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sweetestcaptainhughes · 8 months ago

Text

Wine Drunk

Word Count - 3600

Warnings - drinking I guess but that's kind of in the title so none.

Summary - A night filled with being wine drunk with Quinn at the lake house and he's letting you live out almost all your creative impulsive ideas.

Author's Note - Just thank you for reading, I've been missing writing for Quinn so I figured I'd throw this together. Also I couldn't contain myself writing this when it came to Trevor and Cole and if your not new here, you will know exactly why as you read this.

masterlist

It was one of those rare nights in the summer lakehouse, where the only people around were people that Quinn considered family. It was nice to be able to see everyone in the summer but just a night where you didn’t feel like you needed to play hostess and could relax was sometimes needed. The only people in the house were you, Quinn, his brothers, Cole and Trevor - chosen family. Although if asked Quinn would not count Trevor as family, but he was considered family to Jack which by extension meant Quinn but if asked would probably refuse to comment. He still hated Trevor for never being able to shut up, although even he will admit he’s more quiet when Cole is around.

Spending the night getting wine drunk with your boyfriend, and hanging out with the boys by the fire is sometimes needed. But, the thing about wine that you always seem to forget is how getting tipsy off wine is different. One moment you feel completely sober and the next your one drink away from going ‘night night’.

That small fact you seemed to forget is how you got here, trying to convince Quinn that it was a great idea for Trevor to teach you how to do a backflip. “Please Quinny, he’s so good at them.” you begged it was obvious to everyone around minus you and Trevor how intoxicated you both were. “He’s the only one who knows how and I wanna learn.” whining towards the end of another act that tells Quinn just how drunk you are.

Quinn, still sitting in his lawn chair, simply pulls you down to sit in his lap. “No not safe baby” he tried to reason but you were still softly protesting while he wrapped you in his arms trying to get you to stop moving. Trevor was also protesting, except he was hushed up quickly when they mentioned his old ankle injury and how he said it hurt after training this morning.

“Man fuck you guys! I’ve been doing them all summer.” he yells. Everyone could tell he was gonna put on a further protest but the pointed look from Cole and Quinn was enough for his ass to sit down right where it was, which just so happened to be on the grass in front of Cole. Trevor was pretty drunk and decided holding his own head up was too much work and used Cole’s legs as a backrest.

Still in that fidgety state, you struggled to stay still espically since you were still annoyed Quinn “stopped me and Trevs fun.” As the boys started getting lost in their own conversation, truly not paying attention to them. An idea popped into your head, a compromise if you will. If Quinn wasn’t going to let you do flips with Trevor you could just do them on Quinn. Immediately you got up from Quinn’s lap, the quick movement you could tell startled Quinn but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m doing a flip, watch me.” in your head you sounded a lot more badass and clear spoken than you actually did. All the boys could understand was “I’m flap watch.” Before Quinn knew it you were facing him and diving head first into his lap, trying to kick your feet up in the process. Quinn truly didn’t know how to respond except to put his hands on your waist to try to support your weight.

“Baby whatcha doing?” he asked softly. He wasn’t annoyed but he also didn’t seem very amused.

“Obviously flips! ME NEXT!” Trevor yelled as he decided to stand up and turn around facing Cole similar to how you did to Quinn a few moments ago.

“Not a chance bud.” Cole deadpanned. Trevor immediately frowned, mumbling about how no one cares about if he has fun tonight and sits back down on the grass.

After your first failed attempt Quinn takes his wine glass that was in his hand and sits it on the ground next to him. He didn’t say anything as you turned around and started dragging the empty lawn chair near you, playing it directly in front of Quinn’s. He knew that you ass wasn’t gonna sit down, but he didn’t know exactly what your drunk train of thought was. “Baby?” he asked softly in a questionable tone, as he eyebrows frowned to try and figure out what you were trying to do. He found himself relatively leaning forward, as your feet stepped on the chair, and you tried to again dive into him in order to do a flip.

All you could do was laugh at yet another failed attempt, Quinn wasn’t as easily amused. Especially when Trevor’s booming laughter was heard as he started screaming, egging you on more longer. “You go glenn coco..” he screamed which caused the other boys to laugh because what the actual fuck did he drink to get this drunk.

Helping you sit still in his lap for a minute, he took the hand that wasn’t on your hip to your face. He leans his forehead to yours and softly asks “baby what are you trying to do?” Although it was clear to you, and Trevor, the rest of the boys were truly clueless on what the end goal was.

“I wanna do flips.” you pout.

“On me??” he lets out a chuckle.

“Well you said none with Trev so I figured this was the best compromise.” you admit, now giggling at your own thought process. “I think I’m a little drunk”, finally admitting what Quinn already knew.

“Maybe a little” he chuckles and that’s when you notice his flushed cheeks, the wine finally catching up to him. “Wanna stay or go to bed?” His head goes to your inner shoulder to rest for a second, leaving a quick open mouth kiss on your collarbone.

“Too much energy to sleep.” you sheepishly admit.

“Alright well what’s something safe we can do? Hmmm..” he asks as his hand that was on your face wraps around you. A small smile spreads across his lips as he sees your face light up with excitement.

“Can we make smores and build a fort?” Quinn would never admit this but he’s pretty sure his chest swelled with love for you at that moment. It’s moments like these where the alcohol gives you liquid courage to act on your brain's creative impulsive thoughts.

“Of course baby, whatever you want.” stealing a quick kiss before you both get up stumbling a little in the process. Once you make your way inside, Quinn goes to the pantry to grab everything needed for S’mores that he just happens to always keep on hand in the summer. Running to the laundry room, you grab all your extra blankets. Quinn notices your heading for the back door with all the blankets and throw pillows from the family room you can carry.

It’s in that moment as he watches you struggle to carry everything to the screen door. With only the top of your head visible due to the many blankets and pillows, he finally realizes he never asked you where you wanted to build this fort. “Hey baby? Where is this fort going?” He can’t help the chuckle escape his mouth as he grabs some stuff from you so he can actually see your face a little while you answer.

“Uhh outside next to the fire.” it’s not what you said that makes Quinn take a step back and laugh but you're almost accusatory tone about why Quinn would even have to ask, as if the most logical place would be next to a bonfire with a bunch of tipsy people. “And before you say anything I was gonna take the cushions of the patio furniture I’m not a monster.” you declared as you walked outside, you could hear Quinn chuckling behind you but chose to ignore him. Finally making it to the boys back at the fire, Luke almost ran into you trying to get the stuff for s'mores from his older brother.

“You know you know where this stuff is kept, Moose you could have gone inside for it.” Quinn continue to chirp his little brother “also don’t eat it all Rusty before Y/N gets at least one or you will be sleeping outside tonight because that’s the last of S’more stuff we have and you will be the one that deals with an emotional Y/N and Trevor if they don’t get any.”

“HEEEY!” Both you and Trevor yell at the same time, you lightly jokingly hit Quinn’s chest, he pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead.

“We are not emotional Quinn, you are just emotionless.” Trevor is still not letting it go.

“Bro shut up and make your fucking s’more” Jack mumbles, earning a chuckle from everyone around.

“Let’s go get everything else.” As you pull Quinn back with you towards the house, you can hear all the boys still bickering, you're not sure what exactly he said but you know Cole got Trevor to let it go for now at least.

Once you're back on the deck, instead of turning to the couch like Quinn had grabbing pillows you make your way towards the screen door. “Where ya going?” Quinn asks softly.

“Uhh we obviously need more wine. Plus if we were having s’mores it only makes sense to get a more dessert wine.” Turning around to face Quinn with a cheeky grin.

“Says the girl who is literally the pickiest when it comes to any alcohol let alone wine.” He pointedly says as makes his way to you, grabs you and pushes you towards him so your back is pressed flush against his chest. Turning your head Quinn doesn’t miss the opportunity to steal a kiss. Turning you in his arms pressing you lightly against the glass door earning a moan from you which makes his smile more into the kiss. Quinn was a man of few words which was fine because you always joked that you could talk enough for the both of you. After dating for so long, you knew this was his way of saying “I love you” by stealing any kiss he could at any time of the day without physically saying the words, and it’s one of the things you loved most about Quinn.

Making your way slowly inside and to the kitchen you grab another bottle of wine, you went to cork it yourself but Quinn physically grabbed it out of your hands. Grabbing two new glasses since neither of you could tell you where your ones from earlier were. Before you left, you grabbed the rest of the case of the beer. There were only a few left for the boys outside. On your way out both of you grabbed multiple blankets off the couch to build the fort you so desperately wanted. By the time you came back you could tell that the DJ changed from Luke playing soft country music to Cole. All of a sudden your favorite song was playing, you turned to Quinn with a shocked face and begging eyes.

He softly nodded and you dropped all the pillows, quickly hugging him only taking your wine glass you ran towards the boys for your impromptu dance party. But before you could Quinn pulled you back with his hand that was still attached to yours. “I'll make your s’mores for you ok.” Kissing your cheek you pecked his lips as a thank you as you ran towards the boys well all except Luke, he wasn’t a dancer and also way too focused on the midnight s’mores snack he was making.

Quinn watched from a distance with a giant smile plastered on his face with you dancing as he walked towards his youngest brother. Luke was already eating his first s’more as he was roasting marshmallows for his second.. Quinn just shook his head as he started putting marshmallows on a metal stick to roast for your s’more.

“I never thought I’d see it.” Luke exclaims. Quinn only makes a sound of acknowledgement to his brother, as he watches all four of you now dancing and screaming the lyrics to “Imma Be” by Black Eyed Peas.

“The day your girlfriend likes Trevor and Cole more than you.” Luke chirps, a playful smirk on his lips as he glances towards his older brother automatically stepping to the side knowing Quinn’s fist is seconds from hitting his rib.

“Shut up Moosey and focus on not burning your marshmallow which by the way is on fire.” he remarks.

“Oh shit.” he quickly pulls it out of the fire and blows the small fire out. “Well jokes on your Q I like my food crispy.”

“Didn’t know crispy and burnt are the same thing. And she doesn’t like them as much as me. She's just more impulsive and hyper when wine drunk, which I think is adorable.” not noticing how defensive he sounds.

“God you're so whipped, I’m happy for you dude. It’s nice to see you happy.”

Before Quinn could have any type of response he heard the song change again to “You Belong with Me.” by Taylor Swift. Just as Quinn’s finishing up your s’more for you. He hears Jack yell for him.

“QUINN! Your shitty dance moves are needed! I’m not dancing with my future sister in law to this song! This song is strictly for couples or people that want to bone each other!” Finally Quinn makes his way over to you taking your s’more from him and taking a bite. Wrapping your arms around his neck, despite that this isn’t a slow pace song, Quinn’s hands find your hips pulling you close. Before Jack can continue to yell about how he’s sitting this one out, you have to point out the flaw in his logic.

“But Jackey… Cole and Trevor are still dancing and they aren’t a couple or wanna bone.”

Jack just blinks at you and says “I said what I said and I’m right. Now I need to go make a s’more before the human garbage can we left with all the food eats everything.” Both you and Quinn laugh as you get lost in your own little world still aware that Trevor and Cole are screaming the lyrics next to you but they seem even more lost in their own world then you and Quinn. Taking another bite of your s’more you were holding, lightly shoving it in Quinn’s direction. He finishes it for you knowing that’s your way of telling him you didn’t want any left.

“Now my lips are all sticky because you have a terrible aim baby.”

“Here let me fix it.” you mumble as you balance on the balls of your feet and kiss the marshmallow and chocolate leftovers on his lips. The kiss that started as playful slowly started to get heated but you teasingly pulled away before Quinn could get too worked up. “Let’s go make my fort!” you exclaim, quickly turning on your heel and heading towards where you left everything by the fire not even 10 minutes ago.

“Such a fucking tease.” you hear Quinn mumble as he watches you purposely sway your hips, you can’t help the smirk that’s on his lips as Quinn’s reaction every time all you do is simply kiss him. The fort you so desperately wanted turned out to be just some couch cushions long enough for you and Quinn to cuddle as with some blankets thrown on top, both of you being too lazy to put any real effort into it.

Quinn sat down the makeshift fort, as you leaned against him a blanket on top of both of you, even though you really didn’t need it. But you were too lazy to go get a hoodie all the way from your bedroom upstairs. Both of you getting lost in conversation with the group, Trevor and Cole just made it back to the group. Trevor couldn’t help himself from grabbing a blanket that you and Quinn didn’t happen to be using, wrapping it around himself.

“Z.” Cole warned, he really didn’t wanna deal with a moody Quinn, and Quinn was about to say something until your voice interrupted his train of thought.

“It’s fine Z keep it.” Snuggling closer to Quinn as you see Trevor wrap the blanket on himself and sit push Quinn’s now empty chair closer to Cole’s before plopping down. Jack looked at you over the fire, both of you sharing a look as he mouthed “told you” a laugh escaping you at Jack’s antics.

Time seemed to escape you as the bottle of wine you brought out was now half empty and the beers you brought out for the boys were gone. Luke called it a night after all the s’more stuff was gone and moose tracks ice cream from the freezer about 45 minutes ago. Trevor decided it was time to go into the lake, and that is when Cole decided that it was time to take a very drunk Trevor back to their shared room.

“Jack, can you at least help me get him up the stairs.” Cole begged his friend and Trevor was practically half asleep leaning onto Cole complaining about how first it flips and now the whole lake is off limits.

“Naw sorry dude. This one is all you.”

“You're such a dick sometimes.”

“Yes but be careful you might make Trev jealous.” Jack couldn’t help the laugh escape his lips as he walked into the house, waving both you and Quinn goodnight.

From where you and Quinn were now laying down you couldn’t see or hear everything that was happening between Trevor and Cole but you did hear Cole promise Trevor he could go in the lake tomorrow.

Once you both were alone, you glanced up at Quinn, he seemed a little lost in his own world staring at the very end of the fire burning. Deciding to poke his cheek to get his attention. He makes a sound of acknowledgement before he turns his attention fully to you. “Ready for bed baby?” he asks with a yawn escaping his lips.

“Nope.”

“Oh yeah and what do you wanna do?” shyly he asks as he pulls you closer to him by the back of your upper thighs.

“I’m hungry.”

“Oh really?” a smirk on his lips as he leans up for a kiss.

“Nooo not like that Quinny. I want food! I want pizza.”

“Pizza.” a chuckle escaping his lips as he glances at his phone. “Baby it is literally almost 1:30 in the morning this isn’t the city. I don’t know if any place is open for pizza.”

He hates the small frown and pout that’s plastered on your lips as he glances back at you. “Can you check?” you whine a pout on your lips. Quinn keeps one hand wrapped around you as he looks at every delivery service app he has, for pizza at this hour.

“I found something surprising. Do you want a personal or share?” Before you even respond verbally Quinn glances up at you and sees your face.

“Right. Two personal pizzas - mine gluten free and yours not. Do you want your usual?” Nodding your head yes, Quinn finalizes the order. “Should be here in 45 minutes.”

“45 MINUTES???” The shock in your voice is very clear, not sure if it’s your brain still used to living in a city or your drunk mind but that seems forever away.

“Like I said, we're not in Van anymore honey, this is kind of the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah I can tell.” you drunkenly admit as you lift your head up and look out to the lake as if you're looking for more developed land you won’t find, leading Quinn to smile at you lovingly.

“Let’s go inside baby.” he whispers, kissing the crown of your head as you both get inside and drunkenly stumble inside. Before you knew it the pizza was here and you spent the remainder of the night until you passed out sitting criss-cross applesauce and gossiping about what you think Jack meant about Trevor and Cole. Well before Quinn told you he was going to projectile vomit all over the bed if you continued to talk about your theories. Laughing, you promised to stop and only gossip about it with Jack and Luke.

Yawning loudly all of a sudden once your stomach was full, Quinn decided it was time to call it a night for both of you. Not before making you get up and wash your face and brush your teeth. Although most of his drunkenness had worn off, he quickly found out yours had not and getting you ready for bed was no easy task. Finally, finishing you climbed into bed as Quinn came to your side of bed and gave you some advil to take now to get ahead of the headache you were bound to have hungover. That’s the last thing you remember as you heard Quinn turn on the shower for himself and you fell asleep. Quinn found you laying starfish in the middle of the bed 30 minutes later and took a picture because he found it hilarious before gently moving you to one side and pulling your back to his chest. He kissed your shoulder as he felt you stir “just me, go back to bed.”

“Okay, love you.” you mumbled already allowing sleep to lore you back into the comforting darkness.

“Love you too baby. More than you know.” as Quinn closed his eyes and let his body fall into the familiar slumper state.

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gublernatural · 1 year ago

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Hiii! I absolutely love your writing and I was wondering if you could write something about Spencer reid and reader who have just started dating and they get into their first ever argument and it’s a bit angsty but cute(?) cause he gets all worried while reader is more experienced in the relationship department so she (or gn!reader, your choice) doesn’t worry as much cause she knows it doesn’t mean they’re over? And then he gets all pouty and clingy when they make up cause he hated being far from her sm🫶 I know its very specific and idk weird so its totally okay if you don’t wanna write it but I’d really appreciate it!!!

as an insecure certified lover girl i love this request and i am so sorry it took me so long to get to <3

spencer was not expecting you to leave. to argue, to complain, even to berate, but to leave? the thought the didn’t even cross his mind.

the argument had started over something stupid, probably like a teasing remark that had gone too far, or the fact that he had been nagging you about doing the dishes. he wasn’t sure. all that filled his mind now was the fact that you walked out the door and slammed it behind you. he wasn’t sure where you went to, or if you were coming back.

yet, he was frozen in place. his knees had begun to shake as tears started to well up in his eyes. for a genius, you are really fucking stupid, he thought. he couldn’t believe he blew things with you, already.

you two hadn’t officially been together long. only around 3 months, but had spent much more time together prior to that. he was truly falling for you, something he wasn’t expecting to do. he loved the way you laughed and the way you listened to him. he loved that you were always there to greet him with a wide smile and a tight hug when you he came back from cases. he loved being around you and he loved the positive energy you put out.

and he just ruined all of that over some stupid argument.

spencer was rarely one to be unsure. after all, he is a genius, so there wasn’t many things he didn’t know. but, standing alone in front of his apartment door, he was clueless. should he run after you? should he wait it out? should he start packing up all of the things you’ve left at his apartment over these three months? he didn’t know.

so, like with most things he didn’t know, he was going to research. sure, to the common person googling “what to do after a fight with your girlfriend” would be corny, maybe even a little dumb, but not to spencer. when he couldn’t figure stuff out, he found other sources that could. so that’s what he was trying to do now.

much to spencer’s dismay, he was met with a whole bunch of editorials. not a single academic paper, dissertation, or research project had been conducted on the topic. so, he took what he could get and began reading over the newest People Magazine article titled “steps to making your girlfriend happy after being a bad boyfriend”.

he wasn’t sure how long he’d been reading, or how many different pop culture magazine websites he’d accidentally signed up for on his old desktop by the time his phone rang. it startled him, but he moved quickly to get it, assuming it was hotch calling him to come in for a case.

his heart sped up but his stomach dropped when he saw your first name, with the little otter emoji next to it. you had picked it, spencer didn’t even know there was an otter emoji.

his thumb slid over the answer button as quickly as he could move it, but once he brought the phone up to his ear, spencer couldn’t find any words.

the line was silent for a minute. you weren’t sure if he was even breathing on the other side. you wanted to give yourself time to cool off, separate from spencer. his little remark about your poor cooking skills had gotten to you, and you didn’t want it to become a massive argument. you didn’t know that spencer had spiraled after you left.

“are you going to come over or what?” you couldn’t help but let the residual anger you were holding slip out. despite this, spencer’s breath caught in his throat. you heard him take a deep exhale before saying, “you want me to come over?”

the desperation in his voice was so apparent, it broke your heart. any anger you were holding onto, or any bitterness about the comment he made completely wiped away when you heard spencer’s voice. you guessed that he had probably been crying. you softened your tone, and spoke slowly as you answered him, “of course i want you to come over, spence. we don’t get to have two sleepovers in a row very often.”

spencer’s hand was shaking as he listened to your words. he thought for sure you were going to break up with him. all he said was, “i’m on my way.” before hanging up.

you shouldn’t have been surprised at spencer throwing himself in your arms when you opened the door for him. he always craved physical touch, despite his fear of germs. he knew you and he cherished you, and all he wanted was to be close to you.

your hand snaked around his back as he buried his head in your shoulder. you tried to pretend you couldn’t feel the tears escaping from him. he wasn’t sobbing, there was just other way for him to have the emotional release he needed than to allow his tears to fall. your hand rubbed lovingly over his back, letting him adjust to being back with you.

“i’m so sorry,” he muttered against you. his hands were balled up between you two and you could feel him nervously squeezing his fists tighter. “spencer, it’s okay,” you assured.

you pulled away from him, only to wipe his tears away and move his hair out of his face. despite his height, he looked so tiny and vulnerable. “i didn’t mean to upset you,” he whined. “it’s okay,” you repeated, grabbing his hand to move him to the sofa.

you sat across from him, but he stared at the floor. “i thought you were breaking up with me,” he muttered. his voice was quiet and gentle. you couldn’t help but laugh at his statement. “why would i do that?” you moved closer to him, tucking his hair behind his ear to get him to look at you. “i-i don’t know! you just left and you were angry and i thought you weren’t coming back,” tears were filling up his eyes again as he finally met your gaze.

“spence,” you cooed, “couples fight and sometimes they need space. a little argument like that is nothing. we’re okay,” you promised him. he nodded, then reached out to pull you into his chest. “i don’t like when you storm out like that,” he said. “‘m sorry,” you mumbled against him. he just nodded and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

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rafesweetie · 29 days ago

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so, how did kitty!reader and john b meet ?

you truly were like a cat, prowling through the crowds of people at the boneyard. you had snuck out of the house an hour ago because god knows your father, deputy shoupe, would never let you leave the house to go to a keg party hosted by the pogues. especially because a man had just been found dead in the ocean after the hurricane, your father would take no risks with his innocent and sheltered daughter.

shoupe couldn’t tell you what to do. he’d always tried, but you made up her mind a long time ago that you were better off without his judgement.

you walked over to the pogues, sneaking up behind them to ask for a beer. you were quiet, but less like a stray cat, and more like a black panther. the pogues were startled when youshe appeared behind them, because you’re quiet, even in her black kitten heels.

they seem to be on edge for whatever reason. you’re an innocent-looking girl, they have to reason to be tense. they usually wouldn’t give a fuck if you were the deputy’s daughter, but they’re already on the run, and they can’t take any chances.

so john b does something that normally jj would do in this situation — he charms the enemy. “hey pretty, do you want a beer?” he offers.

“yes please,” you say gently, confident and meek at the same time.

he nods and pours one for you, then hands you the full solo cup. “thanks,” you say, then turn to go. no, he can’t let you leave yet. what if he’s made a bad impression, then something goes wrong with the cops, and you do nothing to protect him?

“hey, wait,” he grabs your shoulder to spin you around. “d’you wanna hang out with me? it’s boring handing out beers here on my own,” he smiles and it’s so sweet.

“i’m actually looking for a friend—“

he shakes his head no and interrupts you. “i’d just love to get to know you better, s’all,”

you gaze up at him, hesitant and on guard, but you nod. he’s cute and he seems nice enough. “okay,” you stand beside him.

“i’m john b routledge,” he introduces while handing a beer to some touron.

you blink up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “big john’s son?”

“yeah, that’s me.”

“oh,” you say. “my dad talks about you,”

“good things?”

“not so much.”

he laughs and you don’t expect it. usually when you find out the deputy of your town hates you, you don’t find it funny. but john b is different — in a good way. that laugh makes you like him instantly, because you realize you’re not the only person who doesn’t worship your dad.

“yeah, figured, your pops doesn’t like me very much,” he shrugs.

“why not?” he’s noticed all your answers are short. you remind him of kiara, a bit closed off.

“nothin’ serious, pretty girl, don’t worry about it. i just don’t wanna be put in fucking foster care, and shoupe and plumb don’t like me living on my own,”

“oh.”

you hear your friend call to you when she spots you in the crowd. you glance up at john b, as if you’re… asking for permission to leave him for your friend? you’re just so used to an overbearing single father, that being around any man makes you think they’ll act the same. truthfully, john b normally would act like that. you’re sweet and innocent and he wants to bring you out of your shell. of course shoupe would be protective, anyone would! but, topper thornton calls his name from another direction, and he knows something will go down.

“yeah, don’t worry, you can go,” he assures.

you nod up at him. “it was nice to meet you john b. i’ll see you around?”

“‘course you will,” he agrees, staring at topper coming closer.

he doesn’t realize just yet how everything is about to go down, and he’ll be seeing you around and begging for help to escape your father before you both know it.

#౨ৎ isa writes #౨ৎ kitty!reader #⋆˚࿔ john b 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#obx #outer banks #john b x fem!reader #john b prompt #john b x you #john b fluff #john b fanfiction #john b routledge #john b outer banks #john b x reader #john b fanfic #john b obx #chase stokes

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rillils · 2 months ago

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pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes rating: T wordcount: 2121 tags: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, kid fic, Bucky's metal arm, domestic boys my beloved notes: this smol thing is just an attempt at getting me out of an agonizing writer's block. it fills my @stuckybingo card square O2 - Touching foreheads, and my @wintershieldbingo card square Fluff. I also used this amazing post as a reference for Bucky's (most recent) metal arm. summary: Now, at sixteen months old, Sarah refuses to be laid in her crib for the night unless the arm is laid down beside her. Nineteen pounds of unyielding vibranium, with a grip that could crush a human skull as effortlessly as it could an egg, and she makes it look almost precious. Endearing. Something to be loved; worthy of being loved because she loves it.

You can read it on AO3, or under the cut!

It’s not that Bucky means to circle back to the nursery, tonight. In fact, he ought to head straight to bed and catch some hard-earned zee’s while he still has the chance, now that the princess’ diaper’s been changed, and his teeth have been brushed minty-fresh and his sleep shirt is not smeared with drool, snot, or sticky remnants of Sarah’s dinner. But the pull is too strong, and so here he stands, one-armed and bone-tired and hovering by Sarah’s crib like a lovestruck puppy, unable to walk away. Again.

Yes, it’s a curious predicament.

Made so much more curious by the odd presence in his daughter’s bed – a lumbering silhouette of gleaming metal, peeking out from under Sarah’s favorite blanket like a second, strange-looking baby, that she demanded to have with her.

That one right there, that’s a recent development, and one Bucky can’t truly make sense of just yet. But he can’t look away.

It ties a knot in his chest, his heart squeezed tight in the middle, between his lungs and his stomach and the cage of his ribs, beating wild and fluttery and disbelieving at the sight. At the sharp, cutting tenderness of his daughter wrapped protectively around the log-shape of his prosthetic arm, her little body curled like a parenthesis around it; her tiny fingers splayed over the glossy black plates of his bicep, her warm breath misting the rounded swell where his shoulder is.

It nearly hurts to see it; but it’s a sweet hurt, this one.

The first time Sarah saw Bucky pop the arm out its socket, she was four months old and sitting back against Steve’s chest, happily gnawing on her own dimpled fist as Papa bounced her gently in his arms.

Bucky hadn’t meant to show her; not yet, at least.

He’d been so careful up until then, almost to the point of paranoia, only ever removing the prosthesis when Sarah was already asleep, and dutifully slipping it back on for her late-night feedings; too scared that she might cry, startled by the anomaly of it all; afraid, or so he told himself, that she might simply be too young to understand.

“I just don’t think she’s ready to see that,” he’d shrugged at Steve’s prodding, just a few nights before, curled up in bed with the metal arm still firmly on, comfort be damned, because Sarah had only just dozed off again with a full tummy and a clean diaper, and the sun was about to rise anyway.

Steve had gathered him close, his broad chest pressed like a shield against Bucky’s back, and he’d threaded their fingers, warm flesh and gold-rimmed vibranium, together.

He hadn’t made Bucky say it out loud. That he wasn’t ready yet. Ready to be the thing their daughter was afraid of. The thing that made their sweet baby cry and twist away in fear, sobbing, seeking safety and shelter in somebody else.

But Steve had known.

Bucky had felt it. In the comforting hold of Steve’s arm wrapped around his waist. In the enveloping warmth of Steve’s voice as he rumbled, soft into the tousled fall of Bucky’s hair, their heads sharing one pillow, “It’s all right, Buck. You’ll choose when.”

And then one night, Bucky had simply forgotten himself.

He hadn’t even realized what he’d done, not until Sarah had abandoned her drool-coated fist to burst into happy, cascading, heart-squeezing giggles.

Bucky had seen his own surprise mirrored on Steve’s face. Steve’s mouth was agape, his eyes wide with shocked delight – while Bucky himself stood frozen from head to toe like a deer in the headlights, the metal arm still gripped in his hand.

Steve had spoken first, hot on the heels of their daughter’s first laugh.

“Oh my god, Buck– Do it– do it again.”

And cautiously, careful not to feed the little bubble of hope already blooming in his chest, Bucky had. Eyes locked on their baby, he’d allowed the arm to click back into place; and then, with a trembling hand, he’d popped it off again.

Sarah had lost it, erupting into peals and peals of these sweet, full-bellied giggles that made her little tummy shake under Steve’s hand, and something – something had come loose inside Bucky’s chest. A weight that had been sitting on top of his lungs for longer than he’d realized, stunting his every breath.

He’d cried, after.

He’d wet Steve’s shoulder with his tears, and then he’d laughed, his cheeks still glistening, raking his flesh-and-bone fingers through his hair, almost hysterical with relief.

“Thank God,” he’d half-chuckled, half-sobbed, his face cupped in Steve’s big hands, Steve’s lips warm and soothing against his brow. “Thank God...”

Now, at sixteen months old, Sarah refuses to be laid in her crib for the night unless the arm is laid down beside her.

Nineteen pounds of unyielding vibranium, with a grip that could crush a human skull as effortlessly as it could an egg, and she makes it look almost precious. Endearing. Something to be loved; worthy of being loved because she loves it.

She takes after Steve in that respect.

She can’t have missed Steve’s open doting on Bucky’s artificial arm, he muses: she’s been exposed to it her whole life. Every day since they brought her home, she has been the primary witness to Steve’s relentless displays of affection.

Before she could ever even process her surroundings, she was already watching Papa pepper feather-light kisses up Dada’s shiny metal arm, or lace their mismatched fingers together, or bring Dada’s metal hand to his lips to kiss the black and gold of Dada’s knuckles.

Maybe it was Steve, then: consistently, unwittingly teaching their daughter that this strange part of Dada can be loved, too. Maybe this is all his doing. Or maybe, maybe Sarah decided that all on her own. After all, Bucky muses with no small amount of pride, she’s proving herself to be just as willful a creature as her father ever was.

He reaches down to stroke the softness of her hair, cradling the back of her head in his palm.

His baby. His sweet little weirdo.

“You know you’ve been standing there for like twenty minutes now, right?”

The voice comes in a soft octave, one notch louder than a whisper, but no more than a gentle rumble.

Bucky turns his head, and he finds Steve exactly where he expected to find him: his big body leaned leisurely against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and a knowing smile curling his lips. Bucky hasn’t been seventeen for a long, long time; but the whispering flutter he feels now in his heart knows no age.

“Shut it, Rogers,” Bucky teases back just as softly, straightening up with one last caress to Sarah’s wispy hair. “Like I didn’t catch you doing the exact same thing just a couple nights ago.”

Steve pushes himself off the doorframe, hands held up palms-out, briefly ducking his head in a humble “guilty as charged” gesture.

“She asleep?” he asks, approaching Bucky and the crib on soundless socked feet.

Bucky nods. He can’t stop his gaze from traveling back to Sarah’s slumbering frame, sweet and cozy under her blanket.

“Out like a light,” he says, and if it sounds even half as hopelessly fond as he thinks it does, well, that can’t be helped, now can it.

He feels Stee’s arms loop around his waist, soon followed by the familiar jut of Steve’s chin hooking over his shoulder, locking the embrace in. It’s a gentle hold, Steve’s thickly muscled arms fitted just snugly enough around him, and Bucky sinks into it with a pleased sigh, happy to soak up all the warmth Steve is so generously offering.

His only hand settles over Steve’s own, where it rests against Bucky’s stomach, his thumb stroking absently over the downy hairs dusting Steve’s wrist.

“I don’t get it,” he speaks quietly into the comfortable silence. “She could have her pick of stuffed toys to sleep with. I mean, we’ve got ourselves a whole-ass zoo up there,” he adds, gesturing towards the shelf currently hosting a small army of stuffed bears, penguins, unicorns, the odd shark, two giraffes, and a pink crocodile he won for her at a fair, which Sarah barely ever deigned with a passing glance, “every shape, size and color under the sun, but nope. She has to cuddle up with the lump of metal.”

“It’s not just any lump of metal,” Steve corrects him, with a meaningful squeeze of his arms around Bucky’s middle. “It’s you. Smells like you. Feels like you. It’s like you’re right there with her, holding her.” His lips know a spot hidden in the crook of Bucky’s neck, and they find it now to place a kiss there; the warmth of it tingles right under Bucky’s skin, dancing like so many sparks of gold down his spine. “That shit beats a measly teddy bear one thousand to nothing, honey.”

That gets a chuckle out of Bucky. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” And he can’t see Steve’s face, but he can hear the smile in his voice when Steve speaks, pouring sweet mumblings in Bucky’s ear as he rocks their bodies gently in his embrace. “This way, she can fall asleep knowing that daddy is here, that daddy loves her. That he’ll keep her safe from harm.”

It feels like a sin to disturb this, but Bucky turns around within the circle of Steve’s arms, coming face-to-face with him. There, there’s the smile he couldn’t see before, private and sweet and only meant for him to see, so genuine it reaches up to the crinkles of Steve’s eyes.

If he were to touch his face right now, Bucky’s sure he’d find that same shape on his own lips.

“You really think so?”

“Absolutely.” Steve’s hands come to rest on Bucky’s hips, giving them a little squeeze hello. “Trust me, I’m an expert,” he murmurs, shining those luminous, earnest eyes of his on Bucky like they won’t steal the breath right out of his lungs. “I know what it’s like to feel safe in your arms.”

Bucky couldn’t say which of them leans in first, but their foreheads touch; and he can see the minute quiver in Steve’s eyelashes, when Steve’s eyes slip closed. Feels the ghost of Steve’s breath, grazing hot like a kiss against his skin.

Steve’s voice drops, ever softer.

“Only place I ever felt safe in my whole life, Buck.”

And it’s lucky, truly – lucky that Steve’s one of the only two people in the whole world capable of cracking Bucky’s heart open like this, and fill it with an ache as sweet as the one pulsing inside him now. And it’s unfair, so cruelly unfair of Steve to make him feel so tender he might just come apart, like he’s a wad of cotton candy and Steve is water, and the first cooling touch of him will dissolve Bucky into drops of pure sugar–

–now, in this moment where everything speaks of home, and they’re standing right here, breathing each other’s air, whisper-talking in their tried and true “the baby is sleeping” voices, socked feet on the cold floor and flecks of copper glinting in Steve’s beard when the lamplight hits it just right, and Bucky never imagined that love could make you feel so full it actually hurts.

He cups the back of Steve’s head, sinking his fingers in the dark gold of Steve’s hair.

“You gettin’ sentimental on me, Stevie?”

Steve chuckles under his breath, leaning back just so he has enough room to gaze into Bucky’s eyes.

“Always, honey. Can’t help but.”

“Well,” Bucky says, casting one last glance towards their sleeping daughter. “I got another arm right here, if you were wantin’ something wrapped around you tonight. Maybe not quite so shiny as the other one, but it still does the trick. Whaddya say, sweetheart?”

Steve looks at him, his eyebrows pinched together and that soft, tiny crease in between that Bucky knows so well, the one that tells him of Steve’s unabashed fondness when Steve himself can’t; the one that tells him, I love you, before Steve has even lined up the words on his tongue.

Bucky wants to kiss him.

Bucky forgets, sometimes, that he can kiss him. That he gets to kiss him, and when he doesn’t, it’s only because Steve beat him to it and kissed him first.

Steve doesn’t kiss him now, though his eyes say that he wants to, with every fiber of his heart he wants to.

“Yeah,” he rasps, soft as a breath and painfully tender. “Yeah, I’ll take that. If you don’t mind.”

Bucky, Steve will learn, does not mind at all.

#stucky #stevebucky #stuckybingo #wintershieldbingo #rillers scribbles #my nerves are all over the place for this one ashdaksdlskd #i wanna ramble but also i wanna hide under the nearest rock forever #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa anxiety #*lies on the floor*

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sunflowersteves · 2 years ago

Note

hey love!! if you're still taking miggy requests, can I request Miguel and short reader? (like 5ft)

He's being his usual grumpy self, but every time he sees them clambering on the counter to reach something high up or grabbing a chair to reach a high place, his stern expression just breaks and he usually covers his face to hide his amusement.

He also teases them for being short and if their romantically involved he definitely uses his height to his advantage to make them weak in the knees /.\

Or whatever you come up with it! 💕

Thank you!

tarren my love, i squealed when i saw u requested something of miguel. as a five foot zero inches girly pop, i was MADE to make this fic

warnings || reader is short, height differences, fluff, making out

masterlist

Miguel let out a long sigh as he closed the door to your shared apartment. It was well into the evening—11:45 pm, as it read on the clock, to be exact.

He could feel the rage and anger that still sizzled through his veins. Today was hard. Today was a shit-tastic day and was full of fuck ups upon fuck ups.

So, he probably slammed the door much louder than he anticipated. The sound made you jump in the kitchen, startled by the booming sound.

You were so engrossed with checking the oven that you hadn’t even looked up at the clock in over an hour. A smile slowly crept up onto your cheeks, though. You knew that particular sound.

“In here, baby.” You called. Your voice echoed across the apartment, and it seemed to put him into a trance.

He slowly sauntered into the spacious kitchen. He could almost feel how all of his ire had prodded its way through every single step he was taking.

It felt heavy. All of it felt so heavy.

He walked through the doorframe, huffing out a breath, and then immediately stopped in his tracks at the sight his eyes took in.

You had been baking a batch of chocolate chip cookies before he got home. It was supposed to be a surprise—and supposed to be done—but you had forgotten one ingredient.

Salt. You always put extra flakey sea salt on top of the gooey chocolate cookies. Then, to your dismay, the salt that you had needed was unfortunately on the very tippy top of the biggest cabinet in the kitchen. You were on the highest part of your tippy toes, and an arm stretched out as far as it could reach.

Miguel’s entire anger dissolved at that very second. You gave out a quick huff before stretching out your fingers just a little bit more.

Unfortunately for you, you didn’t grow any inches.

Miguel smiled. He turned his head, and he smiled. His lips curled at your continuous attempts to reach the salt.

It was so fucking cute. He swore his heart could burst. Little did you know that you were the only one that could truly do this to him. He had to turn his head to look away from you before he burst out laughing.

“Let me get that.”

You could feel him hover behind you. His tall stature sent shivers down your spine. Your head didn’t even reach the middle of his pecks, and god, did he relish this.

He loved the way your body curled up against his—so small and so perfect. He loved the way your hand just about fit his palm (he might have been a bit dramatic, here, but still).

He pressed his chest up against your body. You gasped at the full pressure of his chest and hardened stomach up against your back. His arm followed your own, and his hand brushed up against your fingers. Your whole body felt like it was going to catch on fire. You were so sure.

“I’ve always got you, sweet thing.” He says before swiftly taking the salt down.

“Thank you, baby.” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You were too dazed to do anything for just a moment. As if knowing that, he smirked.

“Next time, I’ll just get the stool.” You say more to yourself. God, he was so distracting. It was insane.

He scoffed. He was not going to tell you that he had gotten rid of all of the stools and ladders in the apartment. “Why need a stool when you have me?”

“Should we go to bed, baby?” You ask after finishing the last cookie you had set aside. Miguel’s favorite was always right after they came out of the oven. He liked them hot and gooey.

His eyes locked with yours. “I don’t know, sweet thing. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the thought. “What do you mean?”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Miguel is standing up. With habit, you’re standing upright with him.

He just smirks. He knew you’d follow him.

He immediately towers over you—dominating—and staring intensely into your eyes. “You missed something when I got home.”

You blinked. You blinked again. Your mind was blank.

You open your mouth to respond, but he’s quickly crowding your space. Your mouth quickly snapped closed, and your breath shallowed at how large he is.

Now, he’s pushing you, ever so slowly, to the nearest wall. “You forgot to greet me with a kiss, hmm?” He chuckled darkly into your ear. “How could you forget?”

He takes your wrists and traps them against his large hands, and places them above your head. He pressed hot, wet kisses on your jaw and they start to lean down to your neck.

“Look at you. I haven’t even said anything, and you’re already a puddle.” You open your mouth again, but nothing can come out.

Your mind is blank, and all thoughts and feelings are rushing about the man in front of you. He was just so tall.

His lips crashed against your own and it took all of the breath out of your lungs. His tongue swirled against your own, and his hand squeezed the base of your wrist.

Your lips molded against one another as he nipped and sucked. It was heavenly. He was heavenly as his body seemed to press further into you and the wall.

He bit against your lip and pulled back, but before you could even react with a small moan, his lips are back onto yours in full force. His smooth lips caressing each and every part of you.

Suddenly, his lips disconnect from yours. He takes a good look at you and smiled. You were entirely kiss-drunk on him. Your lips were swollen. Your chest was heaving up and down. Your eyes were completely hazy.

It was a sight to see.

“Let’s get ready for bed, querida, yeah?” Your body was screaming at you for letting his arms detangle from your body.

His whole form sauntered off, and you were left there by yourself, flushed up against the wall. Your chest heaved up and down—reeling in the feeling of his body pressed up against yours.

You never wanted that feeling to go away.

“Yeah. Bed.” You whispered—the biggest smile spreading across your cheeks. Every night, his large arms wrapped around your shoulders and stomach. You would sleep like that all night.

“Bed sounds good.”

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel o'hara fluff #spiderman 2099 fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #across the spiderverse fanfiction #across the spiderverse

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bunnyreaper · 1 year ago

Text

𝓷𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸

𝒶 𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈

𝓅𝓉 2 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

wc - 5.2k

warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), mentions of cheating (not from reader or john), age gap (older male younger female), future daddy kink, mentions of blood

notes - back at it again in dilfville, hopefully, this chapter is worth the wait! ♥ also on ao3! ♥

How easy it is to forget about the outside world with John by your side is startling. Everything other than him melts away into the background, and in the safety and comfort of his home, the two of you exist in your own little peaceful bubble.

In the back of your mind, you know it'll eventually sink to the ground and violently pop, but for now, the two of you float—suspended in tranquility. Your day goes by so easily, as you rest on the couch and watch TV with John—phone forgotten about, troubles set aside.

John makes it easy to forget. He's always had this way about him, like his mere presence lifts a weight off your shoulders while he carries it, carries you, just for a while, and allows your world to be a little lighter.

It's later into the evening when you finally find yourself compelled to get off of the couch and actually do something with your day, when John pulls you out of the reverie you'd settled into together.

"I should get on with dinner." He says, slapping his thighs before he rises from the comfort of the couch and the warmth of being your human footrest.

You're quick to rise too, sitting up straight as you try to recall him to the couch before he can make too much of a fuss. The guilt of taking advantage of his hospitality is already eating at you—regardless of how illogical it may be.

"Let me do it." You plead. "You're kind enough to let me stay here, at least let me repay you."

John pauses, his eyes narrowing at you briefly before one of his thick eyebrows arches. "Darling, aren't you bloody sick of cooking?"

Even when he's giving so much, he's still exceedingly considerate.

"Only when cooking for a man who doesn't appreciate me, otherwise I enjoy it." You climb to your feet with a smile, making your way over to John to gently push him in the direction of the kitchen. Whilst he moves with a stubbornness, you know he's still letting you push him, otherwise you know you wouldn't be able to move him an inch.

A smirk tugs at his lips, hidden behind his thick beard as he finds himself amused by your antics. The levity you bring to his otherwise burden-filled life is not something that goes unrecognised by him—not now, not ever.

Finally, he truly relents, letting you direct you both into the kitchen, moving himself enough to make your job of pushing him easier. "If you want to help, I wouldn't mind your company."

Your hands withdraw from the warm, broad expanse of his back and settle by your sides, as you feel the need to pull away from him the second it's no longer necessary—scared by how good the physicality felt, even if it was entirely playful in nature. It's been so long since you felt so light and got to share it with someone else, an age since you indulged in light-hearted touch.

"What's on the menu?" You ask as you move to the sink and force yourself into doing something to keep you busy—tackling the dishes seems like a good idea for being both helpful and suitably occupied.

John makes his way to the fridge, swinging open the heavy door of the American-style fridge-freezer with ease, and immediately moving to grab fresh ingredients. "Spag Bol."

"Ooh, your signature dish." You coo, recalling fondly the many occasions he has hosted you for dinner in the past.

Dinners had become a regular thing when John and James had been getting to know each other, with you often there as a buffer—not that you did it begrudgingly or ever minded so much. Getting to know John was an unexpected delight, and as the two of you recently agreed, a friendship had formed—regardless of your relationship with his son. You'd spent many nights over at his for dinner or drinks—good food and delightful conversation, memories you treasured.

Even in the beginning, John's protective and caring nature had extended to you almost immediately—a natural extension, you’d presumed, of his growing bond with his biological son. He'd dropped off meals for you when you were sick, memorised your tea and coffee preferences, always took the time to buy you a thoughtful gift for Christmas and birthdays.

John cuts through your trip down memory lane with the thud of him putting a pile of ingredients down on the countertop. "Well, I know you love it so much. Went to the shops last night to get everything."

An exasperated sigh leaves you. For a man so good at taking care of others, there were times when John Price's self-care was severely lacking. As the sink fills with sudsy, hot water, you pin John with your most intimidating glare. "When do you ever even sleep, John?"

He returns your look for the briefest moment, then smirks at your attempt to look authoritative. "I sleep plenty, don't you worry."

A realisation seems to strike him a moment later.

John heads over to the record player in the corner, flipping the switch and setting down the needle.

It's easy for John to succumb to the relaxed atmosphere of his kitchen—music playing and you by his side. His fingers drum against the turntable stand as the opening notes of the rock-reggae fill the room and quiet any further chastisement from you.

"Young teacher, the subject of schoolgirl fantasy—" John's voice carries louder than the vocals, a smooth tone you've heard so rarely before—John only sings when he feels most at peace.

Whilst his voice is beautiful, the subject matter of the song almost feels inappropriate in the moment, though the way your cheeks flush makes you think it's just you projecting.

"Oh my god, John." You groan playfully, rolling your eyes and watching as he sways his hips ever so slightly as he makes his way back over to you, still softly singing the words.

He stops singing as he steps beside you at the sink, leaning onto the counter slightly with a hint of a smirk on his face and an incredible amount of mirth in his eyes. For once, he seems so light.

"Never had a crush on an older man?" He asks, his tone light and yet still with a hint of teasing. Perhaps he thinks your opposition to the song is your lack of relating to it, rather than the fact you relate a little too much.

You're not sure when it really started, or when it escalated uncontrollably, but lately, you've been looking at John in a different light. It's probably the combination of the heartbreak, the sleep deprivation, and the beard. You were always a sucker for a gruff-looking, unavailable older gent.

And now here one is singing a song about forbidden love, lovers separated by age—like he knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling.

"Obviously I have." You scoff, almost dismissively, as you turn to slip the first few dishes into the water. John stays silent for a moment, and curiosity gets the better of you. "Ever had a crush on a younger woman?"

He barks out a laugh, pushing himself away from the counter as you see him shake his head and suck in his lips. "No comment."

Your mind starts to wander, as you try to think about what kind of woman catches John Price's eye. His circumstances are difficult and his standards clearly high, as he hasn't been in a relationship in the years you've known. John nudges you with his hip, as he leans over the sink to start washing his hands.

His warmth is overwhelming beside you, and only spreading further. You try to focus on anything but his large hands, as he covers them in the suds he works up from the soap. You try not to stare at the way he grips the bar, and practically chokes the block with his fingers, nor how he works the creamy lather up his hairy forearms.

But you’d be lying if you said the plate in your hands got any cleaner. Of course, you could blame your stillness on courtesy—you're just giving him the space he needs to wash his hands so he can get on with cooking, nothing more.

"Zenyatta Mondatta is a classic." He all but whispers from above you, as if he still feels the need to justify his album choice.

"Best album the year you were born?"

"I was born 81, not 80, bun." He tuts, shaking off the excess wetness from his hand before he reaches around you to grab the hand towel from where it's threaded through the handle of the cupboard beside you.

Your grip on the plate tightens exponentially despite the slippery surface, as a cascade of shivers passes over your body and pools low in your gut.

The tension in your body feels like it's ready to snap at any moment, and yet just before it can, John pulls away, and a cold sweeps back in.

"Don't stand, don't stand so close to me." His singing almost taunts you as he saunters back over to his ingredients and gets to work.

You try to focus again on the dishes in the sink. Yet, you couldn't wipe the wide smile off your face if you tried, exhilarated by life's simple pleasures—by the way, it seems that colour is starting to bleed back into your life in all these little moments. A flurry of feelings you haven't felt in so long floods you, too.

"Forgot how much I love being in the kitchen with other people." You laugh, verbalising your happiness in a fairly throwaway comment.

"Kitchens are the heart of the home, as they say." John replies, and you can tell he's smiling fondly, probably recalling the nights spent at his kitchen island with you, James, and the other people lucky enough to be in his life.

After a moment, he continues on, yet his tone is more somber than before. "You know, sweetheart, I wish I'd have known sooner how he really treated you."

You wonder if it would've made a difference.

"He's just not for me, he's not necessarily bad just... okay, I mean besides the cheating." You say, wrinkling your nose with disgust—still, you find yourself making excuses for him, finding ways to soften the blow.

John sighs. "You give him too much credit, love."

It feels wrong somehow to open up to John about this, despite his soothing on the matter. "It wasn't fair for me to talk to you about that stuff, even if you do give the best advice. Still doesn't feel fair, really." You grumble as you scrub at a bowl, removing the dirt.

"And what about what's fair and best for you, hmm?" John's chopping grows louder, more erratic, as his frustration flows through his arm and his wrath is taken out on the raw onions. "For crying out loud, the lad cheated on you. I have half a mind to go over there myself to finish what we started earlier."

You shrug, entirely uncertain of how to untangle the messy web that is your emotions. Guilt, relief, anger, and peace all swirl together, with no one feeling jumping out clearly and continuously beyond the others.

"Look at me," John calls your attention to him, only speaking again once you do. The look on his face is deeply sincere, his eyes betraying the emotion within. "Once you're on your feet again, if you want nothing to do with me, all you have to do is say. Otherwise, I'll be in your life for as long as you let me."

Fuck.

"That's reassuring." You nod, smiling genuinely, yet you try to restrain it lest you betray how much it really means to you. "Yeah, I guess, as you said earlier, we're friends."

You say it more to convince yourself, as it's a truth that isn't going to change regardless of a silly schoolgirl crush.

"Not planning on changing that unless you are, love." John smiles.

See, you say to yourself, he's all but confirmed it too. "I'm glad some things are going to stay the same..." You mutter, though there is some sincerity and reality to your statement. "Especially when everything else is about to get turned upside down."

"I suspect you'll be better off when the dust settles."

"I hope so."

You turn back to the dishes, trying to focus on the music rather than the thoughts that battle against John's soothing words. His quiet company helps stave off some of the discontent, the sound of him cooking and singing quietly providing a safety blanket around you.

"Do have to let you know I got the call, leaving sooner than I would've liked."

"When?" You feel yourself stiffen. Every time John leaves, you're always a little on edge—and yet, with the circumstances, this time just feels worse.

"Tomorrow." He admits softly.

"You've only been back a matter of days." Your heart pangs.

He scoffs. "No rest for the wicked, eh?"

"It's gonna feel weird getting settled in here, but especially alone." You offer up your honesty, in the hopes it'll alleviate the gentle crushing of your chest, yet you try to remain stony-faced.

"One big change at a time, love." John's voice is soothing, as he attempts to reassure you. "Change of scenery, then change of roommate. It'll give you a chance to just be free of Price men for a moment."

"He's not really a Price..." You sigh, because maybe if he were, things would've been different. If John had raised him... would he be a better man? Not that you believe his mother is to blame for his issues, but you know from James' occasional rants that he didn't have a male figure he respected growing up.

"I suppose not." Behind your back, John shrugs. "Point still stands, though. While I'm not thrilled about the idea of you being all alone, at least it gives you some space to think of what comes next."

"I guess it does." You sigh and try to focus on that thought—time to figure things out and feel the relief of being free. A wry laugh leaves you when you realise John has managed to reframe his departure as a positive thing. "Fuck, I hate how you always make me feel better."

"Hah, add it to my list of crimes."

A beat passes before a stray thought pops into your head. "If you're headed back, does that mean you'll be shaving?"

You crane your head around just in time to see John pause, turn, and stroke at his beard.

"Don't know. What do you think?" He continues to stroke at the grown-out brown hair, as you get lost taking in his features and the way that they seem to look so different with his new, fluffier style.

"Feel like you've been staring at it a lot, not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing." He chuckles, his smile tight-lipped and a touch self-conscious in a way that only you can bring out of him.

"Somehow, it makes you look..." Your brain scrambles for an adjective that isn't 'daddier'. "... younger?"

On anyone else, a full beard would likely age them, but compared to John's usual old-timey war general look, it gives him more of a casual, handsome look. You remind yourself to ask for pictures of what he looked like before he grew facial hair.

"Ageing myself prematurely with the mutton chops, then?" He frowns ever so slightly, though you know his pout is completely playful.

You throw your head back with a laugh. "Thought that's why you did it, to really solidify your authority."

"Don't need any kind of facial hair for that, love." He purrs, sending a shiver down your spine.

You force your attention back to the dishes and school your expression into something more neutral, dunking in all the cutlery in at once as you desperately begin to clean. It's a clear attempt to make sure John doesn't notice your reaction to his words.

"Whatever you say, John." You mutter, trying to end the conversation before it spirals any further out of control.

He laughs, hums, then casually says something you never expected. "Mmm, now that's what I like to hear."

"Ow, fuck!" You yell as pain sears through your skin, a knife hidden in the soapy water slicing through your skin at the momentary distraction.

John is over in a flash, coming to your aid and pulling your hand into his grasp so he can inspect the wounds. "Christ, love, are you alright?"

"Fine, I mean, it's only small." Each word is through gritted teeth, as you try to tough it out in front of John.

Despite the fact the incisions across your fingers aren't particularly deep, they bead with crimson blood and pulse with stinging pain.

"Right, that's enough. Sit down." One of John's hands remains holding your hand while the other settles on your shoulder, and he manoeuvres you to one of the stools at the kitchen island. He pays no mind to the way your soaked arm drips onto his t-shirt and jeans, too focused on his mission.

"Yes, sir." You say absentmindedly, feeling like one of his men—you don't notice the way he stiffens, his touch getting a fraction tighter, as his body and mind jolt at such simple words.

He doesn't meet your eye, instead inspecting the cuts before turning to grab the first aid kit he keeps under the sink. "Doesn't look like it'll need stitches."

"This isn't a battlefield injury, John, and I'm not a child!" You can't help but pout exaggeratedly, as not only does it convey your meaning, but it helps disguise your wince as John cleans, dries, and dresses your cuts.

"No more washing up. Don't give me that look." He fixes you with a look and a stern point that just dares you to challenge him, and for a moment, you glare right back at him.

In the end, you know you stand no chance of winning against the formidable foe that is protective, Papa Bear John Price. One time you insisted on washing up after he cooked, and he followed you into the kitchen to turn off the water main, just to show you how serious he was that you sit down and fucking relax.

"Fine." You sigh, as John's moment as a nurse comes to a close, with him finishing your dressings and packing away the first aid kit.

"Sit pretty. Food won't be too long." He tells you before he returns to the pans on the hob, checking on the spaghetti and stirring the bolognese.

The fragrance from the stewing sauce surrounds you, making your mouth water in anticipation of John's signature dish. It doesn't distract you from the pain completely, but it at least gives you something to focus on as you try to ignore it.

"Can I... ask something that I've been wondering about for a while?" You ask, propping your head on your non-injured hand as you watch John work.

"Of course." He nods, eyes flickering to meet yours briefly.

"Have you and James' mum ever talked about... you know, everything?" You resist the urge to pick at the medical tape securing the bandage to your skin, as you know that eventually it's going to come off. "I don't know why I never asked before, guess I felt awkward, and I tried asking James, but he never wanted to talk about it."

John pauses, taking a moment to think. "We met for coffee once, after I first found out. She was very apologetic, explained her side of things."

It's easy for you to tell, having grown accustomed to his expressions, that there's more to the story than he lets on. John always tends to play his cards close to his chest when it comes to his inner workings, asking more questions than he ever answers, but you're used to that look in his eyes whenever there's something he's holding back.

At least, you like to think so. If you're good at telling when he's withholding, you're even better at not pressing him, at least under usual circumstances. Today, something compels you to ask more.

"Do you... resent her for what she did?"

"No." He answers, a little too quickly, before rolling his shoulders and straightening his posture. "Maybe I should, maybe I should resent the fact I missed his childhood. I suppose I do, but I would never have had the life I've had otherwise."

"Figured I might still have the chance to be a dad, but would've never had the chances I did had I not joined the army."

The insight into John's mind is fascinating, intoxicating, even. It's hard to imagine him as anything other than a captain, even if father and family man suits him quite well too.

"You wouldn't have joined up if you'd known?" You ask, questions still tumbling out of you as curiosity about John leaks out of every pore.

"No." He pauses, pressing his hands into the counter. Finally, he looks at you with stormy, emotion-filled eyes. "Would've stayed, married her. Done the right thing." It looks like it pains him to admit it, as his brows furrow and his lips tighten.

"Wow. Must be weird seeing her now, knowing she could've been your wife." You probably shouldn't have said it aloud, but the thought of that different reality is so jarring to you that it slips before you can stop it.

"She's a stranger, really." He shrugs.

"A stranger you had sex with... once upon a time." You say, squinting as you try to imagine John and James's mum sharing anything beyond pleasant smiles and polite small talk.

"Barely." A dismissive scoff leaves him, as he picks up the wooden spoon and returns his attention to his cooking.

"Barely? What does that mean?"

"Well, it was only once, and even then... every man has to learn somehow, love." John says the words as if they're so casual, yet they cause heat to rush to your cheeks.

"Your son still hasn't learned at all." You say the words without thinking, a tinge of bitter resentment bursting through. "Sorry, fuck."

"S'fine." John tries his hardest to stifle the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips, practically throwing himself into grabbing bowls and cutlery to serve up the meal. "He really didn't know how to handle you, did he, love?"

Your chest seizes once more—guilt, indignation, amusement, confusion. There's a hope within you that when the dust is all settled, you'll end up with someone like John, someone who can treat you better.

"No, he didn't..." You admit weakly, before checking yourself. "Sorry, I think the pain and the blood loss are making me woozy. I'm gonna stop talking now."

John only smiles understandingly, eyes shining with mirth, as he passes you an oversized bowl filled with delicious spaghetti. He takes a seat beside you, knee knocking into yours as he makes himself comfortable— his warmth feeling too close for comfort and yet not close enough at all.

"Eat up, darling girl."

********

You and John finish up your meal in companionable silence, accompanied by the rest of the tracks on the current vinyl. As always, John's cooking leaves you full and satisfied, warm from the inside out.

Once more, you're banned from washing dishes and were only able to get on drying duty after begging John and pulling out your most convincing doe eyes. The night ended with you both turning in sooner than usual, in anticipation of John's departure the next morning.

Usually, you last saw John off when he came to visit you and James, putting on a brave face and wishing him well. You're thankful that with the new proximity, you can at least fret in the privacy of your new bedroom, away from John's worrying eyes—the last thing he needs to see before he leaves is your tear-stained cheeks.

Sleep doesn't come easily, as you toss and turn in bed and try not to think of being alone in the coming days, or the possibility of something happening to John.

When sleep finally does come, you wake in a panic—sweaty and dry-mouthed. The nightmare that plagued you is hard to recall, the only thing burning in your mind is the final scene. You have to flee into the night, and you're desperate to grab something to cover up with so you don't freeze to death—you can't find anything warm anywhere. The image quickly fades away as you blink your eyes open.

You roll over to the side of the bed, clutching your phone and practically burning your eyes when the screen blares into your corneas.

3:59. 16 minutes to your alarm.

With John's departure fast approaching, you throw yourself out of bed, grabbing your cardigan and wrapping it around yourself before you head in the direction of John's room.

The door is closed firmly, likely to quiet any noise he makes from rustling around in preparation. You knock lightly on the wood, waiting for John to call you in.

You step in, taking in John's appearance. It seems he decided to keep the outgrown facial hair after all, the fluffy beard leading down to the chest hair poking out from the top of a soft grey cotton tee.

The dog tags around his neck are the only nod to his upcoming deployment, as he leaves John behind and heads off to become Captain Price.

He smiles as soon as he sees you, though it doesn't escape your notice that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Hope I didn't wake you."

"Nah, can't sleep." You explain, as you make your way further into the room and perch yourself on the end of John's bed gingerly. "Figured I'd make you sick of me, so you're glad to be away."

You peer into the holdall that John's currently packing things into, inspecting his contents and mentally ticking items off a checklist.

"Don't think anything could make me glad of that, love." He frowns, pausing as he expertly folds a t-shirt and places it in his bag. "Especially at a time like this."

"I'll be fine." You say it for his sake, even if you don't entirely believe it. Your number one priority right now is sending him off with a smile.

As you spot one of his signature beanies poking out of a side pocket, you pluck it off the duvet and pull it over your bedhead. "Maybe I'll just run riot while you're gone, throw all your cigars in the bin, and steal every beanie you own."

That brings a smirk out of him, the worry clearing from his eyes. "Evil girl."

"Yeah, I'm a right menace." You confirm, a gleeful smile spreading across your face unrestrained.

Several things stand out to you in the bag or surrounding it—the sunglasses case, a tan-coloured rag, and John's beloved boonie hat. Your quick inspection gives you an insight into where John is headed—flip-flops again, you joke to yourself.

"Guessing you're off to some shitty desert then." You comment, not intending to pry any further.

"Feel like I never leave them." He notes—that wry smile returning to his face as he meets your gaze.

"Have you packed your sun cream?" You ask, half joking and half serious.

"Wouldn't hear the end of it if I didn't, hmm?" He chuckles knowingly, likely recalling the last time he came home with a sunburn and was met with your impassioned rant. He'd learned his lesson at least.

"And the moisturiser we got you for Christmas?"

"Already packed." He pats the toiletry bag on the bed, and you rush to pick it up, unzip it, and verify his claim.

"Lip balm?" You ask, peering up at him with a mischievous grin, just waiting for his reaction.

"Now you're just taking the piss."

You pull your beanie down low on your forehead, just as you've seen John wear it, then you cross your arms across your chest and drop your voice. "Sorry lads, cover my six, gotta get my Burts Bees on."

At that, he belly laughs. "I'd never live it down, and you wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

You rise from the bed, laughing with him, before you remove the beanie and reach up to place it over his head instead. "No, Captain." You whisper, grin bright.

"You're a handful, love." Despite his words, the fondness in his voice is clear as day.

You tap his cheek playfully before stepping away. "Well, fear not, like I said, you're rid of me for a little while."

"Desert doesn't seem so bad now you mention it." John rolls his eyes playfully, before turning to add the final items and zipping up the bag beside him.

"Have you got everything you need?" You ask, instinct taking over as you begin to fret over ensuring everything is perfect for John's departure.

"I do know how to pack for myself, but if you want me to humour you..." John's hands fall to the zip, ready to tear the bag open if it would rid you of the concerned frown growing on your face.

You back away, hands raised. Point taken, you think to yourself. "I'm used to fussing, okay."

"You and me both." He nods, then shoulders the bag and gestures for you to head out of the room.

You lead the way like heading up a death march, slow gait and head lowered, knowing what's to come. With each step, a sense of dread grows within you. John is leaving, and there's seemingly an unspoken agreement between you both that something about this time feels more severe.

When you both reach the door, John shrugs on his sherpa-lined jacket, ties up his boots, and stands as he summons up the nerve to leave.

Once again, a half-hearted smile graces his face, as he reaches out to rub at your arm. "I'll call you when I'm headed back from base, yeah?"

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to bead in your eyes, once more putting on a brave face. The mention of his call makes your mind flicker to your usual routine.

"Will you be going to see—"

"No love. I'll be coming straight home." He interrupts, squeezing you before withdrawing as if it burns to touch you.

"Stay safe, John." You whisper, the words you say every time coming easily. You swear to yourself that the words act as protection, or at least, you hope they do.

"Always, love." He nods, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to your forehead. Then, he opens the door and steps over the threshold. "Anything you need, I'll get back to you when I can, yeah?"

"Yeah." You nod, struggling to get out even a word as your throat tightens.

"See you soon, darling girl." He calls out, and you watch him until his truck pulls out of the street and off toward danger.

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #call of duty x reader #nobody does it like you do #call of duty fanfiction #spotify

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vaporwavebeach-writes · 2 months ago

Text

Ghost Story

BTAA Scarecrow x Reader

Summary: After a drug deal, you two watch A Christmas Carol (and make out)

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Enjoy this late as BALLS Christmas post 😭😭 Merry LATE Christmas @tr4sh-pl4nt I was ur secret Santa (nobody is surprised)

Despite the cloudy skies and flurries of snow, a soft reflection of the frost outside streams a bit of light into the office as you pull back the blinds. The sidewalks and alleys are empty- nary a car on the street. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought you were in Silent Hill rather than Gotham City. There’s nothing but grey, blistery, snowy solitude. This was good. With nobody around, this was sure to be an easy buy.

“Something on your mind?” He pipes up.

Snapping the shade back into place, you look back to see that he’s found the stash. In a small, plastic bag, the pills are on the desk. “No, I’m all good.”

He clicks his tongue with a wry grin. “If it’s the cops you’re worried about, don’t be. There’s gonna be a huge storm tonight- I doubt the pigs would leave the barn; freezing their butts off to go after a low-life like you.”

“Low-life? Look who’s talking,” You glare, making your way over to the desk. “Scarecrow.”

As your hand goes to reach for the pills, his thin fingers come into view, sliding the bag back.

“You fuck. I already payed.” Your eyes stare daggers into his clinical gaze. There’s a knowing smirk on his face and you brace yourself for whatever psychological games he decides to play with you now.

“Look,” he slides the bag off the desk and in between his slender fingers, as if dangling it just out of reach. “I’m not dumb enough to mess with a tweaker and their drugs, but humor me for a moment, won’t you?”

“You have five seconds to give me my-”

“Have you ever seen A Christmas Carol?” He’s completely unfazed by the threat, pulling out a DVD copy of the film.

“What?” Any aggression from within you begins to dissipate, turning into utter bewilderment.

“A Christmas Carol,” he repeats. “Y’know, a grizzled, selfish old miser who is haunted by three spirits who represent the ever-changing stages of his life? How each journey into his past, present, and future make him reevaluate the way he lives his life and treats others and learns the true meaning of Christmas?”

“Yeah, I know, I know.”

“Well forget it.” He slides the DVD into the video player, watching it click into place. “Sure, it’s a classic holiday tale, but it’s so much more than that.” He springs up, flicking off the lights. “It’s a horror story.”

The blue glow from the old television illuminated the office as it came to life with some static and a startling pop. You began to wonder how old that damn thing was until you found yourself standing alone with Crane on the empty couch. Although the room was dark, you could feel Dr. Crane’s piercing gaze beckoning you over. Hesitantly, you sit on the other end of the couch.

As the film begins, the Disney logo catches your eye. “Horror story my ass…” you mutter.

“What was that?” He quips, wondering how he heard you.

“Horror story my ASS.” You annunciate clearly. Shifting in your seat you turn to him. “A Disney movie? You refuse to give me my shit for this?” You laugh bitterly.

“Oh,” he chuckles darkly. “You really don’t have any idea of what we’re about to get into, do you?”

“What the fuck on God’s green earth are you talking about?”

“Scoff all you want,” he grins, turning down the volume. “This version of the film truly captures the true essence of fear better than its other iterations. Narratively speaking, the film remains pretty faithful to the original novella by Charles Dickens, which obviously is something to be expected from any adaptation, but it’s especially crucial here to really showcase the specific fears of the time.”

“Well yeah it might be accurate, but doesn’t everyone collectively agree that this one sucks?” You reply. “I mean, look at the creepy ass mocap, it’s literally the same shit as the Polar Express-”

“Oh right!” He shifts excitedly. “The visuals only contribute to terror! Sure, motion capture gets a bad rap because it’s a little off-putting, but it really works in a film like this- perfectly seasoned with that uncanny valley effect. It really adds to the flavor of dread.”

“Whatever man,” you scoff. “It’s just some story about an old man.” You turn your attention back to the movie, straining to listen to the low volume despite Jonathan’s chatter.

He clears his throat. “An old man- who you may find, has far similar fears to you than you may think.”

You cock your head to the side, turning to him. “You callin’ me an old man?”

The sound of his laughter fills your ears. “Oh no, not at all.” He wipes a tear from his eye. “It’s just so painfully human.”

“Human?”

“Scrooge isn’t taught redemption, he’s simply being driven by fear.” He leans back on the couch. “The ghosts don’t just visit him to bring awareness to his cold heart, but they dismantle him- tearing away layers and layers of his psyche until there’s nothing left but his raw fear. It’s fascinating, really. How the fear completely reshapes his attitude in the waking world.”

You find yourself leaning back as he moves his way closer to you, only to be caught by the end of the couch.

“And you wanna know what the real scary thing is? It’s the fact that we could all end up just like him- Alone. Forgotten. Unloved. It’s a common fear that drives us all, isn’t it? The fear of abandonment? Being left behind.” You can feel the heat radiating from his body with every word spoken.

You blink, at a loss for words. It’s starting to feel all too real. “I,” you stutter. “I’m not sure what this has to do with me.”

“Oh, but it has everything to do with you.” His voice is low, as you feel yourself be closed in. “That invisibility,” he lets the words linger on his tongue. “Something that most people prefer to ignore, but it’s still there isn’t it? Lurking.”

His eyes stare within the confines of your soul. You look away from his prying eyes, but you can still feel his gaze on you like a searchlight.

You can feel your chin between his fingers as he gently forces you to look at him. “I think this little arrangement we have- these little meetings, it’s more than just a drug deal isn’t it? I think you want more than just drugs.”

Suddenly the office didn’t feel so chilly anymore. The closeness of his breath on the shell of your ear made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He’s right. You do want more.

Your hands slide up his long arms, feeling the fabric of his shirt beneath your palms. Resting your fingers on his shoulders, you pull him closer. You speak up, words barely a whisper. “So, you gonna give me my drugs or not?”

“I’d thought you’d never ask.” A knowing grin graces his silhouetted frame.

Pulling the bag from his pocket, he opens the seal, taking out a small, ghost-shaped tablet and places it on his tongue. At first you were confused as to why he was breaking into your stash until you felt the harsh press of his lips against yours.

Pulling him closer into you, you allow your hands to slip under his shirt, feeling his flesh on your fingertips. In turn, he runs his hand through your hair while the other snakes its way down your spine, cradling the small of your back. His grip is firm, fingers digging into you, showing no sign of letting go.

Quickly, he nips at your lower lip. As you whine at sting, you fall victim to his plan when he slips his tongue into your mouth. You can feel him transfer the tablet to you, swallowing it down with his guidance. In retaliation, you sink your nails into the skin of his back, feeling him hiss into the kiss as he pulls away with a chuckle.

Breathless from the kiss, he wraps an arm around you. “Maybe this will help you understand Scrooge’s fear.” He grabs the remote, adjusting the film’s volume back to normal.

At this point you could give less of a shit about the movie. You allow yourself to fall into Jonathan’s side. You’re not sure if it’s from the pill or the kiss as you let yourself be overtaken by the waves of euphoria and adrenaline.

#btaa scarecrow #btaa scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane smut #scarecrow x reader #batman the audio adventures #batman rogues x reader #jonathan crane #batman rogues smut #mia writes batman!!!

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azzumei · 1 year ago

Note

Hey 👋, I'm not sure if your requests are open, if not you can ignore this, but ANYWAY. I seen your Mash hcs and I fell even more IN LOVE with him, so I was wondering if you could do some night routine/cuddling before bed with Mash (fem preferred but can be any gender if you want) thx and LOVE YOU LOTS ❤️❤️❤️

A/N: AHHH IM SO SORRY I DIDNT NOTICE THIS!!!! hs caught up to me oh my god!! anyways, sorry if this is such a short ramble:(

++ warnings: none, (physical touch maybe?)

++ genre: fluff, obviously

he munched on his creampuff that probably sat in his jacket for these 7, long hours in the academy. he sighed, wondering what else he could do. you, popped up in his mind. you were just reading away in your dorm, as your roommate was nowhere to be seen for the past week. mash, decides to barge into your room- you yelped, scolding him for startling you and breaking the door yet again. he apologized with that soft, yet steep voice. he yawned, placing back the probably about to fall apart door- and walking over to you, slumping on top of you. ''what are you doing?'' you murmured, your gaze wandering around his face. he mumbled something incoherent, wrapping his well-trained arms around your waist, closing his eyes. the sunset seeping out from the window. you took off his cloak, placing it beside the two of you. before adjusting your position to both of you being parallel or facing eachother. he hummed, his honey gaze looking over to your features, wondering how he could understand you more, how to be a better partner. how to keep you without any arguments. he truly loved you, so so much. and as the hours passed, the two of you slept in the warm room. soft snores filling it. his hold tight, but not enough to make you uncomfortable. his head buried into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent.. this may happen again.

#mashle x reader #mash burnedead #imagines #mashle #travellingvstar☆#mashle: magic and muscles #mash x reader #men #anime #manga

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aro-of-argentum · 3 days ago

Text

Red Dahlia- Chapter 5

WC: 5,353

Notes: We're starting to get into the longer chapters now, Reader gets a new present, more Marcy content, Alfred is a good grandpa, Motorcycle date, no major warnings, spooky suspense right at the end

Beta'd by: @teaspacebar

Previous Chapter, Masterlist, Next Chapter

Chapter 5:

It had only taken two days for Alfred to get his request together.

“Master Jason,” Alfred addressed the younger man as he strode into the kitchen.

“Hey, Alfred, are they ready?”

He nodded in response as he handed over the box, “Two identical geolocation bracelets with proximity indicators, not tracked by any of the computers in the cave.”

The smile on Jason’s face only grew as he opened the small case.

“I’ve taken the liberty of having them adorned with your symbol,” Alfred continued. “They’re themed in your colors, and both recharge with body heat, so as long as they are being worn, they will not die.”

“Excellent. And-”

“And no one knows they exist but you and I.”

Jason nodded, appreciation woven into his features. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course, Master Jason.” The man began moving around the kitchen, collecting supplies to make tea. “Am I allowed to ask who these belong to?”

“Well, one of them is mine,” Jason answered, clearly trying to avoid the question.

“Yes, of course,” he responded, tone neutral as ever. “And the other?”

“A friend.”

Alfred watched as Jason’s stare lingered on the bracelets, a smile just beginning to pull at the corners of his mouth. The young man was clearly lost in thought about something that made him truly happy.

“The same friend who now owns the Red Hood mug you purchased last week?”

Jason’s head popped back up, eyes wide like a child who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His cheeks faintly blushed. He hesitated slightly before giving his answer, “Yes…”

“And does this person know of your hobbies?”

“She only knows about my hobbies.”

Alfred nodded. “Very well. I’m glad you like them, Master Jason.”

“Please, can we just go for one drink?”

“Marce, I’m exhausted. I do not want to get dressed up and go back outside.” You had worked a 10-hour day, and Marcy, the wonderful scrub nurse that she was, had picked up someone else’s shift, and worked a 14. “How are you even still standing?”

“Far too much caffeine.” Her tone was matter-of-fact as she stood up straight and made a mocking expression of pride. She deflated a bit before continuing, “Can we do a movie night or something at least? I feel like we haven’t hung out in forever.”

“Sure, that sounds like fun. But!” You jumped to smother her loud and immediate excitement. “I need to go home and get different clothes, shower too. I smell like work.”

She waved you off as the pair of you continued toward the staff lounge your lockers were in. “Oh, that’s fine. Do you want me to drive you?”

“No, I can walk like I always do. Why don’t you do a food run and then come get me?” You offered, needing your walk home to decompress.

“You think my snack run is going to take that much time?” She questioned.

You squinted, turning toward her as you pushed through the door of the staff lounge. “Doesn’t it always by the time you’ve picked the perfect ‘on-theme’ dinner, snacks, and wine?”

She gasped. “I’ve been perceived in a way I don’t like. But I suppose you’re right.” She grabbed her bag from her locker as you opened yours. “I’ll come pick you up when I’m done. And it’s not too late so you should be fine walking, yeah?”

Your attention was drawn to the little envelope you found in your locker with your name written on it in a familiar script. You did your best to respond like you had been paying attention, “Yeah, that’s fine…” You reached for the capsule and found it had some weight to it. You didn’t notice Marcy had continued speaking.

“…listening? I asked what kind of-” Her sentence died in her throat as her gaze landed on you. “What’s that?”

“Oh! Um,” You startled.

An even bigger gasp left her. “You were having a moment! Is that from a secret boyfriend of something?” She said casually, entirely dismissing the idea to herself as soon as it came out of her mouth.

“Shh! Marcy!” You yelled in a hush.

She let out another dramatic gasp, though quieter this time. “Oh my god, it is!” An excited smile crossed her face as she insisted, “Well, open it!”

“Okay, okay, give me second,” Your nerves spiked at what could possibly be in here, and the fact that you were about to open it with an audience. You pulled apart the seal of the envelope and turned it over with your other hand beneath the opening. Out slid a bracelet made of black chord, with two blood red metal beads on each side of the center disc. Your jaw dropped slightly in surprise at the gift as you examined it further. Flipping it over revealed a line-work dahlia flower in the face of the gun metal circle. Is this what he meant the other night?

“It looks like one of those companion bracelets, here.” She reached toward the disc and pressed on the face of it. It lit up with a soft glow for a couple of seconds before fading. “Now wait,” She instructed, clearly excited to see the result of her experiment.

You hadn’t expected anything until you saw it light back up, neither of you having touched it. Your shock was still written all over your expression when the other woman spoke up again.

“Aw!” Marcy’s hands flew to her face in adored excitement. “He’s thinking about you too!” She reached for your hands, grabbing the bracelet from you, and when you flinched and reached for it, she was quick to calm you. “Relax, which wrist?” She offered the bracelet, opened now, back out to you.

“Oh, here,” You presented your left wrist and Marcy slid the chord around your hand before tightening it to a comfortable degree.

“It’s adorable, and he clearly he’s been paying attention enough to know your favorite flower.”

“Yeah,” a smile replaced your shock, the heat of a blush creeping up the back of your neck at the thought that the Red Hood had at some point figured out you preferred dahlias.

Marcy scooched in close to you and smiled conspiratorially at you, wagging her eyebrows. “Are you going to tell me about him or what?”

You huffed a laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine. Have your secrets, but I’ll find out eventually.” She turned away from you in time to miss the bracelet glow again briefly. “Let’s get going. It’s early enough we could probably watch two movies if we want. Maybe start a series. You’ll tell me more when you’re tired.”

You shook your head good-naturedly. “I won’t, but okay.” It only took a moment for you to grab the rest of your things before the two of you were headed toward the front doors of the hospital. You looked down to your wrist again and noticed the glow pulse again, though for a shorter time than before. As you continued to walk, you and your friend kept your heads down, knowing that if anyone saw you, they’d stop you for something. While your gaze was on the floor, you couldn’t help but notice that your bracelet’s light was pulsing faster, each time maintaining the soft brightness, but showing for shorter times, with shorter breaks. Worried it would catch someone’s attention, you turned it inward and jammed your hands into your pockets. Once you were outside, Marcy pulled you to the side.

“Okay, so the plan is for me to go get food and wine, while you go home and get cleaned up. Then, I’ll come get you and take us back to mine for movies, yeah?”

“Yep, sounds good.” You nodded as you spoke.

“Excellent, see you soon!” And she bounded away.

The moment she was gone, you pulled your hand from your pocket and looked to the inside of your wrist where the light was now rapidly blinking. “What?” You whispered to yourself, barely audible. Just when you were about to try tapping again to see if something was wrong, you saw the white light disappear, and in its place, still a soft glow, was Red Hood’s blood red insignia. No sooner than you’d seen it, you looked up to the rooftops, and found him, for just a moment, looking down at you. You smiled, and in a blink, he was out of sight, but the glowing symbol on your wrist told you he was there for your entire walk home.

The routine became standard procedure for Jason. He volunteered to be out on patrol more often, and if the bracelet (tucked under the edge of his glove for safekeeping) lit up, he was at the hospital in minutes. Sometimes it was near the beginning of his shift, sometimes it was later, but anytime you walked home after dark, he was there, and now you had proof of that. There were even nights that you would put a headphone in and rant, trying to make it look like you were on the phone, as you talked into thin air about your day. He always listened. It didn’t interfere with his regular patrols as long as he didn’t stick around once you’d made it inside your apartment, so no one noticed anything had changed.

It was the nights that he wasn’t supposed to be on patrol, but went out anyway, that drew attention.

“Master Jason,” Alfred announced himself by calling after the younger man.

Jason froze, half dressed in his uniform, one foot in the air as he was tying the laces on his boot. “Yes, Alfred.”

“I apologize, I thought you had the evening off.” Alfred gave him a knowing look. “Was there a last-minute substitution?”

No, and Alfred knows that. “Uh…” He hesitated and turned toward the doorway the older man stood in, setting his foot down. “No.”

Alfred nodded. “Mhmm. So where is it that you plan to go in your costume this evening?”

“I have to go make sure a friend gets home from work.”

“Your normal patrol route is well covered by masters Tim and Cassandra.”

It’s not the same. “I just-” Jason’s thought was cut off by the glow from his wrist in an otherwise dark room.

“Ah. That friend.” Alfred’s smirk was almost perfectly professional, but there was a hint of victory in it.

“Alfred, I need to go.” He was almost pleading. “And no one-”

“I am aware you do not wish to share your activities with the others. What I care about is your safety.” Alfred remained firmly planted in the door as Jason approached, the younger man’s clear advantage in size doing nothing to deter him.

Jason relented with a sigh. “I am being careful, and safe, I promise. I just-” Jason’s face and hands clenched as he struggled to come up with the words. But how could he possibly explain it? To any normal person, none of what he felt would make sense. “Alfred, she’s waiting for me.” The flashing light on his wrist seemed to assert itself as part of the conversation again, just to help Jason with his point.

“Very well,” Alfred side-stepped out of the doorway as he spoke. “Master Bruce plans to be home early this evening, if that should be factored into your plans.”

A small smile crept onto Jason’s face as he listened. “Thank you, Alfred.” He slid past the other man and made his way toward the garage, far faster than was appropriate indoors, but not quite a run. Once there, he zipped his jacket to cover the symbol on his chest, and pulled his motorcycle helmet on. He still wore the domino mask beneath the visor, but his Red Hood helmet was stashed in the bag on his back along with an extra set of riding gear. He grabbed a second helmet, one he was fairly certain would fit you, and left the garage. “I’m on my way,” he said out loud though he knew you couldn’t hear him.

He had noticed over the last 3 weeks that you’d grown more sure-footed on your journey home each night. Ever since the bracelet, you’d been visibly less scared of walking down the street, so sure that he would step in and protect you if you needed it. He’d also noticed that you always waited for him if he said he was coming. There had been times (only twice so far) that he’d been in the middle of a fight and unable to answer, that you’d walked home alone, but he always went to check on you later, and always found you safe at home. The rest of the time though, if he switched the bracelet to flash for proximity so you knew he was coming, you stayed at the hospital until he was there. It’s her safest option, the cynicism in him entered his thoughts. Why would she walk alone if she could have a guard dog following her. But there was something in him that hoped you felt differently.

You were concerned at first by how long the light indicated he was coming, but that he hadn’t started moving. The slow pulse of the light hadn’t sped up at all, and indicated he was still far away. A frown crossed your face. Normally he’s moving by now.

“What’s the matter?” Marcy asked. She was on break as you were clocking out, and you’d decided to spend the time with her. She was going back in soon though, which is why you’d activated the bracelet.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I’m just-”

Marcy caught you glance down to your wrist. “Oh, babes, has he not responded? I’m sure everything’s okay, he’s probably just busy.”

“Yeah. No, I know.” You looked down again and noticed the light pulsing significantly faster, he’d gotten a lot closer, and he’d done it quickly. “Okay, he’s coming.” The phrase was whispered on a breath of relief, not meant for anyone to hear, but the other woman caught it anyway.

“What!?” Marcy shrieked. “He’s coming here? Now?”

“No!” Shit. How were you going to explain this away. No, he wasn’t coming here, at least not in a way that would satisfy Marcy’s need for proof he was real. “No, Marcy that’s not-” but your sentence was cut off by the sound of an engine rumbling down the street.

It was a motorcycle, and when you looked at the rider, you saw him pull one hand from the bars to tap his other wrist, and the light on your bracelet went red. Your eyes went wide at the sight, and you crammed your hands into your pockets to hide the glowing Red Hood symbol on your wrist from the woman standing next to you, now almost bouncing with excitement.

“Is that him?” She had a death grip on your arm as she looked to you, just as shocked as you felt.

“Yeah, I uh,” You shrugged and gave an apologetic cringe as you spoke, “I didn’t think you’d still be out here when he got here.”

“Hey sweetheart,” The man spoke from under his helmet as he stopped in front of the two of you, “Sorry I’m late, I got caught up at the house.”

You huffed a laugh, so the plan was to act as normal as possible, okay. “It’s fine. I’m happy to see you.”

“Here,” he said as he pulled his backpack off and unzipped it, pulling out a second helmet, a pair of riding pants, a leather jacket, and gloves. “Get dressed.” He handed you the pants and jacket, both a little big, which you quickly pulled on over your scrubs. As you reached for the helmet, you heard Marcy’s throat clear behind you.

“Um, hi?”

“Right!” You turned, an anxiety covering your features in embarrassment of almost having forgotten she was standing there. “So, this is-”

“Marcy, right?” He interrupted you and reached his gloved hand out to shake hers. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“Oh, thanks,” She squinted at him skeptically. “Y/n hasn’t told me much about you.”

He laughed and nodded his head a little, “Yeah, that’s on me, I’m a pretty private person.” When he turned to you, your cheeks heated as you realized you’d been staring. He didn’t turn away from you, even as he continued speaking. “We actually have something to get to, so we need to get going.” He slid the helmet over your head and tilted your chin up to fasten the strap. “Feel okay?” He asked, his hand still on the bottom of your helmet by your jaw. You nodded and he turned back to Marcy. “It was nice to meet you.” There was a charm in his voice that you could tell wasn’t something he used regularly as Red Hood.

“Yeah, you too I guess.” She looked at you with wide eyes, seemingly impressed. “I’ll see you later?”

You pulled the gloves on, then took the backpack the man handed you and threw it over your shoulders, sliding onto the bike behind him before you looked back to Marcy. “Of course. Bye, Marce.” You gave her a little wave and watched as your friend returned inside, her break well over. You began to reach for the sides of the seat outside your legs, but your wrist was caught.

“Here,” he said, sliding your arm around his waist and waiting for you to do the same with the other. He squeezed his hand over both of yours before reaching back to the bar. “It’ll be easier for you to hold on like that. You ready?”

You heard his voice clear as day through the helmet and could only assume there was some kind of comm system in them. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

He took off slowly at first, to allow you time to get used to how it felt, and you squeezed your arms around him a bit tighter as the bike sped up once you were out of the hospital’s parking lot.

A comfortable silence stretched for a moment before you spoke. “You really laid it on thick back there.”

He tensed under your grasp. “Too much? I didn’t want your friend to think you were just getting on a bike with some stranger…” He hesitated slightly, “Though I guess you kind of did.”

“No, it was fine, I just would have participated more if I’d been prepared.” You flattened one of your hands out against the bottom of his sternum, “And I don’t think we’re strangers.”

He let out a light-hearted scoff. “Oh, and you know me so well.”

“I know you’d never hurt me.”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. “Never,” the word came out just above a whisper, but he knew you’d hear it. He met your hand on his chest with his own and for a moment he laced his fingers through yours but quickly pulled them away. He cleared his throat, trying to clear his mind, and found himself silently tankful for the helmet that would stop him from kissing your knuckles if he tried. “Do you want me to take you home, or do you want to go for a ride?”

He felt your head cock to the side against his back. “You’re not on patrol tonight?”

“No.”

“Then I’d love to go for a ride.”

Jason could hear the smile in your voice, and one quickly covered his face to match. “Yes ma’am.” When your apartment building came into view, it just as quickly passed, and he got onto the freeway to get out of the central part of the city. There was hardly any traffic at this time of night and an idea popped into Jason’s mind. “Hold tight, okay?”

“Okay?” You drew out the word, clearly nervous, and tightened your grip on him a bit.

“You ready?”

“Sure?”

Jason gunned it, and heard you yelp just before your entire torso crushed into his back, your arms like a vice around him. He leaned forward a bit himself as he wove around the occasional car, going far faster than he should have been. He even thought he heard you laughing a little as he sped down the road.

“Doing okay?” he asked, eyes still affixed to the road.

“I’m amazing!” You shouted back, laughter still embedded in your voice.

Jason could feel how you’d relaxed against him, though your grip was still tight, and he gradually slowed to the normal speed of traffic. He dropped his hand to cover yours where it sat against his abdomen and drew small patterns with his thumb over the back of your hand. “You okay to make a stop?”

“You’re driving, Red, I’ll go wherever.” And you meant it. You knew he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you, which meant you felt safe wherever he wanted to go.

It only took a few minutes for the two of you to get to the edge of the city, and you watched as the lights faded into the background. It was a little while longer before he eventually pulled the bike onto a side road and finally stopped in a small parking lot. It was an unlit lookout on the road that you suspected was meant to show off the water just over the cliffs during daylight hours.

“Can you see the water this late?” You asked, bringing your leg over the seat to stand on the ground.

He also dismounted and when you turned to look at him, he brought his hand to your chin again. “Not what we’re here for.” He titled your head up to direct your eyes to the sky. He quickly undid the strap of your helmet, and let you pull it off yourself to continue looking up.

“Wow,” you breathed the word, seeing stars for the first time in a long time with no light pollution to interfere. “It’s beautiful.”

Jason’s gaze stayed firmly on you as you stared up. “Yeah.”

“It’s been years since I’ve seen stars like this.”

“Don’t get out of the city often?”

You shook your head, “Never. And even when I lived in Star City, I didn’t… It always seemed like more trouble than it was worth.”

“I’m glad I got to bring you out here then.” He smiled, and you could hear it in his tone, though he hadn’t removed his helmet.

“Me too.” A smile stretched your face once more and you found yourself wondering how long it had been since you’d smiled this much. “Oh, hey,” A thought dawned on you as your gaze fell to your hands for a moment. “I have a couple questions for you.”

“Sure,” He leaned back slightly against the motorcycle as he responded, “go for it.”

You lifted your wrist so your bracelet was more in line of sight. “I think I have this figured out. I tap it and it lights up, you tap yours and it starts flashing, the flashes get faster the closer you are, and then when you’re nearby you tap it again and mine turns red.”

He listened intently and nodded along as you spoke. “All true, what’s your question?”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

He bobbed his head to the side and back before fully turning toward you. “Well, for one, it works both ways.” He brought his wrist up to be level with yours, and you noticed that it was identical to yours, including the engraved dahlia on the face. He tapped the disc on his and you saw both bracelets light up with the soft white glow. “Now if you tap to acknowledge it, they’ll start flashing for proximity,” the bracelets did exactly as he said they would when you tapped yours; they both were flashing rapidly in sync. “And again?” You did as he asked and watched them both light up with his symbol.

Jason saw your smile when you noticed the bracelets matched in appearance and function, and his heart skipped in his chest. He’d make you smile like that forever if he could. “Oh, and,” He started, remembering the other function he’d yet to show you. “Turn the face of the disc clockwise,” He waited until you’d done it and a basic map appeared in hologram just above the disc, a single red dot displayed just off the road. “That’s us.” He pointed vaguely toward the small projection. “It’ll show up as two separate marks when we aren’t together.”

Your smile dropped slightly as your expression turned to one of pestering with a single cocked eyebrow. “So, you can see my location whenever then?”

“No, no, no,” The repeated words came out so fast they almost blended together. “They only show up when the bracelets are activated. So, unless you call for me, no, I can’t see where you are.”

“But if yours is active, then I can see where you are too?” A mischievous grin crossed your features. “Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose of having a secret vigilante base?”

“I am trusting that this isn’t going to come back and bite me in the ass.” Jason’s tone softened slightly as he saw your smile return to something more genuine and you nodded. “And besides, the tracker would only pick up so far as the entrances, anything further in gets its signal blocked.”

“There it is.” You chuckled to yourself. “That sounds more like the broody gang of Gotham’s heroes.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Always with the “hero” thing.”

“When you decide to retire from saving people just because you can, then we’ll talk.”

He’s not a hero. “You do know I’ve killed people, right?”

You turned your entire body to face him. “Innocent people?”

“No…”

“Then it doesn’t change anything.”

He sighed, truly not knowing what to say. He wasn’t a good person. He hadn’t been for a long time. So, what would happen when you figured that out and didn’t want anything to do with him anymore?

“So, do vigilantes have a curfew when they aren’t on patrol?” You chose to avoid the word “hero” since it had seemed to strike a nerve.

Jason pulled himself from his thoughts to answer, “Not those of us that are adults.” He looked down at his watch and found it read after 1 am. If Batman was calling it an early night, then he’d be home any time now, and Jason needed to beat him there if he wanted to avoid any questions. “We do probably need to head back though.”

You nodded as you reached for your helmet where it sat on the back of the bike. “Right, it’s easy to forget sometimes that the Robins have all been kids.” You shook your head before sliding the helmet on. “I feel like there should be rules against that. No ten-year-old needs to be out all night throwing themselves into the line of fire for a grown man, just to get up and go to school the next morning.”

He only watched you struggle with the strap of your helmet for a moment before he reached to fix it for you. “Well, the current robin is more than capable, but I’m sure I could let him know how you feel if you’d like.”

“Hey, Red?”

“Hm?” He tilted your head back down to look at him.

“Do you like working with Batman?” You asked cautiously.

You heard him exhale through the helmet as he considered the question. “There is a long and very complicated answer to that, which I would love to give you after I’ve had more time to think about it.”

You nodded, accepting the answer as being what he could give you right now.

“You ready to go?”

“Almost,” you responded. “I just have one more question. What’s in the bag?” You used your thumb to point to the backpack still on your shoulders.

“My other helmet.”

“Ah.” You nodded a little. “Always have to be prepared, huh?”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Always.”

The ride home was comfortable, and mostly quiet. You clung tightly to Red Hood for the entire drive, even in slower areas where it wasn’t as necessary. He spent almost the entire time driving one-handed, as his other hand rested over the top of yours, always tracing patterns with his thumb. It made your heart race, and you were worried that he might have been able to feel it through the back of his jacket, but he made no mention of it either way. You couldn’t explain how you’d grown to trust the man so much, but you knew somewhere deep down that nothing bad could happen to you if he was around. You wanted nothing more in the world than to find a way to show him the same. That if he needed you, or even just wanted you to be around, to care for him or anything else, you would.

The drive back to your apartment was over far too soon, and you were stopped outside the building’s front door. You peeled yourself away and off the bike and began to fumble once again with the strap of the helmet.

Jason huffed at you, “Comere,” he made the “gimme” motion with his hands and once you were close enough, he undid the strap and let go of you. “You’re gonna have to learn to do this on your own at some point, Sweetheart.”

“Not if I always have you around to do it for me.” You shocked yourself with the comment that slipped out before you could stop it. He hummed appreciatively, and you were desperate for a change of subject as your face heated up. “Did you want me to put all of this back in your bag?” You asked, already pulling the gloves off.

“Sure,” he said with a soft nod. “I’ll keep it set aside for you. If you want this to be a regular thing though, we’re going to have to get something figured out that fits you a little better.” The comment was directed mostly at the pants, which you had sinched in as far as they’d go to get them to stay. It only took a moment for you to be back in just your normal clothes, riding gear handed off and put back in the backpack now in his hands.

“Agreed. But we can figure that out later.” You waited for him to sling the backpack onto his shoulders before you moved to hug him. The angle was a little awkward because he was still on the bike, but you didn’t let it break down the courage it had taken to do it. Your grip on him only tightened when you felt his arms wrap around you too. “Thank you, Red.” You knew your voice was muffled slightly by his jacket, but you hoped he’d hear you anyway.

“Of course,” His response was breathed on a sigh of relief as he held you.

When the hug broke, you brought a hand up to the side of his riding helmet briefly, bidding him goodnight before you turned to go inside.

Jason found himself stuck for a moment. He waited until you were in the elevator before he made any attempt to right himself and get moving again. He was right. He had proof now, that you liked him as a person, not just a guard dog, and that you enjoyed his company. He couldn’t help the happiness and relief that washed over him, and he released a sigh that was half laughter and he hung his head for a moment to collect himself. You’d hugged him so tight, and on the drive you’d clung to him, you had tried to comfort him. You cared for him; you’d even flirted. He smirked to himself and picked his head back up, straightening himself out before starting the bike again and rolling out.

Jason had been so distracted that he failed to notice the silhouette of another vigilante watching the entire encounter from the rooftop across the street.

Tag List: @4rachn3, @lettucel0ver

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd #red hood #batfam #Jason is lowkey losing his mind over how you let him touch you casually #He's somehow convinced you couldn't possibly like him while simultaneously being so desperate for you to like him #Enter “Sweetheart” as the reader's nickname

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captainsophiestark · 1 year ago

Text

A Much-Needed Vacation

Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Summary: Elijah Mikaelson is often up to his neck in vampire business and drama, especially when his brother's around to add more. Fortunately, he has someone in his life who can make him take a break when he needs it.

Word Count: 1,703

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Hey babe, do you want some coffee?"

I poured myself a mug, waiting to hear a response from my husband, Elijah Mikaelson. When the silence stretched on with no answer, I turned, a concerned frown on my face. I found Elijah right where I'd left him, hunched over papers at the table in the study.

"'Lij? Hello?"

Still, he didn't stir. I moved closer, waiting for him to look up at me, but he just kept his gaze locked on the papers before him. I could see his lips moving, mumbling to himself about whatever nonsense he was pouring over. With all the drama and difficulty his family kicked up or got thrown into in this town, it was hard to keep track.

I was about to tap his shoulder and, if that didn't work, shake him, but before I could his phone rang. He startled, his attention finally shooting up, and glanced at the caller ID before picking up.

"Niklaus. What is it?"

I huffed and rolled my eyes. No doubt, this would be some other world-ending problem that absolutely could not be taken care of without Elijah's full attention. I absolutely loved my husband and his family, but sometimes, they were well and truly ridiculous.

After a few moments of intense conversation, Elijah hung up and set the phone on the table with a sigh. He leaned back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair before turning to me. In all the time I'd known him, I'd never seen him look so absolutely exhausted.

"I'm sorry, my love. Were you trying to ask me something?"

I frowned, chewing on my lip as I took the seat next to Elijah. He took my hand in his, attention now fully on me, as I scanned his lined face.

"I'd ask if everything is okay, but I feel like I know the answer."

Elijah sighed again and shook his head.

"It's always some new problem in this city. At least this time Niklaus isn't asking me to do anything, yet. I just need to make sure he doesn't dig himself a hole he can't get out of while I'm not looking."

I watched Elijah carefully as he took his breather, staring at the table and all the papers spread out before him. He looked exhausted, showing his thousand years of age for one of the first times I'd ever seen, and I hated to see him like this. Slowly, a plan started forming in my mind.

"'Lij... you said none of this is anything pressing you have to help with, right?"

"Not yet, at least."

I smiled, although Elijah didn't catch it. Probably for the best. He knew me well enough that it would tell him something was up.

"Okay. Then just wait here a second. I'll be back, and then we're going for a drive."

He turned his gaze to me now, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. I just beamed back at him.

"...What are you planning?"

"Guess you'll just have to wait and see!"

Without waiting for a response, I popped up from my seat and headed for the stairs. I could feel Elijah's eyes following me, but evidently he was too tired to actually get up and investigate what I was doing.

As soon as I reached our bedroom, I threw some clothes into a duffle bag for each of us, enough of everything we'd need for a few days. I paused long enough to quickly check my phone and, luckily, found us two seats on the next flight to Florida.

We didn't have much time to spare before the plane left, so I headed back downstairs with the bag over my shoulder, aiming for Elijah. He always took care of me, and now, I was going to do the same. He clearly needed a break, and I was going to make sure he got it.

"Alright, get up," I said, coming to a stop in front of my husband. "We're going for a drive."

He tore his eyes away from his papers to look me up and down, his eyes lingering on the bag on my shoulder. When our gazes met, he raised an eyebrow in question, but I just grinned at him in answer.

"I take it if I try to tell you I need to stay and work on this, you'll do everything in your power to make me get up and leave?"

"Oh yeah."

He sighed, but pushed back from the table anyway. He stood in front of me, close enough that we were almost chest to chest, and I know he didn't miss my heart speeding up a little at the closeness.

"Alright then. Let's go."

I got Elijah loaded up in the car, then started heading for the airport. I knew it wouldn't be long before he asked where we were going, but as far as I was concerned, I'd already gotten him to the point of no return.

Elijah didn't say much as we drove. He just watched the city go by around us, clearly trying to figure out where we were going. I could tell the moment it clicked as he inhaled deeply, then turned to me.

"Are you driving us to the airport?"

I just grinned.

Elijah shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. I just laughed.

"You clearly need a break, Elijah. As your loving partner and best friend, it's my job to make sure you take one. Especially when I know you, and I know you won't take one on your own."

Elijah just shook his head again, but when I glanced over at him I could see the smile growing on his face all the same.

"So, then... where are we going?"

"Somewhere nice and warm and relaxing, far from all this vampire bullshit."

****************

A few hours later, Elijah and I were stepping out of the airport and into the warm Florida sunshine. I'd booked us a hotel on the beach, and after a quick pause to drop off our bags and change into swimsuits, Elijah and I were walking hand in hand down the beach with our feet in the Atlantic ocean.

"I think we need to do this more often," I mused as we strolled. Elijah took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, a smile remaining on his face as he looked at me.

"I agree. And thank you for organizing this, today. Sometimes it can be hard to leave in the middle of... everything my brother gets involved in."

"I know," I said, giving him a small smile and nudging his shoulder with mine. "But that's what I'm here for. What kind of spouse would I be if I didn't return the favor when you made me put down the books and study guides every once in a while when I got a little too intense at school?"

Elijah chuckled, pulling me a little closer to him and moving to wrap his arm around my shoulders instead. He kissed my temple and we came to a stop, Elijah and I facing each other. I beamed up at him, leaning in closer for a real kiss, when I was interrupted by the sound of Elijah's ringtone.

We both scowled in sync, Elijah sighing before reaching for his phone. I raised an eyebrow at him and he shot me an apologetic look, but a glance at the caller ID had him picking up anyway. Klaus, again.

"Niklaus, what-"

This time, I couldn't take it. I cut Elijah off as I snatched the phone out of his hand, holding it to my own ear instead.

"Hey Nik! Is this a life and death emergency?"

"What? No, it's a matter of keeping this town in check. Now put my brother back on the phone."

"No. He needs a break, so he's on forced vacation for the next forty-eight hours. We'll be back on Monday morning, but in the meantime, consider Elijah's phone off. And I swear Nik, if you call him again, I will hurl this phone into the depths of the ocean where it will never be found again."

I heard Klaus take in a deep breath, the likes of which I only heard before he launched into some threatening tirade, but I'd known him long enough that I wasn't about to let it get to me.

"Nik, you know me. I don't put my foot down like this often, and I even help you guys with your power brokering bullshit when I can. But this time, I'm not budging. Elijah needs a break, and I need to see my husband outside of when we're threatening other New Orleans factions. You can give us two days."

Silence on the other end of the line. Elijah and I made eye contact as he raised an eyebrow at me. I just shrugged, and a second later, I heard a low growl from Nik.

"Fine. You get two days. But if I don't see you on Monday morning-"

"Don't worry! You will."

With that, I hung up and slipped the phone into my own pocket, with a grin at Elijah. Not many people could get away with hanging up on the Big Bad Wolf himself, but I'd been a part of the Mikaelson family for long enough that I could. Elijah shook his head at me, but he had a gigantic smile on his face nonetheless.

"I don't think I'll ever tire of you doing that to my siblings," he said. I grinned, then leaned in for a quick kiss. Elijah wrapped his arms around me, following after me as I pulled away.

"I hope you know I meant what I said about hurling your phone in the ocean if Nik calls you again."

"Oh, I know. But a phone is a small price to pay for a weekend like this, with you."

"I'm glad you agree."

I gave Elijah a little smirk as he wrapped his arms tighter around me, slowly closing the distance between us again. I didn't hesitate to help him, losing myself in our kiss as the waves splashed gently against my calves. I was going to make the most of this little peaceful haven Elijah and I had made, for as long as I possibly could.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

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httpiastri · 8 months ago

Note

🍈 touch prompts: one leaning their head onto the other's shoulder suddenly and they just freeze

would you do friends to lovers with fred vesti? if you don’t write for him, then any of the older f2 drivers- like arthur or mick or dennis :)

🍈 – send me a driver and a prompt from this list of hugging prompts, these touch starved prompts, or these kiss prompts, and i will write a short blurb for you!!

author's note: waaaah first time writing for fred !!! hope u enjoy <3<3

3k celly !!

frederik vesti x reader (ft mick schumacher, jack doohan & arthur leclerc)

"are you guys nearly done yet?"

jack leans out through the window of the car, a hand raised in the air as a further complaint to the two idiots attempting to carry several full bags of groceries in their arms. "yeah, calm down!" mick yells back, right before he stops for a second to laugh his ass off as he watches arthur runs back towards the car, a few oranges spilling out of the bag and onto the ground.

jack lets out a loud groan, pulling the key out of the ignition before jumping out of the car to go pick up the scattered fruits. "great idea to let the two of them handle the grocery shopping…" fred almost startles you when he speaks up, but his gentle voice quickly lulls you back into the soft state of mind you were in just moments ago. "who even came up with that?"

"no idea," you say with a shrug, tilting your head slightly towards him. and when your eyes meet his, it's suddenly like he becomes especially aware of how close you're sitting. with you in the middle seat, your arms touching ever so slightly, and your thigh still resting slightly against his despite the fact that you have more space now ever since mick left the seat on your other side.

fred blinks down at you for a few moments, mind completely blank except for the scent of your perfume and how cute you look with that little lock of hair that's fallen into your face. it takes every single ounce of self-control in his body not to brush it out of your face, let his fingers trace along your features, his touch lingering across your skin…

instead, he clears his throat, looking out through the window to his side again. jack and arthur are seemingly having some type of showdown – what it's over, he truly can't tell – and fred shakes his head. "we only have like an hour left," he mutters. "can't they just hurry up?"

you hum, letting your eyes flutter closed. "i'm so tired," you say, not able to hold back a yawn.

then, fred feels a weight on his shoulder. it takes him a few moments to realize what's going on, but when he does, he freezes. is that… what he thinks it is?

when he hears your soft sigh from right below his ear, it's confirmed for him. you're resting your head on his shoulder, likely with your pretty eyes shut and your little lips slightly parted. his best friend, the girl he's been crushing on for ages, using him as a pillow…

on the outside, fred looks cool as a cucumber. but on the inside? he's never felt this jittery before.

when arthur jumps into the car singing some random pop song after having dumped the groceries in the back, fred shoots him a deathly glare – or, as much as he can manage from over your head – and the older seems to get the hint, hands rising in defense. "sorry," arthur starts, putting up a defensive finger in mick's face when he gets into the seat next to you. "don't slam the door now, mick. fred will attack you for waking his sleeping beauty."

the danish man just rolls his eyes at his friends' antics, letting himself rest back against the seat as everyone settles in the car again.

just a few moments ago, he was wishing the last hour before you arrive at your destination would just be over already. but now, he wishes you could both stay in this position forever.

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pendingnomdeplume · 1 month ago

Text

i love the nightlife pairing: hozier x transmasc!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: First Meetings, Hook-Ups, Blow Jobs, Fingering words: 6.8k note: there is no language regarding AFAB anatomy in this fic. cocks and holes abound.

[Read it on AO3]

title from I Love the Nightlife by Alicia Bridges divider by: sylusz

Clubs have never really been your thing.

Getting drunk in a loud, dark, moderately humid building packed with people isn’t exactly your idea of a good time. You much prefer a glass of whiskey in the comfort of your favorite spot on your couch, usually coupled with a book or another re-watch of The Sopranos. You like boring. You thrive in the safe and mundane.

Yet, here you are, braced against the bar top at a local gay club that advertises $5 well drinks on Thursday nights. You shout your drink order to a handsome gentleman with an enviable mustache and the tightest black tank top you’ve ever seen. He hands you a slightly overpoured whiskey with a wink and a purposeful brush against your hand.

As your face burns in embarrassment, you decide that maybe now is the time to head outside and get some air. You’ve already lost your roommate, Mason, who fucked off to chat up a silver fox of a bear with a leather vest and a pelt of chest hair unlike anything you’ve ever seen. You’re impressed and also a little envious that your own chest hair isn’t quite as robust.

With Mason otherwise occupied (despite the fact that he pleaded with you to come out tonight), you wander out to the patio where the music doesn’t reverberate through your chest. It’s a lovely, mild spring evening, a fresh breeze lapping at your overheated skin and cooling the sheen of sweat on your forehead.

You beeline for the empty table located in a far corner, collapsing into the chair and sinking into it as you let out a long sigh. A glance at your phone tells you that it’s only 11 PM, and the party inside hasn’t even truly started yet. It’s an easy choice to stay out here and eavesdrop on the conversations of strangers rather than go back inside and be wildly overstimulated.

Worst case scenario, you’re taking a taxi back to your flat without your roommate in tow. You have his location on your phone, and you figure that he’s a big boy who can make his own choices, no matter how dumb and misguided.

“Are you hiding out, as well?”

The voice startles you, and you whip around to meet hazel eyes through thick-rimmed glasses, and a soft, pretty smile. This man looks like he’s been ripped straight from your fantasies—tall and lanky with dark curls that frame his face. His denim jacket is decorated with pins of different musicians and pop culture references, only some of which you understand. His denim jeans are a near perfect match in color to the jacket, and his tucked in t-shirt reveals a black belt with a silver buckle.

For the last 20 minutes or so, you’ve noticed this gentleman hovering in your periphery. With every glance, you’d catch his gaze for only a moment before he quickly turned to look away. Slightly unnerving given his unknown intentions, but this man looks at you almost reverently now as he grabs your attention.

You let out a little laugh and nod. “Yeah, my roommate…he dragged me out here just to abandon me after ten minutes.”

The man hums in amusement. “Ah, that sounds familiar. It’s my friend’s birthday, yet I seem to have lost her somewhere. Have you seen a short, blonde lass with a…” he gestures vaguely at his head. “You know, a birthday headband thing.”

You shake your head. “Sorry, can’t say I have.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I figured not. I’ve no clue where she’s run off to now, though it may be better not to know, honestly.”

“She's a slippery one, then?”

The man laughs, revealing rows of pearly white teeth. “Slippery as a fuckin’ eel. I’m not too worried, though. Worst she’ll do is overindulge on Hurricanes.” He pulls a disgusted face and shakes his head.

He introduces himself as Andrew before offering you a cigarette from a softened pack he pulls from his pocket. Drunk you is far less discerning about such vices, so you accept and allow him to light it for you with the flick of a Zippo as you take a drag.

After a brief pause, he tilts his head and asks, “You didn’t happen to attend Trinity, did you?”

You shake your head. “Nah, sorry. I didn’t.”

Andrew nods. “Right, sorry. Thought you looked familiar, is all.” He falters as he tucks his hair behind his ear.

There’s something about him that’s familiar to you, as well, but you can’t remember ever meeting him previously. You’re sure you’d remember a face and a dazzling smile like that.

Though you can’t be entirely sure, there’s a non-zero chance that this man is flirting with you. You’re not surprised so much as you’re caught off-guard. Mason is normally the one to get hit on, especially by tall, dark, handsome men like this. Except, Mason isn’t here, is instead chasing a man more in line with his own personal interests (namely, an abundance of graying hair and shoulders the width of a linebacker’s), and Andrew’s attention is focused squarely on you.

You wonder if perhaps he’s a straight man out of his element. A rogue birthday girl is about, after all. Maybe he got roped into attending the club at her request. It’s not uncommon, and you’ve had a few swings and misses in the past from similar situations. No harm, no foul. Rejection hurts far less when you never had a shot to begin with.

“So…what do you do, then? Work, or school, or…?”

You blink at him, confused. “Oh, uh, work. My dad’s a mechanic. I work at his shop in Bray.”

Andrew nods, averting his gaze to the whiskey in his hand as he gently swirls the glass. Awkward silence falls between you as you fidget with your own drink. You’re terrible at this, unsure of how to navigate the conversation when you’re not entirely sure what his angle is. You suppose you could just ask, but the words die in your throat as you meet his eyes.

“In Bray? North or South?”

With a frown, you respond, “Just south of the County Wicklow line.”

“Ah…I, ehm...don’t know much about cars. I suppose that’s why mechanics exist to begin with, huh? Anyway, you provide an invaluable service to…y’know…the community…”

His face scrunches as he cringes outwardly.

“Okay, that was not…Jesus Christ. I’m so sorry if I’ve bothered you, just ignore me,” he says, and you can make out the flush on his cheeks against his pale skin as he lets out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t mean to…I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you were looking for some peace, and here I am just chatting away.”

Guilt grips your chest as you shake your head quickly. “Oh, no! I’m not bothered! Just…bad at small talk, is all.”

He seems to relax a touch as he runs a hand through his frizzy curls. “God, yeah. Me, too. As I’m sure you can tell.”

“Well, to be fair, I haven’t given you much to work with, have I?”

Just as he opens his mouth to reply, a high-pitched voice calls out, “Andrew!”

The two of you turn at the shouting of his name. A lively blonde with a Birthday Girl headband and a sunset orange drink bounds up to you with the type of drunk grin that comes from one too many cocktails.

“Karen, Jesus fucking Christ! Where did you run off to? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

The woman—Karen—merely shrugs, scrunching her vaguely bloodshot eyes.

“Caoimhe and I were dancing upstairs. Have you been upstairs, Andy? It’s so cool, and the bartenders are quite heavy-handed up there.” Faltering, Karen turns to you looking perplexed. “Oh, hello there!”

“Hi,” you say with a short wave of your hand, then gesture towards her birthday headband. “Happy birthday.”

“Aw, thank you so much!” Karen turns back to Andrew and says, “Yeah, seems like you were looking for me real hard, Andy, and not at all flirting with anyone.” She turns to give you an exaggerated wink as Andrew claps his hands together with a grimace.

“All right! Karen! Thank you so much for that. Maybe you should go find Caoimhe again, yeah? Or, Saoirse. Or, Max. Or, literally anyone else.”

“Right, right, I’ll be gone in a moment.” Karen waves a dismissive hand before addressing you directly. “Watch out for this one, yeah? Mr. Hozier here has rockstar sensibilities, so don’t fall for his meek and mild act. He’s more of the mischievous and misbehaving type, especially when he’s trying to bed some—”

“Okay!” Andrew interrupts loudly as he digs into his pocket while gently pushing Karen back towards the building. “Karen, love? Here. Go get some water, and maybe some pretzels?”

She takes the crumpled €20 note from his hand. “Wow, bribery. That’s new.” She looks back at you and says brightly, “He must really be interested in you if he’s—”

“Karen, for the love of God, please.”

“Right, fine! I’m going, I’m going! But, this note is going towards another Hurricane, Andrew!”

Karen scuttles away with another wink and a wave thrown over her shoulder before she disappears into the crowd, only visible by the glittering of her headband until the crowd swallows her whole. You blink after her, equal parts amused and befuddled. What a fascinating woman.

Andrew presses his palm to his forehead. “I am…so sorry about her. Love her to death, I do, but she’s a bit of a loud mouth.”

Despite the amusing display, you’re caught up on one small detail—Andrew is, in fact, Hozier. You’ve only ever listened to his songs as part of a playlist rotation, never actually looking into the man himself. Everything you’ve ever heard about him (which is to say, not a whole lot) has only ever been positive, yet you’re still surprised by his lack of…well, ego. The man is a bonafide hometown hero, and you’re honestly shocked he hasn’t received more attention from patrons this evening.

“Seems she spilled your secret, aye?”

Andrew laughs awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck. “I suppose it’s not much of a secret. I just wasn’t sure if you…I mean, you didn’t say anything, and it felt weird to…”

“No, I get it. I thought you looked familiar, but I couldn’t place you. But, yeah, I’m sure it feels weird to introduce yourself as a rockstar.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, rockstar might be a stretch. I’m just a guy with a guitar, really.”

“Right. Simply a man with a guitar and a voice and thousands upon thousands of fans,” you say with a nod before downing the rest of your drink. It settles warmly in your stomach as you wince at the bite of it on your tongue. “So, Mr. Humble, do you make a habit of flirting with random men on your nights out, or…?”

Anxiety gnaws at you as a blush heats your face. He hasn’t contested anything Karen said so far. If Andrew is interested in anything more than a bit of friendly chit-chat, you’re certainly not going to deny him the opportunity.

“Not all the time,” he shrugs, then laughs to himself as he stares at his own nearly empty glass. “I apologize if I’m being too…forward, I suppose. Two of these, and suddenly I’m the most talkative person in the room. It also makes flirting with attractive men a lot easier.”

You can’t bite back your bashful laugh as you turn to hide your grin.

“Don’t worry, my roommate is much the same. Get a few drinks into him, and he won’t shut the fuck up about Thin Lizzy for hours. Thank God he hasn’t come out here, otherwise I’m sure he’d be teasing me about chatting you up.”

He raises a curious eyebrow. “Are you? Chatting me up, I mean?”

You raise an eyebrow in return. “Well, it’s not as fun if I just tell you outright.”

Andrew is all smiles as he nods in agreement. “Right, of course. You’ve got to keep the mystery and suspense going, surely.”

After a beat, your own smile falters. If you’re going to go any farther trying to woo this man who is seemingly interested, you figure it’s best to be upfront with him. Separate the wheat from the chaff and all that.

“Right,” you echo. “Listen, before anything happens, it’s probably best to let you know that I’m trans. I like to get that out of the way up top, that way nobody wastes any time.”

Andrew blinks. “Oh! That’s—that’s wonderful! I mean, not wonderful, like—it’s great that you’re—fuck me, I’m really not good at this, am I?” He laughs to himself as he drags a hand down his face. “Sorry, it’s been a minute since I’ve flirted with anyone, so, please bear with me.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I’ve absolutely no issue, if you’re worried. I appreciate you letting me know, and I don’t want you to feel…well, I hope I don’t come off as the type to be put off by that.”

Butterflies in your stomach force a startled laugh out of you. “There’s hardly a type. It’s more a case-by-case situation. Though, you’ve had the most amusing response so far, I must say.”

Andrew tilts his head. “Does that mean I have competition, then?”

The forthrightness of the question stuns you, but you shake it off and shrug casually. “Perhaps.”

It’s a baldfaced lie. Any suitors you’ve had in the past have been swiftly ghosted or blocked depending on the circumstance. A fair few of them were chasers who only viewed you as a fetishistic fantasy, while others were simply too clingy or wanted to move far too quickly for your taste. The good faith folks you’ve dated haven’t been a great fit either, typically falling into the categories of too boring or too adventurous or too fuckboy for your liking.

Andrew seems different. His awkwardness is endearing, his reaction to your divulsion relatively mild compared to others. He doesn’t seem put off at all, yet he’s not suddenly chomping at the bit to rush you home the way others have previously. He just seems…well, interested. In you.

What a novelty to intrigue someone who is lauded as Ireland’s answer to Bruce Springsteen.

“I suppose I’ll have to find a way to stand out from the crowd, then.” He shrugs before finishing off what remains in his glass, eyeing you in amusement as you try to find a response that isn’t just spluttered sounds.

He looks back towards the outdoor bar, then meets your eyes with a hesitant question on his lips. “What’re you drinking?”

“Jameson,” you reply, shrugging when Andrew gives you a look as though the answer offends him.

“I’ll be right back.” You try to ignore the gooseflesh that breaks out along your arms as his hand gently brushes your shoulder before he’s wandering away towards the bar. You decide to sit on one of the empty couches that’s slightly tucked away from prying eyes. You figure that perhaps some semblance of privacy might make whatever this is more comfortable for both of you.

True to his word, Andrew comes back promptly with two glasses. He hands you a lowball glass full of amber liquid before plopping down next to you, your thighs nearly touching. He seems more at ease now, turning his body to face you. His elbow rests on the back of the couch, his head propped in his hand as he practically beams at you.

“Thank you…” you say warily. “What is it?”

“Try it.” When you frown in response, he huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “It’s whiskey. Better than Jameson, I promise.”

Upon taking a sip, your eyes go wide, and you turn your surprised expression to him. It’s probably one of the best whiskeys you’ve ever tried—dark but sweet, smoky yet smooth, with the faintest hint of ginger and orange underneath.

“Right?” Andrew asks excitedly. “It’s Redbreast, a single pot whiskey. This one apparently has an 18-year aging process. It’s one of my favorites.”

“So, this whiskey is old enough to drink whiskey. Thank you again, by the way. This is fucking fantastic.”

He shrugs. “Well, I can’t leave you drinking well spirits all night, can I?”

Conversation flows easily after that. Andrew asks you broad questions about your work and laughs as he apologizes for not having more background knowledge. You tell him about growing up watching your dad work, finally getting to assist in his repairs and vintage builds as a teen, and your subsequent attendance to a trade school to follow in his footsteps.

“He was so excited about it,” you laugh. “Even changed the name of the business from McKenna’s Mechanics to McKenna & Sons.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” he sighs.

Andrew regails you with tales of his music journey. He explains his short stint at Trinity where he met the resident birthday girl, as well as a handful of other musically-inclined folks. After making the difficult decision to drop out fairly young, his big break came from a right place, right time situation. Two albums later, and he’s finally home after a US tour that nearly killed him by the end.

“You don’t realize how massive that country is until you’re on a bus for 12 hours just to get to the next state over.”

He starts to get a little more bold in his flirtation as his third drink sets in, and your second drink has you feeling giddy, warm, and unsure of how to reciprocate when he rests an hand on your arm while talking about his best friend and musical partner, Alex.

The conversation hits a bump when you work up the nerve to ask another question that’s buzzed around in your mind the entire evening.

“May I ask a personal question?” you ask tentatively.

Andrew blinks, then nods. “Of course.”

“Forgive me, I’m generally out of touch with anything related to the internet these days. But…I hadn’t heard that you, um…? I mean, all of your songs are—they’re about women, yeah? I don’t know, maybe my finger just isn’t on the queer news pulse like it used to be, but that feels like something I’d have heard about.”

You can tell that the question catches him off guard as he looks away to study the twinkling fairy lights strung along the bordering fence.

“Ah, right. That.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to!” you add hastily. “I was just curious, but it’s definitely none of my business.”

“No, no, you’re okay. It’s…complicated. Mostly because it’s more of a…new development. I mean, not—it was always there, but I never…I don’t know, I just never put any stock into it, I suppose.”

“Were you one of those, ‘Yeah, I’d kiss a lad just for kicks, but I’m not gay,’ types?”

With a reddened face and a little laugh, he nods. “Unfortunately, yeah. I thought everyone felt that way, y’know? About finding everyone attractive. I just assumed my own heterosexuality despite the fact that a fair amount of my childhood crushes were boys. And, it’s not like my family is homophobic in any capacity, so you’d think I would have put it together sooner.”

“Hindsight is a funny thing, isn’t it? Looking back on things and realizing how obvious some of those signs were. Like, for me—and, this is going to sound absolutely demented—but I used to fantasize about getting breast cancer when I was a teen.”

Andrew splutters on his drink. “I’m sorry, what?”

You shrug easily. “Dysphoria is a tricky bitch. It makes you think things like that are just standard. Oh, every teenage girl feels that way about their chest. Except, they don’t. Like, at all. In fact, most people react the same way you did when I say that.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no worries, you’re fine. What I mean is, it was jarring to learn that most women don’t think that way. Which eventually led me to understand that I am certainly not a woman. It just took the better part of 23 years to put it all together. Which seems mad, right? But, like I said: hindsight.”

Andrew smiles as he lifts his glass to you. “To late bloomers, then.”

You clink your glass to his and nod. “To late bloomers.”

***

When Andrew tentatively asks if you want to dance, you turn to look at the dance floor inside with a grimace. Steam floats out of the open doors, a testament to the sheer amount of bodies mingling together in such a small space. The thought makes you shiver.

“I’m sorry, I’m not much into dancing. Is that okay?”

Thankfully, Andrew looks relieved. “Oh, that’s perfectly okay. I’m not much of a dancer either, but I figured I’d ask in case you were interested.”

Your body is flushed and warm from too much booze, and you can feel sweat begin to break out along your hairline. Andrew looks much the same, grinning as he sways and flips his hair from one side to the other. And, oh, his hand is on your thigh, when did that happen?

Quietly, he asks, “Is this okay?”

You have to look away and clear your throat in an attempt to collect yourself. “Yeah, yes, that’s…perfectly fine.”

He grins brightly, earnestly. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Once again, his forthrightness has you stumbling. “And you are an adorable and very flirty drunk.

Andrew gives you a lopsided grin as he shrugs one shoulder. “What was it Karen said? Mischievous and misbehaving?”

“So there’s merit to that, then?”

“Well, it’s not as fun if I just tell you outright, is it?”

Ah, so he’s going to play this game, throwing your own words back at you in an attempt to fluster you further. To be fair, his plan is working as your face burns all the way to the tips of your ears. But, you can’t let him know that he’s winning. This is an unspoken competition now, the defiance and playfulness in his expression urging you to make your next move.

So, you do. He’s stunned when you reach out to cup his chin in one hand. The touch is light, gentle, but it’s enough to stop him in his tracks and stare at you incredulously.

“Well, I think you’re a lot of talk and no action.” When he doesn’t respond, you smirk. “Is this all it takes to shut you up?”

After a beat, he finally opens his mouth, still staring at you with glazed eyes. “I can think of more lucrative ways to do so.”

You can’t help the cackle that escapes you. “Lucrative for who, exactly?”

He shrugs again. “Both of us, I’d guess. I’d hope.” A pause. “You know…we’re staying at the Grafton tonight. Figured it was better to play it safe with Miss ‘Doesn’t Know When to Quit’ over there.”

When you turn back, you spot Karen standing on the bar just inside, waving her arms around excitedly as a bartender tries to coax her down. “I see what you mean.”

“I’ve got my own room,” he continues casually, as though your heart isn’t about to beat through your fucking chest. “If you’d like to see it. Lovely hotel, and the room has an even lovelier view. Though, I can’t imagine anything quite as lovely as you.”

The laugh that escapes you makes him laugh in return, covering his face and shaking his head as he cries, “That was terrible, I’m so sorry. It came out, and I instantly regretted it. So fucking corny. Jesus Christ.”

Some of the tension dissipates as you smile fondly while he tries to recover from his horrible flirting.

“You really are terrible at this,” you jest. “However…I can’t deny that I’m a little curious about this room with a view. But, won’t Karen be upset if you leave her birthday bash?”

Andrew chuckles. “I doubt she’ll even remember at this point.”

After a quick text to his mates and a message to Mason, you find yourself walking the few blocks it takes to get to the Grafton Hotel. You’re surprised when Andrew takes your hand into his despite the fact that he’d mentioned not being the biggest fan of public affection.

There’s some plausible deniability as you use the opportunity to ensure you’re both drunkenly stumbling on the pavement instead of the road, tugging on his hand to keep him close until he wraps his arm around your shoulders entirely. In return, you slip your arm around his waist and try to stay in stride with him while the hotel glitters like a beacon in the night.

After a piss-poor attempt at acting “natural” while shuffling through the opulent lobby, you stumble into an empty elevator. As soon as the doors close, he’s on you, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you fervently—a testament to his restraint on the walk over here, surely.

Then, he pulls away just as suddenly, eyes wide as an apology spills out. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—I mean, I should have asked first before—”

You hold a hand up to shush him. “I’m a relative stranger you picked up from a club following you up to your hotel room. While I appreciate the thought, kissing is definitely not an issue.”

The room itself is quite nice, and he wasn’t joking about the view. The city twinkles warmly far below, bustling with a lot more traffic than one might expect for a Thursday night. If you were so inclined, you might suggest sitting out on the balcony for a while just to enjoy the breeze. An idea for another time, perhaps, should Andrew ever want to do this again. (You cringe inwardly at the spark of hope within you that maybe he will.)

When you look back at him, Andrew is watching you carefully, wringing his hands and shifting his weight.

“Are you okay?”

He laughs awkwardly. “Yeah! I just…I don’t normally do this, y’know? Hooking up isn’t really…”

“Oh.” You frown. “We don’t have to—”

“No, no, I want to, I’m just…at a loss of where to start. Also…” A pause. “If there’s anything you don’t want me doing in particular, please let me know.”

You can read between the lines. It’s his way of asking you to guide him through this for the sake of your comfort. It’s sweet, more thoughtful than some of your previous trysts, though you hope he doesn’t treat you so preciously the entire night.

After a beat, you reach out to lightly grasp his wrist, smiling softly when he meets your eyes.

“Why don’t you start by kissing me again, yeah?”

At this, he can’t help his bright, flustered smile as he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s softer and sweeter this time as he holds your face, thumbs brushing through prickly stubble from a haphazard attempt at shaving earlier in the day.

The taste of whiskey and ash is on his tongue, the smell of smoke sticking to his hair. You can almost feel his hesitance melt away as your fingers curl into his hair, as he leans into the kiss with a small whimper. A chill runs down your spine when he kisses along your neck, nipping lightly but not enough to leave any lasting mark. A honeyed laugh in your ear makes your face go hot, the sound sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your cock.

Impatient hands shove at his jean jacket until he’s struggling out of it and throwing it to the floor, revealing thin, pale arms with delicate wrists and prominent veins. You marvel at every sharp angle that’s juxtaposed by the softness of his chest, his stomach as you assist in pulling his t-shirt off.

The only coherent thought in your mind isn’t a thought at all, but the primal urge to bite and mark and claim.

Suddenly, you ask, “Do you have a condom?” and he halts his movements to look at you with wide eyes.

“Fuck, I don’t. I didn’t exactly think I was going to hook up with anyone tonight.”

“Damn, neither do I,” you laugh, earning a cheesy, embarrassed smile from him as he shrugs. “No matter. There’s plenty of other things we can do.”

It’s easy enough to get his jeans off once he’s on his back in bed. It seems he’s beginning to understand that he is not the one in charge now, seems to even be delighting in his lack of control. He stares as you slowly undo his belt buckle, hands curled into the sheets beneath him as if it’s the only way he can stop himself from trying to reach out and touch you. With a few giggles and awkward kicks on his part, you finally toss his jeans to the floor.

The outline of his swollen cock is obvious, tenting his black boxers and twitching slightly as you run your hands along his thighs.

You startle when he asks, “Can I see you? You’re wearing far too much.”

And, well…how can you say no when he asked so politely?

As soon as your shirt comes off, his eyes go wide and he blurts out, “Wow. That’s absolutely stunning. The Creation of Adam, yeah?”

He studies your tattoo in fascination as you reply, “Yeah. It’s…a little on the nose, probably. Not the most original scar cover-up ever, but I’m happy with it.”

Andrew huffs a quiet laugh. “I can see how that might be on the nose, yeah. But, I really like it. For whatever that’s worth, I suppose.”

He watches as you pull your jeans off and shuck them aside with the growing pile of clothing on the floor, leaving you in your own boxer briefs that make Andrew chuckle.

“Are those Halloween-themed? Mate…are you aware that it’s May?”

You roll your eyes as you finally crawl into bed, throwing a leg over him and settling on his hips.

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t expect to hook up with anyone tonight either. Second, are you always this antagonistic towards your dates?”

Andrew grins. “Is this a date now?”

You bite out a laugh. “Christ, you are a sassy one.”

“Unfortunately, it’s part of the package deal. No returns or refunds.”

“What about an exchange?”

“Mmm, no, sorry. I can offer you store credit?”

You tilt your head. “That implies that I’d be a returning customer.”

He blinks, swallows, his eyes flitting away nervously before looking back at you. “Well, you know, I’m big on…customer loyalty…and what have you…”

“Andrew,” you say with a smile and a shake of your head. “Do you want to keep bantering, or do you want me to blow you?”

He nods quickly. “Yeah, yes, that. Let’s do your idea.”

Kisses along his body make him squirm as he stares up at the ceiling in embarrassment. A hand pressed to the bulge in his pants pulls the prettiest sounds from him; the heat of your mouth against cotton, against his swollen length forces him to slap a hand over his mouth to muffle his groans. You’re pleased by his reactions—you’ve always loved the vocal ones, and it makes sense that this one would be the most vocal of all.

The trail of hair that disappears beneath his waistband is slowly revealed to you as you peel back the fabric, pressing open-mouthed kisses along that line until his cock is exposed. It’s pretty—long, though not dauntingly thick, the tip already red and leaking despite the fact that you’ve done little to elicit this kind of response.

Eager, you think to yourself with a smirk.

The first press of your tongue along the vein that protrudes just on the underside of his cock makes him gasp. He props himself up on his elbows to watch, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as you take the head into your mouth and suck gently.

He hisses as a hand curls into your hair, as you attempt to take the rest of him without choking or gagging. Your eyes water as you suck in a deep breath through your nose, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed by his scent, dizzied by musk, and sweat, and arousal as you swallow him down.

It’s sloppy, messy as you put on a bit of a show in the hopes of impressing him. It seems that your plan is working out quite well as you meet his heavy-lidded gaze from beneath your lashes, and he groans before letting his head tilt back to reveal the expanse of his throat.

“Feels so fucking good…” It comes out as a cracked whisper that breaks into a breathy moan as his fingers tighten their grip on your hair.

You pull off of him with a lewd pop and stroke him as you catch your breath. When he looks back at you, his pupils are blown out, nearly eclipsing his irises. He already looks so wrecked, and you wonder just how quickly you can make this man completely fall apart.

“Good?” you ask with a grin.

“Yes, fuck, please don’t stop,” he whines.

With a wink, you pause the movement of your hand long enough to spit onto his cock before stroking him again, faster this time as his hips buck into your hand. Andrew’s lets out a short, feverish laugh before whispering, “Fucking filthy.” It alights something in your brain—something warm and excited as his head falls back against the pillow again, seemingly no longer concerned with holding back as he thrusts into the warmth of your mouth when you take him again.

Any semblance of composure is lost when you gently cup his balls, and he bites out a warning of his impending climax between heaving breaths. Determined, you allow him to nearly fuck your throat until he’s whimpering beneath you, hips snapping up until he he muffles a cry. The warmth of his release fills your mouth, slides down your throat, eyes watering as you continue your assault on him while he rides out every wave of pleasure that rolls through him.

He looks wonderfully sated when he opens his eyes again, smiling when you sit up on your knees between his legs.

“Wow,” he laughs as he rubs his eyes. “How am I supposed to follow that up? Jesus.”

You grin as you lean over him, your arms caging his head as you murmur, “With a smile and a thank you for the privilege.”

His mouth drops open for only a moment before he snaps it shut again. Then, a smirk as he asks, “Would you be amenable to doing it like this, then? I’m pretty sure all of my bones have turned to gelatin.”

You blink in surprise. “You…want me to sit on your face?”

Andrew shrugs. “Only if you want to. I’d say it’s a throne fit for a king, but that just seems egotistical, I think.”

With a barked laugh, you reply, “Yeah, a bit, maybe. But, I love the enthusiasm.”

You sit back up long enough to twist around and discard your own boxers. There’s a brief hesitance as you hype yourself up, that inkling of self-consciousness creeping in the way it always does before being on the receiving end of sex acts. It’s not dysphoria so much as it is the general nervousness of performance and expectation—the same feelings you’ve experienced far before beginning your transition journey.

Andrew must notice this hesitation as he says, “Hey, we don’t have to keep going if you don’t want that.”

“No, I want to, I’m just…are you sure?” It’s an out that you extend almost automatically, a way to protect yourself from rejection and hurt by providing an excuse for him to bail. You’re sure it says something about your own control issues, but you push the thought away to be dealt with later.

With a soft sigh, he pats his chest and beckons you closer, saying, “C’mere so I can suck you off already.”

A warmth blooms in your chest as you cover your giddy embarrassment with a laugh. Shuffling on your knees, you move closer, pause, then straddle his face carefully, hovering just above him until his arms are locked around your thighs.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

Before you can reply, you feel his tongue on your cock, and you fall forward to brace against the headboard.

“Oh,” is the only thing you manage to squeak out as he takes it into his mouth and begins sucking gently. Tears form in your eyes as pleasure shoots up your spine, teetering on the edge of too much as he works. You find yourself absentmindedly thrusting into the feeling, unable to hold back the moans and whines that bubble up.

If he’s never done this before, then his mouth is truly gifted. His tongue teases just below the head, pressing gently as you whimper above him. Arousal slicks his mouth as he feasts on you like a starving man, and you curl a hand into his hair to encourage him further. A slight tug pulls a strangled moan from him, his grip tightening on your thighs as though he’s worried you might try to get away.

He pulls away briefly to catch his breath, licking his shining lips as he asks, “Are you okay with—? Do you like being touched?”

You understand his meaning almost immediately. “Yes, please, fuck.”

One hand releases your thigh, and suddenly two fingers slip into you with ease. You choke on a moan as you push back against them. Your brain and body struggle then, trying to decide between pushing into that pressure as he fills you or grinding against his face. Heat begins to build in your abdomen. Every thrust of his fingers and swipe of his tongue brings you closer and closer to that edge.

“Fuck, I’m close,” you pant out.

All it takes is an errant thumb against your ass, and you’re suddenly falling over the edge, shaky thighs attempting to snap shut as you gasp and cry out. Andrew keeps you in place, doesn’t allow you to move as continues sucking your cock while you clench around him. Expletives fall from your lips mixed with his name, and you nearly choke on a sob as you smack at the top of his head with a breathy, “Stopstopstop, fuck, too much, too much.”

Andrew stops immediately and withdraws his fingers with a chuckled apology. Once he’s released his grip on you, you gently fall onto your back next to him.

“Wow,” you breathe, looking over to grin at him.

“Decent?” he asks. His smug look tells you he knows exactly how well he did.

You roll your eyes and give him a gentle shove to his shoulder. “I’m afraid if I answer that honestly, you won’t be able to fit your giant ego through the door.”

There’s a part of you that expects him to rush you out, but Andrew doesn’t really seem inclined to do so. Instead, he invites you to scoot beneath the duvet with him, lying on your side to face him as he mirrors your position.

Then, he’s asking questions, probing into your likes and dislikes, your favorite music, favorite films, favorite books. Andrew nods along as you speak, eyes wide in an expression you’d liken to veneration. You return his questions in kind, delighted by the way he seems to light up when discussing his musical interests throughout his childhood and adolescence, and his proxy interest in film thanks to his brother.

A chime on your phone breaks the warm bubble of your conversation, and you groan as you reach back to grab it from the bedside table.

Mason

HEY DICKHEAD

DID YOU FUCKIN IRISH GOODBYE ME

IN IRELAND

AS AN IRISH MAN

You

Sure did mate.

Mason

JUDAS

Can’t believe this

I HOPE THE DICK WAS WORTH IT

I want details tomorrow you fuckin scut

“Something wrong?” Andrew asks hesitantly.

You look up at him and shake your head with a little laugh. “Nah, just my roommate being…my roommate. Took him this long to figure out that I’d even left.”

“Oh…do you have to go, then?” There’s something so sweet about the sullenness in his voice, evoking an image of Eeyore in your mind.

“I don’t.” You shake your head. “I can stay as long as you’ll allow it.”

“Careful now,” he says easily as he reaches out to run the back of his fingers against your cheek. “Otherwise you may never be rid of me.”

#hozier fic #hozier x reader #sailor scout stories #hozier smut #edit: removed a line from previous draft that got left there by accident

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superblysubpar · 1 year ago

Text

All Of This Snow Is Falling, I Can Make You Fall Too:

modern!eddie munson x fem!reader

2.5k words

the song: santa doesn't know you like I do by Sabrina Carpenter

summary: A trashy reality show, a big reveal, and a disagreement on best friends to lovers being a total cliché.

warnings: modern, teacher, best friend, roommate Eddie - except the teacher thing is really barely mentioned and the only reason it's modern is because of the show | Both him and reader are like late 20s, early 30s but no detailed description of this - it's more so to let you know they've known each other for a LONG time and are still single | no hate to trashy reality shows like The Bachelor, I'm a sucker for em | alcohol mentions | some clothed grinding, ass grabbing making out

the prompts: [french] - a deep, passionate kiss with tongue [STRADDLE] - one muse sits down in the others lap

day 3 of 12 days of superbly subpar writing // requested by @lavendermunson - thank you so much, I hope you love the direction I took it in, I had a lot of fun writing this one 💛

“It’s back on! I can hear it! Eddie pause it! Quick!”

Your muffled cry from inside a sweatshirt you couldn’t quite find the hole to pop your head through sounded truly panicked as you stumbled out of your bedroom. He laughed, sliding out of the kitchen and did as you asked, swallowing and looking away at the bare skin of your stomach as your shirt pulled higher, trapped in the sweatshirt.

It was a Friday night, the apartment you two shared dark aside from the blue of the television, the warm glow from the lamp shedding light onto the scattered papers littered with red pen marks, and the occasional burst of white light as the fridge was cracked for another beer or a refill on cereal milk.

He stood, waiting for you to grab the bowl from his hands, sucking in a breath and ignoring the way his heartbeat picked up speed when you smiled, hair a mess and skin flushed when you finally wrangled the sweatshirt down. He didn’t know what was worse, remembering the day you made the old, hand-bleached sweatshirt, or how your body underneath it looked the day you did.

It had been the hottest day of the summer, he had been laying in the dark, with a fan blowing on him when the lights flipped on without warning. Wincing and squinting as you stood above him, a lime green bikini top, cut off shorts - that kind the pockets stuck out past the frayed denim, revealing far too much. A grape popsicle in one hand and a bag from the dollar store in the other asking him if he wanted to have some fun. Somehow the girl he’d grown up with, somehow his best friend, and somehow a woman with a figure and confidence and-

He’d struck out on every single date he’d had since, either calling it off himself or girls telling him he should “tell her” whatever the fuck that means.

Eddie stood in front of you, holding out the bowl of fruit loops, until you took it with both hands, bouncing up and down on your now wool-sock covered toes. He kept his gaze on the bowl as he poured, waiting for you to say ‘when’ and you took the opportunity to admire the way his eyelashes cast a shadow on his skin and the way this new shorter haircut made his curls go every which way and wondering if it’d be weird for you to card your fingers through it.

You know, as friends do.

His brown eyes met your gaze, his eyebrows shooting up in a question and you startled out of imagining things you shouldn’t have been about your best friend. “Oh! When! Sorry!”

Nestling yourself between the couch and coffee table, you glanced at the short stories he was grading while he put the milk away and grabbed a beer, your voice calling out around a too big of bite, “One for me please!”

He was already rounding the corner with one in hand and you beamed, putting on a funny voice, “Why thank you good sir.”

Eddie flicked your shoulder as he sat, “You’ve had too much sugar tonight.”

Taking another bite, you drummed your hands on the coffee table, waiting until you had swallowed to look at him, remote poised to hit play. “So, final predictions, Munson?”

He sighed, taking a swig of the amber liquid, letting it coat his tongue as he squinted at the TV. “For the record, again, I do not like this show and I have not been watching it and-”

Your hand waved him off, interrupting, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, your man card is still intact. Just play the game.”

He hunched over the coffee table, elbows on his knees after he ran a hand through his hair. You quickly looked at the TV before your eyes could linger on the muscle flexing in his arm, before your mind could wander to the tattoos that disappeared under the white cotton shirt. Before you could start to wonder about the matching tattoos in script on his ribcage, tracing it with his tong-

“Ex. Totally the ex.” He declared, starting to grade again.

“No way, they did that like three seasons ago. I think it’s the girl he sent home that first night. The one he talked to, you know? He walked her out? Which is really weird for a first rose ceremony.”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes scanned the story about aliens and cowboys in front of him, his middle schoolers just as unpredictable and weird as you. He loved them.

You tapped the back of the paper, nodding, “This one should get an A,” you spoke around a mouthful, “Real plot twist ending.”

He tapped your nose with the cap of his red pen, “Who has the teaching degree?”

His lips twitched in a fight of a smile at your eye roll and your snarky, “Who’s home on a Friday night grading twelve year old’s writing while watching ‘The Bachelor’?”

“Not watching,” he took another sip of beer.

“Uh-huh.”

He’d lost count of how many years he’d “not” been watching The Bachelor with you, but long enough for The Bachelorette, and then Paradise to be added.

It became a tradition to record them and wait till your schedules allowed you both to sit down and watch it. This season, they’d been hinting about this episode from the beginning, some big reveal, a person interrupting a date, and you’d been placing bets for a month.

You nodded, satisfied, hitting play, “I’m right.”

The dramatic music resumed, the heels clicked on the cobblestone as a deep sapphire blue dress was panned up and up-

Eddie’s eyebrows bunched, his stomach did a little twist because of fucking course. He watched as your spoon, overflowing with fruit loops, stopped before your lips. Your mouth parted in a gasp, and you swore.

“Vanessa?” Hunky bachelor man sputtered on screen. The blonde he’d just been about to makeout with completely forgotten as he stood, smiling through his shock, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh my god,” your spoon clattered into the bowl, pink milk splashing over the side a little as your hands went to your temples, elbows landing hard on the coffee table.

Vanessa looked at the blonde date, then at him, whispering, “Hey, I know…sorry I’m so nervous.” She laughed a little, reaching for his hand he was already offering out reassuringly, “Can I talk to you?”

Hunky bachelor man didn’t hesitate for a second, nodding, “Of course. Yeah, hold on.”

He excused himself from the other girl, the two walking away and talking incoherently as the camera zoomed in on sad blonde. Eddie was ninety percent certain her name was Rachel and she taught yoga. Or maybe it was Jessica and she was in real estate.

Either way, sad blonde was now in her confessional. Her blue eyes dead, fake, runny mascara lines running down her cheeks as she stared at something beyond the camera, and a commercial started. Eddie booed.

Your head whipped around, glaring at him, “Why the hell are you booing?!”

Eddie shook his head, gesturing at the TV and took another swig of his beer, angry. “That’s bullshit.”

You were on your knees, sitting up, eyes wide, tone incredulous, “What do you mean that’s bullshit?!”

“The best friend? C’mon.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the screen again.

“I don’t understand why you think that’s bullshit?” Your cheeks hot, hand in your hair as your brain circled through the footage of them from the beginning of the season. The interview with her smiling sadly, wishing him luck and hoping the best for him. Hoping he found what he was looking for.

You started to message your other bestie:

You: IT WAS THE BEST FRIEND?! Robin: babe, seriously? You didn’t see that coming? YOU?

Your eyes darted over to Eddie, quickly locking your phone again as his adam’s apple bobbed with another gulp.

Was it that obvious?

Eddie scratched at the label on his bottle, knee bouncing as he shrugged. “I think there’s gonna be some big confession about how she’s always loved him, maybe he says it back, but like, if she always loved him, why weren’t they together before the show? Why is she saying it now?”

“Maybe she didn’t know how she felt fully,” you countered, hand thrown to the TV.

He shook his head again and stood, “If she didn’t know how she felt, why is she there? Why is she a part of the show? I bet they offered her a shit load of money.”

Eddie felt hot, angry at a fake reality show, making people believe best friends fall in love. Making innocent people hope that one day it could happen to them. It was bullshit. It wasn’t real.

You were on your feet, following him towards the kitchen. “No, no way. That was all her. Couldn’t you see it in her face? She loves him. She just needed to tell him before it was too late.”

Eddie tossed his empty bottle, spinning to find you right on his heel. “Okay, maybe she is. Maybe it’s real and not for TV, but then that’s super shitty of her.”

You laughed, hands on your hips, “What?! How is telling someone you love them, shitty, Eddie?”

He threw his hands in the air, “Because! She had to have known for a long time. Had to have known how she felt. The only reason she’s telling him now is because she’s jealous. Or she’s afraid she’ll lose him, so she’s sabotaging his love life which is selfish.”

Your head shook, but Eddie’s heart accelerated, words tumbling out of him before he could stop them. “I bet that guy has been in love with her since they were like fifteen and every single relationship he’s had has ended because of her. Because,” he licked his lips and spoke faster, hands gesturing wildly, “If it wasn’t him comparing every single girl to her, it was them, dumping him, because of his best friend hanging around making them doubt their relationship.”

His words felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped on you, toes going numb as he finished, voice softer, strained, “And that’s really fucking shitty. If she knew how she felt and never told him.”

“Maybe she was scared to ruin their friendship! Did you ever think about that? And why couldn’t he tell her?” Your cheeks hot, fingers curled in fists at your side as you glared at your best friend. Was he insinuating that you were the reason he was single? Your throat felt dry, head and heart pounding as you blurt out, “What if she lost her best friend in the whole entire world because she was selfish and had to know how his lips felt, huh? What if it didn’t work out?”

Your bodies were magnets, chests almost touching as your breath came sharper, his brown eyes darting over your face - the few inches between you pulsing, like if someone snapped their fingers a fire could start.

Voice cracking, as you stared at the curve of his lips, “What if the guy who held her hand on a swing set when they were ten and promised to always be there, suddenly wasn’t there?”

Eddie swallowed, nerves of that ten and fifteen year old alive like he never outgrew them because suddenly he wasn’t talking about the show anymore and neither were you.

Your breath caught in your chest as he reached his hand towards you, heart stumbling over itself it was going so fast as his fingers curled around your jaw.

His voice was raspy, full of years, but soft, eyes even more so as he leaned in, forehead touching yours.

“Sweetheart, he’s always gonna be there.”

Then he was kissing you.

His lips parted over yours, a ghost of a touch, before he let a shaky exhale warm them, waiting.

It was like tasting your favorite food for the first time, the way you tilted to catch his lips again, needing more, the way the movement encouraged him to keep going. The scrape of his short scruff against your skin made your toes curl, spice and mint of his cologne drawing you closer. He parted your mouth with his, a little fuller of a kiss, stealing your breath as he caught your bottom lip with his teeth. Cheap beer and sweet cereal on shared breaths, each of your desperate inhales pushing your chests together, back arching as his hands found your hips and yours climbed higher up his chest.

The two of you started to stumble backwards, your lips moving a little more desperately against each other until the back of his legs were hitting the couch. Your body followed his, knees landing on either side of his hips as he sat and you spoke into his lips, both panting. “Is this okay?”

Eddie nodded, hands roaming lower, sliding over the curve of your ass as he tapped his nose against yours, brown eyes hidden under heavy lids and blown out pupils. His bottom lip hitting your top with his own question, “This?”

You pressed yourself lower, feeling him hard against you and groaned as he squeezed. “So okay, Eddie.”

He cursed quietly, encouraged your hips, holding them down and thrusting up to meet each roll as he leaned in for more.

Eddie’s lips brushed over yours in a gentle, deep, and confident way. A man who knows how to kiss, and does so with intent. His hand roamed from your hip, waist, settling against your ribs and scratching as his tongue licked slowly over your bottom lip, releasing a shiver to run through your body.

Your hands explored up the smooth planes of his chest, over broad shoulders, until they were against the back of his head, fingers running through the short, dark curls there. His mouth savored yours as his hands pressed to the back of your spine, drawing you closer, your chests heaving together, kissing becoming urgent, like you were making up for the years of lost time.

Gripping each other tightly, each sharp inhale and exhale against one another addicting, demanding you be closer. You tugged on his hair to hear him stutter out your name, a whisper against kiss bitten lips, he rolled his tongue over yours before sucking on your bottom lip to draw a noise from deep within your chest out.

Teasing and curious touches, using what you’ve grown to know about each other from years of bad (and some good) dating stories, and trying to learn even more yourselves.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen,” her voice echoed out of the TV speaker and your mouth titled in a smile, teeth scraping against his bottom lip.

Eddie huffed, the two of you breaking apart, breathless as you laughed together.

His palms soothed up and down your spine, his nose skimming the bridge of yours as you both took a second to breathe, to realize what had been in front of you the entire time.

“It was always you,” hunky bachelor man choked out.

Eddie rolled his eyes as you threw your head back in a louder laugh, his smile pressed along the hinge of your jaw, shaking his head as he squeezed your waist.

Yeah, it was always you.

#twelve days of superbly subpar writing #eddie munson #modern!eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #Spotify

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