to slow them down, “Not long, my dear,” she picks the hairtie up and ties the braid off, securing a crystal in with it. “There,” she says, running her hand lightly over her work before you turn to look at her, your eyes holding the light of a thousand flames, “My beautiful girl. If you survive, you know you must never return.” Her hand caresses your cheek, her eyes held the river of life which you always loved looking into because you could feel the cool refreshing water wash over you, keeping you calm.

“I can’t leave you behind, mama. I can’t- I promised you that I would look after you,” you rest your hand over hers, they were the perfect balance. It always made you laugh how whenever her hands were cold, yours were burning hot, and on the rare occasion hers were warm, yours were colder than the glacier high in the mountains. You didn’t want to leave her behind, she would be an outcast unless she participated in your execution which she was unlikely to do because despite everything you have put her through, she still loves you and you knew there was nothing stronger than a mother’s love. “I can’t go without you.”

“You have to, sweetheart. You must find your own path, in a coven that will understand you,” she pulls back from you when the front door flies open, standing up she calls out to them. “She’s in here!” She looks at you, pain visible in her eyes, “She killed them! I saw it with my own eyes. No daughter of mine shall harm our coven.”

You felt your spirit break, unable to realize she was doing this for a reason, to keep herself safe, to keep you safe from seeing her harmed. “Mama-“ You start, struggling against the witches as they bind you with their magic, “Mama, please,” you beg, “Please don’t let them do this to me. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to do it, mama.” The women haul you to your feet, the magic tightening around your wrists behind your back, cutting off the circulation to your hands.

“I saw the look in your eyes, Yn. You enjoyed it.” She follows the other women out of the house, the path to the stake lined with other members of the coven holding burning torches. “I’ll bind her to the stake,” your mother tells the women, “To make up for what I have done. I have let this coven down too many times before, I won’t let it happen again.” Her magic felt different this time as it wraps itself around you, your hands pulled taut behind the stake, the cold no longer soothing, instead it felt icy, the frost burning your skin. She couldn’t look you in the eyes, she didn’t want you to see how much this was hurting her, and she didn’t want to see how betrayed you looked as she prepared to watch her daughter burn.

“I never thought I’d see the day, Theodora,” the elder-witch comments, “Preparing to burn your own flesh and blood after so long of defending her. Had this evening turned out differently, you would be on that stake along with her, there is no doubt about that.” She gestures for the others to surround you, a group of six women all part of the higher counsel, and every single one of them deeming you guilty. There was no room in their coven for someone like you, someone so dangerous, someone without remorse. Were they unbiased in their judgement? Four of them were not, all having lost a son to you. The other two had daughters, but even they feared that one day your hatred would spread to women. Although whenever their daughters had caught a glimpse of you, their cheeks turned as red as a rose, and a carefree giggle escaped them which they thought was arguably worse. “Get into position, Theodora. It’s time.”

“Mama please,” you beg, “Please. I didn’t mean to. I can’t control it. Please.” You look at her, desperate for her to believe you one last time, “Please, mama. Tell them. Tell them that I didn’t know what I was doing. That I didn’t mean to. That they hurt me too.”

Your mother wanted to stroke your cheek one last time, to wipe your tears away but she couldn’t do that, not anymore. She breathes you in, inhaling the floral scent of the shampoo you used before stepping down from the platform and joining the other women encircling you. “I should have let you burn the first time,” is all she says.

The elder-witch gives a nod, everyone raising their hands in preparation, “Begin!” She commands, their powers shooting out of their hands and hitting you full force, a pained scream tearing itself from your throat. It felt like your insides were being roasted, your skin prickling from the heat. It was agony, you had never felt anything like this before and you wanted it to stop.

“Please!” You scream, your head falling back against the stake, “Stop! I can’t-“ You could feel that familiar sensation starting to build in your stomach, and it wouldn’t be long until it broke free. “Mama- Mama run!” Your face was wet with tears, your head tipping forward, your eyes making contact with your mom’s. She couldn’t run, you both knew this, but you hoped this last time she would break the rules for you. The binding around your wrist starts falter, the women behind you noticing it.

“Elder- Her bindings! She’s going to break free!” One of them exclaims yet she does not stop her attack on you, none of them do because they hoped that if they continued, you would finally burn.

The elder-witch encourages them to push through it, “She is glowing! We are close! Keep going!” Your mother knew what was about to happen, finally she meets your eyes, mouthing an apology to you before the blast happens, all the women letting out agonizing screams as the fall to the ground ablaze. You slump somewhat against the wooden stake, your hair blowing in the draft created from the fires, your skin flush a deep red and your hands glowing brighter than the sun. You didn’t want to hurt them. You didn’t mean to, you begged for them not to do this. You warned them you couldn’t control it. You were going to wallow in that feeling until you remembered your mother. You look around frantically, counting the bodies: seven. Your mother-

“Mama-“ You jump down from the pedestal and rush over to where she had last been, sinking to your knees as you desperately try and put out the flames. She was unrecognizable, her skin blackened and burned. “Mama, I’m sorry,” you sob, cradling her burnt body close to you. She was the only person to look out for you, the only one to have stood by your side, and you had repaid her by killing her. Your tears drip from your chin and onto her corpse, the tears evaporating before they even touch her skin. You look down at her, “I’m sorry.”

#Agatha Harkness #Agatha Harkness x reader #Kathryn Hahn #Kathryn Hahn x reader #Agatha All Along #Agatha Harkness imagine #Kathryn Hahn imagine

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urhoneycombwitch · 4 months ago

Text

howdy, honey!

part I

older!cowboy!Eddie x honey!reader

foreword: idk what this is. other than the start of a new series I may or may not have time for lmao. just… love the idea of honey!Reader and wanted to show the origins of cowboy!Eddie into their life <3 honey!Reader is a bit of an abrasive spitfire but I heart complicated women and Eddie is the right amount of gruff to put up w/ that bratty ass <3 I’m sorry if any truck stuff is wrong I swear I researched a bit but dear god I am not a car girly plz forgive me

cw: Appalachian no magic AU, cowboy!Eddie, older!Eddie, age gap (Eddie is at least 40, R implied as younger), R is on the run from a Troubled Past ™, R has breasts (non-sexual mention) and a tattoo (no skin tone/color mentioned), smut planned for following chapters, as always +18 mdni!

wc: 5.3k

The last thing you want to hear behind you approaches: a vehicle slowing down, tires crunching to crawl at your walking pace in the gravel ditch of the road.

Maybe it’s just a concerned citizen. You soothe yourself internally, even as your guard surges up to take stock of the environment, to calculate the quickest route to safety.

To your left- a rusting red pickup, its unknown driver, the flat expanse of tarmac and heat lines rising blearily for miles on end.

To your right, just a sprint away- the line of a lush, thick forest, unfamiliar birds calling amidst the Appalachian wilderness.

Then, an even worse sound of the truck's window being rolled down.

“Not interested, pal,” you call out, in a tone you hope is commanding. “My thumb ain’t out. Keep driving.”

“I just-” it’s a man’s voice, because of course it is, who else would stop in the middle of an abandoned road to harass a young thing like you- “It’s about a hundred degrees out. Hotter than a two-buck pistol and you’re hiking in it.”

“Mind your damn business.” You don’t know this guy’s angle, but you don’t really care- if there’s anything you’ve learned from the past two weeks on the road, it’s Don’t trust strange men and keep your wits.

Heart thumping an unsteady rhythm, you swallow the fear and hike your duffle bag higher onto your aching shoulder, resolute, even as the guy sighs. As if he has the right to sound weary. “Darlin’. I don’t wanna see you die of dehydration, is all. Got some water in the back, ‘least let me offload some onto you.”

The offer is tempting enough to still your steps- your canteen is empty, ran out about an hour after being filled at the last town’s hostel. Constant thirst has been an unfortunate side effect of this journey; so far it seems you've been the only one desperate enough to actually be outside in this unrelenting heat.

The man must take your pause for acceptance because he rolls to a stop just ahead of you, brake lights giving one quick flash before the engine cuts out. Both boots hit pavement at the same time, revealing a tall, lanky figure in dark denim and a cut-off tee.

As he rounds to the trailer bed, you notice a smattering of tattoos- bats flying up one arm, a lariat and a floral piece on the other, some sort of mythological creature sitting over his heart (only spotted as he bends to unhook his truck bed’s latch, shirt shifting forward to reveal a pale expanse of skin beneath).

He’s a confusing, delightful mix of punk and cowboy- jeans just a touch too tight for working, silver hoops lining the shell of his right ear. You’d probably get a better sense of his age if his hair wasn’t hiding in a bun too shadowy to see properly, nestled under the brim of his black cowboy hat.

Eyes dark as bittersweet chocolate but kind and calm turn towards you, observing silently with crossed arms in the ditch a yard away. He closes the gap, wiping his palm on the black bandanna lining his pocket before stretching an appeasing hand towards you. “Waterin’ time.”

A laugh would signal comfortability, and you prefer to keep your cards as close to your own chest as possible, so you smother the noise, turn it into a disapproving twist of your mouth before taking his proffered hand.

He’s stronger than he looks, pulling you up to the road with an easy flex of his forearm; his other hand automatically fits to your low back to steady you as your pack shifts with the climb, but he drops all points of contact as soon as you’re stabilized.

There’s a thunk from the nearby truck, the sound of something dull hitting into the metal. On instinct, your hand snaps to the butterfly knife tucked into the front of your bra band, hidden by the extra padding but close enough to whip out at a moment's notice.

A dog sits eager and obedient in the truck bed, black and leggy and long-snouted- some type of Shepherd, if you had to guess. His long feathered tail hits the wheel with each enthusiastic wag, oversized ears perked forward.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Adrenaline leaves you feeling sticky and strung-out, even more than the heat. Between your breasts, the knife sits waiting, metal cool to the touch and reassuring through the fabric of your tanktop. You hope it just looks like you scare easily, hand over your heart with nerves and jumpiness instead of trained defense mode- cards to chest, and all that.

Safer for you, to be underestimated. Always harder to see a hit coming from someone unexpected.

This time, though, you aren’t fixing to hit. The back of your hand, like some gravitational force, draws you to the mouth of the truck bed.

A slash of pink tongue splits the all-black dog’s mouth when he licks you, thumping tailbeat picking up speed.

The man who owns both truck and dog leans a hip against the wheel, watching as you smooth your palm over the silky head of his companion. “Name’s Goblin.”

“So, your parents were hippies, I gather?” A joke slips out before you can catch and wrestle it back to be the most unassuming version of yourself.

The man laughs- full and rich, crow’s feet bursting like sunbeams, dimples springing into his cheeks- the action knocks a decade off his face.

You’re transfixed, unable to look away, Goblin nudging your hand for more pets while you memorize the way this stranger looks, laughing on the side of the road in the middle of goddamn nowhere.

“The dog is Goblin,” the man says, humor twitching at the corners of his plush lips. He takes off his hat to rest against his chest, chocolate eyes still twinkling. “I’m Eddie.”

In the truck bed next to Goblin, there’s a bulky case laying sideways, a handle on one end for carrying. It’s the last push you need, apparently, as the logic part of your mind speaks with finality: Ted Bundy never played guitar.

So you give Eddie your name. Your real one. You haven’t used it in weeks, opting for anonymity and the comfort of a pseudonym at the seedy spots you’ve been staying.

As soon as you say it, something loosens in your chest, flutters free into the bright blue sky as Eddie repeats it like something precious- like he’s known you for ages.

“Well.” As if a matter has been settled, Eddie puts his hat back on (you weren’t quite done memorizing the long pattern of his curls, shot through with grey, pulled taut against his skull to settle in a bun at the nape of his neck). “More’n welcome to take the water and send me packin’, but now that we all know each other’s names, how about a lift to town?”

Eddie scratches Goblin behind the ear, absentminded as he adds, “Could even sit in the back, ‘f you wanted. That way you could just jump on out if you think I’m tryna pull something.”

Your shoulder suddenly aches with the weight of your duffel; you let the straps slide to the crook of your elbow, then set it next to Goblin who seems happy for something new to sniff.

Unfortunately for Eddie, you’re starting to like him, which means the filter for your sarcasm and teasing has completely eroded. “Ri-ight. Like I’m gonna just sit in the back of your truck when you could floor it and fling me over the side like a ragdoll.”

Those big, doey eyes of Eddie’s roll skyward. “You always this stubborn?”

“Only on days that end in Y.”

“All right.” There’s something in his tone that makes your spine straighten- not from fear, just… something else that you’re trying hard not to analyze right now. “So sit in the damn front and put a seatbelt on, since you’re so worried ‘bout my driving.”

Eddie shuts the pickup’s gate and mutters all the way to the driver’s side door, some comparison being drawn between you and one of his cows that gets herself stuck in the fenceline, refusing sesnsible help.

The air in the cab is stale and still, warmth from the cracked leather seats soaking into the back of your shorts and bare thighs as you get in and buckle up. You’re suddenly aware of how desperately you need a shower, being in an enclosed space and next to someone with (presumably) a working sense of smell, but luckily Eddie’s already rolling down the windows.

“Air’s broke,” he says by way of apology, waving in the general direction of the AC vents before reaching to open the sliding rear window.

Something cold and wet presses against your ear- Goblin, saying hello. By the time your giggle is over, the grumble of the engine has kicked on, and the dog has found a headrest in the form of your pack, his tongue lolling into the fabric with rhythmic panting.

“Radio?” You ask, already reaching to twist at the knob on the dash- a crackle of static, and then, bliss. Johnny Cash croons from the speakers.

In trying to keep your delight casual, you slip up, telling Eddie as he straightens out the wheel to pick up speed- “God, I haven’t heard music this good in months, not since-”

Fortunately, whatever system in your brain still holding on to good sense chops the sentence in half. To cover, you clear your throat, cross your arms, and keep your eyes fixed forward when you change the subject. “So, you play guitar?”

If Eddie notices your lapse he doesn’t comment on it, picking up conversation with an easy charm. “Nah. That’s just a cover for if Sheriff Hop gets me for speedin’. That case is filled with coke and guns and all sorts’a contraband.”

You fix the side of his head with a glare, and even without seeing it full-on Eddie sputters a chuckle and admits, “Fine. I play guitar, sometimes.”

While Eddie’s eyes stay on on the road ahead, you let your own gaze linger on his face in profile: the slope of his nose, the freckles that scatter across the apple of his cheeks and neck, the tail end of another tattoo winding up his collarbone.

Eddie catches you staring, this time, jolt like an electric shock coursing through your whole body when you lock eyes for a moment, before he flicks back to the road. “Looks like you got some ink, yourself.”

He must be doing his best to remain respectful, because he doesn’t ask what the J stands for, even as your other hand jumps instinctually to cover the breadth of your wrist, hiding the little inked letter from view. “Yeah. I get one every time I kill a man. In remembrance.”

Amusement twitches at the corner of Eddie’s mouth when he asks, “Yeah? Only one so far? Would’a thought you’d be racking up your letters by now. Fierce as you are.”

“Well, we’re in public. I can’t very well take off my shirt to show you all the rest.”

This earns you another laugh, and even with the wind whipping through the cab, it fills every inch of the space. Rattles into you like a thunderstorm, knocks dust off some deep part of you kept dormant ‘til now.

You like that he called you that. Fierce. You’re loath to admit it, but you also like the pet names. Most boys are condescending or double-edged with their diminutives, but when Eddie calls you darlin’ with that Southern drawl, it feels… endearing.

Equal parts terrifyingly disarming and captivatingly charming. That’s how you’d categorize Eddie, so far, though you’re not sure what to file away about his arms- stretched out at ten and two on the Ford’s big wheel, soft white underbelly of his forearms fading into a natural freckled tan, smattering of dark hair over both.

For now, you file it under Trouble and focus on the upcoming road sign.

It looks like someone stripped a big tree and cut out a thick middle piece just to drive it at a slant into the ground. The hand-carved words appear to have been painted over many times, discolored and weathered, obscuring some of the letters.

WELC ME TO C LINE

”It’s a nice town, Celine,” Eddie says conversationally as the sign gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. “Small, but good community. Lots of farming folks, like me, some strays and stragglers, like you.”

Johnny Cash gives way to an unfamiliar folksy number; you drink in the ramshackle buildings that make up the heart of the town. It’s reminiscent of old cowboy movies you grew up watching with your brothers- flat roofs, red brick, clapboard. A hitching post outside of a General Store, a group of kids tearing around on bikes in the empty lot of the movie theater.

All that’s missing is a lone tumbleweed flipping lazily end over end across the road.

Eddie pulls his truck parallel with a stretch of curb outside a long building, another handmade sign that reads Celine Public Library. He leaves the engine running but shifts the gear to park, pointing to the phone booth just beyond your window.

“Phone’s just there, if you got someone to call. Figure’d here’s as good a place as any, if you wanna part ways now.”

Oh, right. Eddie offered you a ride to town, and he made good on it. Now is the part where you get out, collect your duffel, and wave while pretending to make a phone call until his truck has disappeared.

But you don’t. There’s lively guitar plucking over the speakers, twining with the purr of the engine. Eddie’s hands flex and unflex on the wheel, horseshoe tattoo on the first segment of his middle finger rippling with the movement like he’s working up the courage to say something,

You’d better not stick around to hear it. Fighting the thing that’s sticking you to the seat, you reach for the door handle. “Well, thanks, Eddie. ‘Preciate the lift.”

Your fingers are just grazing the handle when Eddie speaks again. “Wait-”

Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t-

His eyes are just as beautiful as before, when he’d laughed- and now they’re on you, longing and hopeful and a little unsure as he speaks, gaining speed as if from nerves- “I’ve got a spare room. Spare shack, technically- it’s not much, but I used to live in there real comfortably ‘til my uncle moved and I got the house. Please come stay, at least for the night. Please?”

With a hand still on the door to your other, safer option, you pause; though the main emotion that washes through you is one of relief and gratitude, you sink your teeth into the little flare of irritation, pulling it up to the surface like one last play. “I don’t want charity.”

”Do I look like the church-goin’ type?” A bright flash of Eddie’s teeth as he grins (he knows he’s got you, goddammit). “And the shack door locks from the inside. Deadbolt. In case you’re worried about… I’m not askin’ anything from you. Just- please.”

Your hand drops from the door, falls limply into your lap as you breathe out. “And you’re not in some… weird, cowpoke-Satanic cult where you’re gonna use me as human sacrifice?”

“What part of deadbolt do you not get,” Eddie retorts, pleased, hand at the gear shift. “And my cult only meets on the full moon, so. You’ve got a few weeks of safety, at least.”

A genuine laugh bubbles up out of you, and the smile that Eddie fixes you with would’ve knocked you sideways had you been standing.

You’re both relishing in the moment too deeply to notice the bicycles approaching from behind; Goblin gives an excited yip, front paws planted on the lip of the truck, wagging up a storm as the group squeals to a halt, surrounding you and Eddie on all sides.

One of the kids, a boy with a curly mop of hair who looks on the young end of 15, slams a hand down on Eddie’s open window. “Hey!”

Eddie is the one to nearly jump out of his skin this time, hand flying to the top of his hat and cursing. “Fuck. Christ, Henderson. Whaddya want?”

“Do you require our assistance at the market this weekend?” The kid speaks in a funny, oddly formal tone as Eddie sighs and sets his hat on the seat between the two of you.

“Unfortunately so.”

“C’mon, Eddie, don’t be like that.” The boy is practically leaning through the window at this point with eagerness, one foot on the ground to keep his bike from tipping. You smother a giggle at the way Eddie’s jaw ticks. “School’s out, we’re bored as hell, and-”

He stops mid sentence when he spies you in the passenger seat, eyebrows jumping up to the curls covering his forehead. “And who might this be?”

“None of your damn business,” Eddie grits out, but you ignore the all-bark-no-bite tone to stretch across and offer your hand in introduction.

“I’m Dustin,” the boy says, in answer to your own name, and rapid-fire points at the various figures loitering around the truck, naming his friends too quickly for you to store them long-term. “Now, Edward, about our payment…”

There’s a girl with red braids near your window, the only one not on a bike. When you give her a friendly smile, she glowers and plants a sneakered foot on her skateboard, rocking it aimlessly up and down the asphalt.

In the back, Goblin is basking in the attention of the rest of the group; another boy with a close-cropped Afro rubs the dog’s head lovingly, while a girl with serious brown eyes and shoulder-length curls (Eddie’s relative, maybe?) makes tentative strokes down Goblin’s side.

There are two other kids- boys, you think- near the back of the trailer, but their backs are to the group, close as two people can be while still on their own bikes. Dustin’s conversation floats back into your comprehension- he’s making a valiant attempt at twisting Eddie’s arm where ‘payment’ is concerned.

Untwistable, Eddie shakes his head. A few strands of hair have come loose from his bun, curling around his jaw with the overdramatic move he makes to throw the gear shift into drive. “All right, enough, ya scoundrel. Round up your crew and go be a pain in someone else’s ass.”

Unperturbed, Dustin straightens, grasping his bike’s handlebars with one hand and wrapping a tight fist around the metal of the truck’s side mirror.

This seems to be some sort of signal, because the rest of the group latches on like some choreographed play- hands, one from each kid, coming up to grip at any free space left on the truck, shoulders hunching forward as if preparing to be shot forth like a rubber band.

“Damn kids,” Eddie grumbles, but you can hear the fondness in his voice as he lifts his foot from the brake.

The truck lurches forward, and with it, the extra wheels; Goblin’s revved-up barking joins the excited chatter and whooping of the kids hanging on, a joyous cacophony of sound as you all head further down the empty street together.

Eddie picks up speed; there’s a twinge of fear as you watch the speedometer tick up to 10- and then he honks, once, and in perfect synchronicity all the kids let go. Some of them pedal furiously to keep up the momentum, others- like the girl on the skateboard- take advantage of the added speed to simply coast.

Soon enough, their cheerful waves and laughter recede into the distance along with the rest of the town as Eddie keeps his boot on the gas.

The heat in town was dizzying, so you’re relieved when the road dips and bends into the comfort of shade- courtesy of the wild forest flanking either side.

It’s about a ten minute drive to Munson Farms, and on the way, Eddie tells you all about it. You learn that his Uncle Wayne raised him, taught him how to work and live off the land- when Wayne retired and moved a few miles down the road, Eddie took over.

“Not really a lucrative venture, farming,” he says, trees passing in a blur as he navigates the road curves with ease. “But the end of summer Town Fair pays well, ‘specially for sheep penning demonstrations. Got a couple of dairy cows, chickens that won’t stop laying- between that ‘n Wayne’s orchards, we got more than enough to get us through the winter months.

And then there’s the hives-”

“Bees?” Unable to help the interruption, your head whips in his direction, interest piqued.

“Yup. Got about six hives right now in the southern pasture. Don’t know much about ‘em, truthfully- got a friend named Chrissy, comes once a week or so to make sure they stay maintained. I mostly just help come harvesting time, and try to stay out of her way for the rest.”

There are about a thousand other questions you want to ask- what kind of bees? Are they near your garden plot to promote pollination? Any bears in the area?- but you tamp down your excitement, settling on a neutral, “Cool,” before looking out the window again.

The sign for Munson Farms is handmade, too, but upkept much better than the one in town- it swings gently in the breeze on metal links as Eddie turns down the adjoining dirt road. About a quarter mile in, you start to see signs of life- fence lines running through the trees and the shush of a nearby water source- and then, a house.

It’s small, probably no more than a bed, bath, and kitchen inside. There’s a red brick chimney separating the straight lines of the blue-painted wood planks, ivy crawling up one side to frame the eastern-facing window.

On the covered porch, a big, long-haired white dog lifts its head at the sound of the truck pulling in. Goblin gives a greeting bark, practically tripping over his oversized paws to launch out of the truck even as Eddie gripes at him to “Be careful, dammit!”

As you follow Eddie out of the truck and to the porch, the white dog shambles over on a stiff back leg, ignoring the playful jumping and licking Goblin gives in favor of coming up to sniff you.

“This is Rosie,” Eddie says, patting her greying muzzle with a gentleness that twists something in your stomach. “She’s near older than me, was a great livestock guardian ‘til her age caught up. Been trying to train up Goblin to take her place but between you ‘n me I think his head might be full of rocks.”

As if he’s aware of the insult, Goblin gives an indignant yip and paws at Eddie’s knee; he gets laughed off by the two of you, zipping away with a deep sense of importance into the nearby forest while Rosie shambles back to her cozy porch spot.

It smells incredible, here, surrounded by so many trees- you take a deep breath, inhaling the rich pines, the verdant underbrush. Just past the house, there’s a fenced-in area with various plants spilling out of raised garden beds. You can almost smell the summer strawberries and crisp veggies.

On the other side of the fence is a plastic-sheeted greenhouse, LED lights inside making the whole thing glow artificial purple. Eddie catches you staring, then gives a wink, laying one long finger to the side of his nose. “Don’t go tellin’ the Sheriff on me and I’ll give you a joint for your troubles.”

“Deal.” Wasn’t a hard sell at all- at the rate this is going, you’re dying to get high with this man.

Eddie grabs your pack out of the truck bed and leads you across the dirt road, pointing out the fence lines in the distance, and a barn that you can just make out through a gap in the trees.

“Sheep, cows, horses, all that way. This way-” his hand rests between your shoulder blades, steering you towards a boot-worn path, “-is the guest shack. Beehives’ll be just down the hill from where you’re stayin’.”

He pauses, looking back over his shoulder at you- “I’ll take you to see ‘em tomorrow. Promise. I just don’t want you goin’ by yourself and getting stung to death, y’hear?”

Not for the first time today, you wish, desperately, to tell him things you shouldn’t. I was actually an apprentice beekeeper for a year, I know my way around a hive. Studied entomology and agriculture in college before I lost myself in the worst mistake of my life. You know that pesky little J I’ve got on my wrist…?

But if you start talking, you won’t stop. And besides, you’re not planning to stay here long enough for your secrets to matter.

So instead, you press your lips into a line, looking solemn, nodding in agreement until he’s satisfied and continues on.

The dirt path leads right to the shack, and Eddie opens the door to let you in. It’s about the size of a studio apartment- wood stove and sink next to the bathroom door, twin bed draped with a thick quilt budged up under the single window. Small, but homey and clean.

As you take it in, spinning in a slow circle, Eddie sets your duffel next to the bed and runs a hand over the top of his head, haloed frizz of his hair springing back into place. “Ain’t much, I know- usually just host the town rascals; they bring their sleeping bags and fight over who gets the mattress. But the sheets are washed, and-”

“Eddie.” You stop his rambling with a hand to his arm. “Seriously, it’s great. Better than great. I was probably gonna end up sleeping on the streets tonight, and you saved me from that. So… thank you. I mean it.”

The vulnerability in your own voice catches you off guard, but you decide to lean in to it. Eddie’s been nice for no reason- or, rather, because he seems to be a kind person- and you want to make sure he hears how grateful you are for a place to stay.

He’s staring down at your hand on his bare arm, eyes clouded with something you can’t parse out; you draw your hand back, which prompts him to speak- “Shit, darlin’. It’s nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You can stay as long as you like.”

“It’s not nothing,” you insist, arms crossing over your chest, rocking back on your heels. There’s a sudden swell of panic rising like bile in your throat; this morning, you were hell-bent on leaving, and now, you think it’ll kill you not to stay.

“Listen-” Eddie’s eyes snap up at the urgency in your voice, but you manage to push through- “I know I didn’t tell you much, about where I came from, or what I did to end up…”

On my own. The words stick in your throat, tears pricking threateningly at the corners of your vision. “...out here. But I grew up on a farm. I’m used to working livestock, riding horses- I can be helpful. Can earn my keep over the weekend, at least, doing whatever you need-”

Eddie interrupts with a shake of his head, your stomach plummeting until he says, “Got enough farmhands as it is, honey. Don’t need you getting your pretty hands dirty.”

“There has to be something. I can’t cook worth a damn, but I can clean-”

“Hey.” Eddie’s tone of voice slips into a low, soothing register, like you’re a spooked animal caught in a trap. He steps closer, and when you don’t flinch, he settles his big hands on the tops of your shoulders. “Shh. It’s okay. Like I said earlier- I’m not expecting nothin’ from you. Okay?”

There’s gotta be some sort of magical effect happening, an old Celtic carving under the floorboards, maybe a witch's spell braided in with the dried herbs hanging on the far wall. You’ve never felt so looked at before, like you’ve swam beyond your depth and Eddie’s hands are a life raft.

His eyes flit around your face, taking in the expressions you’re surely flickering through before he says, quietly- “If you want, how ‘bout you stay ‘til the end of summer. Help out where you can, and come Fair time, I’ll deal you in on the profits.”

You open your mouth to argue, and smooth as butter, his right hand slips up your shoulder, tattooed fingers wrapping firm around the back of your neck, thumb tapping the pulse point under your jaw, insistent- “This way, you’ll have cash enough in your pocket to go anywhere you want. It’s a good deal and you damn well better take it.”

You wonder if he can feel the jackrabbit pulse of your heartbeat under his thumb. When you nod, he gives a dimpled smile, satisfied. “Good. Now I’ll let you settle in and get washed up for supper. Come on over to the main house when you’re ready.”

Before the door shuts behind him, Eddie adds, “And don’t get too excited. I ain’t much of a cook, neither.”

After his footsteps have retreated down the path, you collapse onto the mattress, springs squeaking. You flip to stare up at the ceiling, running your fingertips over the ghost of his touch branded against your neck, almost nauseous from elation.

A whole summer. On Eddie’s farm. With Eddie.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, you get up to unpack your duffel, then fold your meager clothes supply neatly into the top drawer of an old oak dresser in the corner, still room enough for your canteen.

The last thing in your bag is a twine-wrapped leather pouch. Your butterfly knife makes quick work of the knots, and then, the last of your most precious things in the world are laid out on the bed.

A certificate of completion from Indiana U’s Beekeeping Department, folded and creased but still valid, signed by your last field mentor.

A driver’s license with your old address, square photo of a younger and more hopeful you smiling back.

And lastly, an engagement ring. Gold, with a teardrop-shaped diamond center and sparkling accent stones trailing up either side of the band.

It twinkles when you hold it up to the evening sunbeam streaming through the window; reflective pinpricks of light scatter and dance across the quilt.

In quick succession, you slide everything back into the pouch, securing it with the drawstring before burying it inside the hidden pocket of your bag.

Then, you shove the duffel under the bed until it hits the wall, and turn away to wash up for dinner.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #cowboy!eddie #cowboy!eddie x honey!reader #cowboy!eddie x reader

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year ago

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Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

#jake smut #Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin x reader #Jake Seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #Jake Seresin fic #jake seresin #Glen powell #Jake hangman Seresin #top gun: maverick

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jo-harrington · 10 months ago

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Standard Operating Procedures 1.05 (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's a normal Sunday night. You're just going over to have dinner, smoke, and listen to music. It's not a date. What could possibly go wrong?

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.04

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Mutual pining, alcohol and drug use (wine, beer, and weed), R has a minor panic attack while high, fluff, lighthearted smut (petting/groping/dry humping), minor angst, misunderstandings and miscommunication, driving probably a little under the influence, slight anachronism (slapping the bag)

Note: Big note for this one if you've read the most recent installations of SMVerse that I've posted...this is NOT in chronological order. SM and Eddie are not together in this one, we are rewinding back before Closing Time. This chapter and the next one are both a little longer and have been lingering in my head for quite a long time. Almost a year. So without further ado, please enjoy SOP 1.05.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Sundays were your favorite days, hands down.

They sort of always had been, even before moving to Hawkins. Now, though, you had an extra special reason why they were your favorite.

Sundays meant that you could be yourself after you clocked out. They meant standing in the mirror and wiping away the layers of glitter eyeshadow and scented nail polish off. They meant shedding the overly sparkly jewelry from work and the trendy clothes from the JCPenney or Madigan's Juniors department that were definitely cut for a teenage body.

No matter how young you still were, you just weren't sixteen anymore.

You could finally breathe a little easier.

No more Dress to Impress, no more preppy popular girl, no more customer service voice.

Sundays meant freedom.

Lately, part of that freedom meant walking out of the store, taking the most freeing breath you could, and walking right up to your crush best friend so you could spend those last few dying hours of the weekend together.

Shooting the breeze, laughing, and getting to know one another. Getting to really see one another.

Tonight, though, there was just this cloud hanging over you as you stood in the store's bathroom after hours and shucked off the plaid vest and fashionably unmatched skirt you'd chosen for the day in favor of a t-shirt and comfy stirrup pants.

Summer was over, school was back in session, and you hadn't gotten to see Eddie as much as you normally did.

Which, in the grander scheme of things, a lot of things changed with the new school year starting: a bunch of your associate's schedules changed, a few of them even left town for college, and business started to slow a little during the week for the first time since the store opened.

Still, you missed him.

It felt weird from practically seeing him every day to only seeing him in passing or on the weekends.

What if he didn't want to be friends anymore?

Well, that was just silly. Some remnant of fear about the fickleness of your friends memories in childhood. Besides, the first shift after school started back up, he immediately came running to your store and talked your ear off about the new kids that he forced to join Hellfire.

"God, they're such losers," he reminisced with a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his lips. "They have so much potential. I can't wait for you to meet them."

Tonight though...

Tonight was like any normal night; you were getting together after the mall closed and picking up pizza.

However, instead of any of your usual haunts or shenanigans in and around Hawkins, Eddie insisted you come over to his place. Totally normal.

"And we can smoke," he added as an afterthought.

"You know I don't smoke Eddie," you reminded him. "My grandpa and his crackly lungs? I've taken him to enough doctor's appointments."

"Doesn't stop you from sucking up the air around me when I'm having a cigarette on break. No. I mean smoke. Reefer. Weed. Jesus, don't act ignorant Miss Goody Two Shoes."

"Excuse me," you choked. "How am I Miss Goody Two Shoes?"

"Because," he began with dramatic emphasis. "For all of your stories about garage beers and parties that your work friends dragged you to, you've never mentioned partaking in any sort of illicit substances. You're being obtuse on purpose or you're afraid."

You were caught like a deer in the headlights.

"I...I'm not."

And you weren't; it wasn't fear. It was just...inexperience.

Back home you were always careful, even when you hung around friends from school or work; with your overprotective father and uptight mother and two brothers who wouldn't hesitate to rat you out if they found out you broke some kind of rule? It would be over.

So you never got too wild at parties. Disheveled clothes could be straightened, and you could pretend that swollen lips were just a side effect of getting a little sick. You never drank more beer than whatever made you feel a little floaty if you weren't sleeping over at a friends. And you never smoked weed.

Ok so it was fear, in a way; residual fear. Just not the way Eddie thought.

"Hey, don't worry," Eddie said in the most understanding way he could. "You just tell me and I'll drop it, if you're afraid."

You wanted to tell him, wanted to explain it, but in a moment of reflection and wanting to assuage his worries, defiance got the better of you and you told him that you weren't afraid and it would all be fine.

You were going to be with him; you never needed to be afraid when you were with him.

Now though, staring at yourself in the mirror as you got ready to go and meet Eddie you realized you might have made a mistake.

Hanging out with your crush friend alone at his place? Fine. Sitting close on the couch as you ate pizza and listened to music? Cool. Drinking and smoking together, knowing that you got a little bit chatty when you loosened up a little bit under the influence? Uhm.

What could possibly go wrong?

---

The spread that you and Eddie had created was impressive.

Pizza and a six pack and red vines and...and...and...

Eddie was usually very thorough when it came to providing snacks or planning outings where you could get a nice little treat together. Tonight it was partially your fault.

You'd originally planned just to drive to his place after work and the pizza would be delivered, but he said that when he'd called to place the order at Lou's--large pepperoni and a box of cannoli--they told him that the delivery driver was out. Takeout only.

But then he also forgot to stop at Bradley's for soda.

So you offered to go to Bradley's while he picked up the pizza, and you might have gone overboard.

Soda and a box of wine and peanut m&m's and...and...and...

"And you say that I'm bad," Eddie scoffed as you walked in, arms laden with shopping bags.

"Excuse me, this is the once in a blue moon you let me pay for anything, I'm gonna take advantage of it."

Wayne was still home getting ready for his shift when you got there and he simply shook his head at your bickering with a fond smile, then pilfered a little of everything for his own dinner before leaving you both to it.

Once he was gone, the festivities began.

You were both overzealous, talking a mile a minute over each other about your days as you set up for the night. Eddie divvied out food--creating a plate that reminded you of the Peanuts' Thanksgiving feast, overflowing with multicolored candies and popcorn and pizza slices--as you took care of the drinks.

You were a little smug that you got to teach Eddie something during these little Sunday night not-dates for once.

"Where did you learn this?" he asked skeptically as you ripped into the cardboard box. "What even is Franzia? Sounds fancy."

"It is the least fancy thing you can get," you grinned maniacally and freed the floppy plastic bag full of pink liquid from its confines. "Honestly I should have thrown it in the fridge but it's fine. You can put it with some coke; it'd probably taste better anyway."

He made a face.

"I'll just have a beer."

"Oh my--Eddie! Live a little." You settled the bag on the coffee table and gestured to it. "You don't have to drink it...chug a beer, I don't care...but you need to slap it."

He huffed and shuffled across the carpet on his knees to settle beside you.

"Is this a Claire's thing?" he asked, he looked up at you through his bangs.

"No it's not a--well...no. It doesn't matter! My old store manager, Jen, made us do it whenever we went to parties and hung out at her place. It's fun."

"Why does this feel like a lie?"

You reached out and smacked your hand against the plastic, listened to the liquid slosh inside. He let out a long suffering sigh but gestured for you to go ahead and he settled on the floor as you squealed with glee.

Eddie popped the little tab on the spout and the cheap wine poured freely into his mouth; he maintained eye contact with you the whole time, even as he choked on the unfamiliar taste of the pink zinfandel.

When you'd hung out with Jen and your coworkers and friends, it was just...a silly thing. Now, though, it was just you and Eddie; you stood over him with the bag gently held in your hands over his mouth and his hand rested on your calf as he drank. It was tense and intimate and as you started feeling a little hot under the collar, you wondered if this was a mistake.

Regardless, when he'd had his fill, he shut the spout and raised his hand and slapped the bag so hard it soared out of your grasp and across the living room.

You both burst out laughing as it swished and sloshed with a pronounced glorp on impact with the floor, and Eddie collapsed against your legs as the giddiness got the better of him.

"Ok, that's better than a keg stand." He looked up at you and wiped a hand over his mouth. "Blagh...probably gonna need that coke if I have any more though. Your turn, sweetheart."

Then the tables were turned, but unlike Eddie, you stood toe to toe with him as he held the bag for you.

To avoid the tense eye contact, you kept yours closed as you pulled mouthful after mouthful from the bag. You almost felt a little smug; you'd always been good at this, despite how awful the wine burps were gonna get after. You knew Eddie's competitive nature--always seeing who could finish a blizzard from DQ first and giving himself a brain freeze in the process--so you were hoping to last a little longer, hit the bag a little harder, and get him to concede.

You counted down in your head and finally when you couldn't take the heartburn the wine caused any longer, you shut the spout and released it, ready for victory.

Of course, opening your eyes provided nothing of the sort.

Eddie stood there, inches away from you; his pupils were blown and he was breathing a little heavily and for a split second you thought to ask if he was ok.

Until he leaned a little closer.

Close enough where you could smell the laundry detergent and the general amalgamation of mall scents coming off of him.

Then you noticed that his eyes were locked onto…your lips?

Was he gonna kiss you?

You already thought…well…and in the van the other week? When he licked frosting off your hand? You'd thought...

Except that was the thing, you always thought, you never acted. Too stuck in your head weighing and judging the options and if you could just do something about it. If you could just lean forward a little, you could stop worrying and have your answer right?

And if it wasn't meant to be and things were weird? If he didn't actually mean to try and kiss you? You worked retail; you could bullshit with the best of them if worse came to worse.

Then you'd just pretend that your heart didn't ache from rejection for the duration of your friendship. You were already familiar with disappointment; this would be no different.

Alright, that's it, you weren't gonna chance it anymore. All the worrying you did back at the store was enough. You were just gonna kiss him. Just lean forward; just go. Just go. One, two...two and a half...

Eddie's eyelids fluttered a little bit, and your heart clenched in hope, until he leaned away and cleared his throat.

The wine bag was tossed onto the coffee table and Eddie gestured to the plates he'd prepared.

"So, pizza?"

---

Music was the next event of the night.

And the weed.

Funny how all of your anxiety over smoking flew out the window when you were anxious about something else.

Because you just couldn't get your feelings out of your head after Eddie walked away from a kiss like that.

Was it even going to be a kiss? Or was it just the awkwardness of your positions in that situation? Were you overthinking the overthinking?

On and on those thoughts spiraled.

Until Eddie said he was going to get his stereo to start your comprehensive education of metal.

"We really don't have all night Eddie," you said and threw a balled up napkin at him as he fiddled with his tapes.

"Ok, maybe not fully comprehensive," he held his hands up in surrender. "Nothing sounds better than vinyl and I have all of that at Rick's. And my mom's records. You wanna talk about classics? We've gotta spend a whole weekend there."

He put a tape into the slot and hit play and the room was immediately filled with guitar riffs and singing and shouting; he turned the volume down immediately.

"I've gotta give you the whole history sweetheart," he explained. "So you've gotta hear me too. This song's not so important...I'll turn it up when we get to the good part."

Of course, Eddie's music history lesson...started with him.

"Picture this," he said, arms waving as he walked over to his school things that had been haphazardly thrown in a corner of the room: a wilted canvas backpack, a black binder, and a dented metal lunchbox. "11-year old me, fresh after my mom's funeral and everyone she knew was coming up to us but I refused to talk. Wayne kept making excuse after excuse. But Rick, bless him, said 'gotta make him cry.'"

And on he went as he spilled the contents of the dented lunchbox on the coffee table and began the fine work of rolling a joint.

"Took me to the record store, let me pick out whatever I wanted. Of course I chose Sad Wings of Destiny because the art was cool. Little did I know that would change the course of my life forever."

You didn’t know what to focus on and that made you spiral a little bit further. The words, the music, his lips and his fingers as he followed steps that he seemed to know but didn't feel the need to elaborate on were all very appealing targets; the music and his story was what was important here though and you made the attempt.

He told his story in a way that only Eddie Munson knew how to—arms flailing, minute details, expressions and voices and everything you loved admired about him. He took a moment to swap cassettes and crank up the volume before he fell onto the couch beside you in a mess of cushions and limbs and hair.

"I would say ladies first," he began as he presented the joint to you. He then stuck it between his lips and continued talking around it. "But I'm nothing if not a gentleman and I need to teach you how to do this. It's a little different than cigarettes."

It was a comprehensive lesson and you'd gotten the hang of it quickly, but the proximity did nothing to help calm your nerves; Eddie's knee touching yours, his face and hands so close to yours as he held the joint to your lips, then one hand your shoulder as he soothed the cough that escaped you after your first hit, and finally the way he inhaled along with you as you took another.

Want burned in your lungs along with the smoke, but it didn't leave you when you finally exhaled.

You were very much looking forward to the light and mellow feeling that Eddie promised once the weed hit your system.

"Until then," he grinned and took another hit himself before dropping the smoldering stick into a nearby ashtray. "We just dive into the mind of the great Ronnie James Dio."

You rested back against the cushions and turned your head to really watch him; it was strange just...observing him. You had never done it like this before, close and quiet at this distance. Your time together was always spent with conversation and laughter, your observations and mental notes about him done in little snapshots as he moved through life like a blur.

Now you got to experience the simplicity of his presence in private and the addictive frequency that he emitted.

It was nice.

You watched the way his lashes brushed against his skin as he melted into the sofa beside you and closed his eyes. The way his plush lips pursed and then stretched as he hummed along to the music. You closed your own eyes for a second as he matched the sharpness of the lyrics with his voice, hushed and then shrill, and then hushed again.

And when you opened them back up to watch him some more, he was watching you and practically vibrating.

Your heart skipped a beat...

"Sweetheart," he reached out and touched your wrist. "You ok?"

Wait...he wasn't vibrating.

You were.

Then you noticed that your heart skipped many beats, then the beats suddenly tripled, and then it all slowed again, pounding harder and faster in your chest than you believed to be possible.

Did your chest hurt? Or were you imagining it?

It felt like the few times you ran the mile back in high school, but you hadn't run.

Had you?

Your legs felt like jelly. Your arms too.

So you must have run...but when?

No wait, you were forgetting something. Your chest, your heart, your lungs. You had to focus on them first, you needed them to live.

You tried to fix it all by taking a great gulp of air in--if you felt like you'd just run the mile, surely catching your breath would fix it--but you found that it didn't fix anything. In fact, you seemed to lose even more control of your body. You floundered, breathing heavily over and over, quicker and quicker to try and get a hold of yourself.

And the panic set in, unlike anything you'd ever experienced before in your life.

Your consciousness became untethered from your body and you sank deep within yourself. Like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Only instead of a rabbit hole, the you that existed in your mind fell away from your eyes and deeper into your skull then out the back of it and into the so-soft cushions of the couch.

But this wasn't sinking, this wasn't melting. This was being buried alive.

You remembered Eddie’s taunting before, about being afraid of smoking. Why hadn’t you told him that you didn’t want to do this? Why hadn’t you told him you were afraid? You were a stubborn idiot and now you’d die here, buried amongst pilling fabric and lost change and lint and a few cheerios that were stuck between the cushions.

You would die here on Eddie's couch...

"Eddie!" you practically sobbed and reached out for him, remembering suddenly that he was there with you. Why wasn't he doing anything to keep you from sinking? "Help!"

"It's ok hey!" He grabbed your hands now and pulled you back from the void, hooked the tether back onto you and saved you from the depths. "It's ok, breathe. No, not like that. Slowly, deep breaths with me. In and hold it and out. Whoooooo."

You focused on the whooshing sound of the air that escaped his lips and you tried to make the same sound yourself. Over and over, slowly as he guided you.

"That's it," he smiled. "Good girl."

You slowly grounded yourself through Eddie, escaping whatever horrible clutches had just grasped at you. You began to feel better, lighter; more centered within yourself but…nicer?

Had that awful feeling been the high? Or was this?

Maybe everyone got caught by a demon when they smoked and then if they escaped they felt a nice light flutter and instead of a heavy beating heart that threatened to burst out of their chests, they felt...silly. Happy. Bubbly.

Like you did whenever you were around Eddie.

Only now it was better, and it was all getting better as he spoke to you and smiled and wiped at the few tears that had escaped your eyes.

Breathe in, breathe out. Good girl.

You kept breathing and staring at his lips.

Breathe in.

Lips.

Breathe out.

Eddie's lips.

Good girl.

You thought about earlier...minutes or hours you couldn't tell for sure...about the way Eddie leaned close to you and almost kissed you. All the worry you'd had about not being able to make a move because you were thinking so much you couldn't act. Here you were now, thinking again. When his lips were right there and you could do something about it.

With one last shaky breath, bubbly infatuation flooded your body; you smiled and said one final farewell to your nervous thoughts, and you surged forward. Your hands shook his away and grabbed at his face, as your lips slid clumsily against his.

Your noses bumped and teeth clacked painfully but it didn't quite matter because the sparks that emanated from your joined lips shot through your limbs and made you both feel tingly and pleasant. At least, you assumed they did for Eddie because he let out a sound that was somewhere in between a giggle and a moan.

But he didn't push you away; in fact, his hands clapped over yours and smushed them further into his cheeks.

He wanted you to kiss him. He wanted to kiss you. He...liked you.

It was a euphoric moment of joy and realization, but your need to put your lips on him outweighed that. So you tried again. Gentler this time.

Eddie followed your lead for a little while as you pulled him towards you; one of his hands found your waist as the other arm rounded your shoulders, and he became your anchor to prevent you from being buried by the sofa again. As thanks for his chivalry, you gifted him with soft caresses, quick pecks, and sharp little nips.

Your fingers developed a mind of their own, and seemed to love his cheekbones and getting tangled in his hair, although they couldn't quite decide which they loved more so back and forth they went.

The rest of you, though--mind and body--just basked in the kissing.

You were good at kissing; you liked kissing. And you liked kissing Eddie, more than you ever thought you would. Kissing under the light, buzzy influence of a beer or two was nice, and it might have been the weed or it could have just been Eddie himself, but this was nicer. Floaty and tingly and transcendent.

The music itself had stopped, but Eddie himself continued to provide the soundtrack to the night. Instead of guitars and vocals and pounding drums, it was a symphony of soft hums and sweet sighs.

Eddie, who often pilfered bites and nibbles off your plate and cited that he was a "growing boy," seemed to prove that his hunger was greater than yours the way he bit and nibbled at you too, appetite growing the longer you kissed. The pace you set no longer fed him the way he wanted and he started to feast a little more; that was a side-effect of being high, right? Hunger. Insatiable hunger?

His mouth pulled away from yours and started to explore your jaw, the column of your neck, the junction between your neck and shoulder. You let yourself get lost in the feeling of his attention, of his lips and hands as he gave and took, of the floaty feeling that settled comfortably in your limbs now, all the nerves of the day forgotten.

Before you knew it, your own hunger grew as well. You wanted him closer, needed more of him now that you had him.

You let yourself drift back along the pillows until you were laying comfortably and pulled Eddie along with you; one hand still lingered in his hair as the other fisted the collar of his shirt and got him right where you needed him to be.

Of course, you couldn't just take without giving as well, and as he settled onto you, your hips bucked up into him. You both moaned--savoring the proximity and delicious friction that his jeans and your leggings provided--and then giggled together as he collapsed on top of you, unprepared for the sudden surge of delight.

His breath fanned across your neck and jaw as he laughed breathlessly, and your hands caressed his head and shoulders fondly as you mirrored him.

He strained his neck a little to look you in the eye; his grin accentuated all the lines in his face, and for a second he struggled to form words. His mouth opened and closed silently and then he licked his lips to compose himself. The next thing you knew, his hand was coming up and squeezing one of your breasts with an exaggerated "honk" as he fell back against the other one and pressed his mouth to the swell over your shirt.

Back into the throes of unadulterated giggles you both went as he continued to honk and kiss and suck at exposed skin.

One of the highlights of the whole night was when he blew a raspberry against your neck; the feeling of goosebumps that erupted along your body and the spittle that sprayed across your skin would be a sensation you would remember and cherish forever.

"No fair," you whined and shifted against him again, both to protest the fact that you currently couldn't return the favor of all the attention he was giving you. Nevertheless, you treated him to the attention that you could, and you bucked your hips up again, only to be met with the feeling of him grinding down onto you.

Giggles began to mingle with desperate pants as he began to shift against you and settled into the cradle of your thighs; he grew harder and ground and rutted against the covered softness of you, faster and sharper, and your body eagerly responded, wanting to be as close to him as you could. As close as either of you could honestly fathom at this point, feeling too good like this to consider that there was more pleasure to be had if time went on and clothes came off.

Sunday nights together were truly gleeful and hedonistic, and tonight was no different. However, instead of snacks and arguments accentuated by the sounds of light-hearted talk and laughter, it was your writhing bodies and mingled breaths that took center stage; the two of you never stopped, only paused for your lips to smack wetly against one another, for your nails to rake through his hair and scratch against his scalp, and for him to grasp at your hips to pull you closer and closer as he drove you higher and higher.

"Eddie, I'm--" you broke away from him and keened, and he responded with a husky "uh-huh" and pressed his forehead against yours. Both of your eyes closed as you felt the pleasure building between the two of you, as he moaned and your toes curled...

As keys jingled in the lock of the front door of the trailer.

...and suddenly it was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over the both of you and you froze, all thought of completion forgotten.

Your eyes shot open and you stared into Eddie's panic-filled, pleasure-blown pupils. He shifted sharply and then paused, almost like a glitch, and then he was off you, across to the other side of the couch in the blink of an eye. You watched, dumbstruck, as he panted heavily to control his breathing, and he held his head in shaking hands.

"No, no," he muttered. "Shit. Shit."

You reacted quickly as the door started to squeak open--throwing your legs over the edge of the sofa to sit upright as your hands clumsily fixed your disheveled clothes--and Wayne walked in. You took the extra second as he grumbled at the threshold and fiddled with his keys to look at Eddie, hoping for some kind of...secret conspiratorial smile or...or heated gaze...just something but he refused to look at you.

Suddenly, all of the good feelings that had flooded you since the moment that Eddie had chased your panic away...they vanished. The sweet giggles and shared pleasure were gone; even the love bites you were sure Eddie had left behind stung instead of blissfully buzzed.

And in their place, an acute clarity of what the two of you had just done.

"You wouldn't believe the mess I walked into tonight," Wayne chuckled with disbelief as he finally shut the door.

No kidding Wayne, you thought bitterly.

"Some of the machines were down when I got there and it took a few hours to figure out the problem. Some rusted old part..." On and on he chattered as you spiraled, stuck in your thoughts once again.

You and Eddie, Eddie and you. You and your secret crush...had just...on his couch. You and your best friend, your only friend in town...got high and kissed and canoodled and now he refused to even look at you.

You didn't know if it was the weed again or if it was just you, but you could see stars in the corners of your eyes and you felt lightheaded as the panic settled back in. And it only got worse the longer you sat there and tried to get some kind of sign from Eddie, only to be left with nothing. Such a stark contrast from just moments ago where you were giving and taking and responding to one another so freely.

Giving and taking...was that really what it was? Or did you just...do this to him? Do this to the both of you? Effectively tank your friendship the way you'd worried about since the first time you'd hung out and Eddie had specifically said it wasn't a date?

You abruptly got to your feet and Wayne stopped his chatter and looked at you questioningly.

"I..." you felt your throat closing up with emotion. "I just forgot I have a really important call first thing tomorrow. I...need to go!"

Eddie finally looked at you with wide, shocked eyes.

Were those tears? Oh god...

"I...it was nice to see you Wayne, sorry..." you scrambled to grab your bag from where you'd tossed it by the door and then looked back at both Munsons. Back and forth at Wayne's curious expression...and Eddie's devastated one. "I'm...sorry."

And you bolted out the door, into your car, and back across town to the lonely confines of your apartment, where you would wish for a second chance at Sunday all over again.

Because until tonight, Sundays had always been your favorite days.

Next Part: Leave of Absence

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #store manager verse #Eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #stranger things Eddie munson

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thekombuchagirl · 1 month ago

Text

CODE ZERO

Summary: It was an ordinary humid sunday of June until it wasn't. Of all things you expected to happen in the summer of '25, preventing the spread of another epidemic wasn't one. Locked in the pantry of a cafe with a masked stranger, all you could hear outside were animalistic groans and the occasional crackle of breaking bones. Just when you thought that the last moments of your life would be sitting across an intimidatingly hot man, a table flips, literally.

Pairing: discharged soldier!yoongi x fem journalist!reader

what to expect? gore, zombies, banter in the face of death, explicit language, yoongi walks around in a tank with a manbun for a whole day, reader develops a liking for smashing skulls halfway through the story, sexual tension that can be cut with a knife and eventual smut

Age rating: 18+ mdni!

Tags: @ktownshizzle @mysteriousgeminizone

chapter warnings: gore, graphic description of violence, mentions of death, cursing

a/n: hello! thank you so much for reading my story and if you can take a minute to drop your valuable feedback that would be even more amazing!

C H A P T E R O N E

"No network, nothing at all. Can you check yours once again please?"

You looked expectantly at the man sitting by the door. His mask was now hanging on his chin and it had been irking you for a while. Why wear a mask at all if it is not actually masking anything? But you let it be since he was the one who saved you from whatever was happening outside and he looked awfully familiar. The more you looked at him the more familiar he looked but you couldn't put a finger on where exactly you knew him from. He didn't seem to think the same for you, however.

"For the seventh time in the last ten minutes, no. There is no network. Not in yours. Not in mine. Because it has been shut down."

He spoke in small sentences, pronouncing each word like he was speaking to a child. It only annoyed you further. You weren't asking to play games on his phone or something. You were asking because there was something out there that was making people rip each other's skin like paper and bite off their flesh. It was probably the end of the world and the man in front of you was unbothered and even annoyed at your very obvious concern.

"How do you plan to get out of here then? We can't call for emergency services-"

"Out of here? Emergency service? Woah," he slid up against the door, dusting his arse and for the first time since you encountered him, broke into a fit of laughter. "Do you think the government people will come to save you with those things out there? The ministers are probably out of the country by now and the town is under lockdown. The end of the world shit is only for the ordinary folks. For people like us. When the world ends for us, it is just renovation for them."

The nonchalance was gone instead his dark eyes were suddenly filled with fury. You hated to admit it to yourself but he was right. The government was going to do no good any time soon and you knew it, more than anyone else. But you didn't like his tone. You didn't like how he was talking down to you from the beginning for no reason. All the points that he won for saving you were exhausted. So it didn't take you a lot of effort to match his tone.

"So what? We just sit here waiting for those things to break in eventually and then what?"

He stared at you wordlessly. When his nonchalance had dropped, that was the first second of satisfaction for you. Now that he was staring at you silently, you felt that satisfaction grow in you. It made no sense for you to be that petty in that situation but then again, too much was happening in too little time.

"What? Nothing to say any-"

"Don't move."

Your blood ran cold. You could see it now. His eyes weren't on you, they were focused on something behind you. The skin on your back tingled and your vision blurred. You could hear a soft thud and then a scratch, as if someone was dragging their feet. It was coming closer and closer. Before long, you finally heard it. A growl.

Through your blurred vision, you could only see the man in front of you. His pale skin was blindingly bright now that there was light flooding in from the back. Why didn't you check for a door at the back? Why did you let your guards down? You could see his dark brown orbs flit back and forth between you and the thing behind you. For a moment, you wished he would save you again. But why would he when he could push you off as bait and take his chance of escape?

You closed your eyes. You could feel your knees slowly give away as your childhood, your teenage and your years working as an investigative journalist flash before your eyes. Your colleagues had always despised you because you'd somehow manage to avoid the risky cases, ones where you could come close to the face of death. They would probably be glad to know how you went. But there was so much left to be done. It felt too soon. You were leaving too soon.

A snarl and then a choked out growl rumbled in the air behind you. This was it. You took one deep breath. This was it. You exhaled.

That's when a table flipped. Literally.

You heard the crash before you opened your eyes to see it. A broken table that had been lying useless beside the door was now on top of the... thing and by it stood the man. Eyes on the thrashing creature at his foot. It couldn't remove the heavy table from itself. It didn't have hands. There was nothing below its elbows and a dark liquid was dripping from the open joints.

You didn't even realise you were on the floor until the man was pulling you on to your feet, his lips moving. He was talking to you. But all you could hear was a sharp whistle and then buzzing. You could only stare at him, a stranger who saved you once again when he had no need to. Even as he dragged you towards the back of the pantry, you just stared at him. You didn't know how he could tell but just by the open back door, he turned to you and held you by your shoulders and shook you.

"Put it together. We have to leave. I need you in your complete consciousness if we have to leave here alive."

Then it all hit you. The wailing creature below the heavy table was growling at the top of its voice and the other side of the pantry door was about to give away as the thudding of multiple bodies hitting against it, made it creak and shake.

"Are you listening? We have to-"

"Let's go," you nodded at him. If life had given you another chance, you must make the most of it.

"Can you run well?"

"Women run the world."

"Let's fucking go, then."

Your watch was broken. Just your luck. You had no idea how long the both of you ran through the deserted streets. The street lights were off and the houses along the streets felt like they were part of an abandoned civilisation that died away long ago. Abandoned cars and motorcycles left with traces of a darkened fluid that you could only assume was blood. Everywhere you could only see blood. It was making your whole body ache, your feet weighing heavier and heavier as you realised that it was really happening.

You were running so fast that it only occurred to you how far you had come when you noticed the man slowing down as the police station came into sight. On the street before the station, there were two cars that appeared to have been in an accident. You stepped forward towards the station only to be pulled back by the man once again.

"There," he pointed to the entrance of the station but you could barely see anything in the dark. As you squinted to see, your eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness and inside, you could see shadows moving. A shiver ran down your spine. There was no way they were uninfected. A sense of hopelessness washed over your body.

You turned to the man beside you, "where should we go? The hotel that I was staying in is on the other side of the city. We can't reach there on foot."

He nodded at that, "Yeah. Seaside is too far so our best bet would be to take a car."

You looked around the street and the abandoned cars standing around, "one of these?"

"Ideally, yes. But we need to make sure that it has enough fuel. We can't afford to stop at any gas stations once we start."

You walked towards one of the cars with the driver side door left open. It was exceptionally clean. No bloodstains on the windshield or on the seats. You leaned in to check for the key but couldn't find it around. A sparkle of something by the gear caught your eye so you bent over to check it out.

"A stupid candy," you murmured under your breath as you took your upper body out of the car only to come face to face with the man, who was leaning by the side of the door.

"Keep it," he nodded at you, eyes fixated on you like they were back at the pantry of the cafe. He was standing close. So close that if you took another step, your noses would bump into each other. Up close, he felt more familiar than ever. You were sure you had met him before so you couldn't resist asking.

"Have we met be-"

You didn't even know you had it in you to move that fast. One moment you were looking at him and the next you were pulling him back and behind you. From behind the car appeared something that you could never even have seen in your nightmare. It was a man or at least it used to be a man. His mouth hung open, lips split on the side abnormally. It was as if he had ripped his mouth open to take a massive bite of something. With his one eye open, he was dragging himself to the side of the car where you stood and from the other, a pen was sticking out through his split eyeball. As his full body came to view, a huge chunk of his shoulder was missing and the white of the bones was dripping with dark red.

"Holy shit- fuck. Fuck. Fuck," you stumbled backwards with the man right behind you. "We need to run. Run. Run. Fucking hell, just run."

"We won't be able to make it on foot. Look," he pointed towards the police station out of which more of those things were coming out like flies. So many. Of course. If the station was as packed as you had seen it when you were on your way to the cafe, then there had to be hundreds of those in there.

"Motherfuck-"

"Come on," he pulled you backwards by your arm. By then the night sky was filled with growls and snarls as those things started coming out of every house, every corner.

A horde of those things were emerging out of all those abandoned houses that you had crossed and you spluttered in disbelief as he dragged you right towards them.

"What the fucking fuck. No. Are you suicidal you maniac? Why are we going towards them? No. I am not-"

Instead of replying he just tugged on your arm harder, now sprinting towards the horde. You could only turn your head back for a split second but that was enough for you. You were doomed and surrounded. The man dragging you was relentless. As the distance between the horde and you two decreased and decreased, from inside you a strange sensation bubbled out. You didn't have it in you to reform your subconscious so you let it surface and it came out as laughter. As the man dragged you ahead, you laughed your heart out.

He looked back at you for a second with furrowed eyebrows and when he saw you laughing so much that your eyes were tearing up, he couldn't help but comment, "what a fucking psycho-"

At that moment, as the two of you reached so close to the horde that their extended arms were about to touch your skin, he left your side.

Horrified you turn to your side to curse him out for betraying you at the end, only to find him on top of a motorcycle that somehow had the key in it. He looked at you, with the subtlest smirk, ushering you on.

"What the fuck."

You got on just in time and off you went straight towards the other side. The horde that had emerged out of the police station was more scattered because they seemed confused at the quick direction changes. As the motorcycle breezed past the infected with zig zags that would have normally made you insanely mad, you let out a sigh. The road ahead was clear. You were saved. Again.

The entire city seemed to be under a powercut as you went through the blocks. The wind crashing against your face made your eyes flutter close. You didn't realise how exhausted you were. But even in that exhaustion, you couldn't help but be grateful to the man who had once again saved you. His hair fell in soft waves till almost his shoulders. You couldn't contain the sudden rush of emotions that ran through your body. In the span of a day, everything turned upside down.

In the exhaustion washing over your senses, you found it easy to be grateful. So you leaned in closer to the man, your chin nearly resting on his shoulder as you finally asked what you should have asked hours ago.

"What's your name?"

The wind cut through your voice making your question sound barely coherent. He confirmed your thoughts when he turned his head to the side, "Huh?"

"Your name. What's your name?"

You asked louder this time. His shoulders shook as if he was chuckling. Soon enough you could hear him again, his voice laced with humour, "Finally cared to ask?"

"Just say it. You're annoying enough," you made sure your tone was fussy enough but you couldn't help the smile that was tugging on your lips.

"Yoongi. Min Yoongi."

You nodded. Not that he could see you.

"Now, hold on tight," what he said next immediately made your smile drop.

How on earth did he know your name?

#bts fic #yoongi fanfic #bts yoongi #bts smut #bts army #bts fanfic #bts suga #bts x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #bts angst #code zero: chapter one #the kombucha girl

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abibliophobiaa · 9 months ago

Text

right where you left me

chapter three: you can hear it in the silence

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut - r is inexperienced; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; time skip, where r and steve are parents, purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series.

steve harrington x f!inexperienced!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods.

masterlist

——

Steve kisses you like he’s done it a thousand times before. He kisses you and it feels like kismet — like pieces of a puzzle shifting together. He kisses you, and you feel like you could take to the sky, run a marathon, or leap into the unknown with only his arms as safety.

And you soak up every moment. Every precious second as his lips move over yours, fingers twining around your hips, tugging you flush against him. It shifts, the atmosphere changing, the intensity of his kisses deepening. Heat rises in the room and it has nothing to do with the fire burning in the fireplace. You soak up every soft breath from his lips as you swipe your tongue over his — soak up the breathy moans that pour from him when your fingers glide over the planes of his abdomen, over the softness of his stomach, the hardness of his cock in his jeans.

And it’s there that your experience falters. That nervousness creeps in, because when you jolt back at the unexpectedness of it kicking up in his pants, he presses your palm harder, seeking friction, whispering that it’s okay. That you’re doing everything right.

The nerves ebb. “I - I want it to be good for you,” you say, breathless, “I just - I don’t —”

“It’s already good for me,” he whispers against your collarbone, tugging you down onto the couch, his body hovering above yours. “Pretty sure I’ve never been so hard in my life. But I really just want to make this good for you. Do you trust me?”

With your life. “Yes.”

“Can I take these off?” He slides a palm along your leggings, index finger toying with the band that rests high on your waist.

“Please.”

Deft fingers curl and tug. Slide them down your thighs, baring naked skin. Those same fingers glide over your ankle, up the curve of your leg, the glide of a hip. They toy with the edge of your panties; simple black lace, which you blow out a grateful breath for choosing that morning.

“Still with me?” he rasps, fingers stroking over your lower abdomen, your muscles dancing under the touch.

Hazel eyes, nearly molten honey now in the firelight, meet yours. Flickering with a look you’ve never seen within them before. Lust — for you. At your slow nod, eyes fluttering at the feel of his fingers sliding over the edge of your panties, he pushes the flimsy fabric to the side. Exhales shakily at the first brush of him, robbing your air straight from your lungs.

He drops onto one elbow, palm cradling your head with the softest of touches, lips molding to yours as he slips the first finger inside, your back arching up against the delicious intrusion.

Reality spins around you. Turns on its axis as Steve’s lips move to coast along your abdomen, against hip bone, the inside of your thigh. As your best friend slowly, carefully, reverently slides your underwear down your thighs and whispers a question that has you sighing a soft ‘yes,’ just as your panted breaths turn into cries of his name into the living room. As your heart races when his tongue glides over your clit just so — as he licks at you like it’s his job, a dream come to fruition at last, something he’s wanted to do all his life.

“I - I’m —”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, squeezing at your thigh with his free hand, “it’s just me. You can let go.”

No one has ever touched or kissed you like this. And you’ve never…never spiraled like this either. Never felt so close to the edge of pure, endless pleasure. Never seen the peak, never skirted over the edge, crying out another’s name.

Until now.

Steve knows this. Soothes you through it, crawling back up your body to brush at your cheek as you clutch his shirt tight, gasping breaths warming his flushed skin. As you float back to reality, a hazy mass of trembling limbs, he cups your chin and kisses you soundly, tongue gliding over yours, tasting yourself on him.

“We can stop,” he manages to get out before your fingers slip to grip at the hem of his top, tugging at the fabric, wanting it off.

In one swift movement, he grips the collar from behind his head and rips it free from his form, the ripple of his arms, chest and stomach dancing in your vision. He swoops back down and kisses you anew, body against body. Pulling back, you sit up against the armrest of the couch, Steve leaning back onto his knees. He watches with rounded, heated eyes as you grab at your own sweater and slide it up and off your frame, revealing a matching black bra to the panties that now lay discarded on the floor.

Your fingers reach behind you to grip at the clasp of your bra, appreciating the way Steve’s throat bobs.

“Wait!” His shout has you pausing, your eyes narrowing in fear of rejection, until he eases that nervousness away with the fumbling of his jeans, pushing them down around his ankles before kicking them into the corner of the room. “I want you to be as comfortable as possible. It seemed fair. We’re equal now.”

In one movement, you unclip the bra. Straps flutter around your shoulders, the cups freeing from your breasts, the warmth from the fire skittering along your flesh. Heart racing, you watch as Steve grips at the band of his boxers, pushing them down and off his thighs, the part of him you’ve never seen before slapping against the soft of his stomach. Against the dark hair that trails there. He’s hard and huge and there, the evidence of his desire on display.

Curiosity and reverence has you inching closer on the couch, settling your palms against his abdomen, gliding up and over his chest and shoulders, down his biceps, along the backs of his hands. Nervously, you raise one to your breast, gasping as his fingers cup the fullness of it in his palm, cradling it, brushing over a nipple with a thumb as his forehead drops against yours.

No one has ever touched you like this before. Before, it had been a rush and a hurry in the back seat of someone’s car. A flurry of movement. But Steve’s gentle touches roam your body, his other hand coming to cup the other breast, sliding down your sternum, along your stomach, between your thighs, making you whimper against his lips. Hesitant fingers reach out, trail along the rippling muscle of his abdomen, over the line of hair beyond his naval, the long and thick cock lingering in the space between you.

A trembling palm curls around him and experimentally moves, a gesture brought on by human instinct alone, an upward and downward stroke that has Steve’s forehead falling to your shoulder, rasping out a curse into your skin.

“Like this?” you ask through a pleasant sigh as he curls that digit within you in the way that had you crying for him moments ago, marveling at the way he grapples at your side with his free hand, fingers pressing tight to the fullest point of your hips.

“J-just like that, honey,” he stutters, lifting his head again to claim your mouth in a fervent kiss, swallowing your pretty noises. “Are we really — is this really happening?”

“You’re not dreaming,” you giggle, shrieking as he shifts you both over so you’re rolling onto the floor, onto the endless mountain of blankets and pillows below. “Steve!”

Broad palms press against your cheeks, lips falling against yours, a hum spilling from you. Without a moment to even try and stop your head from spinning, Steve drops kiss after kiss to your skin. The curve of your neck, the line of your collarbone. The dip of your sternum. A tongue glides over a pebbled nipple, bringing it into his mouth, hazel eyes locking on your own with a blazing heat behind him as another callused palm kneads the other. You could unravel just like that, with his eyes on you, drinking you in like he is now. But you know you want more. You want it all with him. Want to feel every inch of him that’s presently resting against your inner thigh, want to feel him inside, closer than he’s ever been before.

“Steve,” you rasp, curling your fingers in his long tresses, “I want — no, I need you inside me.”

He shifts up onto his elbows, peering down into your eyes. A shudder licks along your spine, the realization of what you’re both about to do dawning. The importance of this moment; a moment that’ll change everything you know about your relationship fully and completely. Where there might be nervousness, you only feel solidity in your choice — excitement, to finally be taking this step, this leap, with Steve.

“Please,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks and chest warm under his gaze.

A palm comes up to seek his face, brushing back the hairs that fall over his forehead, so messy and perfectly him. With a slow exhale, Steve curls his palm around the back of one of your knees, parting you for him, lifting it a bit into a bend. Instinct has your ankle hooking around the back of his knee, tugging him closer, shuddering at the feel of him against your slick center.

“I’m on the pill,” you blurt out quickly, “And you know my experience is…”

“I want you to know right now that this is the best night of my life,” he promises, knuckles brushing along your temple, quelling your nerves, “you could never disappoint me, okay?”

A nod.

“I’m clean, and I’ve never —” he gestures to where you both lay bare, “without a condom. I just want you to be sure. We can stop at any point.”

“I want this,” you tell him, curling your ankle tighter around his thigh, the heel digging into his muscle to draw him closer.

He grabs himself in hand, those dark eyes locking on yours. “Look at me,” he whispers, and you feel him nudge at your entrance, “it’s just us,” and he’s sinking in.

Slowly, so, so slowly.

“P-perfect,” you stutter out, clutching at a forearm as he inches in a bit more, that unfamiliar burn making you wince. Worry clouds his eyes, but you shake your head, “just…go slow, okay?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He pushes a little further, gauging your reactions, clutching at the bend of your thigh, thumb stroking along the inside of your knee lovingly. Another inch, and you lean up to kiss him tenderly. “Ah, shit —”

“W-what?”

Anxiety fills your tone, and he shakes his head rapidly to assuage your fears. “No. No. You just feel too good. I’m trying to make this last.”

Heat blooms in your chest at his words, hips rolling experimentally from beneath him, that burning dulling into a pleasurable fullness. The delicious stretch of him giving way to something…new. Something different. Twine spills out before you, a coil, a line you feel growing tighter with every passing moment. He gasps out a breath. A hot puff against your collarbone as his head falls, wispy hairs teasing along your warm skin.

“More,” you pant, clutching at his shoulder as he fully seats himself inside, pussy clenching around him at the newness of being so full of Steve.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You nod, head falling back as he pulls back, nearly pulling out, and drives back in. In and out, in and out, beginning something you know will forever change your relationship. “Oh god.” A gasp, as he repeats the motion again and again, brushing against a part of you that you didn’t even know existed.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he grounds out. He pulls back, pulls out, and you nearly cry with the loss of him, until he smirks and pushes back in, punching your breath straight from your lungs. “It’s like you were made for me.” You could cry, you could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you lose yourself to this, to this moment — to him. “Tell me you’re mine. You’re finally mine.”

“I’m yours,” you promise, keening as he lifts your thigh higher onto his hip, driving into you in a way that makes white flash behind your eyes, “and you’re mine.”

The words you want to say bubble on your lips. The three words with the power to change everything. The three you’ve denied yourself all these years in fear of the rejection that might come should you ever utter them. But you feel them with every beat of your heart, with every roll of his hips, with every kiss he presses to your lips as you inch closer and closer to release.

And it’s there. Right there. That elusive thing you’ve only heard about with friends in mixed conversation. That blooming low in your belly, the unfurling as he continues to grind into you over and over again, the flame licking in the space where you’re irrevocably connected to him now in a way you’ve never been before.

“Steve — I’m —”

“I’m close too,” he grunts, chest pressing against yours, lips at your cheek. “Let go with me, yeah?”

It ripples through you with a broken sob, and the feeling of Steve’s hips faltering in their rhythm as he finishes, warmth spilling into you. Hearts race. Mouths come together in the middle, foreheads pushing against one another. Your hands tangle together like whispered secrets on knitted blankets, against pillows littering the floors.

Neither of you pulls away, bodies only rolling enough to face one another, his softening cock still inside of you. Fingers trail along his bicep as his other arm slides beneath your head, cradling you there. It’s all sweet and soft kisses against skin. His mouth at your brow, your cheek, your jaw…lips. Different and yet it feels like something that’s always been meant to be. A part of the two of you never tapped into.

Until now.

“So…”

“So…” You nuzzle your nose against his, blinking up at his tired, blissfully hazy eyes.

“That was…”

“Perfect?” you finish, gliding your fingers through the hair curling around his ear.

“Perfect,” he agrees, index finger gliding up and down the line of your spine, “everything. Tired, hmm?”

He watches the flutter of your eyes. The telltale yawn that pours from you. The liquid form of your limbs draped over his own. Your head rests over his chest and fingers dig into his hip.

“Let me take care of you and then we can pass out, okay?”

He parts from you with a whine, limbs aching a little as you stretch and he disappears into the bathroom, only to come back with a warm washcloth to clean you with. It’s tossed across the room a moment later, the man of your heart rearranging the pillows around the floor into a better makeshift mattress, blankets already tucked low around your hips as you find him again, your bare chest pressing against his.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I just want to remind you that you’ve always been enough,” you tell him softly. Quietly. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

“You have me,” he promises, squeezing you tighter. “I’m yours.”

And you’re his.

A beautiful thing that curls around you both as you slip into sleep.

You’re grateful for a holiday weekend, because for the next three days, neither of you leave the comfort of the bedroom. It’s there that you learn every inch of Steve. That you remember the way his fingers trace your skin, how he feels when he’s inside of you, over you and under you, what it looks like when you drive him to finish, the way he looks at you when you writhe beneath him, hands fisted in his hair.

For days, all you know is that. The complete and utter bliss of a new relationship — despite the fact neither of you have given things a title yet. And even so, you hardly feel like you need to. You’d both said those words: you’re mine, and I’m yours. Wholly and completely. In your heart you know it, in your mind, and in your body. This is what you’ve been dreaming of for years, this is what you know you want.

He’s holding you now, your back to his chest, his fingers stroking you between your thighs, the fullness of him sliding in from behind. Another arm loops over your chest, resting over your heart, keeping you close. And you pinch your eyes shut at the feeling of it, at the sound of your sweat slick skin against his, the place where you’re joined, the press of his lips against your spine, your shoulder.

“You always.” A kiss. “Feel so.” Another kiss. “Good.” He tips your chin up and kisses your lips, swallowing your moan as you drive your hips back against his, wanting him deeper, wanting to crawl inside him if you could. “Taking me so well, beautiful.” A whine. “Gonna come for me, baby? Want it.”

You’ve been at it for hours. Or it feels like hours. He’d woken up that morning insistent on feeding you, before falling back into bed with you for the third day in a row. Had kissed every inch of you before rolling over and watching you with hooded eyes as you sunk down on him, robbing him of his very breath. That had been a frantic thing, hips rolling over him, his hands digging crescent moons into your sides, little medals for the honor of watching Steve completely crumble beneath you when his orgasm snuck up on him, knowing you’d done that.

Another whine punches from your lungs. Stolen from you as fire licks up your spine and you’re engulfed with it, clutching at his forearm and crying his name with your release, forehead slumping into your pillow as he follows soon after, hips slowing to a stop as he tugs you flush against his chest, whispering your praises against the skin of your cheek, his fingers dancing along your sweaty temple.

“I think that was our best yet,” you laugh, stroking along the hairs against the back of his arm, relishing in the shiver that ripples from him in the aftershocks of his own orgasm. “How about we shower and grab some breakfast at the diner or something?”

“Are you up to grab a tree with me for the holidays too?” At your nod, he grins against your shoulder, “maybe some ice skating and hot chocolate at the rink?”

“Is this our first date?” you tease, glancing over your shoulder to press a lingering kiss to his lips.

He hums against you, breathing a sigh, and you know the contentment pouring from him because it mirrors your own. “If you want it to be. As much as I want to stay here forever, I'm pretty sure our friends are worried we’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”

“We kind of did,” you muse, recalling the parting words on Thanksgiving just days ago now. “I haven’t slept a wink in days.”

“Says the woman reaping all the benefits in the form of endless orgasms,” he teases, laying a love bite against your shoulder, pulling away from you to rise up onto his feet, nodding his head toward the shower. “Come on.”

“No funny business,” you tease, curling a blanket around your shoulders as you follow him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

You only make it five minutes in before you break that promise by sinking down onto your knees.

…And naturally, he repays the favor after.

——

People notice Steve wherever he goes. As the town handyman, he earns a bit of attention. Smiles from those that pass by, waves as he walks down the street, calls of his name from across parking lots. So you suppose it should come as no surprise when you meander through the endless rows of trees, your hand in Steve’s, earning a bunch of stares of your own.

For a while, you’ve been simply the girl who follows in his wake. A familiar face around town while you’ve been here, and a figment of a past time to those who had been around much longer. Now, you were swiftly approaching what you knew to be a permanent fixture in the town all over again.

It feels natural — the weight of his palm in your own, fingers tangled, arms swinging in the space between the two of you, dressed in similar outfits. It’s nothing unusual in comparison to your years long friendship, though now you know what his lips feel like against every inch of you, you know that his heart against your spine thrums like a perfect tattoo while his arms circle you, you know what the weight of him above you feels like.

And even so, you earn the curious gazes of wandering eyes. The glances from those trying to garner what is happening here. You don’t mind it, though. Don’t mind the way people wonder, because you already know the truth within your heart. The depth of the feelings he has for you mirror your own, as sure as the sun rises and sets every day. The realization that this is the start to what you hope might be forever.

“How about this one?” Steve asks.

An hour later you’re both dragging a tree into his living room and decorating it in dozens of shiny lights and bulbs. He kisses you long and slow, fingers in your sweater, foreheads pressed in close, hearts even closer.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper, staring up at the tree, beautifully lit and adorned with love.

“It is,” Steve says back, but he’s not staring at the tree, he’s staring right at you instead.

——

The Hideout is bustling with customers. Endless rows of children constructing and decorating gingerbread houses at one table, while parents and family members alike mill about at the other tables, conversations about the upcoming holidays filtering through your ears as you pass by, handing off drinks and food.

Steve’s not here yet. A fact you notice as you watch the table of your friends grow, the group bent low together, beaming at what the other is saying, caught up in their company as day turns into night.

You’re finishing up handing off water to a table of teenagers when you notice Abi waving you over, a weary look in her eyes. It’s when your gaze travels southward you notice the shaggy blonde curls that you couldn’t forget even if you tried. Nor the pristine suit and tailored pants, the too expensive watch, that tie cinched around his neck. Green eyes drift your way from the bar, arms crossing over a toned chest. Chiseled cheekbones give way to blonde stubble, a messier look than you’re used to on Clark’s conventionally attractive features.

His eyes narrow at your appearance. To him, you’re wearing no more than a pair of jeans you bought off of a clearance rack, and a black sweater with a hole in one sleeve after you’d gotten it caught on Steve’s truck handle. He’s seen you in designer gowns, shoes, decked to the nines with jewelry, looking like the ever dutiful daughter. And now — now his eyes roam your form with distaste, the curl of his lip making your stomach drop.

“I can ask him to leave,” Abi murmurs low against your ear as you slip behind the bar to join her, “just say the word, and he’s gone. Eddie wouldn’t mind if I toss him out. He’s kind of an asshole anyway. Asked me if I had a specific bottle of wine, and scoffed when I said we didn’t. I almost told him he could shove the credit card he slapped against the bar up his ass.”

“Sounds about right,” you grumble, giving her hand a little squeeze. “I’ll be okay. And if not, and you catch me ready to throw a glass and lose my job —”

“I’ll turn the other way and pretend I didn’t see it.”

Offering her a smile, you slip back out and round the bar, grabbing Clark’s sleeve and tugging him to a smaller table positioned away from everyone else. From here, you can see Steve when he arrives and escape if need be. Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head up, staring into that blank stare.

“So this is where you ran off to,” he tuts, snickering, “it’s…charming.”

“It’s where I grew up,” you tell him flatly, “it’s home.”

“Home is in the city,” he says, leaning up onto his elbows, hand coming to curl over your own. Your eyes narrow at the contact, at the feeling of his finger cradling the back of your palm. “Come home. Stop this, please? Your family misses you, your friends miss you — believe it or not, I miss you.”

You bark out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Darling…” The hand around yours tightens, and you know he’s trying to narrow your window of escape, to ensure you stay rooted in place. “We had fun together, didn’t we?”

“At events, sure.”

He was kind enough. Was willing to laugh with you, to joke and tease, to talk. But there was nothing of any sort of romantic nature beneath the surface. Your marriage was intended for monetary purposes and those alone.

“You hardly even gave us a chance.”

“Clark, we were in an arrangement,” you remind him. “A mutually beneficial agreement for both of us.”

“Which has since fallen through.”

“And I am sorry about that —”

“Then come home,” he says again, eyes intent on your face. “Come. Home.”

“This is my home,” you whisper, catching the sight of Steve walking by in the window. His eyes immediately narrow at the sight of Clark across from you.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Clark lets out a bitter laugh as Steve appears in the doorway, approaching your table cautiously. “This is the guy you ran out on me with. Him? You’re choosing him. What can he offer you that I cannot?”

“Love, Clark,” you say, voice breaking at the end, “I love him…and I — I think he loves me. So yes, I’m choosing him. I’m choosing to stay here…with him.”

He fixes Steve with a hard stare, mouth parting slightly, settling back into a firm line. “You love him?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, and it’s watery. A broken off sob at the realization of your admission. “I do. We wouldn’t be happy together. You know that. I mean…you were kissing Christina on our wedding day.”

“She’s, ah, that’s…complicated.”

“But she means something to you,” you tell him, giving his hand a squeeze. “We wouldn’t be happy. You know we wouldn’t. Tell me you can see that.”

His palm slides down his face, head shaking slowly. “Your father’s company —”

“You’re an amazing surgeon,” you remind Clark, “and my father will come around. Eventually. I’m certain. And…maybe when he doesn’t hate me for making the choices I’ve made, I can send over a glowing recommendation. We don’t have to do things just because it’s our family’s way. We can choose our own happiness.”

Clark leans back a bit, his hand falling away from yours, fingers curling around the chair beside him to make room for a perplexed looking Steve Harrington at the table. “Can I at least say hello the man my fiancée ran out on me — on our wedding day, no less — for?”

“Clark,” Steve mutters with a nod, sinking down onto the chair beside you, arm curling around your shoulders. “I’m Steve. Steve Harrington. And, uh, sorry about your wedding day.”

Clark reaches over to grip his hand. “You’re really not sorry, though,” he chuckles heartily, shaking Steve’s hand.

Steve grins, because no. No, he’s not at all sorry, and you couldn’t be happier.

The three of you sit there in that restaurant for an hour, talking about plans for the future. About Christina and Steve. Christina, who is from a not so affluent family. A family his family doesn’t quite approve of, but he loves her. A fact you could even tell after seeing them together in their embrace.

In the end, Clark decides to head back to the city with the intention of making things right with the woman he loves. You also send him on the mission to talk to your parents, to convince them neither of you wants the marriage, and to let them know you’re okay since they don’t wish to contact you as it is.

Once he’s gone, you’re left to finish up cleaning your station, later announcing to your friends that you and Steve are heading for a little walk. Neither of you wants to stick around at the moment. Not when there’s so much to talk about.

Without him even saying anything, you know he’s overheard what you said to Clark. That you loved him. That you love him. Nervousness wells within you as you tug your jacket closer to your form, reaching out to lace your fingers with Steve’s, your hands swinging in the space between the two of you. Part of you wonders if you’ll ever get used to this. Part of you doesn’t, wanting merely to rest in the excitement of finally having the one thing you’ve both always wanted come to fruition.

“So…that was nice,” you say, peering up into his eyes.

The moon shines above, but Steve’s eyes are on your face. A lingering look you feel all the way down to your toes. “He’s still an asshole.” He swallows. Here it is. “Did you mean everything back there?”

“Which part?”

He pauses on the sidewalk, hands curling into your belt loops, tugging you against him. “Well, for starters, the part where you said this is your home now.”

“If you don’t mind having a roommate for a little while longer. At least, until I get back on my feet. Pretty sure my inheritance is not happening ever.”

His fingers cup your jaw, mouth brushing lazily over yours. “I’m not kicking my girlfriend out.”

It’s the first time he’s called you that, no fanfare, no need for explanation. And it feels right down to your marrow.

“Are you…asking me to officially move in?” you question, head tilting back a bit to gauge his reaction to your words.

“Are you saying yes?” He bounces on the heels of his feet a little, your palms resting against his stomach.

“I mean, an endless sleepover with my best friend sounds pretty great.”

He beams. “And then there’s that other part of the conversation I walked in on.”

“What part might that have been?” you prompt, leaning up onto your toes, biting at your bottom lip.

His fingers slide around your hips, slipping into the back pockets of your denim jeans. “The part where you said you love me.”

“I’ve loved you for years, Steve,” you tell him honestly, “I’ve…been in love with you for years. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”

His nose runs down the side of yours gently. “I’m in love with you too.”

He says it so quickly, all in a rush, like he simply wants to breathe the words into existence. To make them known. To speak the secrets that have been lingering in the silent moments between the two of you for years. To give them the voice they deserve. To set them into motion, to flight, to give them the breadth to roam freely.

“All this time?” you ask, swallowing the tears that threaten to spill.

“Yeah.” He nods. “All this time, honey. Always, if you’ll let me.”

You trust that his words are true. You know within your heart he means every single one of them. You welcome the free fall, and what a beautiful, safe space to land you’ve found in Steve.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” A kiss brushes the tip of your nose.

A giggle. “Deal.”

——

Two years later…

Sunlight streams in through the bedroom window. Warms your skin as a yawn spills from your lips, arms stretching against pillows, head nuzzling deeper into the mattress's downy embrace.

A warm arm slides in around your waist, a palm gliding over your stomach. “How are my girls doing?” It’s the voice of your husband that stirs you, chest rumbling against your spine, thumb stroking along your skin.

“We were just taking a nap,” you sigh, rolling over to face the man, “you finished for the day?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to look at the scrunched up newborn resting near your hip. “Uncle Eddie and Aunt Abi’s new house has a nice deck now. They also decided to keep the swing in the backyard just for when you grow up a little bit more, Summer.”

Summer sleepily stares up at her father as he carefully lifts her into the crook of his elbow, bouncing her a little to help her settle when her face wrinkles with the beginnings of a soft cry.

“She’s bigger than she was this morning,” he huffs, the hairs that are getting a little too long on his head now puffing upward with the hard breath.

Giggling, you roll over to lean against his shoulder, running the pads of your finger along her chubby cheek. “She’s the same as she was this morning.”

“Do you think she missed me?” He glances up, hopeful.

“Always,” you reassure him, knowing he hates going back to work after the initial few weeks he took off to spend time with his newborn daughter. “We got an invitation to Clark and Christina’s wedding.”

“At least that wedding won’t end with a runaway bride situation.”

“Hey, that runaway bride became your wife.”

Your own wedding was a year ago now. And because Steve had helped nearly everyone around town, it became a huge event. Nearly everyone in town had gathered around as you walked down a grassy aisle to the man who always had your heart. It was there he pledged forever, a promise to keep you close and your heart closer for all of time to come.

Your parents had even come, deciding that love truly mattered above all else — though a lot of that was thanks to Clark and Christina’s influence. Those two had even become closer friends to you than you ever thought imaginable. Just four people who had come together in the strangest of circumstances, finding that sometimes the person who people deemed ‘best’ for you wasn't actually the right one — and that choosing love would overcome any other obstacle that might try to get in your way.

“That she did,” he says, leaning down to brush a kiss to your forehead.

And now you had an extension of that, in the form of a bleary eyed baby staring up at the two of you. Equal parts him and you, and everything you could have ever dreamed of and more. “Come on, I have something to show you! Summer can come too.”

“You just don’t want to let her go.”

“I never do,” he coos, leaning down to brush a kiss over her forehead, “she’s like her Mom. Has me wrapped around her finger, and she’s not even two months old.”

“I’ll say a prayer for her future suitors now —”

“Hey — she is not dating until she’s thirty and that’s final.”

You shove at him lightly as he leads you down the hall and into the newly extended part of the home. There’s a little sunroom, full to the brim with plants, and just outside on the back porch, he’s added a beautiful wooden swing that overlooks the water.

“Steve…”

“I know you like to read out here, but I figured now that we have Summer…” He settles down on one of the cushions, making room against his hip for you to curl up next to him, watching as the sun begins to set over Hawkins. “We could come out here…as a family. I have more plans too. A seating area over there for when we have company. Maybe some stuff for when Nancy and Jonathan bring their son over for a play date. A treehouse over there.”

“I love it, Steve.”

“I love you,” he says, brushing his lips against yours ever so softly, just as Summer starts to whine in the crook of his elbow. “Oh no, sweetheart, shhh shh. Don’t cry…this mountain I must climb…feels like a world upon my shoulders…”

“Oh, come on,” you laugh as he starts to sing, sides shaking with the memory of your return to Hawkins so long ago now.

“Through the clouds I see love shine —” He continues, and Summer stares up at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky for her. “It keeps me warm as life grows colder.”

“In my life, there’s been heartache and pain,” you sing along, snuggling closer into his side, looping your arm around his and lacing your fingers with his own. “I don't know if I can face it again.”

You both break into a fit of giggles as the both of you sing-whisper out in equally as horrendous voices so as to not wake the baby that’s starting to doze off, “I wanna know what love iiiiis. I want you to show meee.”

You turn to face him, staring intently in his eyes, the song falling off, along with the laughter, as Summer’s eyes flutter shut. “Thank you for this. For all of it. This life we have together. For choosing me every day. Us. Our family.”

“Thank you,” he breathes back against your lips, kissing you as the sun sinks further along the sky, soft and pink and golden — just like the life before you and the one to come.

——

#lunaloveseddie #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut

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beomcoups · 1 year ago

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The Athlete (bonus)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: footballer!Soonyoungx journalist!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, smut, footballer au, established relationship au

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: R (18+)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: lots of kissing, unprotected sex, missionary, swallowing, throat grabbing, clit stimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting (I'm so embarrassed)

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You are assigned to do an interview with Kwon Soonyoung, the trailblazing athlete everyone calls Hoshi. But as you spend more time with him, you start to see there are more layers to him than football.

𝐀𝐍: Surprise! I did not plan on making a bonus chapter to this fic but I I suddenly got this idea to write this drabble. It’s kind of an epilogue to the the original fic (you can read it here if you haven’t) . Thank you @hobeemin for looking over this at the very last minute lol.

Happy birthday baby Hoshi!

series masterlist

“Hey, baby.”

You are pampered with kisses from your forehead down to your lips. You were in a deep sleep, the festivities from a late night knocking you out cold with sore thighs as a result. Hoshi lifts the blanket off you, revealing your naked body to the cool air from the ac. His attempt to wake you is working and your body reacts as his lips trail down your back, leaving you with giggles. “Hi,” you mumble. “I’m awake.” He turns you over, climbing over you and properly kissing you good morning. His body is warm and inviting, his muscular arms wrapping around you, making you feel safe and secure.

It’s been two years since you’ve been together, and it’s the happiest you’ve ever been. You finally found someone that filled the void you felt since your dad died, besides your job as a journalist, who understood you and didn’t make you second guess yourself. He was your equal in every word. You love him with every beat of your heart. “I love you,” he expresses, his hands intertwining with yours. “You mean the world to me.” You nod, nothing else needing to be said because he knows; he knows your heart. Your head nuzzles on his neck, happiness not even coming close to how you feel. You then lift his face, wanting to make eye contact. “Do you love me more than tigers?” you kid. “Hmmm, maybe,” he quips, tickling your stomach. You erupt in belly laughs as he smothers you with more soft kisses. You could do nothing all day but lay in bed with him and laugh. And fuck. “You look beautiful,” he whispers, leaving you with one last kiss before getting up. “I think that ring on your finger may have something to do with it.” You glance at your left hand, a 14k white gold diamond engagement ring he surprised you with last night. You had a feeling he would propose, as he started randomly talking about taking a week-long vacation to the Maldives, and you caught him looking at random venues that could only be for weddings. He asked you to take this week off, and you obliged, happy to get out of town. You have always been confident that he would be the one you would spend the rest of your life with, and you are glad he proved you right. He leaves the room and returns, handing you bottled water from the mini-fridge from your suite to drink. “No,” you pout. “Come back to bed. I’m cold.” You reach out for him, pulling him back to bed and wrapping your legs around his waist. You feel satisfied when he pulls you tighter, feeling his chest rise and lower on yours. “Now I have you forever,” you delight, kissing his cheek. “I’m never letting you go.” You did have every intention of holding him close, but you are also naked and horny; his earlier kisses put you in the mood. He grinds against your crotch, his fingers finding your center and rubbing it softly. He lifts slowly, lowering his sweats and revealing his hardened cock at your entrance. You bite your lip, your insides dripping with excitement as he enters you slowly. Your nails dig into his skin, his slow, deep strokes taking you out of this world. “This is what you wanted, right?” He grunts. “You’ve been craving me since you woke up, huh?” You chuckle, not even trying to deny the allegations. Hoshi already has you stuck under his thumb, you’re afraid. “You know me so well.” His thrusts become faster and more intense, the headboard banging against the wall as he fucks you into your fourth orgasm in 24 hours. His hand slips against your neck, grasping it with a slight squeeze the way you like it. Your release comes shortly after, squirting all over him before you beg him to do it again. “Do it again,” you plead. “We have all morning.” He grins, lifting your sore legs over his shoulders and pounding you until you feel stars. The windows are open, and you are sure everyone will have your names on a first-name basis by the time this vacation is up. But you are in love and marrying the love of your life. You could give a damn. “Oh baby,” he exhales. “I’m almost there.” You nod fervently, desperate to get his load down his throat. He pulls out shortly after, unloading on your tongue with a labored gasp. He leaves your tongue saturated, ensuring you swallow before kissing you. Hoshi helps you off the bed, slapping your ass as you walk to the bathroom. Legs wobbly, you feel thoroughly fucked out; the need for a good shower calling your name right now. Knock, knock, knock! Your head cocks to the door, not expecting anyone to visit, and you lock eyes with Hoshi, who throws on his sweats quickly before opening the front door. “Hi,” a stern voice calls from the other side. “I know you are young and in love, and I am very happy for you. But can you be mindful of the noise? I am receiving noise complaints from other guests.’ Your face heats up in embarrassment as you hear him apologize, the lack of care you felt earlier replaced with being mortified. The last thing you need is to be on the latest blogger’s Instagram, with “exclusive” details about your sexcapades. He shuts the door quietly as you turn on the shower. “Did you hear that tiger?” he teases you. “You gotta keep it down.” “Oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, giggling. “Are you joining me?” You reach out to him, his lips curving into a big grin. “And yes, I will keep my hands to myself,” you promise. He quickly gets undressed, stepping into the spacious shower behind you and grabbing a cloth. “Let me take care of my girl.” You oblige, letting him wash your hair and body before you return the favor, sneaking kisses whenever possible. “And baby?” you beam at him. “Happy birthday.”

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hungermakesmonsters · 3 months ago

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Devotion & Desire

Chapter Two

Plot summary : When you, a lone omega, move in across the hall from alpha Bucky Barnes, he knows that his life is about to get a lot more complicated, but he has no idea just how much you’re going to turn his life upside down. You’re both devoted to fixing your past mistakes, but will desire for something more get the better of you?

Pairing : Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Story Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This chapter contains violence. All chapters will contain the usual omegaverse and A/B/O tropes, and explicit smut. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 5.9k

A/N : 😅😅😅

CHAPTER ONE

MASTER LIST

Chapter Two

It had been going so well.

Too well, really.

So well, that you really should have known that it was all going to go to shit.

You cursed under your breath as you limped away, sporadically glancing over your shoulder, making sure you weren’t being followed. It was paranoia mostly - you knew Bucky had more sense than to try and follow you out in the open. And it wasn’t as if you didn’t garner enough attention on your own, making your way past groups of people heading home after a night out on the town, looking every bit the poor, helpless and pathetic little omega as you limped alone.

You hated it and you hated yourself for letting it happen.

It had been sloppy, careless. Hindsight was a bitch and had no problem telling you everything you’d done wrong; you should have waited, you should have taken your time.

But that was the problem. You hadn’t wanted to wait. You hadn’t wanted to spend another moment with him like that; touching him, kissing him, and doing every other unmentionable thing. As you walked, you scrubbed your cheek with your sleeve, trying to get his scent off you, but it felt like it was everywhere, like it was seeping into your pores, into your very being, and you’d never be rid of it.

The only thing you knew for certain was that Bucky Barnes was supposed to be dead and you were going to have to find a way to fix your mistake.

Though first you’d need to deal with the world of shit you’d found yourself in. Everything you owned was back at your apartment and Bucky wasn’t an idiot, he wasn’t just going to sit back and forget that you’d tried to kill him. No, he was probably already trying to figure out who you were and why you wanted him dead.

Your weeks of hard work in getting close to him had gone down the drain and all the pathetic, degrading things you’d done had been rendered pointless.

It was playing over and over again in your head, every little thing you’d done and how you could have done better.

You’d played the part of the meek little omega, you’d made him want to protect you. That night in his apartment you’d spread your scent all over his bathroom in the hope of driving him crazy, getting in his head and making it so that you were all he could think about. And, then he’d started seeking you out; offering to walk you too and from work, and agreeing to come to the bar with you.

It had all been perfect.

He should be dead.

What had gone wrong?

You were so caught up in your own frustration that you didn’t hear the call at first, someone shouting your name from down the street. Looking up, you noticed Nikki and Jade, finally on their way home, heading straight towards you.

“What happened?” Nikki asked, looking you up and down, voice filled with concern.

“Didn’t you leave with Bucky?” Jade added a second later.

You took a breath, mind racing as you tried to come up with the perfect lie. Then your gaze dropped and you slipped back into the role of the helpless, delicate omega.

“I think I left my purse at the bar,” you said softly, not looking at either of them.

“You could have called us, we would’ve gone back for it,” Nikki told you.

“Did you tell Bucky? Did he not offer to walk you back to the bar?” Jade asked.

“No, he - we -” you swallowed awkwardly and paused for effect before daring to glance up.

“What��s wrong?” Nikki asked. “Did he -”

“No - no, Bucky didn’t do anything,” you quickly explained. “It was me, I - I tried to kiss him..”

The both fell into a stunned silence while you dropped your gaze again, looking thoroughly embarrassed. And, in a way, you were embarrassed, just not in the way that they thought.

“What did he do? If he was mean -” Nikki sounded ready to fight, and that was the last thing you needed.

“No, he was nice, really. I just - I feel so stupid for thinking he could like me like that...” you sighed, glancing up for a split-second to see if they were buying the lie. They were. “I needed some space so I came out for a walk. I don't want to go back to my apartment in case he sees and wants to talk about it, and then I tripped and hurt my ankle...”

“So, your purse...” Jade prompted softly.

You shook your head, indicating that you hadn’t left it, that you were just using it as an excuse to stay away from your apartment and, by extension, Bucky. For effect, you gave a little sniffle.

“Oh, mouse,” Nikki said with a shake of her head. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. I bet if you just talk to Bucky you’ll be able to sort it out.”

“I can’t. Not tonight,” you told her. “You didn’t see his face... it was so embarrassing.”

“Do you want to crash on our sofa tonight?” Jade offered.

You gave a weak little nod but stayed silent, quickly forming a plan. Their apartment was a couple of floors below yours but it was connected by the same fire escape. You’d be able to sneak back into your apartment in the morning, grab your stuff and get the hell out of there before Bucky could catch up to you.

The three of you walked back slowly, Jade putting her arm around your waist and helping you limp along on your injured ankle. Neither of them said anything, but you’d catch the way they were looking at you from the corner of your eye and it made your stomach turn.

Eventually you ended up in their apartment, set up on the sofa for the night, but you didn’t sleep; how could you when you knew he was upstairs and when you couldn’t trust that Nikki and Jade wouldn’t try to go talk to him on your behalf? Fortunately, the night passed without incident and, in the morning, you caught sight of Bucky leaving from the window. Your eyes followed him to his motorcycle, watching as he finished a phone call before riding off.

You didn’t have to hear his conversation to know that he was looking for you; he’d probably been up half the night trying to track you down, without once stopping to think that you’d be dumb enough to still be in the building.

You made your excuses to Nikki and Jade, and headed back upstairs.

Bucky had shut your apartment door, but the lock was busted. Fortunately, you weren’t planning on sticking around long enough to get your security deposit back. It didn’t look like anything had been taken, but a few drawers had been opened, obviously he’d spent some time in there, looking for clues. But you already knew he wouldn’t have found anything. It wasn’t like you’d kept a journal detailing how you wanted to kill your neighbour.

Luckily, the latch on the door was still intact and held the door shut well enough for you to dare to risk a quick shower, needing to scrub yourself to try and get rid of the last of his scent that you hadn’t been able to wash off the night before. Then you changed into some clean clothes and set about trying to pack a bag so you could get the hell out of there.

It was shocking just how much you’d settled into the apartment in the few months you’d been there, and you almost felt sad knowing you were leaving it. Aside from the act you’d had to put on for everyone around you, you realised that you’d actually liked it there; you’d found a comfort and sense of safety that you’d never had before.

Lost in the strange feeling, you almost didn’t notice the door rattling until someone forced their way inside, breaking the latch and the last thing holding the door shut.

Turning you expected to see him standing there, angry and ready to demand an explanation.

But it wasn’t Bucky.

There were two of them, and you could only guess what they wanted, but you didn’t bother wasting time asking. Instead you dropped behind the sofa.

You pulled the knife from your boot and threw it, catching one of your attackers in the shoulder, causing him to stagger back and let out a string of curses. There was a moment of confusion, but they quickly realised where you were. Scrambling out of your hiding place, you tried to race for your nightstand and the gun that was hidden in the top drawer, but your injured ankle slowed you down. Before you got there, a large hand grabbed your collar and a fistful of your hair, yanking you backwards so hard that you fell.

A boot connected with your stomach, knocking the wind from you, but it didn’t stop you from grabbing the leg attached to that boot and biting down as hard as you could, earning a pained yelp from your attacker. A second later, you were scrambling towards the door, desperate to get out. Then came another kick and, this time, instead of pulling away, he pressed his boot down on your back, holding you in place.

You heard the click of a gun’s safety and held your breath, waiting for the inevitable.

“Hey, jackass, Rumlow wants her alive,” said the other and your stomach almost turned itself inside out at the sound of a name you hadn’t heard in five years.

“I’m not gonna kill her, just gonna put one in the back of her leg to keep her from running,” came the response.

Immediately, you started to struggle, cursing and swearing as he pressed down harder on your back and laughed. You were trapped and powerless to defend yourself; you were everything you’d never wanted to be again, and the realisation had you thrashing and struggling in vain.

“What’s he want with a scrawny little omega like this anyway?”

Somehow, you managed to crawl a few inches despite the weight on your back, managing to get yourself ever so slightly closer to the nightstand, refusing to give up, refusing to resign yourself to your fate.

“I dunno,” the other goon answered, looking down at you, “she’s a feisty little thing though.”

You twisted and squirmed, trying to reach behind you to pull the boot from your back, still fighting, even though you knew there was no real chance of escape. Each breath you took was an awkward gasp, panic plus the pressure on your chest was making it harder and harder to breathe. And it only got worse when your vision started to blur.

But, before you could pass out, you felt something against your neck, then you were zapped with about a thousand volts. The pain only lasted a couple of seconds before you lost consciousness.

------------

In a way, Bucky knew that he should have seen it coming, that you (or any one really) wanting to be close to him should only ever have been seen as a massive red flag. In retrospect, it was easy to see how he’d fallen for it, how he’d let you play him and get close enough to almost take his life.

And Bucky was angry, he was pissed that he’d let you get close, that he’d allowed himself to want for the first time in years.

He wanted to follow you as you ran, consequences be damned. He wanted to know why, wanted to know how your lies could make him feel a longing ache in the cave of his chest, an ache that hadn’t lessened even after your betrayal.

For hours he looked through your apartment, trying to find some sign of who you were and why you wanted him dead, but there was nothing. He made call after call, upsetting almost everyone he knew by disturbing them at such a late hour. All he managed to find out was what he’d already suspected; the name you’d given him was fake, and so was every little scrap of your past that you’d shared.

There was no trace of you, like your entire life had been a lie, like you’d never even been a real person.

He began to wonder if you’d been trained somewhere like the Red Room, or been part of the Winter Soldier program, but none of that made sense. While you were clever enough to get close to him, it was obvious from your scuffle that you had no training, that you weren’t a fighter or a trained assassin.

By the time morning came around, there was only one person left that Bucky hadn’t asked for help.

And, with great reluctance, he went to see Sam.

There was an awkwardness to the way he stood there in Sam’s home, half looking at him, the person he considered to be his only friend, and only in the loosest sense of the word. He didn’t want to explain himself or the maelstrom of emotions that he was trying to fight back. All he wanted was help finding you.

“I need your help tracking someone down,” he said, pulling up a photo he’d taken of the group on his phone last night, zooming in on your face. “I have a name, but I don’t think it’s real. The picture’s all I have to go on.”

Sam looked at the picture then looked at Bucky

“You know, when a woman doesn’t tell you her real name during a hook-up, it’s usually a sign she’s not interested in a relationship,” Sam joked with an easy sort of smile that Bucky had always been jealous of.

“It’s not like that,” Bucky answered, snatching back his phone. “She tried to kill me.”

“You do have that effect on people.”

“And this is why you’re the last person I came to for help,” Bucky responded, taking a step back, about ready to give up leave.

“I see that cyborg brain of yours still doesn’t know how to process humour.”

“It can process humour just fine, it’s that you’re not funny,” Bucky snapped, his tone more than enough to tell his friend that he was already wearing on his last nerve. This was important to him and he wasn’t in the mood to play games. “If you’re not gonna help -”

“Alright, alright,” Sam held his hands up, signalling his surrender, “send me the photo and I’ll pass it on to Torres and see if he can find anything. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?”

Bucky did as he was asked, sending the picture of Sam and then watching as Sam sent it on. Then there was a pause, Bucky obviously hesitating before he started to explain what had happened, in a tasteful and censored way. He told Sam how you’d moved in and how he’d tried to help you, how he’d tried to be a good alpha, and how the pair of you had started to get close.

“Any idea why she tried to kill you?” Sam dared to ask, even though he seemed to sense that it was something of a sensitive subject for Bucky.

“No, she didn’t exactly stick around to explain it after trying to stab me.”

Sam gave him a look that had Bucky bristling, looking about ready to fight if Sam even thought about making another joke.

“Do you think someone paid her?” Sam said, looking at your picture again.

“No... it felt personal. She was really angry...” Bucky said, barely managing to hold back a sigh. “But she didn’t fight like she had any training and she’s an omega, so it’s not like she stood a chance at overpowering me..”

“She must’ve put on quite the act if she managed to get that close to you.” Again Bucky bristled, discomfort on his face betraying him. But if Sam noticed, thankfully, he decided not to say anything about it. “Why does it feel like there’s more than your wounded pride at stake here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky shrugged. “I just want to know why she tried to kill me and if she’s gonna try again.”

Sam was about to say something when his phone buzzed with a message.

“Torres says it might take him a couple of hours.”

“Can you let me know what he finds?” Bucky asked.

“Sure. Where are you going?”

“Home. In case she goes back to her apartment.”

“You really think she’ll go back?”

“I don’t think she planned for failure,” Bucky offered, “I think she saw the opportunity and took it, now she’s out there with nothing but the clothes on her back.”

“Need me to come with?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, if she shows up I can deal with her.”

The pair shared an awkward goodbye and Bucky headed back to the apartment building, hoping that he hadn’t missed you, but not entirely sure what he’d do if you did turn up. He told himself that he just wanted answers, but it was more than that; he wanted to understand, he wanted to know why you’d gone to such great lengths.

A van peeled past him as he reached the building and he quickly noticed Nikki on the sidewalk, blood pouring from her nose, her eyes fixed on the van until she noticed Bucky.

“What happened?” Bucky asked, quickly moving to her, trying to make sure she was alright.

“They took her,” she answered, frantic. “Someone took mouse.”

“What?” He glanced down the street at the van.

“They had guns, Bucky. I think they’re gonna - oh my god...” she let out an awkward sob, her hand lifting to cover her mouth as she struggled not to fall apart.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Bucky told her, placing a hand on her shoulder and trying to comfort her.

“She was bleeding, Bucky. They’re gonna hurt her,” she continued. “I tried to stop them, but I -”

For a split second, he was torn - torn between staying and looking after Nikki and going after you - but his indecision didn’t last long. Whatever was going on, he wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you. He needed answers, he needed to know what was going on.

“Go inside,” he told her, starting back towards his motorcycle, “I’m going to get her back.”

Bucky didn’t wait for a response before starting the engine and taking off after the van.

He easily managed to catch up with the van in the city traffic, pulling up alongside it. He couldn’t see you, but he could hear something, someone, in the back of the van, struggling and kicking against the door. Whatever was going on, Bucky knew he wasn’t going to get any answers if he couldn’t get to you. Hearing your screams and shouts was the last straw; no matter who you really were or what you’d done, you didn’t deserve this.

Slamming his vibranium arm into the passenger door, he tore it off the van, quickly pulling one of your kidnappers out and tossing him into the street, causing the car behind to swerve wildly. In the commotion, the driver fumbled for his gun, giving Bucky ample time to climb into the van and slam his fist into the guy’s jaw. His head rebounded off the window, and the van turned sharply, slamming into a streetlight.

The collision was enough to knock the driver out.

Bucky climbed out of the van, practically tearing the back door off as he pulled it open, find you bloody and sprawled unconscious on the floor. He quickly dialled Sam.

“Hey, Sam, do you still have that safehouse downtown?”

------------

You woke up in a small, mostly unfurnished bedroom with no memory of how you’d gotten there; you could remember waking up in the back of the van, kicking and screaming, trying to get out but, then, nothing. But that blank spot in your memory was really the least of your concerns.

When you moved, everything ached. Someone had cleaned you up and bandaged your wounds but, given the circumstances, that just made you feel worse.

All you wanted to do was curl up and surrender yourself to whatever was about to happen. You were so tired of running, so tired of fighting.

You wanted to give up.

You just wanted to sleep.

But a familiar scent reached you, a scent that confused everything even more; Bucky.

Your head ached as you tried to process what was going on and how you’d come to be with Bucky and not Rumlow, and how you’d come to trade one kind of fear for another.

Slowly, you managed to get to your feet, despite the way that the room seemed to spin and the floor felt uneven beneath your feet. Looking around, you tried to find something that gave you some idea of what was going on, but there was nothing. The only things in the room were the bed, a small bedside table with empty drawers, and an empty wardrobe. The view from the window told you that you were in an apartment building, but you couldn’t tell where.

Once you’d finished looking around the room, you headed for the door, expecting to find it locked but, instead, it opened out into the rest of the apartment.

And there he was.

Bucky was sitting on the sofa, but he got to his feet the second the door opened. You gripped the doorframe as your stomach knotted and cramped, fear coiling in your insides at the realisation you were trapped and there was no way you’d be able to escape him.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air between you, neither of you moving, neither of you taking your eyes off the other. Your mind was racing, trying to figure out what was happening and why you were there instead of rotting in a cell or worse.

“What’s going on?” You finally forced yourself to ask, trying not to lean too heavily against the doorframe, not wanting to show him just how weak and vulnerable you were.

“Funny, I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he answered, anger and upset thick in his voice.

Finally, you let your gaze shift to the door and started weighing up whether you could reach it before he stopped you. And Bucky noticed, in fact, he took a step towards you, almost goading you to try your luck.

“Why am I here?” You asked, exhausting and discomfort intensifying with every second that passed.

“Because I want answers before I decide what to do with you,” Bucky answered. “The guys that tried to grab you were ex-Hydra, a hit squad - is that who you’re working for?”

“I’m not working for anyone.”

“So it’s personal then?”

“I’m not playing twenty questions with you,” you answered with a sharpness that he didn’t expect, a tone he’d never heard from you before. “Just get it over with.”

“Get what over with?” His confusion was almost believable, but you knew better than to think he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“Just kill me.”

“I don’t make a habit of killing unarmed omegas for no reason.”

“Right. Sure you don’t.” you scoffed sarcastically.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means drop the crap. I know you’re the Winter Soldier.”

Suddenly it felt like all the air had been sucked from the room and there was no missing the flicker of discomfort that crossed his face before a look of resignation appeared. You leaned against the doorframe all the more, watching as he struggled to respond, feeling worse by the second.

“So - what? - you came after me to settle a score?” He finally found his voice.

“You killed my brother,” you spat. “You ruined my life.”

Again, there was silence, but all you could think about was the suffocating heat in the room and how it felt like you could barely breathe, and how every breath you did manage to take filled your lungs with his scent.

Bucky had said something and was staring at you expectantly but your only response was to shake your head and start moving, limping towards the door knowing you couldn’t escape but wanting to try your luck regardless. You made it about halfway before you had to stop, the pain in your abdomen only getting worse until you were almost doubled over. Before you could think, before you could say anything, Bucky was at your side, catching you just as your legs crumpled beneath you.

Your vision blurred and you almost lost yourself in his scent and the way his arm pulled you against him in his attempts to steady you. And, for a moment, you wanted nothing more than to melt into his side and surrender yourself to whatever might happen, but you refused to give up that easily.

“No,” you muttered weakly, trying to push him away, “get off me.”

He didn’t let go, knowing that if he did you’d only end up on the floor.

“You need to lay down,” you heard him mutter, a tenderness in his voice that didn’t belong, a kindness you didn’t want or need.

As much as you tried to struggle, you found yourself led back into the bedroom and placed on the bed. The moment your head hit the pillow, everything went black.

------------

The revelation that he had killed your brother had left Bucky reeling. It wasn’t the first time that he’d been forced to confront his past as the Winter Soldier but it was turning out to be one of the most painful. He’d hurt you, taken something from you, and he’d never be able to make that right. The thought alone was enough to make him spiral.

As easy as it would have been to hide behind the idea that it hadn’t really been him, that the Winter Soldier wasn’t him, Bucky couldn’t separate himself from the pain he’d obviously caused you. And the worst part? He had no way of knowing who your brother was, no way of narrowing it down or understanding why; had your brother been his target, or had he just been collateral damage.

For a couple of hours he sat, thinking over all the terrible things he’d done, remembering all the things that haunted him, all the things he wouldn’t allow himself to forget in the hopes that something would spark a memory and he’d have the answers that he needed. But, the sorry truth of the matter was that he had far too much blood on his hands, too many deaths on his conscience.

Whatever had happened, it seemed that his actions as the Winter Soldier had set you on a path that had put you in the crosshairs of dangerous people and, now that he had some idea of why, Bucky knew that he needed to try and make amends. He needed to try and help you.

But, convincing you to let him was going to be the hardest part.

There was so much he didn’t know, but the majority of the anger and hostility he’d felt towards you had disappeared the moment he started to understand why you wanted him dead. Your words still rang in his ears; you ruined my life. It made him feel sick, but it was a sickness he’d felt before, a sickness he’d managed to work through.

When the bedroom door opened again a few hours later, he was shocked to see that, instead of looking better and rested, you somehow looked worse. You were barely keeping your balance as you stopped and looked at him, pure hatred in your eyes.

“What do you want with me?” You finally asked. “Am I your prisoner?”

“I don’t want anything. And, no, you’re not a prisoner,” Bucky answered, slowly getting to his feet and watching you closely, in case you collapsed again.

“So I can leave?”

“You can, but it’d hardly be the smartest option when you’ve got an ex-Hydra hit-squad looking for you,” he answered.

For a moment you gave him an indecipherable look, as if you were caught between shock and confusion that he’d put everything together so quickly. He didn’t bother to tell you it was because he’d had at least half a dozen people researching you and your assailants, trying to find out whatever they could.

“That’s how he found me...” you sighed under your breath but, before Bucky could ask, you were moving towards the door.

“Seriously?” He asked, clinging desperately to the last of his patience. “Just look at you, you can barely walk. How far do you think you’re gonna get?”

“Whose fault is that?” You snapped back.

“Seriously? You're gonna try and blame me? You jumped off the fire escape after trying to kill me,” he stated, moving to block you as you tried to reach the door.

“I thought you said I wasn’t a prisoner.”

No. You weren’t a prisoner but Bucky couldn’t let you go, not in your current state. You could barely stand and, besides, you had nowhere to go and nothing but your phone.

“You’re not, but if you think I’m gonna let you get yourself killed...”

“I can’t stay here with you,” you told him, trying to step around him.

“You’re not exactly a joy to be around either but you should at least wait until you’re well enough to -”

“My heat is about to start,” you finally admitted, hoping it would be enough to make him move. It wasn't.

“Seriously?” A moment later he was shaking his head. “All the more reason you should stay. You’re not gonna be able to look after yourself.”

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” You asked and the look he gave you was enough to tell you that he wasn’t. He was dead serious. “I can’t stay here with you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I can control myself around an omega in heat,” he answered, annoyed by the implication.

But, if he was honest, he understood at least some part of your worry; the events of the night before were still burned into his memory and, even though that longing ache in his chest had dulled somewhat, it was still there.

“Said every alpha ever,” you muttered, turning away from him, obviously looking for another way out.

“Look, I get it -” he tried, following after you.

“No, you really don’t.”

“I killed someone close to you and I’m sorry -”

“Sorry?” You turned back towards him, tone dripping with disbelief. “I bet you don’t even remember him. I bet you don’t even remember why. You don’t get to tell me sorry.”

“You’re right,” Bucky conceded, “I don’t remember a lot of my time as the Winter Soldier, but I want to make this right.”

You lunged suddenly, almost losing your foot as your hands met his chest and pushed. He barely moved and you almost crumpled to the floor as you shoved him.

“There is no making this right,” you told him angrily, hitting a balled fist against his chest. “You can’t fix this. You can’t bring him back from the dead.”

“Maybe not, but I can keep you alive,” he answered stubbornly, gripping your arm for a moment so you didn’t fall. “I have some friends looking for the guys that tried to grab you, once they’re in custody I’ll take you back to your apartment and we’ll never have to see each other again, okay?”

But, obviously, it wasn’t okay.

“I. Can’t. Stay. Here.” You repeated, slowly, as if he was an idiot. (And maybe he was an idiot for trying to help you.)

“If I was going to hurt you, don’t you think I would’ve done it by now?” He answered back, tone becoming clipped as he became more frustrated by the conversation. “Just... let me help you and, when all of this is all over and you can stand without looking like you’re gonna pass out, you can have your revenge.”

The offer was made more out of desperation than anything else; he just wanted you to be safe while he dealt with the people trying to hurt you. Everything else could come after.

You made your way into the kitchen and he watched you glancing out the window, as if you were weighing up the pros and cons of jumping from the fifth floor. There was panic on your face as you turned back and looked towards the front door again, but Bucky was starting to realise that he wasn’t the only thing making you feel that way.

“What’s the big deal? It’s not like this is your first heat.” He said because it couldn’t be - you must have been dealing with them for easily over a decade now.

Finally, you turned your attention back to him, no longer trying to hide your discomfort

“I haven’t had a heat in over five years,” you confessed with all of your previous anger. “I don’t do this. I don’t want to do this, especially not near you.”

Bucky chose to ignore the obvious insult. “Five years? How is that even possible?”

“Suppressants,” you snapped. “That I stopped taking so I could get close to you.”

“Oh, well I’m sorry my attempted murder was such an inconvenience to you,” he retorted sarcastically. He fell silent for a moment, watching as your trembling hand reached for the counter for support. “I thought you weren’t supposed to take them over long periods of time? Doesn’t that cause serious problems?”

“Wow, are you really going to stand there and try to alpha-splain it to me?”

“No, that’s not -” he stopped himself, seeing you tense in discomfort. “Can you just go sit down before you fall down?”

“I told you, I can’t -”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first twenty times,” he said, moving towards you and wrapping an arm around your waist, forcibly leading you from the kitchen and into the bedroom again, depositing you on the bed.

You didn’t fight him, despite obviously wanting nothing more than to push him away from you. He wondered if being close to him had the same effect that being close to you had on him, if his scent was filling your lungs with every breath.

“I can see if I can find something, some suppressants or -”

“It’s too late. You have to take them before it starts...” you told him.

“Then what do you need?” He asked.

You looked shocked by the concern in his voice and the way he was looking at you - which, given you’d tried to kill him less than twenty-four hours ago, seemed fair. But Bucky ignored it. Whether it was alpha instincts or guilt over whatever he’d done to your brother, he just wanted to help you, look after you. It didn’t matter that you hated him. It didn’t even matter that he was almost certain you’d try to kill him again once you got the chance.

He needed to do this. He needed to try and fix whatever he’d broken, however he could.

“I need you to leave me alone,” you told him.

Bucky tongued the inside of his cheek, biting back a dozen comments that would probably only make the situation worse before relenting. He lingered for a few seconds before shrugging and letting out a sigh, before finally turning and leaving the room, closing the door behind him and giving you what you needed.

End Note : I know I'm probably raising more questions than I'm answering with this chapter but don't worry, everything will be answered eventually. And, yes, by Rumlow I do mean Brock (I'm saying he's still alive because I needed a bad guy 😅) Anyway, thanks for all the likes/comments/reblogs on the first chapter!

If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, let me know!

Tag List : @greatenthusiasttidalwave

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #alpha!bucky barnes #marvel omegaverse #tfatws #devotion ff

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mypearlsareclutched · 3 months ago

Text

I Know You Don't Understand

High By The Beach | Chapter Eight

Modern!Aegon II x Original Female Character, Modern!Aemond x Original Female Character

The arrival of Aemond Targaryen at the Old Town beach house has Mila and Aegon wondering what will happen next. Aemond is intent on winning Mila back, but she no longer knows who owns her heart...

Sorry guys, the joy has ended, we are now in the era of heartache and love triangles and Mila not knowing what the fuck is going on...

Song inspiration | High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey

CW//TW: References to Sexual Content (MDNI, 18+), cigarettes, toxic relationships, angst, Aemond being Aemond, references to drug use, love triangles R us, Aegon's whore past, Al*s R*vers mention, Ot*o mention, Larys being Perez Hilton, the Targaryens arguing like their real housewives.

Word count | 3.1k

previous chapter // next chapter

The three of them stand in awkward silence, their eyes flicking to one another as they try to think of something to say. It's a Mexican standoff, none of them knowing what the other plans to do, all of their defences up.

With a sharp inhale, Aemond moves first, taking slow, long strides over to the porch. As he walks up the stairs, he nods to his brother.

"Aegon." He greets.

"Aemond." Aegon bites out, fists clenching slightly.

No brotherly love there. Mila awkwardly moves from foot to foot, staring at Aemond as she lingers on the line between wanting to slap his perfect face and collapse into his arms. Why is her heart beating hard enough to make her body shake with adrenaline? Why is she so unsure of what she wants to do?

"How did you find us?" She asks, clearing her throat as she wraps her arms protectively around body.

"If you guys were trying to lay low, don't go around parading on a public beach." Aemond pulls out his phone, showing the two an article showing Mila and Aegon sitting side by side on the sand outside of the beach house.

'The She Wolf gets cozy with Ex-Boyfriends Brother midst cheating scandal and rehab rumours!'

"Of fucking course. Larys Strong sticking his big nose in our lives once again." Aegon laughs mirthlessly, throwing his hands up, "That soulless, stalking ass, clubfoot ass, bitch."

"Calm yourself, Aegon." Aemond warns, "Anger has never looked good on you."

"Why are you here?" Aegon demands, putting his hands on his hips, raising his eyebrows, "Huh? You haven't come here since we were kids. Why come here, now?"

"Is that not clear?" The younger brother's eyes move over to Mila, who shivers under his attention.

Aegon freezes, face hidden from Mila but she can clearly see his discomfort and wariness. He moves slightly to shield Mila from his brother's eye, and Aemond moves his attention to Aegon with a sneer.

"I think we need to talk." Aemond states, to which one of them, Mila is unsure.

Without another word, he shoulders past his brother, walking up to the house and disappering inside. Mila watches his back as he heads towards the living room, before looking at Aegon.

He gives her a look, almost looking frightened.

As Mila and Aegon enter the living room, they spot Aemond standing near the coffee table, his grandmother's copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hand. He looks over it, dragging one of his long fingers over the spine.

Mila feels anger rise up in her, stalking over to grab the book from Aemond's hand, cradling it to her chest protectively.

"These were Alerie's right?" Aemond asks, looking over the piles of dusty books, "I didn't realise or uncle kept them."

"There are a lot of things that escape your notice." Aegon grits out, collapsing on the sofa with a huff.

Aemond raises his eyebrow, sneering at his brother, "Such as?"

"Neither of us wanting you here."

"Oh? Are you two symbiotically linked now? Has Mila told you telepathically that she doesn't want me here?" Aemond smirks.

"I don't know, Aemond." Aegon shrugs, "I'm just assuming from her sad little expression. You're the one who's been dating her for a whole ass year, why can I read her face better than you can?"

"Stay out of our relationship, Aegon-"

"What relationship? You cheated on her and sent her off to overdose, remember?"

Aemond takes a menacing step forward, causing Aegon to sit up with a mean grin, clearly looking for a fight.

Mila grabs the sleeve of Aemond's jacket, pulling him back from descending upon his brother. Both Targaryen's eyes follow the movement, their expressions unreadable.

"Stop." Mila demands simply, and Aemond obliges.

He looks down at her face, his eyes softening as he takes in her pained eyes and downturned lips.

"I'm sorry." He murmurs.

"For what, almost fighting your brother?" Mila laughs ironically, shaking her head as she holds the book to her chest.

"For everything." Aemond says ernestly, turning his body fully to her. He reaches down to gently take her fingers into his hand, "My love, I..."

Aegon scoffs, clearing his throat obnoxiously. Aemond's eyes harden, his head snapping to look at his brother.

"What?" He demands, voice coming out like an aggressive dog's bark.

"Oh nothing." Aegon says innocently, patting his chest, "Just a cough. Continue, please."

Aemond growls, fists clenching. Rolling her eyes, Mila gives Aegon a look, silently pleading with him to give them five minutes. He stares right back at her, face eerily calm while his eyes were on fire.

"Aeg, can you please give us a moment?" She begs, hoping he can tell she does not want to have this conversation, but she can tell Aemond's patience is wearing thin, and a fight is not what she needs right now.

He sits silently for a moment, his lips disappearing as he presses them together, working his jaw, "...Fine."

Standing, he rolls his shoulders, taking his time to walk through the living room into the kitchen. Mila mouths a 'thank you' to him as he passes, and he winks at her, making her stomach flutter. Aemond watches his brother leave with a scowl, chest heaving.

"Aemond." Mila starts, looking at him.

"Baby-"

"Anyone want coffee?" Aegon calls from the kitchen.

"Aegon, shush!" Mila yells back, sighing as she rubs her forehead.

The two stand in silence in the living room, looking at one another with wildly different, wildly unsure expressions. Aemond stares right into her soul, his one blue eye watching her every twitch and blink. As Mila stares back, she can hear a thousand different thoughts swimming around her mind. Why is he here? What could he want? Does he

"So you two are best friends now?" Aemond sneers, crossing his arms. With a roll of her eyes, Mila ignore his comment, taking the spot Aegon had vacated from the sofa.

"I don't want to do this, Aemond." She sighs, rubbing her hands over her legging-covered knees.

"Do what?"

"Argue." Mila shrugs, nails biting into her skin as her hands flex, nervous about the impending fight.

"I haven't come here to argue." Aemond says simply, "I came here to bring you home."

"Oh, really? Home? Where's home?"

"King's Landing, your flat, with your brother and your friends and my siblings, home."

"You're not going to take me to the clinic?" Mila asks with a raised eyebrow, questioning his intentions.

Aemond scoffs, shaking his head. He puts his hands on his hips, and Mila takes a moment to look over his appearance. he's dressed casually, black jeans and a black leather jacket over a white T-Shirt. His hair is loose, looking less impeccable than it was the last time she saw him. His lone eye had a dark bag below it, like he had been having trouble sleeping.

Is it bad she hoped it was because of her?

"Do you know how fucking worried I was about you?" Aemond yells.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure you were absolutely weeping into Alys Rivers' pussy!" Mila yells back.

"That was a mistake." He grits out, "I fucked up, and I'm sorry about that. I'm so fucking sorry about everything that happened. But I had no idea where you were! I was so fucking scared you were dead!"

"Well I'm alive. You've seen it, you've verified, now fucking leave!"

"I'm not giving up on this!"

"There is nothing to give up on. We're done, we've been done."

"I don't want that." Aemond pleads, crouching down next to her to kneel between her legs, resting his large hands on her knees, "Mila, you're all I want. This last year with you has made me happier than I thought possible. I can't, I won't, give up on this, on you.

"No, you don't." Mila sobs, pushing his hands off of her, "If you did, you wouldn't have hurt me."

"It will never happen again. I've ended things with Alys, for good. I want to be with you completely, my heart, my mind, my body and my soul. You're everything to me, Mila."

Tears fall freely from Mila's eyes, cascading down her flushed skin. Aemond's hand reaches up, wiping away a few stray tears, and Mila lets him. She lets her cheek fall into his palm, the familiar feel of his skin making her heart wretch inside her. But the pain and the anger are still there, and she moves his hand away.

"We can fix this." Aemond states, nodding his head as if talking to himself.

"Maybe I don't want to." Mila sighs as she stands up and storms away, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

Aegon sits at the small table in the kitchen, a glass of water held tightly in his grasp as he leans his head back, eyes closed. As Aemond enters the kitchen, his brother hums.

"Trouble in paradise?" Aegon asks casually, not opening his eyes.

Grumbling Aemond ignores his brothers comment, rubbing a hand over his hair before he glares at him.

"What are you doing?" He questions, glaring at his zen appearance.

"Praying for you to inherit Viserys' male pattern baldness." Aegon mumbles, not looking at his brother.

Aemond scoffs, walking over to the fridge. He tuts as he looks in it, "No bottled water?"

"My humblest apologies, your majesty. The servants should have gotten us some, but they're too occupied with cleaning our silver and stealing our jewels."

With a roll of his eyes, Aemond grabs a glass and fills it with tap water, a sneer on his lips. Aegon mouths 'twat' behind his back, tapping his fingers on his glass.

As he takes a seat at the other side of the kitchen table,

"Finally figured out how to operate one of those? Or is Mila the one who has to take care of you like a nanny?"

"I'm quite the connoisseur with that thing now. Got Mila's coffee order down. Making her one may fix some of the damage you've done, or at least make her not want to run you over."

Aemond bristles slightly, almost unnoticeably.

Aegon smirks, "You don't know how she likes her coffee?"

"I know how she likes her eggs in the morning, and what she needs when she's sick, and how she likes her neck bit when i'm fucking her."

With a small, self righteous smile of his own, Aegon decides to not inform his brother that he also knows that juicy last little detail.

"Why did you bring her here?" Aemond asks, voice dangerous.

Aegon scoffs, finger tapping against the rim of his glass, "Because I could."

"You care about her." Aemond states. There is no anger in his tone, only interest. He seems fascinated by the notion.

Aegon is silent, staring at the glass of water in front of him as he clenches his jaw. Aemond chuckles, shaking his head.

"Of course you do." He states, "She's wonderful. She's beautiful, and intelligent, and funny, and fucking dangerous if she wants to be. The She Wolf, as they so affectionately call her in the tabloids."

The elder brother remains unspeaking, his eyes moving up to look at his younger brother, eyes uncharacteristically dangerous.

"Don't forget that I was there first. She fell in love with me, first. She fucked me, first. No matter what you think you have with her, you're my replacement, brother."

"I've never hurt her." Aegon snaps.

"But you will." Aemond sighs, with a small roll of his eye, "It's what you do. You get starry-eyed over the new, shiny toy you've found. You play with it, you dirty it, and then you discard it. Like the Lannister girl, and the Baratheon, those girls in Dorne, mother's old assistant-"

"That was different." Aegon shakes his head, "I was different. I was young and stupid and selfish, but now-"

"Now what?" Aemond laughs, eyeing his brother with a taunting smile. "What do you think will happen? Hm? You think she's going to choose you? That you both will ride off into the sunset and tattoo each other's initials and have little junkie babies?"

His taunting, humiliating tone makes Aegon's blood boil, his hand flexing around his glass as he stares at his brother with as much venom as he could manage. Aemond is unfazed, pursing his lips.

"And let's not forget, what you two had was always going to be temporary." He says with finalility, finishing his drink with one swig, "You both were only ever going to use each other as a crutch before you went back to your old ways. You will inevitably fall back into the drinking and the drugs and the fucking, and she will come back to me. Stop pretending your little fantasy would last."

Aegon clenches his jaw, staring at the water in his glass.

With a sardonic laugh, Aemond rises from his chair. Walking around the table, he leans down to speak in Aegon's ear.

"She's mine." He bites, "Don't forget that."

Mila bites the nail of her thumb, scratching it with her teeth as she listens to her brother's phone ring with her call. The living room was empty when she returned, and she could hear Aemond and Aegon bickering in the kitchen. Taking the moment of peace to get to grips with the situation, she pulls out the phone to talk to her big brother.

Aemond's appearance made her feel so... conflicted. It was like a month of taking care of herself, putting space between the man who broke her heart, finding solace in his brother... it was like it never even happened. She was back to the fragile, nervous wreck she was when she was searching for a high in Flea Bottom. Mila wanted a reset, a time out.

She just wants her big brother. He would know what to say. Holding onto the phone with a shaky grip, she sighs as she hears her brother's voice mail again.

Someone clears their throat behind her, and she turns around. Aemond stands across from her, his arms folded behind his back as he watches her.

Mila groans softly, pressing the heel of her hand to her head, "Aemond-"

"Come back with me."

"What?" His request startles her, and she looks up at him. He smiles sadly down at her, taking a few slow steps forwards to

"Come back with me." Aemond pleads, taking her hand in his to pull her to him. Mila shakes her head, pushing against his chest as he murmurs admissions of love and begs. She feels tears falling down her cheeks, her heart breaking all over again.

"I... I can't, Aemond." She sobs, shaking her head, "Everything has changed, I can't trust you anymore!"

"Let me gain your trust again, let me prove to you I can change. I will change, for you."

Mila stares up at him with glassy eyes, pressing her lips together. He holds her hands tightly, keeping her close as he slowly leans down to try to kiss her-

"Anyone want quesadillas?"

Aemond and Mila turn to look at Aegon, who leans against the doorway with a wide grin, shrugging.

"I'm starving, I'm thinking about making quesadillas."

"Piss off, Aegon." Aemond growls.

"My house, my rules." His brother laughs, sauntering over to the sofa to lie down on it, picking up one of the books to flick through it, "No, go ahead, keep talking."

The air is tense, the silence only breaking when Aemond's phone rings. He pulls it out, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks at the ID.

"What's wrong?" Mila asks, something gnawing at her nerves about the phone call. Maybe it's just her body's natural reaction to Otto Hightower...

"Nothing." States Aemond, looking up at her to give her a small smile, "I need to take this. Can we finish this later?"

"Yeah... yeah, of course." She says as she takes a deep breath. Aemond nods as he answers the call, walking away and out through the back door.

Aegon stops pretending to read, looking at Mila with raised eyebrows. She glares at him for his childish behaviour, and he sighs, having the sense to look guilty.

"Mila-"

"Stop, Aegon." Mila holds up her hand, taking a shaky breath, "Please, just... give me a moment. I need to talk to him."

Aegon watches her go with sad, wide eyes, feeling his heart sinking inside of him.

Mila finds Aemond sat outside, long limbs hunched over as he sits atop the sand.

He sits silently, his phone in one hand, a cigarette in the other. His forearms are resting on his knees, as he watches the stormy waves with a pensive expression.

"Aemond?" Mila calls out, voice carried by the chill in the breeze.

He does not look at her, lost in his own world as he looks out at the sea. Mila sighs softly, walking across the sand in her bare feet to join his side. They are silent for a moment, looking out at the dark night and the restless ocean.

Mila presses her lips together, taking a breath as she works up the courage to start the conversation.

"Aemond-"

"Viserys is dead."

Mila's head snaps over to look at him, gasping. His face is unreadable, the moonlight casting shadows across his angular features. His eyepatch shines slightly, his scar looking aggressively red in the low light. He works his jaw, lifting his cigarette to take a last puff before flicking it out onto the sand, eyes following the glowing light before it burns out.

Instinctively, Mila reaches over, taking his free hand in hers. He turns his head, his eyes stormy as he looks over her face. Leaning forwards, Mila rests her temple against his shoulder, allowing his all too familiar scent to fill her senses.

After a moment, Aemond rests his head against hers, breathing her in as the waves crash beside them.

AN// I love angst I want it pumped through an IV right into my fucking veins <3 shoutout CEO cockblock Aemond and Vice President of not-reading-the-room Aegon. Now Viserys has bit the dust, what is going to happen amongst the Targaryen family? Stay tuned to find out, pookies x

Lula x

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arcanefox207 · 3 months ago

Text

The Wolf You Feed Masterlist

Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Warnings: No Outbreak, AU but with TLoU characters, Large age gap (Reader is 29. Joel is 50). Angst. Dominant Joel. Drinking Alcohol. Pet names but no use of Y/N. Reader is smaller than Joel and has hair he can grab. See chapter specific warnings for smut.

CHAPTER INDEX

Part 1 (8k Words) (AO3) March 17, 2024

Part 2 (5.6k Words) (AO3) April 25, 2024

Part 3 (6.2k Words) (AO3) June 20th, 2024

Part 4 (8.1 Words) (AO3) N E W ! 09-07-2024

Part 5/? Coming Soon

Part 6/?

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apollyonsdarksecrets · 10 months ago

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The Rescue

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

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

A/N: Guys this is a very long chapter with a lot going on please put on your seatbelts, settle in, because it gets wild.

Warning: 18+ Only MDNI SMUT. Language, BDSM, Dom Aaron, emotionally detached reader, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive father figure, age gap (reader 25 Aaron 40) doesn’t line up with a specific time line, use of Y/n because story is set in 3rd person for the first half then switches POV, last name for reader is Smith,

Specific Chapter Warning: R explains the trauma she dealt with as a child, SMUT. Oral (F receiving), Fingering (F receiving), Praise, Dirty talk, partially protected sex (F on the shot) Aaron has a slight breeding kink, cream pie,

Present Day

David waves one final time before slipping into his car, the parking deck of the quantico office quiet and still in the late hours. It’s nearing 12am, you’re mentally taxed, your brain begging to shut down but you can’t stop fidgeting in the passenger seat beside Aaron.

Aaron’s face is hard set, his eyes gauging your every move. “What do you want to do?” His voice is soft, filling the quiet cab, “I can take you to your neighbor’s if that would make you feel better…” There’s another option he would like to give you, his own nerves firing in overtime, afraid to let you leave his sight.

You’re staring out the window at the concrete walls, you feel hallow, like something inside your body has shattered and you’ve lost all of the important pieces. “I…” you like your lips, trying to find your voice. “Anna said she was okay with Bruce, right?”

“Yes.” Aaron draws out the word, searching for your face in the darkened glass, barely able to make out your reflection. You look torn down, the strong woman he has known chipped away to reveal a scared little girl, running from whatever darkness haunts her past. “We can go wherever you need to.”

“I’d… I just…” you take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut. There have only been a few hours between what happened and now, and each one has been filled with flourished activity. You haven’t had time to stop and process what has happened, your brain now catching up to your body. Your head throbs slightly, the few cuts in your palms sting when you close your fists, your eyes hurt from crying so much. But the worst of it all is the war raging in your mind, the struggle of keeping it all in or letting it all out a constant battle that you seem to be losing more and more control over.

“Why don’t we take a ride?” The suggestion breaks through your thoughts, making you turn towards Aaron. His face is so soft, an expression you’ve never seen before, and you aren’t sure if you want to hate it or long for it.

“Okay…”

And so he does just that. He drives into the city, the street lights zipping by, barely illuminating dark houses and empty streets. Aaron drives with no real destination in mind, taking random turns, navigating the roads as you sit in silence. Eventually one of his hands come to rest beside your thigh, the flash of light on his watch catching your attention.

It’s a reminder.

An offer.

Salvation.

An hour passes in stark silence before you take your first deep breath, the noise loud in the small space. “Thank you… for saving me.” You force your voice to steady out, grappling for the mask you so carefully constructed all those years ago to shield the rubble of your true form.

“Do not thank me.” Aaron responds, rolling to a stop at a traffic light. You’re unfamiliar with this part of town, but it looks like a nice area with large lawns and small houses. “I just want you to talk to me.”

Your lips press together, glancing down at his large hand. Slowly you let your own hand slip off of your lap, tentatively touching his pinky with yours.

“I… it’s hard… and messy.” You whisper, watching how his fingers twitch but he makes no move to take your hand.

“I understand… but please, let me help you.” The light above suddenly cascades the car in neon green, and Aaron’s drives on, his face stoney and a twinge of desperation in his voice.

You turn your gaze back to the window with a deep breath, the cracks in your soul widening as you speak.

“I… I had a fairly normal childhood when I was younger. Very typical suburban family, my mother stayed home with me while my father worked at a mechanic shop. Happy, picturesque family…” You swallow thickly, choking on the pressure building in your chest. “I was 8 when my mom died… she was hit by a drunk driver and my dad just… he couldn’t handle it. He loved her so much that when she died he snapped. He started drinking and I… he would drink so much that I would find him passed out for hours on end and I was still just a child…”

A dark bitter laugh leaves your lips, shaking your head as you lean back into the seat. “Then one day he seemed to wake up. Instead of being mad at the world and God, things that felt no retribution from his anger, he decided that he needed something that would. Me. The night she died she was on the way home from seeing her mother. It was so late but I missed her, she had been gone for two days. I begged her to come home.”

You can still see that night vividly when you closed your eyes, the old house filled with police officers, the broken sound of your father’s begging screams. The female officer who had taken you to your room to explain that your mother would not be coming home as she sat with you on the floor surrounded by coloring books and stuffed animals.

“He told me my emotions caused everything. That if I had just sucked it up and been strong she would still be with us. He made me believe it, and… I still do to this day. From that moment on he had decided to train me to be better.”

Your fingers inch farther across Aaron’s knuckles, and finally he flips his palm, lacing your fingers through his. The feeling of him squeezing your hand settles your rolling stomach.

“Our house was a fixer upper, the guest bathroom had never been completed so my dad… painted over the small window, put foam over the gaps to the door and threw me in. I…” Your grip tightens, your throat restricting. You look over at Aaron’s normally stoic face and see barely restrained rage. “Hours and hours I’d spend in that room…. As I grew older it grew worse. He’d keep me from school… have me do everything my mother used to do. Clean, make all the meals, laundry. By the time high school rolled around I had missed so much school CPS has been called. The case was dropped in an instance because my dad charmed the woman over, said I was a run away most of the time since my mother died.”

Aarons grip on the wheel is white knuckled, his lips pressed into a hard line as he focuses on the road ahead. “I was beat with a belt that night. It gave me the courage to leave though. From that moment on I worked my ass off to get here… I just… I didn’t want there to be another kid like me… I know what my father did was wrong but it’s so ingrained in my head that every emotion I let slip through could be my undoing, could be the reason the next bad thing happens to me or those I care for… I can’t… I can’t let that happen again.”

You glance over to Aaron, who’s silence is becoming unnerving as his thumb strokes over your own. Finally he pulls your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles for a long moment before he speaks.

“I’m sorry. I know those words do little for what you have been through… I also know you don’t want to be pitied, and I’m not going to do that. You are extremely strong, Y/n. You have over come something that most people would let consume their lives, steer them to destitution.” He licks his lips and glances your way briefly, noting the solemn look on your face. “You know my opinion on your emotions, and I think you’re wrong about believing they can only bring you harm or failure. You’ve done so much involving them already you just haven’t realized it yet.

You have accomplished things that others only dream of, you alone and no one else. Your father played no role in this, he didn’t train you to become the woman you are, that was there all along. And I know deep in my heart that your mother is watching you with pride.” Your heart, the damaged organ that it is, swells from the praise and the thought of your mother. Your eyes burn and you’re surprised you have anything left to let out. But then again it’s years of buildup all coming to a head.

“Is he the reason for these?” Aaron gestures to your thigh, and you nod slightly.

“He threw me into the bathroom once and some of the tiles were broken… I can’t really feel the area anymore but I have what I guess you would call a phantom pain every now and again.”

Aaron brings your hand back for another gentle kiss, the delicate action such a contrast to the gleam of fury in his dark eyes. “My brave girl.” And for whatever reason, those three words break you. Maybe it’s because Aaron is seeing you, and not a facade, maybe it’s the perception of the fact that you are brave, or maybe it’s the simple claim that indicates so much more than ownership.

Comfort.

Safety.

Someone to rely on when you need it the most.

You clamp your other hand over your mouth as you sob, leaning into his shoulder as you feel everything fall into you all at once. Letting another person hold the weight of your world for just a little bit.

Aaron turns into a parking lot, into the first spot he can find before killing the engine and wrapping you in a tight hug. The consul is digging into your ribs, his hold is a little suffocating, but you bury your face into his chest anyways.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Are you sure?”

Once you had finally calmed down Aaron offered you his guest room for the night. You were an hour away from home but only 20 minutes from his. After a long moment of hesitation you agreed, much to his visual relief. But now standing in front of his door you feel your reservations creeping back in.

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” He pushes the door open and steps into a dark room. Your breath unintentionally hitches, your eyes scanning the deep darkness until light floods the area. “I have a security system installed. We will get you the same one for your home.”

The beeping of the alarm would have went completely unnoticed had Aaron not said anything as he fiddles with the control panel on the other wall. He turns once it goes silent, watching you as you linger in the doorway, doubt and fear waging in your eyes as you scan over his simply furnished apartment.

“It’s okay. I promise.”

He’s warm reassurance makes you feet ease into the room, the door shutting firmly behind you. You’re entire body is rigid, arms slung around your center like you’re holding yourself together with your own white knuckled grip. Aaron bites his lip slight before stepping closer, gesturing to the rooms behind him.

“What would you like to do? Are you hungry?”

You tug slightly at your necklace, opening your mouth only to find the words are stuck deep in your throat.

“Y/n?” He steps closer and your eyes snap to his.

“I… I don’t know what I want to do… my head is pounding and I just… I can’t figure it out, I can’t decide.” Your stare is helpless, eyes flickering back and forth between his brown ones. It’s your way of asking for his help without letting the words out because if you do you’re scared of what you will become after that.

Something in his face shifts, it’s ever so slight but you can see it in the way he shrugs out of his coat, tossing it on the back of the couch. You can see it in the way his shoulders roll back and the lines around his eyes soften. “I know baby.” He closes the distance between you, cupping your face between burning hands and you physically feel the tension draining from your jaw. “Let’s get you cleaned up okay? We will go from there.”

Aaron leads you through the apartment, flicking on the lights as he goes, he walks you into his bedroom, a space as simply furnished as the rest of his home; and towards his joint bathroom. “Why don’t you wash your hands and I’ll find you something to wear to bed?”

Even though he is phrasing everything as a question you know he’s giving you the guidance you need, not making you over think or pick what needs to be done first. You nod your head and he gives you a soft smile before ducking out of the restroom.

You glance at your hands, the nurses had cleaned your hands enough to remove the shards of glass but there is still blood caked between your fingers and under your nails. Turning on the water you test the temperature before easing your hands under the flow. A soft hiss leaves your lips at the sting but you find yourself leaning into it.

You don’t notice Aaron standing in the doorway, watching as your hands tremble under the steaming water. “Here.” You jump faintly at the sudden rasp of his voice, finding him in the mirror.

He steps by you, his hand skimming your waist and your attention zeros in on the touch. Aaron grabs a rag from the shelf over the toilet, gently pushing you from in front of the sink. He wets the rag and turns to you, reaching for your hands without another word and begins to wipe away the blood and grime.

His hands hold yours softly, and you never knew he could be so gentle. Your eyes can’t leave his face, the concentration making lines appear between his brow, his eyes squinting slightly.

Aaron glances up at the feeling of you watching him and your cheeks flush, having been caught but still unable to look away. Once finished with your hands he rinses the rag, cupping your face once more as he runs the rough material over your cheek, cleaning away the stains of makeup.

Your eyes flutter, something in your body thrumming to life with each swipe of the cloth. “Aaron…” You don’t even mean to say his name, the syllables just fall so easily from your lips and he stills, eyes boring into yours.

“Sweet girl.” He breathes back, and your insides twist sharply. The tension is undeniable, the feeling of him so close forcing your body to react. You inch closer, your eyes dropping to his lips, watching as a smile curves the corner of his mouth.

The rag falls to the counter, his hands pulling you in the rest of the way. You’re nearly on your tiptoe, your hands finding his arms to steady yourself. He brushes a soft kiss against your lips and you whimper, the sound high in your throat and he breaks, deepening the kiss with hunger.

Electricity shoots through your body, pinging off of every nerve, setting them all ablaze. His hands move to your waist, bunching up your shirt until his palms meet your warm skin, and you shudder at the feeling. Aaron moans, the sound deep in his chest and you whimper as it travels through your bones straight to your core.

Pressing you backwards, Aaron walks you out of the restroom, hands wandering the plains of your back. You stumble against him, letting him lead you to the bed where the backs of your knees brush the king sized mattress. Your heart pounds in your chest, but when Aaron breaks the kiss to look down at you, he finds no hesitation in the dewy set of your eyes.

“Can I?” His voice is husky as he tugs at your sweater and you offer a small nod. He kisses you again, knocking the air from your lungs as he helps you pull your arms free, backing away to slip the cotton over your head and throw it to the floor. You’re in nothing fashionable, a simple black t-shirt bra but the hunger in his gaze is undeniable. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your hands find his chest, going for the buttons of his white shirt only for Aaron to grab your wrists, pulling your hands to his lips to kiss your palms. “Aaron I…”

“Do you know how hard it was to work today? Knowing you’re just a few feet away from me?” You shake your head, swaying slightly on your feet. “All I was able to think about was you. How your lips taste, how you moan my name, the way you looked underneath me in the morning.”

All of those things felt like a lifetime ago, and as his teeth nipped your skin just over the pulse in your wrist, you realize you would do anything to relive it. “I need you.” Your voice is a desperate, soft plea; your eyes alight with need making his lips curl.

“Then let me take care of you.” He whispers, his grip tightening slightly. You lick your lips, his gaze darting down for a breath before snagging your eyes again, there’s so much lust and need swirling in the depths of his brown irises that you find yourself lost in them. “Let me show you how you deserve to be treated, princess.”

“Please.” It’s a soft breath of a word, but it’s all that’s needed.

Aaron kisses you so forcefully that you’re sure your lips will be bruised, but you don’t have time to care as he suddenly pushes you. The bed springs squeak under the sudden impact of your body, the air leaving your lungs in one big whoosh. Aaron’s fingers expertly pop the button of your jeans, and your blood buzzes with excitement as you lift your hips, helping him pull them down and off your legs, taking your shoes and socks with them.

There’s something about the way he is suddenly above you, still fully dress in his work clothes where as you’re laid out scarcely clad in your underwear set, with nothing to hide behind. It’s a display of dominance that sends a rush of wet heat to your center.

Aaron smiles down at you, his hands making their way up your thighs, spreading your legs for you to display the soaked gusset of your grey panties. The moan that rips from his throat makes your stomach clench, your teeth impaling the pink flesh of your lip.

“You are all I have been able to think about,” He whispers, his fingers curling into the band of your panties as he moves to his knees. “And now I finally get to have you.” Aaron pulls your panties down your trembling thighs, laying you bare before him as he slips one of your legs over his shoulder.

His warm breath fans over your soaked lips, your vision going hazy as you prop yourself on an elbow to see. He looks sinful between your thighs, dark eyes looking up at you through darker lashes, his hair tussled, jaw hanging open slightly. The anticipation makes your stomach swoop and the breath in your lungs freeze.

You’re given no warning before he ducks his head, his tongue licking a fat stripe from your entrance and catching on your clit. You gasp at the sensation, your head falling back against the bed. Aaron wraps his arm around your thigh, holding you still as he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, your legs threatening to squeeze his skull.

“Oh fuck…” You moan, your hand finding his short hair and tugging almost painfully, back leaving the bed. Aaron smiles against you, his teeth nipping at your folds before he lazily fucks his tongue into your dripping hole. “Oh god, Aaron…”

“You taste so fucking sweet.” His arm tightens on your thigh, his other hand tracing patterns on the inner skin of the other. You squirm at the feeling, your eyes pinched shut as waves of arousal roll through your body. Aaron’s dark eyes travel up the expanse of your body, seeking your face but he can only see the way your chest rises and falls with each gasping breath, your head tossed back as noises of pleasure fill the room.

His cock pulses in the tight confines of his slacks, the need to feel your wet heat wrapped around his aching member nearly driving him insane.

“Fuck, please Aaron…” You aren’t sure what you are begging for as your orgasm begins to swell under your skin, pulling your muscles taught. A part of you wants to feel embarrassed at how easily he has been able to bring you to the brink, but the sounds of his moans between your legs quickly floods the thought out.

“Cum for me baby, make a mess on my face.” It’s dirty and mind reeling all at once, your jaw going slack as your hips grind up to meet his mouth. Aaron slips two fingers to your opening, gathering the combination of slick and spit before easing into you.

A soft whimper accompanies the sudden intrusion, your hips undulating to take more of his thick digits as your orgasm creeps ever closer. He sets a steady rhythm, slow and deep that leaves stars dancing around your vision and with one final swirl of his tongue as his fingers curl into that spongy spot deep in your walls you break.

Your orgasm rips through your body like a bolt of lightening. Your limbs lock and your back bows up, your lips form a perfect ‘O’ as waves of pleasure crash over you.

“That is, that’s my good girl.” Aaron praises, keeping his pace steady as you moan his name like a prayer. It’s a few more seconds until your body collapses back onto the bed, your fingers falling from his hair taking a strand or two with them. Aaron pulls away, standing back up licking your slick from his fingers with a grumbling groan.

Climbing back up your body he creates a trail of kisses that leave you feeling hot and desperate, a distinct emptiness between your legs as he settles over you. Aaron cups the back of your head, lifting you to meet his bruising kiss. The tangy taste of yourself is heavy on his tongue as he explores your mouth, your still trembling hands finding his back and pulling him closer.

The hard ridge in his slacks presses against your heated, slick core, grinding slowly. You whimper into his mouth, hands trialing up his back, scratching at his shirt. You break away with a gasp. “To… too many clothes.” Going for the small plastic buttons Aaron lets out a soft laugh as your fumble over them.

“Easy princess. All you had to do was ask.” He sits back on his heels, your legs draped over his thighs and you watch mesmerized as his fingers easily work the buttons free, revealing his chest full of dark hair. You manage to twist your arm behind your back, freeing the clasp of your bra and quickly throwing it somewhere in the floor to join the growing pile.

Aaron groans at the sight of you, his mouth watering as he thinks of every spot he wants to cover with bites and bruises. Starting with your breasts. He leans over you, snagging your wrists and pinning them to the bed.

You bite your cheek, surprised that you welcome the weight of him above you, that you like the feeling of him pinning you down, leaving you to his mercy. You find your mind slipping more, every worried thought falling into some unreachable place that can remain in the dark.

Clearing his throat lightly, Aaron licks his lips. “Maybe I should have asked this sooner but… when was the last time you were with someone.?”

An awkward but none the less important question to ask, even if he is seated between your trembling thighs, staring down at your naked body.

A new flush spreads over your cheeks and you shift against the bed, against the hold he has on your wrists. “I… I was in high school.”

A moment of shock steals his features before he can school his face back. “Do you take birth control?”

You squirm again, chewing the inside of your cheek as his thumbs rub over your galloping pulse. “I.. Every three months I go get a shot. It’s better than taking a pill every day that I might forget.” You explain weakly, searching his face.

Aaron nods, shifting his weight on his knees, his cold belt buckle pressing into your thigh. “I can always grab a condom if that makes you feel better.” One hand leaves your wrist but you don’t dare move as he places it on your lower tummy, spreading wide. “But I have to admit, the idea of fucking you full of me is very, very exciting.” Your breath catches, eyes widening and Aaron’s grin turns devilish. “You think so too.”

All you can do is nod slightly, a thrill working through your body that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end, gooseflesh cascading over your skin.

Sitting back, Aaron releases you completely to fiddle with his belt. The brown leather hisses through the belt loops and when he stands he takes his pants and boxers down in one swoop. Your eyes instantly fall to the hard member standing up between his legs and your thighs clench.

His cock is long and thick, the dark hairs at the base trimmed neatly like the rest of him. A few veins run along his shaft, the prominent one on the underside pulsing slightly. He takes himself in his hand, pumping once, twice, to relieve some of the ache, the mushroom head a light shade of pink.

You whimper at the sight of him, the need in your belly almost painful. “Aaron… I want you.” Your voice is sultry, your eyes glazed over when you finally look at his face. He smiles crookedly as he slinks back onto the bed, his eyebrow cocked.

“You can have me, princess. Every part of me is yours.” The words scorch through your chest right to the very center of your soul and you find your legs falling apart, your hands still gripping the sheets above your head. “Come here.” Instead of covering you with his body, Aaron lays down beside you, turning you so you lay on your side as well.

“What?” He pulls your back flush to his chest, his hand slipping over your thigh and dragging your leg on top of his. You whimper when you feel the smooth heat of his cock glide through your wet folds, your back instinctively arching into him.

Aaron’s arm tucks under your head, his other hand free to roam your body as he rocks his hips, slipping his cock between your folds with ease, gathering your slick. “So wet baby, so ready for me aren’t you?” He breathes, pressing kisses along your shoulder and neck. You whine and press your head back into his shoulder, exposing your neck more. “That’s my girl. Are you going to let me mark you up? Show everyone just who you belong to?”

You nod without a thought in your head, “Y-yes… please Aaron.” He smiles against your skin before nipping the delicate area, turning the skin a deep shade of red as he closes his lips over the spot. You moan loudly, rocking your hips back against his, the steady glide of his cock bumping into your clit driving you wild.

“So fucking pretty.” He whispers and you force yourself to turn your head and look at him. When you do your heart jumps to your throat, his hooded eyes burn with lust but there’s something else swirling just below the surface, something that makes your head groggy and your body melt into his.

“You belong right here.” His voice is deep and rough and it makes your jaw slacken. Your chest squeezes, butterflies erupting in your stomach, beating at you with their wings as his hips draw back. The round head of his cock presses against your entrance, his hand tightening on your hip. “I’m going to enjoy every moment of watching you come undone for me.” He presses forward, stretching you around him and your nails dig into his forearm with a whine. Aaron’s gaze never wavers from yours, caught in the depths of your irises. “Then every moment of piecing you back together.”

Leisurely Aaron rocks his hips, slipping deeper and deeper into your wet heat. Every inch has your back arching, the ridges and bumps rubbing along your walls in the most perfect way. Your eyes slip nearly shut, your breath puffing across his pink lips and your only awareness is of Aaron. How his muscles bunch under your hand, how your body sticks to his from the heat radiating between you both, how his fingers dig into your flesh guiding your hips back to meet his as he sinks home.

Never have you felt this full, the stretch burns and it boarders on painful but you wouldn’t want it any other way. Ecstasy skirts down Aaron’s spine, making his own groan slip free and his cock twitch. You jump at the feeling, your breath wheezing in your lungs and he smiles, repeating the motion.

“Aaron… oh fuck.” It’s all you can manage, head falling back into the crevice of his shoulder, one arm wrapping up around his that pillows your head. His name is a soft, sweet beg and it has Aaron’s stoicism crumpling.

“Tell me what you need, princess. I’ll give you everything.” His breath is warm against your ear, your eyes starting to water for reasons you can’t explain the longer he stays seated inside you. His hand continuously strokes your side as you fight for your words, kisses littering your jaw as the seconds pass.

“I need… I need you to move, Aaron.”

There isn’t a chance in hell he would make you beg twice, slowly he pulls back, ensuring you feel every part of him before pushing back in. Your jaw drops, uninhibited moans falling past your lips at the steady rhythm he sets. Aaron slips his hand to your cheek, caressing you with his thumb in time to each deep thrust. “You take me so well, my cock was made just for you wasn’t it?”

It consumes your body like a wild fire, burning intense and bright, cracking through your skin which each grind of his hips. You cling to him where you can, your eyes rolling back into your skull, and he uses the opportunity to turn your face back to his. Aaron kisses you with no sense of urgency, no rush to throw you to the end, he claims your mouth the same way he claims your body; with a measure of patience and understanding that leaves you reeling.

You break away first, moaning his name and his hand travels down your neck, cupping your heavy breast as his lips find your neck. His long fingers toy with your pebbled nipple, sparks flying into your stomach with each pinch and roll. Your leg tightens around his thigh, your breath coming faster as your body arches into his touch.

“I’m… fuck I’m going to cum.” You breath into the warm air, your cunt fluttering around his cock rhythmically.

“Cum for me, take what you need and cum all over my cock.” Aaron’s rhythm doesnt falter in the slightest, the pump of his cock hard and slow hitting spots you’d never dreamt of finding. His hand leaves your breast, trailing down your stomach slowly circling your belly. You moan at the feeling, his lips pulling into a smile against your skin. “This little part right here, this part of your beautiful belly, drives me mad.” His hand presses down into your lower stomach slightly and you see stars at the sudden pressure, feeling his cock against rubbing against your muscles. “Imagining you heavy and round-.” Aaron groans as your cunt tightens, your breath uneven like the sudden stutter in your hips. “Pregnant with my baby.”

A guttural version of his name leaves your lips as you snap in two. The fire inside your body turning into an inferno, consuming you entirely as you cling helplessly to Aaron. Your head is flush with his shoulder, your foot hooked around his leg as your pussy spasms and coats his cock with cream. Aaron’s pace suddenly falters and he moans loudly, the feeling of your velvet walls clamping down around him nearly his undoing.

Slowly you drift back to yourself, gasping for air and shuddering as the aftershocks rock through you. You lick your lips, about to say anything when suddenly Aaron is pressing you forward, rolling you onto your front. He slips free of your pussy and you whimper, letting him adjust your pliant body to his needs. With your chest pressed to the bed and your ass thrust into the air Aaron groans at the sight of you. Your thighs tremble in effort to keep yourself up right, sweat gleams across your back and shoulders, flushing your skin a beautiful shade of pink. “You’re doing so good for me.” His hands graze over the globe of your ass, settling on your hips as he nudges your knees apart, adjusting your stance. You make a soft noise in your throat, fingers finding hold in the bedding. “I know baby, you’re being such a good girl though. I know you can take it, just relax for me.” Your brain hardly keeps up, picking out the important words in its state and your body melts into the mattress with a sigh. His cock aligns with your opening, teasing until you whimper, rocking back trying to impale yourself on him. Aaron smiles, sweeping your hair off of your neck and into his fist. He's gentle as he tugs at the strands, testing the waters and you moan, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"That's it baby. Just like that." He draws out the words as he sinks into your heat. The angle is so much different than before, the head of his cock rubbing along the front wall of your cunt and you gape at the sensation. Your grip tightens on the bed as his hips become flush with your ass, giving you a moment to adjust.

"Oh fuck... Oh fuck." You mumble, electricity skimming up your spine as Aaron pulls back until only the tip is left.

"Beg for me." The words are a laced growl and you simper below him, the hold on your hair growing tighter.

"Please, please Aaron I want- I need you so bad. Please fuck me." You don't know where the words come from, somewhere deep and primal in your guts but they have never felt so right.

Aaron's hips snap forward, sinking into you at a punishing force and you cry into the air, the need and pleasure curling back into your stomach with a vengeance. To say Aaron is fucking you into the mattress is an understatement, the hold on your hip is bruising and the grip on your hair is punishing. The lewd sounds of sex fill the air, wet squelching as his cock sinks into you, the slap of skin against skin and the unmistakable moans of pleasure.

"Such a good. Fucking. Girl." He breathes, his body curving over your own, husky moans falling from his lips as he pounds into you. "Fuck baby, you're squeezing me so hard. Are you gonna cum for me? Gonna cum all over my cock?"

Your head tips back a smile curving your lips at his praise and you nod what little you can. "Yeees! Oh god yes Aaron.” You hold onto the sheets with white knuckled force, your moans and gasps mixing with his grunts making an intoxicating song. He growls low in his chest, his teeth bared, sweat gleaming on his shoulders and forehead.

“I’m gonna cum Y/n… I’m gonna make you mine. Again.” A harsh thrust makes you keen, your head tilting back making your neck strain. “And again.” Another one leaves you gasping, your mouth falling open. “And again.”

You snap simultaneously, his hips slamming into your ass as you cry his name. His cock switches, painting your walls with ropes of milky cum, your cunt squeezing every last drop free as you shudder and collapse. Lights dance behind your lids, your orgasm moving through your body with such force you are scarcely aware of the moans falling from Aaron’s kiss bitten lips.

“Mine. My good girl, my pretty little thing.”

It takes a few more moments before Aaron is able to roll onto his back beside you, grunting slightly at the burn in his hips as you let out a soft moan, stretching out your soar muscles. Aaron pulls you into his side easily, wrapping an arm around your waist as your head finds his shoulder.

You both lay like that for several minutes, basking in the afterglow of it all as you try to catch your breaths. Your brain hasn’t quite caught up to your sated body, letting the euphoria and calm take the lead for a while longer.

Aaron is the first to break the soft silence. “We need to get you cleaned up.” A soft noise of protest leaves your lips, your limbs too heavy to move. A smile in his voice makes your own lips curl, “I know. But we need to. There’s going to be a lot going on tomorrow.”

With that you can’t argue, so you allowed Aaron to slip from your grip, the sound of water running in the bathroom filling the quiet. Moments later he’s back, helping you into the restroom on unsteady legs where a warm shower awaits.

When he steps in behind you, you only have a moment to be surprised before he pulls you under the stream of water. The shower is small with just enough room for the both of you, but you find no protest on your lips as Aaron begins massaging his fingers through your hair.

You sigh blissfully, letting your weight rest against his chest as he works away the agony of today, but also a little off of the mountain that has weighed you down for so long.

“I don’t care about the contact.” His deep voice is sudden making you jump slightly.

“What?”

“I don’t care about the contract.” Aaron runs his hands down to your shoulders, turning you slightly so you can gauge his face as he speaks. “I care about you, the contract was… is a piece of paper to ensure neither of us got hurt. We don’t need it.”

You scan his face, his dark eyes reading so much more than he is saying. “What… what do we do then?” Your throat works as you swallow, butterflies eating once more at your belly as Aaron cups your check.

“Whatever you would like… but… I like the idea of you coming to me with your problems, of taking care of you, of you being mine.” He curls your necklace around one of his fingers, tugging softly and a new heat flairs at the bottom of your spine. Aaron’s dark eyes scan your face, trying to read your thoughts.

“I…” You swallow, the reality hitting you. These last few days had you thrown through the wringer, forced out of your comfort zone, and brought dark secrets to light. You’ve struggled and cried and raged all while finding comfort and passion and acceptance in ways you didn’t know existed before Aaron Hotchner knocked on your door one dark morning.

You nod your head slowly, licking your lips as you run your hands up his chest, the water spilling over his shoulder and the mist sprinkling your cheeks. You press in tighter and Aaron cups the back of your head, angling it ready to capture your lips at a moment’s notice.

“I can still call you ‘Sir’?”

A large smile breaks across his face, wrinkling the corners of his eyes as he cups your face, bringing you closer. "You can call me whatever you would like, little one..." His palm slips into your wet hair, tangling his fist into the strands and giving a soft tug. "As long as I get to call you mine." He laces the word with a growl and crashes his lips to yours with surprising force, need instantly flooding out the exhaustion from your system. You gasp against his lips, whimpering a soft yes as his tongue sweeps over your own.

"Good girl."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Thank you all so much, once again, for sticking with me through this story. This has been the most grueling, but rewarding thing I have written, and I am just astounded by the love it has received! I plan to make a few blurbs off of this story so fill free to check in ever now and again but if you would like to be tagged in future tidbits please feel free to leave a comment! 💜💜💜

*~*~*~*~*~*

Tag List: @kneelforloki @hmett20 @axionn @ncis0mrs0gibbs @morgthemagpie @zaddyhotch @little-miss-cherry-cola @fandomawesomness @heart-breaker8 @aad1993 @obsessed-oops @supercriminalbean @lex13cm @rosiehale23 @emptybagofchips77 @icarusgloom @imr0nni3 @cashtons-wife @mojo366 @mrsgweasley @hotchners-wifey @lelevs @normaltuesdaynight @tgskitten @char-jlhewitt @shinebrightlikeafanbase @emobabeyy @bunbunbl0gs @turtleshavesoulmates @mrs-ssa-hotch @balariie @eveyez-exe @nachofriess @aangell333 @wisdomcrys @sabage101 @prettymothgirl

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mynameismckenziemae · 10 months ago

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In Case You Didn’t Know

Part 2

(previous part here, next part here)

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OFC

Summary: Jake struggles to ask for your help.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI (no smut in this chapter but there will be in future ones), mentions of teen pregnancy, adult language, etc.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

“Charlie, we need to talk. I need you…r help.”

“Name it,” you reply.

You meant it too. You could never repay him or his family for everything they did for you and your mom.

Starting with your mom. You had been conceived on prom night, shortly after Lisa turned 18. Your sperm donor was the town’s golden boy who denied you were his and took off for college without looking back. Her parents wanted her to ‘get rid of it’ and kicked her out when she refused.

With $700 in cash, a suitcase, and her car, she drove west with California on her mind. Life had other plans though; her car broke down in the middle of Texas. The heat mixed with lack of water and abundance of stress brought her to tears, but then Ruth pulled up with a matching pregnant belly of her own.

Ruth and Tom helped Lisa find a job, a place of her own, and made her a part of their family by the time you came along. They helped raise you too.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he sighs, rubbing his temples.

“You had to eject and then were in the hospital, right? What did the doctors say?” You prompt, sensing there’s more but allowing him to leave out what he isn’t ready to share.

“Yeah. They wanted to send me for rehab at Naval Hospital Camp Pendleton and I just…panicked and said I’d go home, not remembering that Ma and Dad are gone for another 2 weeks. I was fine with asking if you’d help me out with the physical therapy but this-“

“Will you stay with me and let me help you? There, I asked so you don’t have to,” you smile.

“That’d be great,” he laughs, squeezing your knee.

“Did you call your parents? Do they know?”

He shakes his head. “No. I’ll know they’ll turn right around if I did and you know how special this is for them.”

You nod. They were on a road trip, spreading some of Lisa’s ashes in the favorite places she and Ruth traveled to.

“Your mom is gonna tan your hide…and probably mine when she finds out you,” you sigh. “Did the doctor send your records? Orders? A plan of care?

“Yeah, in my bag,” he winces as he tries to sit up.

“I’ll get ‘em. What hurts? Leg? Shoulders?”

“Everything,” he sighs.

“Why don’t I get you in the tub and you can soak while I look at your records?”

“That sounds good.”

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

After feeding him and another round of NSAIDs, you hand him the crutches.

“The crutches are set too low,” you observe out loud.

“That doesn’t surprise me. I pretty much took them and ran.”

You shake your head.

“You’re a terrible patient,” you say as you guide him to sit at the edge of the tub.

“I know.”

“You better not pull that shit with me,” you tease as you kneel and begin to wrap the cast with plastic wrap.

“I won’t, I’ll be good for you.”

You gulp, hoping he doesn’t notice the flush rising to your cheeks.

“How’d you manage to get all the way here on a bum leg?”

“Rooster. He picked me up from the hospital, helped me pack, and then brought me to the airport. He sweet-talked TSA and they let him bring me all the way to the gate,” he laughs. “It got a little tricky when I landed but an older guy saw me struggling and brought my suitcase to the Uber. The driver took it out of the trunk when he dropped me off and was going to bring it to your porch but I insisted I was good. As you could see, I was not good.”

“No, you were not,” you agree, rising to help him stand and step into the tub. “Okay, now shirt off.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies, pulling off his shirt and tossing it past you.

You can’t help but gasp at the deep bruising on each shoulder. “Oh, Jake.”

“It’s okay. So how…?” He trails off wondering how much of him you’re going to have to see.

“I’ll help you down if you can slip your shorts and underwear off like that?”

“Yeah, that should work.”

It’s a process but you do it and close the curtain to give him privacy and he drops his shorts out of the side.

“All set,” he says.

“Not a fan of underwear?” You tease.

“One less layer to try and pull on,” he replies.

You toss a washcloth over so he can cover up while you place a bath stool in next.

“It’s gonna be cold,” you warn once his leg is propped, turning the water on.

He hisses when the water touches him, but it warms quickly.

“A bath bomb? Really?” He asks as you drop one in.

“Yes, an Epsom salt bath bomb. Should help with the soreness.”

“Mmkay. Smells nice,” he sighs.

You leave to find the paperwork and turn the water off when you come back, sitting on the closed toilet lid.

“It looks like they want daily PT, a follow-up with orthopedics this week and…for you to see a counselor,” you say, reading the notes.

“Yeah, they think I have PTSD,” he says quietly behind the curtain.

“Okay well I can see if my counselor can take you on, she does virtual care. I will obviously take care of the PT, and I’ll ask Dr. Hayes if he’ll fit you in,” you say.

“I’m sure he’ll fit me in if you fit him in,” he mutters.

He almost sounds jealous.

“I’ve never ‘fit him in’. It was one date. He’s a great guy, it just…wasn’t right.”

He wasn’t right because he wasn’t Jake. Just like every other failed relationship.

“You see a counselor?” Jake asks, changing the subject.

“Yeah, I started after mom died, it’s helped a lot.”

“Good, yeah that’d be cool if she could see me. God this feels amazing. I don’t know the last time I took a bath.”

“Enjoy it. The hard work starts tomorrow.”

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

You throw a load of laundry in and start on supper while he relaxes.

“Charlie? Can you help?” He calls from the bathroom, frustration lacing his tone.

“What’s up?” You ask from the doorway.

“Every time I raise my arms to wash my hair I start sliding down,” he sighs.

“Hand me the shampoo.”

The groan he lets out when you massage it into his scalp is downright sinful and sends a shot of arousal straight between your legs.

“That good, huh?” You laugh, hoping he doesn’t notice the flush rising up your neck.

“Mmm,” he hums in agreement, and your eye catches the washcloth over his groin twitching.

“Sit up a little and I’ll get your back,” you tell him as you soap up your hands.

He obliges and his head drops forward with a heavy exhale as you wash his back.

“Feels good too,” he murmurs, sucking in a breath tensing when you get to his lower back, almost to the top of his butt.

“Sorry, does that hurt?”

“No, I’m uh…ticklish.”

“Your back is ticklish?”

“No, but my ass is,” he mutters, pink staining his cheeks.

“Interesting,” you laugh, scoffing when he gently splashes you. “I assume you can get the rest? Wouldn’t want to tickle you.”

He snatches the washcloth from your outstretched hand. “Yes. I got it.”

You laugh, closing the curtain to let him finish washing before handing him the detachable showerhead to rinse.

You manage to get him out of the shower with only one accidental view of his butt and no falls, but you’re just as wet as him now.

His eyes darken when he looks over your chest at the wet t-shirt clinging to your bra-less breasts.

“I’m uh…gonna go change. I’ll grab your clothes. Be right back!” You rush out as you close the door.

Your heart races as you pick some clothes out of his suitcase.

What is happening?

His phone is vibrating nonstop, so you bring it too.

“I’m decent,” he says when you knock.

“Here, I brought your phone too. It was buzzing like crazy.”

“Thanks, I’ll be out in a few.”

“Holler if you need me,” you say as you walk to your room, fanning yourself the whole way.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

Jake ignores his erection as he unlocks his phone, realizing he forgot to let Bradshaw know he made it safely.

🐓: You make it okay?

🐓: Have you fallen and can’t get up?

🐓: ?

🐓: I’m about to text Charlie. Maybe I’ll ask her out too.

🐓: Dude. I’m actually starting to worry.

3 missed calls from 🐓.

Jake: Sorry man, I forgot. I’m exhausted.

Jake: Also, fuck off. Leave Charlie alone.

🐓: Glad you’re okay.

🐓: You finally gonna tell her how you feel?

Jake: I can’t. I can’t lose her if she doesn’t feel the same.

🐓: Pretty sure she does. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.

Jake: I don’t know…I just don’t know. Where would I even start?

🐓: Tell her how you called her name when you were about to die. Chicks dig sappy shit like that.

Jake: 🤦🏼‍♂️ and you wonder why you’re single.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

A/N: Got a little bit of their families histories and why they’re so close. The tension is starting to rise ☺️

Let me know whatcha think!

Tagging:

@mamachasesmayhem

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

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@djs8891

@mizzzpink

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun smut #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x ofc #jake hangman seresin x ofc #jake seresin fanfiction

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dramioneasks · 11 months ago

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Top 10 Most Favourited (Completed) Fics on FFNET of 2023:

Wilted Rose and Muddy Blood: A Dramione Fic by Raptor.Elephant - M, 25 chapters, Words: 34,001 - Lavender Brown makes a bet with Hermione that she can't win over the Slytherin Prince in a month. Hermione wonders why she agreed... she could never stand a chance of winning, right? Rated for minor adult themes and language. R&R. COMPLETE... FINALLY!

The Education of a Lady by thewanderers'wanderingdaughter - M, 34 chapters, Words: 365,605 - COMPLETE. Fourth and final (for real this time) part in the His Little Bird series. The story of survival, betrayal, and tragedy. A monster took everything from her. Now she's expected to be a willing participant in the world he's built for them. They want her to become one of them. She only wants vengeance, and now that she has her power back, she can make that a reality.

If Only by SarahFraser - M, 25 chapters, Words: 99,891 - Fourteen years after Draco and Hermione break up, Draco accompanies his son, Scorpius, to Kings Cross for his first year at Hogwarts. Thirteen-year-old twins, Mila and Milo, get their first in person glimpse of the father that abandoned them before birth. After Mila confronts her father for abandoning them, Draco seeks Hermione out on the platform to find out what the hell is going

I'm a What? He's My What? Well Hell! by clumsydolphin - T, 18 chapters, Words: 34,168 - This is a very unusual Veela tale! I promise if ya peek inside it's a surprise! Now complete!

Blackmailed by Mistress Lynn - M, 14 chapters, Words: 49.867 - Draco finds out something pertaining to the war that Hermione would do anything to prevent from getting out. How far is she willing to go to protect her secret? DM/HG, Draco M./Hermione G. 7th Year Hogwarts, war AU, Dramione, lots of banter! COMPLETE! WINNER: 2022 Top Dramione Fics on Reddit, 2nd Place Dom!Draco (but he's totally a switch here)

Mother: Unknown by HufflepuffMommy - M, 42 chapters, Words: 108,211 - After the battle, Draco Malfoy was given something he never thought he wanted—a daughter. The only problem? He didn't know who the mother of his child was. Six years after the war, Hermione Granger moves to the states, to a small coastal town in Maine. There, she runs into a familiar wizard—along with his outgoing, precious daughter. NOW COMPLETE!

Fireworks by cleotheo - T, 10 chapters, Words: 25,510 - A party at the end of seventh year results in major life changes for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, including the loss of their best friend, Ron Weasley. Can a reunion several years later fix the rift, or are some things too broken to ever be fixed? Reunion style story.

Old Friends by cleotheo - T, 10 chapters, Words: 25,453 - When Ron Weasley returns to Wizarding Britain after five years away he is dismayed to find his place in life seems to have been usurped by a certain former Slytherin. But how far will Ron go to get back the life, and the witch, he believes should be his?

Teach Me How to Forget by scullymurphy - M, 20 chapters, Words: 110,321 - Hermione Granger is 27 years old when her life falls apart. Cheated-on, flatless, in a dead end job, she decides to change one thing she can-take a class and try for some career advancement. But change is never easy, especially when an old enemy is the catalyst-and the class instructor.

Designations by sbz0702 - M, 35 chapters, Words: 85,293 - In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Wizarding War, all Seventh- and Eighth-Year students are required to return to Hogwarts to complete their magical educations. When they arrive, they discover that the Ministry has been tampering with nature and biology...and they've all been affected... EWE, non-Canon compliant

#dramione #year wrap up #favourite fics #2023 #ffnet

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thelightsandtheroses · 1 year ago

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One: I was just coasting until we met

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: When Joel finds you on your self-assigned insomnia bench one night, it sparks an unexpected friendship that quickly develops into more. Finding peace in the middle of an apocalypse always seemed impossible, but being with Joel feels natural, like a missing piece has fallen into place at last. When a ghost from your past threatens to destroy the peace you’ve found in Jackson, everything will change.

Word Count: 2.5k

Overarching Series Warnings - 18+ blog - minors do not interact, unexpected friendship, developing relationship, idiots in love, flangst, typical TLOU content, references to cults, references to past manipulation, references to past violence, references to PTSD, single parent reader, some secondary original characters, etc. No use of Y/N, any further warnings to be added as appropriate. No specific age for reader, but range is implied in later chapters (minimum of 30s but not specified any further than that) Notes: This idea has been going around my head for months and I’m so excited to actually do something with this and share it. Also, a special thank you to the lovely @darkroastjoel for encouraging me to write this weeks ago when I wasn’t sure of the concept. The chapter title is from I’m With You by Vance Joy.

One: I was just coasting till we met

Series List | Next

Jackson, WY, 2024

There’s nothing but stars and night sky ahead of you. If you look behind you, you can see a few sparse lights illuminating houses in Jackson, but ahead of you there are no distractions, just the trees and the sky and vastness of the world around you.

The air is cool and smells fresh; a mix of woodland, of the night. You adjust the thick woollen cardigan around your pyjama top and faded sweatpants. There’s no one around at this time of night so you haven’t made a real effort to get dressed or worry about your appearance.

You’ve come here many times before but it never fails to take you aback. The vastness, the stars, the way it makes you feel insignificant but not in a negative way. The only sounds you can hear are the insects and wind blowing through trees.

It’s peaceful, or as close to peaceful as exists these days. For a while, you could forget about the world you live in, convince yourself the last twenty years have been some sick fever dream instead.

In the two years you’ve lived in Jackson, this has become your spot. It’s where you go when you can’t sleep. It’s where you go when the past gets to you, when you either wake because of creeping nightmares and ghosts, or after hours of lying in your bed in a restless, anxious state wishing for slumber.

You only ever come here at night. It’s as if there’s some sort of magic in place that would either ruin or remove the bench in the daytime.

When you first came to this town, the idea of wandering around in the middle of the night seemed preposterous, downright reckless after living in Kansas QZ.

However, one night you hit a breaking point.

You’d been lying in your bed, restless and unable to relax. Every time you thought you might finally drift into sleep, your heart would race and your throat would be so dry that you wondered if you were dying. You would become irrationally concerned you might just stop breathing if you did fall asleep at all. It was a pattern of insomnia that had followed you for years, from before Kansas and beyond. When you did finally sleep, you’d have nightmares, but most of your nights were shaped by restlessness.

That night, as you desperately tried not to wake anyone else up, hating them all for being able to sleep, you felt like you were going to finally break. You had to get out, just clear your head a little.

You discovered the bench that night, perfectly positioned to watch the sunrise, to take in the world around you without distraction or worries.

It’s a special spot; serene and soothing. It’s your sanctuary.

Sometimes you don’t need to come here, your record is a week and half away - an achievement you only reached a few days ago, but inevitably, and usually at least twice a week, you’ll end up back on your bench waiting for the sun to meet you and wash away your ghosts.

There’s the crunching sound of boots on gravel behind you and you turn around cautiously, one hand clinging to the edge of the bench. You’ve been complacent, you chastise yourself, you don’t even have a weapon with you.

Joel Miller stands before you; a battered brown coat buttoned up to his neck, torch in one hand, with the other jammed into a jacket pocket, and a bemused expression on his face when he sees you sitting there.

You’ve heard enough of him from the other locals since his arrival; he’s Tommy’s older brother, Maria isn’t sure of him, he settled here with a teenage ward a couple of months ago. Some of the other locals have said Ellie, the girl, is almost feral. Your impression of her from fleeting visits to the library is that she’s curious, she’s haunted, not used to a community like Jackson (and these days, who would be?) and perhaps the most honest person you’ve met in years.

”May I?” he asks, indicating the empty space on the bench next to you. You almost want to laugh at the Southern lilt to his voice, the polite manners he’s showing you.

‘May I?’ is not a phrase that belongs in this world anymore. People take, some people give, but most take. When the world ends, manners fade. When the world ends, you ask for forgiveness and not permission.

It’s why your instinct is to say no, to say ‘Actually fuck you, Tommy’s brother, and go find another insomnia bench, this one is mine!’

You don’t do that though. Jackson brings back those manners, or it’s trying to at least. And even if you think it belongs to you, technically it’s not your bench because this is a stupid commune.

So you grimace and nod, frustrated about the interruption as Joel Miller sits next to you.

It’s the first time you’ve had a chance to look at Tommy’s brother this closely. While you can see the familial similarities, Joel’s different. His greying dark hair is far shorter, almost messy at the moment like he’s just woken up and walked here. It’s almost endearing.

There’s a scar on the right side of his temple, the one closest to you, and you try and take in every detail of him, to analyse and evaluate just who this person next to you could be.

You expect to feel uncomfortable at his presence, to feel on edge and ready to flee or pounce, but you don’t.

“It’s uh, a good view from here,” Joel says after a moment.

You nod noncommittally and clasp your hands together on your lap.

“I’ve seen you around Jackson. I’m Joel,” he continues. His voice is surprisingly soft, gentle as though he wants to put you at ease. It shows a level of consideration you didn’t expect, one that makes you more honest in your reply.

“It’s a small town, I know who you are, Joel Miller.”

“Oh really?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow and for a second something else flashes across his face. “What have you been told about me then?”

“You’re new, you’re Tommy’s brother. I think that’s about it. Heard you and Tommy are good on patrol.”

“Oh yeah?” Unlike most of the men in Jackson, he doesn’t seem to puff with pride at that compliment. He looks at his hands, wringing them together then before asking, “So, that’s me. What about you then? What’s your name?”

You introduce yourself, taking in the way he repeats your name - how it sounds on his lips.

“I haven’t seen you around town much before,” he says after a moment.

“Would you have even noticed?”

“Someone like you? Most definitely.” You look at the ground in surprise, certain that you’re misinterpreting his words.

He’s just being polite.

It’s just the insomnia.

“It is a good view. You’re right,” you say quietly, keen to shift the conversation away from yourself and back to this moment. “It’s a really great spot for the sunrise.”

“I know,” he says calmly.

You pause. Has Joel Miller been using your bench when you haven’t? Is your bench essentially cheating on you? You’ve always believed this was your secret, your place, but perhaps it’s a timeshare instead.

For some reason, the thought of that upsets you more than you expect. You try and shake it off though, to be polite and good and everything someone who lives in Jackson is expected to be.

Perhaps you can share the bench … today. Just for today.

“How are you liking Jackson so far then?” you ask.

Joel scoffs quietly to himself and you look over with raised eyebrows.

“Been asked that a few times already, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“Why am I not surprised? Well, we don’t get that many new arrivals and you’re Tommy’s brother. People were bound to talk. They’ll settle down when something else comes along.”

“‘S been weeks now. Besides, I thought you just said you don’t get many newcomers, how long exactly is this going to last?” he asks, leaning forward for a moment, his arms crossed on his knees and head down.

You smile to yourself, wondering if you should admit how long it took for people to stop asking your group how you were liking Jackson, how long it has really taken to be seen as a resident and not a new arrival.

“Well, there’s a new litter of puppies due soon, and I heard a rumour that there’s going to be another dance again in the next few weeks. Your arrival will become old news before you know it,” you say with false sincerity.

He chuckles to himself. “This really is like a small town, huh? That uh, -“

“Nosiness? Lack of privacy? Gossip mill?”

“All of the above. So, you think puppies will help?”

“Everyone loves puppies, Joel Miller. Probably even you do.”

He smirks. “Really, do I look like that to you?” There’s a teasing tone to his voice, mischief in what you can make out of his eyes in the dim light.

“Sure you do.”

“So we’ve just got to wait for a bunch of puppies or some town dance for me an’ Ellie to be old news? Okay, here’s hoping.”

A silence falls between you but unlike before, it feels companionable, calming even.

“So, you said ‘I know’ when I said it was a good spot for the sunrise. Does that mean you’ve been out here before then?” you ask as your curiosity finally wins out.

Joel looks over at you with a smirk, “Why, is that really bothering you, huh? A couple of times, sure.” He shifts his weight slightly, places an arm on the bench and turns himself so he’s facing you.

“I just haven’t seen you out here before, that’s all.”

“You come out here at this hour a lot?” Joel raises an eyebrow that you can’t tell whether conveys being impressed or incredulous.

“Sometimes,” you say lightly. Most times.

“How long have you been out here then?” Joel asks.

“On this bench? About an hour. In Jackson? Two years, give or take.”

“An’ how are you likin’ Jackson so far?” he asks, a mischievous spark in his eyes that even in the dim light takes years off him, makes him look lighter.

You laugh before you can stop yourself.

“Touché, Joel.”

“Couldn’t resist.”

“Do you know what? Honestly, I didn’t believe it at first,” you say after a moment. “Places like this - they don’t work, okay? Someone always wants to be in control, power abhors a vacuum and then power corrupts, right? We were watching that play out before cordyceps, and if I’ve learned anything these last twenty years … so when we got here, I didn’t want to stick around too long. I guess that I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop? Only now, now I’m still here and I guess this place, maybe it just works. It shouldn’t, but it does.”

You’re not sure what makes the truth spill out of you like that. Perhaps it’s because it’s the middle of the night, or it’s the power of the bench, or more likely, it’s because you know Joel is probably out here for a similar reason to you.

You can see it in his eyes, in the way he’s sitting.

“That’s what my - my - I’ve heard that before. That this place actually works,” Joel says. “I know what you mean though. You see enough of all that in the QZs. Is that where you were before here?”

“Before Jackson, I was in Kansas for a while.”

“Oh.”

“Huh, I take it you’ve heard the stories then?”

Kansas had a reputation amongst all the remaining QZs. FEDRA had been brutal there; ruled the city with an iron fist and realised every nightmare of a brutal regime.

It was no surprise the fireflies had been so present there at one point, the symbol of hope and rising up against tyranny. Only they had abandoned Kansas years ago and it was down to those who stayed to try and fight back. You remembered Michael, who had tried to lead a movement against FEDRA, a man who was working towards a peaceful rebellion, as if such a thing could exist. The QZ had gone dark months ago though. It didn’t bode well and you’d heard the whispers that perhaps Kansas was no more.

“I uh - passed through on my way here.” Joel shifts awkwardly.

“It’s gone, isn’t it?”

Joel pauses and regards you carefully before he replies.“Yeah.”

“I take it that FEDRA and Michael’s group just - it doesn’t matter actually.” They’re all dead anyway, you think, the facts won’t change that.

Flashes of years pass you.

Violence. So much violence. Then those moments between, the ones that managed to burrow and bury themselves beneath your skin.

Your ex-boyfriend and you kissing in the kitchen of your crappy apartment …

Your birthday - singing to that cheesy rock song in the living room and dancing to an old song with Sean and his sister.

Marking Gabriel’s height each birthday on the kitchen wall because it felt like a normal thing to do, a new line each year, each growth spurt measured.

Your ex-boyfriend and you arguing over the system, over the possibilities for Kansas. You wonder how long he lasted after you left Kansas - if he was there for its end.

Separations … losses … too many deaths … pockets of hope and continued disappointments.

You okay?” Joel asks, a reluctant expression on his face.

“I’m fine. Left there for a reason.”

“Right.”

“It’s fine.”

Kansas had never really been home. You can’t make a home in a place you’re constantly on alert in, where you subsist on fear and anxiety. You could exist there though and at least in Kansas it was clear who was running the show, clear who was in charge.

Jackson is the closest to a home you’ve found in more than twenty years, and even here you feel halfway out of the door.

Joel’s still looking at you though, his brow furrowed like you’re a map he can’t read, an unfathomable equation.

You shrug and resume staring ahead at the forest ahead, at letting every sound, smell and sound around you just soak in, to create an illusion of peace.

After a while you steal a glance at Joel. He’s still on the other side of the bench; the hand on the arm leaning on the bench now pinching the space behind his brows, his eyes momentarily shut.

You’re not sure exactly how much time passes like this but soon the darkness fades and dawn rises to greet you with the promise of a new day.

You stand up, brushing imaginary dirt off your clothes and meet Joel’s gaze. “See you around, Joel Miller.”

“See you,” he replies lightly.

As you walk down the hill, you turn around and notice Joel’s still sitting there, focused on the horizon ahead.

This isn’t going to be the only time you find Joel on your bench, you realise. Suddenly, your lonely but peaceful sanctuary has an addition. You know the two of you will find yourselves on this bench again in the middle of the night.

If you hadn’t spoken to Joel, the loss of that solitude would be devastating, but it’s not.

So, you think to yourself, it turns out you’re not the only insomniac wanderer in Jackson.

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