#{ for reference this should take place in the very beginning of the week before everyone moves to their specific blocks but after | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

e1dritchjackal0pe · 27 days ago

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𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You always knew deep down that getting involved with the Kook prince himself would result in nothing but heartache. Unsurprisingly, like an absolute sucker you had allowed yourself to get pulled into his orbit, hook, line and sinker.

The two of you were always unlabeled, two people just trying to take the edge off; so it shouldn't have stung when you caught him with another girl on his arm. But it's completely unfair when he comes crawling back as soon as you attempt to move on.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Rafe, 18+ content (so minors go somewhere else), AFAB, fem aligning pronouns, toxic relationships, lack of communication, infidelity if you really squint, stalking, hints of dark!Rafe, Soft!Rafe (because I'm a sucker), Rafe refers to himself as Daddy once (I'm sorry, it's so in character), Oral (F! Receiving), Unprotected sex (reader is on the pill), public sex (they do it in a bathroom at a party), dubious consent (both Rafe and reader are intoxicated).

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: 25K words (the Lana Del Ray and Chase Atlantic continuously playing in my headphones wouldn't let me stop). Not proofread (as per usual, I'm sorry), Pogue!reader.

You love your life. The simultaneous merge of monotony and spontaneity. Sure, it is boring in certain aspects. The schedule of your job demanding that you wake up nearly every day of the week, pulling yourself out of the warmth and comfort of your bed before the sun has even bled across the horizon in hues of pale gold and soft lavender to begin opening up the restaurant; passing through the door that always squeals sharply on its hinges. No amount of WD-40 has managed to correct the offending, metallic shriek, but Deborah, ever the penny-pincher always brushes off the notion of simply replacing the hinges. Huffing and shrugging it off whenever you suggest it. One of these days you plan to go down to the hardware store yourself and buy a fresh set of replacements.

The ritual of your mornings is often tedious. The one before it the same as the one that comes after; setting the chairs down from their places tucked upside down on the tabletops to be seated on their designated positions on the floor, turning the coffee machines on to begin brewing a fresh pot for the early risers and regulars that stop in for a quick uplift before they head off to their jobs, checking to make sure that you had properly stocked up the night before you left; that the sliced lemons and creamers and ketchup bottles have all been filled. You sometimes have a habit of accidentally skipping out those tasks when you've been on a double. Sometimes on purpose if you know that you're going to be the opener the very next day.

Though more often than not it ends up with you cursing yourself out for leaving more unnecessary work for yourself.

You're at your job more than you're at your own home. But with how high Deborah's turn rates are, and how little people do actually come in to retrieve an application, it's practically been up to you to try and hold down the fort as best as possible. Apart from Charlotte, who does her best to cover as many shifts as she can (though that isn't always possible if one of her kids falls sick or the babysitter calls off), and Rusty. But as the main cook, he practically lives in the restaurant to begin with. So much so, that it has become a joke among the staff that he should just call it quits and put up a cot in the back so that he could takes naps in between shifts. He's always at the restaurant long before you are. Piddling around in the back of the house to get a head start on the day ahead and prepping for what he'll need.

It's dull work, sure, and the breaks that you get are few and far between, but the threat of oncoming bills always looming overhead like a fucking hydra. As soon as you manage to cut off one head, another immediately seems to grow in its place. Plus, you also have a difficult time in saying no to Deborah. You think everyone does honestly. She could be hard to navigate at times, seeming to seesaw between being almost sickeningly sweet and intimidatingly disgruntled. Skulking around the restaurant with a sharp anger glinting in her eyes, a harsh scowl pulling at the wrinkled corners of her lips as she barks orders and huffs over crumbs and stains that aren't there.

But you try, like the others, not to hold it against her. You know that she's just stressed. Struggling to pick up the pieces that her son had left behind; to keep his dream alive as best as she can.

Still, you can't help but to revel in any chance you get to have a day to yourself. Even though the reprieve that you do get is typically spent at your own home. Basking outside underneath the warmth while you soak in the small layer of water contained in the old sun faded kiddie pool, reading one of your unfinished books, or reclining against the lip of the hard plastic while the music from your old Bluetooth speaker drifts down from the steps of the small, worn porch attached to the front of your trailer.

Every once in a while, if your budget is willing, you might head down to the quaint thrift store that lies just on the outskirts of town. Though calling it a "store" is being quite generous. It's pretty much just a shed that had been repurposed as a business in Metilda Clark's backyard; the walls boarded with shelves for books and DVD's and VHS tapes, and racks filled with garments donated from families whose children have grown out of their clothes or family members that have passed on and they can't bear to look at their personal belongings anymore.

So you suppose that in a sense, it's a graveyard of sorts. A place for people to bury or move on from their pasts without entirely discarding the items that they need to be free from. Given that that a large chunk of the island's population is in part of the working class, a vast amount of the wares and goods found at the store are a little lackluster. Every once in a while, you manage to find something good. A piece of clothing or shoes that have managed to trickle down from the Eight, like a pair of vintage heels that you were able to snag for twenty-five bucks. But for the most part it's just plain knickknacks, fishing lines and old bodice rippers - many of which are wildly amusing to flip through.

If only you had a nickel for every time you had seen a man's dick referred to as a "pulsing hot member" or "engorged manhood." It never fails to remind you of Ms. Perky from Ten Things I Hate About You trying to write smut in her office.

Still, it does sometimes prove to yield some interesting finds. Like the magenta lava lamp that now sits on the shelf posted along the far side of your room or the rooster shaped tea pot that you always use on stormy nights. That purchase might have been a little dumb, just maybe, but you had thought it was cute when you saw it.

But if you're being honest, you mostly go to the thrift store for the small ceramic bowl full of candy that Metilda keeps along the front counter; always full of strawberry bon bons, Tootsie Rolls, and hard caramels. You always make sure to pluck one up as she tallies up your purchase on her archaic cash register, squinting through her glasses as her bony fingers skitter across the buttons while she shares the latest bit of gossip to you. She's always in the know it seems, like some sort of P.I . . . or maybe Batman. It's almost a talent. But you suppose that being a member of the church, the local book club, and attending bingo every weekend would get you in on a lot of the gossip that circles around town.

It's how you found out the Janice Morty was cheating on her husband of twenty-three years with his own brother, or that Sammy Kennedy has been breeding and selling exotic reptiles in his basement illegally. Sometimes you'd find yourself standing in front of that little desk long after your purchase had been bagged and paid for, just listening intently as she gives you the scoop on everything. Watching the earrings dangling from her lobes quiver and shake animatedly as she passionately recounts all of the drama she's heard - she's always got a new, fun pair on every time you see her. Many of them are retro, 80's style, but a large majority are shaped after everyday objects. One of your favorites so far would have to be the odd pair of small rotating fans, colored in that vintage mint green shade with pink blades. But the fuchsia gumball machines have to be a close second.

You love to come in and see what pair she's going to be wearing, to hear all of the local drama. But the sound of a single name had made you regret the trip entirely.

"- all of a sudden the screen had lit up! Just set alight without any warning." She recounted, tucking a book alongside the others inside of the recycled bag, the wrinkles in the plastic causing the smiley face to become disfigured. "Well, one of my customers saw the culprits - or at least who they suspect to be. They saw a big group of them scatter once the chaos erupted; that Thorton boy, and old Heyward's kid was there. And even Rafe Cameron, that spoiled little nuisance -"

Your brain had blanked then. Falling flat and somehow chaotic like static filming over a TV screen. It had made it difficult to tell what you were truly feeling in that moment as it all seemed to crash over you into a still hush. But the elements of it all was certainly there: irritation, resentment, and that pathetic sense of longing that never seems to truly go away. It sticks to you like a nasty parasite. Burrowed deep and latched onto your flesh, the disease in it seeping into your bloodstream.

No matter how much you try, it seems that you can't get away from him. The woes of living in a small community. It feels like a sort of damnation. A limbo that you can crawl yourself out of. You've gotten so close to it too. All but throwing yourself into your work - even more so than usual, if that was possible. It was to the point that your coworkers have begun to notice. You can see the way they all watch you curiously as you talk to your tables and flit about the dining room floor. Charlotte had even thrown away any attempts at subtly and had directly confronted you about your "situation." Claiming that you've seemed distracted as of late. Tense. And shit, maybe you have been a little uptight lately. Forcing plastic smiles and pretending that there isn't a hurt that's aching deep in the pit of your chest. You had promised her that you were alright, while the words felt fake, almost acidic on your tongue. She hadn't looked convinced.

You had been doing good at pretending that you're alright. For the most part at least. With the distraction of your job and lounging around at home, diverting your attentions with old comedies and comfort watching the same old TV shows, you had nearly convinced yourself that you were alright. Though you mostly owed that to your recent proclivity for eating your feelings with Ben and Jerry's and sunbathing. Cliche, maybe. But effective. Indulging and pampering yourself has become your new means of deflecting the heartbreak that you so desperately want to pretend isn't there. And it had been working so well too.

Until Matilda had to go and ruin it. The sound of his name leaving her red lips might as well as been nails on a chalk board. You know it was well meaning. There is no way that she would know, not even with all of the tabs and connections she's got running through the island. And that had been the point of it all. There was no label for whatever the two of you had been. The only agreement there was that your "relationship" - friends with benefits or whatever you were - was to remain on the down-low. A quiet, airtight secret lest the population of Kildare become privy to the fact that the Kook prince himself had been fucking a Pogue.

It had been fine in the beginning. Well, not exactly fine. If someone were to ask you how you had begun seeing Rafe Cameron of all people, you wouldn't have a good answer. You yourself aren't entirely sure. It had sort of just happened. Like a wildfire that had grown out of control. The both of you have always been at each other's throats. The bullshit roles thrusted upon you by the divide of the classes on the island seeming to demand that you be enemies. Though he was more interested in maintaining those characters than you.

You had never cared much for the Kook vs Pogue ideal. It seems archaic, tired and outdated. An unnecessary dissection that often gets grossly out of hand by the other locals. Sometimes violently so, with the clashes ending in busted lips and bloodied knuckles. Not too long ago a fight had broken out during an after-storm party, where it was claimed that a gun had been drawn and fired. Just another reason why you found the blatant classism in the town to be entirely too much and downright threatening at times.

But no one else believed in it more than Rafe Cameron. Topper Thronton might give him a run for his money, but you'd still have to give the victory to the prince himself. That's why it came to a complete shock to your own system when your relationship with had gone from scathing, sardonic quips and passive aggressive remarks to something balancing on almost playful. You had seemed to dangle precariously between that fine line, rocking back and forth between a genuine disdain and a delicate sort of camaraderie.

It was an explosive mix that was just waiting for the trigger. And the anticipation of it had suspended over you like the humidity that taints the air outside, like the heavy quiet before a great storm before the lashing and booming of lightning and thunder rattles across the sky. Still, the both of you had blindly ignored the signs - the fleeting glances, the jealously that would fester in your gut whenever you saw him with someone else, the way that he would seek you out while you worked to hover over you as you poured sugar into shakers or bussed tables after your customers left. Hiding his interest in the guise of immature taunts and corny insults. And you'd do your best to deny the temptation suspended over you, writing it off as hatred and irritation whenever you crossed paths.

You would see Rafe sparingly in your day-to-day life. Though he would fleetingly come into the restaurant every now and again. Typically to bring his newest fling in for the slices of lava cake or malted milkshakes. The Backyard Grill - or more simply, the Backyard, is a seafood restaurant first and foremost, but one thing that cannot be denied, even by the likes of the upper class, is that it has the best desserts in the entirety of Kildare Island. People of all walks of life come in to get a warm slice of apple pie, or a rich piece of red velvet.

But it's the floats and milkshakes that are the most popular. Usually among couples that are trying to have a romantic evening. Or as romantic as it can be while in the ambiance of a ramshackle dining room, with scratched, defaced tabletops that have the initials of lovers etched into the (once) polished wood, and an old A/C unit that hisses as it spits out air.

It's hardly a place that you'd imagine someone like Rafe Cameron frequenting, but he would still pop in every now and again. Usually with a new girl on his arm, trading them out as just easily as he'd change clothes.

It had made you tempted to speak up about it. To dare to make a subtle warning in the guise of a joke to clue the girls in, but he would always look up at you with a knowing gleam in his eyes. As though he was challenging you to spill and make a scene; to give him a reason to lash out with that scornful tongue of his and somehow pin the blame back on you. It always left resentment bubbling just underneath your skin, hot and angry while you forced yourself to hold your words back, all while a sharp, mocking smile threatened to show on your face.

You had loathed when he would walk through the door. The infrequent nature of his visits making it feel like a sort of roulette as to whenever you'd hear the squeal of the hinges, and the dainty chime of the bell posted above the threshold - if it would be him passing through the door or not. Each time it was him, irritation would flare throughout you, but some traitorous feeling that you couldn't name would quickly follow; light and almost warm. Horrendously close to what could only be considered affection. You'd always shove it down as soon as you would register it.

Rafe was unpredictable. A notorious hothead with a proclivity towards handling any offence he deemed against him with violence and hostility. The echoes his past rampages are still frequently on the town's lips despite being old news. Much like the time that he had reportedly attacked Matthew Bailey in the hallway of the private school for accidentally brushing against him. In Rafe's words, Matthew had rudely shoulder checked him and tried to walk away without apologizing. Regardless, the beat down that had proceeded had been a complete overkill, with Matt ending up on the flat of his back on the floor while Rafe pinned him down and repeatedly struck his face with a closed fist. He only managed to deliver two blows from what you had heard before he was pulled back, but the force behind it had been enough that Matthew's nose is now permanently bent.

Everything about him should have repulse you. From his insistent belief that the less financially fortunate aren't as important or deserving as the wealthy, from the downright volatile way that he behaved. Like a rabid dog on a fraying lead. Morality should have been enough to repel you from him. To get you to steer clear of Rafe Cameron and pretend that he didn't exist.

But that night on the beach, with bonfires burning high along the shore like blazes and the rowdy scattering of people cheering and laughing around you, everything that had been restrained between you both seemed to finally tear free from the grip you had on it. Maybe it had been the influence of the alcohol in your system, buzzing about your veins in a rush of warmth, or a side effect of the excitement thrumming throughout the air, but when you had saw him enter through the mass of bodies, something - some kind of resistance seemed to break.

It was pitiful how your eyes had found him through the masses, fastening onto him as though he was the only thing that had mattered. But the way that the firelight had casted onto his skin had been gorgeous, panting him in hues of amber and vermillion and dramatic shadow. The traces of it glimmering clearly in his eyes, still visible from the distance that had separated you. A few strands of his hair dangling above his eyes in a way that you found a little too appealing, the glow of the flames highlighted the traces of brown and red in the strands.

It was almost offensive; how attractive he looked. Even while wearing one of those stupid polo shirts that he's so fond of. The color of it was a soft sort of blue. A shade that you knew would bring out the color of his eyes, gunmetal and baby blue.

It felt like all of the oxygen had been siphoned from your lungs when the pair of them had flickered over to you and the shadows that you had found comfort in while you watched over Becca as she danced with some random guy, her laughter twinkling over the exuberant chaos letting you know that as of now, he was being respectful and minding his manners. But being under the sudden observations of Rafe had caused the dancing and socializing around you to melt into a dull background until it was nothing but the soft sand beneath your shoes and the balmy glide of the breeze shifting over your skin, slightly damp with humidity and tinged with the salt of the waves crashing along the surf.

You had expected him then to simply alter his path and seek out some of the other Kook's that were mixed in along the crowd, but he hadn't. He kept on his trajectory, walking straight towards you, unworried as the rest of the people around you were too caught up in their own affairs or too intoxicated to notice.

There was a determination and intensity in his eyes that had made you feel uncertain. Almost awkward in your own body, leaving you to pluck at the neon glowstick bracelet around your wrist and absentmindedly swirling the mixed drink in your red solo cup, that had long since gone warm. Once he had been standing directly in front of you, the conversation that had taken place was almost delicate as it was playful. Something new was stretching out in front of you both, strange and tricky to navigate.

"Hey, Pogue," had been his greeting. As though he was trying to remind himself of who - of what you were to him. But it had been said so oddly, not laced with the usual contempt, that it nearly sounded endearing to you. It had been enough to warrant a smile, and the sight of your apparent amusement had been enough to have the tension melting from his posture. The rigid set of his shoulders sagging into something more relaxed and familiar, allowing him to settle into that arrogant stance of his.

"Hey, yourself," you responded and raised the edge of your cup to take a sip of your drink. You had to fight off the urge to wince as the alcohol went down, sharp and stinging on your tongue from the cutting edge of hot vodka and the sickly-sweet syrup of cranberry and orange juice. "What the hell are you doing here, consorting with the enemy. Try not to get to close, yeah? You might catch our diseases."

He had seemed then, to take your words as a sort of challenge. Like a raise to a sort of bet. He had stepped closer, crowding himself into your space in a way that should have felt invading, but you had only delighted in it. Free of a shirt, with only a bikini top to conceal your chest, your skin was unprotected from the subtle warmth that radiated from his body. His sudden proximity washing over you with the scent of his cologne and the gel in his hair, that seemed to have come unruffled from its usual slick back style.

You had felt hypnotized as he pulled himself closer into your presence; engulfed by the ardor in his stare. A like of which you had never seen aimed at you - not so unabashedly, at least. You had only gotten glimmers of it. Small doses given behind the cover of hard glares and snide remarks. But then, the want on his face was bare. Shown freely underneath the cover of the dark while he leaned close enough for you to feel the gentle trace of his breath on your neck. His eyes bore into your own, demanding that you meet his stare and bear the weight of it.

"Maybe I wanna get close."

It had all been a flurry after that. A rush of playfully passed words and hushed, almost covetous whispers. You had allowed him to tug you into the night, far away from the illumination of the bonfires and the possibility of seeing eyes to carve a space just for the two of you. Guiding you into the thicket of trees surrounding the festivities, far off until the laughter darting over the air and the calming rise and fall of the waves had dimmed; softening so that your focus was fixed entirely on him.

He'd taken you against a tree, fucking up into you harshly as though he'd been waiting a lifetime to do it. Splitting you open on his cock and driving his hips forward like he hated you, leaving you to claw at his back through the fabric of his shirt, nails catching and slipping up towards the nape of his neck where they left marks deep enough to have him hissing in pain. You could have felt guilty for it, but the subtle agony seemed to spur him on more. Somehow causing him to pump himself into you with a new vigor, leaving you to hang on and take it while he punched the air from your lungs. Pinned in place uselessly while the bark of the tree he had you pressed against scraped and nicked at your back. It left marks on you for nearly two weeks.

You had thought that would have been the end of it. A night of regret fueled by alcohol and hatred, but the both of you hadn't stopped afterwards. He had begun to seek you out afterwards. Not too brazenly. He couldn't have the locals of the island finding out about your little trysts. But he would often sneak up to your house, around the late hours, always long after your neighbors had tucked in to sleep and the sun was well past the horizon.

At first, it was fully apparent what he wanted from you. He'd stay long enough for the both of you to get what you wanted. A simple transaction of the flesh. The boundaries had been clear then. Just two people working out their frustrations and using each other to take the edge off. Put then he had started spending the night. You aren't sure when he had stopped leaving and begun staying over, tucking himself next to you in bed, burrowing under the covers while you watched the shitty action movies that he always requested you put on.

And pretty soon he began leaving pieces of his clothes. Small things. A shirt or two. Because he liked to see you wearing them; that's what he had told you. But then there had been pants, and the odd sock, and a few pairs of his boxers, all of which you washed with your own clothes and then kept folded in a corner of your closet.

His toothbrush was placed next yours on the bathroom counter, colored white and blue. And there was a bottle of his cologne tucked in the shelf underneath the sink, right next to some of your hygiene products and rolls of toilet paper. He kept spare shampoo in the built in shower cubby, so that he wouldn't have to use yours. He'd smell too feminine, that's what he told you.

He'd spend the night whenever things would grow to be too much with his dad. Their relationship was always so strained. So full of resentment and insecurity. He had shared that with you one night, while you were held to his chest, your head tucked just underneath his chin while you stared up at the fairy lights strung up around your room. The scent of sex was still heavy in the air, the sweat from it clinging to your skin while you counted the thrum of his heart racing under your ear, gradually mellowing out to a steady beat as your breaths calmed.

You had tried to nudge him to stop, promising that you didn't expect for him to share any of it with you. Warning him that it was just the influence of sex and the rush of dopamine and oxytocin thrumming steadily in his veins urging him to open up. You didn't want him to regret it. To regret what you had between you. But he had promised then that he wanted to. That he needed to tell someone. There had been a vulnerability in his voice that you had never heard from him before. A mild tremor as though he was trying to hold onto himself. To keep himself from potentially falling apart while he confessed about his home. How his stepmother was always present and yet entirely absent, how his father saw him as nothing but a failure, how Sarah paid him little mind. A psycho, she had called him once. But he was always sweet to you in those simple moments, when he would scatter kisses up your neck, tender and light while he drew you to him with the wide grip of his hands.

There were so many lines that had been crossed. Lines that just "fuck buddies" don't cross. Not without a clear conversation at the very least. Perhaps it had been your fault, for reading into things that weren't there. For applying meaning to all the little moments you had spent together. All of the times you had ate leftovers together in your small kitchenette, laughing and playfully insulting each other while you ate away at Chinese food or reheated burgers in between jokes. Childishly nudging at him with your foot underneath the table while he complained or made remarks about his day.

It's just fuck buddies who ask for you to pick a box of Lucky Charms during grocery runs because it's a quick meal to eat after fucking, when the weed gives him an appetite; it was just being a fuck buddy when he would lay in your arms for hours, molding himself against the shape of you to try and burrow himself along your skin, breathing tiredly into your neck; and it was perfectly casual when he bought you a necklace with a pendant of his first initial - 14 karat gold he told you. He wanted to go for 24k, but it would have been too weak and malleable, and 18k wouldn't be as scratch resistant. He wanted it to last. That's what he had said as he sucked and nipped at the skin on your neck, around the thin, golden chain; turning the flesh tender and marked.

Maybe it truly was all your fault. So you shouldn't have been at all surprised when he had ghosted you for four days straight and then you had seen him strolling around town with Casey Ellis; her head tucked into his neck while she laughed, her hand placed to his chest. She was a gorgeous girl with highlights in her hair and a body that didn't have so much as a hint of a single stretchmark or a dimple of cellulite, wearing Luis Vuitton sunglasses and an outfit that must have cost a fortune. She was perfect, and she wasn't you.

You were smart enough to connect the dots. To put two and two together. You had been replaced. Just all the girls before you had, and it made you feel like a complete idiot. How you had let yourself be so blinded by affection, to let the wool be pulled over your eyes and tricked into believing that you wouldn't fall to the same fate. Letting something that feels dangerously close to love delude you into thinking you'd be different. It dug deep. Slicing through you and reaching to grip a hold of a vulnerability that you hadn't even known was there. Still, you hardly even thought it over when you had skimmed through your contacts and blocked his number; doing it as though you had been put under a sort of spell, detached and numb while anger seared underneath it all in a burning undercurrent. You sent him a single message before cutting him off and out of your life. Affording him at least that little curtesy, unlike what he had done to you. It was curt. Cut and dry, if not just a little personal.

it's clear that you've found another person to cry to and fuck. that means we're done. Dont come back

Was it a little juvenile? Perhaps. But it had felt good, even if you hadn't done it face to face. But he didn't deserve that much. And it was nice to be so detached about it. To do something as shitty as cutting things off over a text message. It was disrespectful, a slap to the face, and you hoped that it had hurt and confused him. That his brows had pinched in the way that they do when he's bewildered, that he had paced around his room and combed his fingers through his hair while he read those letters over and over again as though it would help him make sense of it.

You had ignored the curious, perplexed stares of your neighbors when you threw his clothes and toothbrush into the containment of the firepit behind your trailer, dousing them with lighter fluid and setting them alight. It had felt therapeutic to watch it all burn. Charring around the edges and turning black as it melted from the unforgiving heat to turn into an indiscernible pile. You'd like wish that the memories with him would do the very same, but you've had no such luck yet.

But it's difficult to forget someone when they're determined to be remembered. Skulking about like a wild dog in the shadows, wandering up to your door in the night, pawing to be let in. The first week after you had cut ties, he had shown up at your trailer, forgoing all attempts at being quiet to bang his fist on your front door. Loud enough to all but tear you from your sleep, causing you to jerk up with a gasp, your heart thumping wildly in your ears as his muffled voice bled past the walls.

"C'mon, baby! Listen - I - I know I fucked up, but we can work past this, alright?" A dull bang had punctuated it, and it left you to wonder if he had dropped his forehead against the door, defeated and desperate. Good. "It's not that - can't we just back to the way things were?"

You had ignored his please to be heard and turned over in your bed. Drowning out the sound of his voice by turning on the TV and waiting him out until he left, deterred only by one of your neighbors' dogs, agitated by the sound of his shouting. After that he only tried to approach you one more time. Turning up at you job and all but ambushing you once you stepped out into the parking lot. You had done your best to ignore him. To keep the venom and contempt that longed to rise up past your lips as he trailed after you like a shadow, demanding that you stopped and just listened to him while you beelined for your car at the far end of the dirt lot.

He had only touched you once you clutched your keys and turned them into the lock and reached for the door handle, grabbing ahold of your shoulders to shove your back to the driver side door, caging you in with his body while he clutched at you like a drowning man reaching for a buoy in a storm. You swear that there were tears in his eyes then, glinting in the dim cast of the nearby streetlamps. The emotion in his voice had been so raw. Broken, as though he was hanging on by a thread and just barely holding himself together. It made you feel like you were being dragged under.

"Just look at me - just let me speak, okay?" His words nearly melded together in a quick rush, as though he couldn't spit them up fast enough. But your heart was in your throat, adrenalin running rampant in your veins while you stared into his eyes. Lost in the desperation in them. The dark of his pupils like hollows, threatening to swallow you whole. All the while your hand remained latched onto the door handle, frozen as he sucked you into the raw emotion that could only be described as a sort of anguish. "I fucked up, I know that, but we can get through this. "

His hands had slipped up to your face then. Cradling you as though it might keep you with him, secure in his palms, a fine porcelain that might shatter if handled too harshly. But you couldn't stand to listen to him. To feel him on your skin, to smell the scent of him after trying to wash the fragrance of his cologne out of your sheets. It had you jerking in his grip like a wild animal, even while a pathetic part of you longed to draw him closer. Before he could fully register it, you had tugged the driver's side door open, slipping out of his grasp and into your car. You had yanked the door shut and slammed your hand down on the main button to lock the entirety of the car down. Keeping him out.

You didn't spare him a glance as he banged on the window, asking that you step back outside in a tone that was so soft. So broken. But you swallowed down the urge to comply. You fueled yourself with the anger buried beneath it all instead as you twisted the key into the ignition and sped off and out of the parking lot, gravel and dust spewing behind while you left him behind. Standing alone in an empty parking lot with only the dim sound of his voice trailing after you like a wounded, violent howl.

"Fine! Go on then! I don't fucking need you!"

It's only been a few weeks since then, but you've done well to move on from it all. It was a simple, few month-long fling. Nothing more, nothing less. And that's all it would ever be. Thankfully, eventually, after a few weeks, he had given up. He stopped coming by your house, he quit stalking around the outside of your job. It was as though he had never even existed. All traces of him were gone from your life. For the most part. Until Matilda had gone and opened up her mouth, accidentally drawing up old memories and picking at a wound that had just begun to heal.

It had been enough to put a blight on the remainder of your day, looming above like the thick of storm clouds. You're suffocating. Being pulled beneath crashing, tossing waves that threaten to fill your lungs with the sting of water and leave you lifeless and adrift. All of the vibrancy and enthusiasm for life that had been there just this afternoon seems to have fizzled out like a sparkler that's been dropped in a puddle.

It makes you frustrated and tired with yourself. Exhausted by how much you've paled in comparison to the person you were only weeks ago, and here you are groveling in self-pity and loathing all because of an egocentric, insecure man who runs around town with all of the self-restraint of a rabid dog. He doesn't deserve your heartache or your tears. He never cared about you or your feelings. You had just been a hole to fuck, a pair of arms to run into when his life at home fell into shambles.

For the first time in a while, you found yourself calling Becca in the hopes of wrangling her into going out. There was a party going on tonight, and an invitation had been extended to you, passed on by Allen Thatcher when he had come into the Backyard yesterday for his usual. You declined then. In any other circumstance, you would have accepted, schedule willing. Then the idea of attending a party, as relaxed as the environment might be, had seemed daunting. Far too much, too overstimulating while you still struggle to grapple with the torrent running rampant within you. But now, with anger and betrayal breaking through it all, bursting between the hurt like a fire spreading through a dead forest, the prospect of blaring music and the sting of alcohol sounds like a relief.

It had been enough to have you dialing Becca and asking if she was free. She had seemed surprised on the phone, and she has a right to be. She's spent close to two weeks now trying to draw you out of the fog that you had fallen under. Doing her best to be supportive and keep you grounded while you try and weather the onslaught of your emotions, often swinging by your place if your work schedules allow to spend hours talking and exchanging some of the local drama with each other and catching up on the little things. She had also goaded you into bleaching and dying her hair late at 3 a.m., a task that you weren't fully confident in, but now the final result isn't too bad.

She knows what happened between you and Rafe. She's the only one on this entire island that's aware of the precarious fling that had taken place between you and him and the sudden "break up" that had followed. She was the only person that you had trusted to share your secret with, and once your mood had taken a steady decline after cutting him off, you were unable to deny that the shift in your demeanor was entirely obvious, and she of all people, deserved to know the reason why.

You received about what you had anticipated. A confused, somewhat disappointed stare in turn, as she no doubt processed why you hadn't told her sooner. The shock clearly written on her face as she wondered just how and why you had chosen to have a fling with Rafe Cameron of all people. But thankfully she had kept (most of) her thoughts and feelings to herself. For now, at least. Once the wound in you heals, you know that she'll be poking and prodding for you to give her all the details.

For now, you can just bask in the sense of freedom that falls over you. It's like breathing after holding your breath for too long and it invites you to be shameless as you allow yourself to sway and move under the guide of the music's rhythm, taking sips of your drink until you can feel it humming in your limbs, making you light and pleasantly warm. People scattered among the space had greeted the two of you as you entered, nodding in greeting and lifting their solo cups to acknowledge you. It was nice to be seen so unabashedly, to be invited into a space without any strings attached or expectations. It just feels like another reminder that you don't need him in the slightest. With all of his insecurities and expectations for how he's perceived in the world. In his version of society. A place that you didn't fit.

Here you're liked. You're wanted without having to give hardly anything in return. You're only expected to be present.

It should be suffocating in Thatcher's living room, crowded by the scattered throng of people as laughter rises and falls across the air, bubbling over the 2000's pop song that blasts through the speakers loudly enough to have the walls vibrating. But the atmosphere is purely electrical, thrumming with an excitement that almost seems tangible, gliding along your fingertips and down your spine. It's lively, but comforting in a space that's decently familiar, having spent many a night in these same walls during parties just like this one, surrounded by many a familiar face. You know the people here. You've grown up with them. Many of which you had played with as a child, exploring creeks for bottles made of green and blue glass, skinning your knees from climbing trees, and breaking into abandoned buildings to explore and decorate with spray paint.

Even if time has grown you apart somewhat, your lives forking from each other to divert you on your own paths, you can easily scan the throng and find at least ten people who you know. It brings you a sort of solace. You community is small, and your luxuries are often just as limited but there's a genuine connection between the lot of you that the Kook's will never have.

Their relationships come with a check list. Requirements and demands that rests entirely on the number of digits in their bank accounts or how they're recognized by their accomplishments. It's all purely material. It's not a give or take, but a constant influx of give, give, give. You suppose in that aspect, you can pity Rafe. And all the other Kook's on this island.

But you don't need to worry about all of that here. You're entirely free to do whatever you want. It could have been hours, or maybe only seconds, time seems to have poured into a blur in the middle of Thatcher's living room. Drawing down into a sluggish glide, like a thin flow of water cascading over the bend of rocks. It had taken you by surprise when a girl had run in from the adjoining kitchen, whooping loudly over the music, and she had nearly sent you and Becca tipping over when she brushed past you, tossing a handfuls of confetti as she went.

Your irritation is only able to flourish for a breath or two before it's snuffed out when the shifting star-shaped silver begins to fall down around you like a soft scatter of rainfall. You have to cover your drink with your hand to keep it from getting contaminated from the confetti as you shift with the music, listening to the elated sound of Becca's laughter from somewhere beside you. Her attentions fixed on a guy that she's been eyeing all night. He's cute in a way, not exactly you type personally, but what you and Becca find attractive has always coexisted on a different spectrum.

He seems to be watching her too. Sneaking glances from his place on the worn couch, but he hasn't worked up the courage to part from his friends, remaining fixed in his place as he clutches his beer. Either playing hard to get or too shy to make a move.

"You gonna go for it?" You ask, leaning in towards her ear to be heard over the energetic tempo.

Her face pinches like she's considering her option, nose wrinkling slightly. She has a tendency on waiting for guys to make the first move. A strategy that typically pays off in a party setting, with everyone boosted by liquid confidence, but this one in particular doesn't seem to be budging from his spot. If she was going to even attempt to approach him then she wouldn't do it without a little, gentle push. But once she works past whatever is giving her hesitation, she's pretty quick to gun for what she wants. Now you just have to nudge.

"I don't know." She answers, shifting on her heels to get closer to you. You can hear the uncertainty in her voice, even underneath the cover of the swelling music. It has an amused smile tugging at your lips, and you fight off the urge to playfully roll your eyes at her as you dare to look back over to the guy who's been undressing her with his eyes the entire night.

"Oh, come on," you urge, meeting her doubtful expression with your own confident one. "You've been watching each other for at least twenty minutes now. "

"Then why hasn't he made a move?" She taps her nails absentmindedly along the side of her cup.

"Maybe he just likes the chase," you shrug. "But I've seen a couple other people here checking him out. Most notably, the tall blonde in the corner. It's only a matter of time before she swoops him up herself."

She seems to take a pause, falling silently for a moment as though she's weighing her alternatives, but when you catch the hint of a smirk on her face you know that she's finally made her choice. She silently taps her cup to yours in a salute, and a quick, "Alright, I'm going in," as she heads off in the direction of the couch with an inviting smile on her face and an extra sway in her hips.

As soon as she leaves, her absence is unignorable. Despite the living room being packed with people, it suddenly seems terribly hollow. There are faces scattered among the throng that you easily recognize. People who you went to high school with. A few only live down the street from you, and you see them nearly every day on your drive to work piddling around in their yards; you talk to some of them while you stand in line at the corner store to ring up the gas for your car a fountain drink. It would be easy, in theory, to walk up to just about any of them and strike up a conversation, but that suddenly seems impossible.

It's like being in the middle of an ocean, clinging onto a scrap of wood left from the remnants of a wreck to keep you afloat in the tossing waves. The colorful array of confetti casted along the carpet, the music humming along the air like a current, the dispersed chimes of laughter floating up around you, it doesn't seem as lively as it did before. The sight of couples mingling in the corners of the room like they're the only people left alive is a nasty reminder of what you've lost. Of what you've never had to begin with.

It has you glancing down at the inside of your cup, and it's a little frustrating to see the bottom of it, dark with only a thin sliver of what isn't even half a sip left. It has you making off towards the kitchen. Weaving through the sprinkling of bodies, carefully avoiding in accidentally nudging shoulders or running into someone as they mindlessly dance and wave their arms in the air. Lost in their own worlds.

It's mostly empty when you pass the threshold, with only two three other people present, two of which are little more than strangers and the other is Thatcher; the small group huddled together near the cabinets. The aforementioned man responsible for the little get together perches on the counter, his head leaned against the cabinets while he talks with the pair between swigs of his sweating beer, laughing loudly with his companions.

You don't let it stop you from approaching the kitchen table posted in the middle of the room, surveying the multiple two liters of soda and bottles of liquor that are scattered along the top, almost lost among the various chips and junk food. There's a lot to choose from, from Tito's to tequila and Fire Ball - the latter of which you can't help but to grimace at. You liked it for all of one night, and now the scent of cinnamon and overwhelming flavor of syrup threatens to make you gag every time. When you first got here, you had let Becca make your drink. A rum and Coke, you think, but it looks like someone might have finished off the bottle of liquor.

"There's beers and stuff in the fridge," a voice sounds out, drawing your attention up from the table and across the room. It's Thatcher, watching you from underneath the scattered dark strands of his hair. He points in the direction of said fridge with the hand holding his drink. "Some of those seltzers and uh, fruity beers too - Mike's or whatever."

"Oh, thanks," you say, crinkling the plastic cup in your hands and turning to toss in the trash can that's been blatantly placed near the table's legs. Probably so that it can't be missed. You see him nod towards his friends in your peripheral vision before slipping off the counter, the three of them exchanging words before he shuffles past them, and they leave the room, passing him knowing smiles as they slip out of the space.

You can guess what they might be insinuating, and suddenly it leaves you feeling just a bit awkward as you move over to the fridge and tug the door open to scan its contents. True to his words there's a pack of Bud Light, the majority of the cans already gone, leaving the box nearly hollow. But the seltzers and alcoholic lemonade is still fairly plentiful.

You've always known about the small crush that Thatcher has on you. Granted he's always been more than a little obvious with it, always following you with his eyes and popping into the Backyard on his lunch breaks from the docks, always requesting your section without fail, if more than one server happens to be scheduled. He's never been untoward or suffocating in his pursuit of you - if you could even call it that. It's always been more of a quiet admiration. He's sweet. Kind. A hard worker and boy-next-door type. The sort of guy that you should be able to see spending your life with. Except you can't. No matter how much you've tried to convince yourself, or others have tried to talk you into seeing his potential, the feelings never come.

You can easily acknowledge that he's attractive. With a light dusting of freckles over his warm skin and defined muscles in his arms from his work on the boats. You can almost be mad at yourself for not having so much as a flicker of attraction for him. It isn't a fault of his own. There isn't some awful thing he had done to you as children, or a comment that he had made in the past that rubs you the wrong way, there's just nothing. Not an ember of want buried down deep or a flicker of consideration that maybe you really should give him a try and maybe you'll discover that he's truly the guy for you. He's patient and sweet, and it somehow does nothing for you.

Being in his presence has never made you feel nervous before, but with the recent gash that Rafe has left in your life, the prospect of Thatcher suddenly coming to you with the insinuation of his feelings seems alarming. Like a wave that you don't have the courage to try and surf and navigate. It makes you almost regret coming here. Of letting your anger and exhaustion get the better of you to cling to an attempt to try and have a sense of freedom.

"Have you been doin' alright lately?" He asks, and your suddenly hyperaware of his body beside your own. The inquiry has something unsteady prickling along your flesh. To prolong the silent gap between you, you unseeingly sweep your vision along the fridge and grab at one of the first cans you see before closing the door softly. You try to focus on the atmosphere around you for a few more moments, listening to the hum of the music, the ceaseless chatter echoing around you. The scent of vape fumes and weed smoke piercing the air and making it thick.

"Uh, yeah, why?" You ask, keeping your voice light and leveled. You only pass him a look when you dig your finger underneath the tab and push it down to pop the can open with a sharp, metallic crack.

He shrugs then, tilting his head as he considers you from his place leaned along the kitchen counter. "I don't know. You seem . . . Different. Distracted, I guess?"

You've heard that one before. From Charlotte and the other girls at work. Even Becca herself has said that you've been quiet. Withdrawn. It makes you feel as though you're being put underneath a microscope. It forces you to be conscious of yourself. Of how you hold your shoulders, the way your arms hang at your sides, the posture of your spine. If you're smiling too much or too little, and the line between the two sometimes seem like they're merging.

"Just personal stuff," you reply, occupying yourself by taking a sip of your drink. "It's nothing serious, honestly."

Another small stretch of silence extends between you two, and you can see him nodding out of the corner of your eye as you shift to properly face him.

"Okay. For what it's worth I'm here if you ever need someone to speak to. I know it can seem a little lonely when you're dealing with shit. Especially, personal, family stuff. " He clears his throat then, his eyebrows drawing close. "Sorry, I didn't invite you here to interrogate you. You're probably trying to forget it all, and I'm just reminding you-"

"No! It's fine," you assure him in a quick rush. And it's the truth. You can't deny that the sentiment of it is nice. To know that he does care. You wouldn't consider yourself particularly close to him. You get on well enough. You've been to several of his parties, and he comes in to see you semi frequently at work, but beyond those cordial meetings, your time with him has never really extended beyond that. He was sort of part of an old friend group of yours when you were young. A friend of a friend. But age had seemed to draw you apart. You outgrew each other, it seems. But from what you remember, he was always one of the most doting. A natural part of his personality brought on from being the eldest brother to three siblings, most likely.

Despite it all, it's a comfort. You can feel the tension that had pulled your muscle taut beginning to fade, allowing you to relax again. There's the impression of a soft smile on your mouth. A product of the relief that melts through you at the small offering of his support. It's probably not one that you'll actually seek out or indulge in, but the thought behind it is a welcome one.

"I appreciate it." You offer a smile.

Something shifts in his expression then. It's tender and subtle, but the implications of it suddenly terrifies you. The sight of it gives you a good idea of what is going on in his head. Of what he thinks might be happening, that an opening has just presented itself to him. It's more than enough to have that delicate sense of unease welling up inside of you again, trembling up your spine like a bolt of electricity. It urges you to make up an excuse, no matter how flimsy or paper thin it might be, but the words in your throat never rise. You feel trapped as you watch him shift awkwardly on his feet, the bottom of his shoes squeaking lowly on the fake, linoleum tiles as he prepares to speak, clearly thinking over how to make his approach.

"Who the hell is this?"

At first you consider that one of your earlier drinks had been spiked, and that you're suffering from a hallucination before you tip over and pass out on the kitchen floor. That could be the only possible explanation for the familiar voice that has just cut across the energetic atmosphere and uncomfortable tension. The sound of it seems to sever through you like a hot blade. The tone of it and the subtle, almost tired croak that always seems to be present in the edge its inflections searing through you like a lick of fire.

It has your head jerking in its direction in a sharp snap and so many different things happen in you at once. Your mouth goes dry, you're certain that your heart stops and plummets down to the pit of your belly; time grinds down to a halt. The air is like static, thrumming over your skin in a way that tingles and hums. It forces you to stare like a deer caught in the headlights.

Something about him looks rough. You can't tell if it's just the oily hue of the overhead kitchen light that's making the bags underneath his eyes more pronounced, but his face looks ragged. As though he hasn't slept properly in days; body pulled up tight with a nervous energy. His hair tousled and unkempt, as though he's been restlessly running his hands through it, knocking the strands loose to hang above his eyes, which look wild. A little blood shot as they dart between you and Thatcher, sweeping down the length of the other man's body as though he's sizing him up. It makes you worried that he's come here coked up. Fueled by chaotic emotions and drugs.

It immediately puts you on edge, the way that he's openly evaluating him. No doubt, considering what might happen if he crosses the floor and swings on Thatcher. It's enough to rip you from your daze, the very prospect of it snapping over you like the crack of a gunshot.

"Rafe," you gasp. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you," he answers, as though it's normal. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He creeps forward a little bit then, as though he's attempting to approach a wild animal that might startle and dart at any second. And honestly, you feel as though you might. Your mind is scrambling, whipping around like a storm as a barrage of questions rise and swell.

"How did you know I was here?" The question tumbles out of your mouth like something molten. Even with the unease seeping at you, you're unable to fight of the irritation burrowing beneath the surface of it all. "Are you stalking me? Do you have someone keeping tabs? What-"

"It was a lucky guess."

Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, a voice in your mind seethes. He's such a liar. It's like he's allergic to telling the truth. There's no way he had a "lucky guess" for this. There's no explanation as to how he managed to track you down to a house in the middle of nowhere. A place that you know he's never been to before.

Thatcher stands up straighter beside you, removing himself from the support of the counter to evaluate Rafe. "Ah, do you want me to kick him out? -"

"Why don't you keep out of this." But it isn't a question or a suggestion. It slips from Rafe's mouth sharp and venomous, a clear command. Nearly a hiss with how much disdain is etched in his words. His vision flickering from you just long enough to pin Thatcher in place. It makes you wonder how he could possibly be so cross with a person that he doesn't even know. But then again, you've seen him snap people for as something as little as looking at him for too long.

You can practically feel the possibility of a fight in the air. Heavy and charged like the presence of electricity running through the thick of a storm with the promise of a lightning strike. You can see the hypothetical rope that's restraining Rafe fraying and straining by the second. Growing weaker and weaker. Everything about the way that he's holding himself is practically screaming that he's preparing for the possibility of a physical confrontation; shoulders set, and eyes wide and glinting in the glow of the lights in a way that looks feral.

You hardly think when you step out in front of him, moving yourself away from Thatcher to place your body between the both of theirs until there's little more than a few feet separating you and Rafe. You hardly have time to process how close you are to him. That night in the parking lot feels like a lifetime ago. A murky, faded memory now that he's here in front of you again. You try to shove it all down as you crowd closer, drawing his focus onto you. He watches at you like you're a ghost. Like you might not be real at all. A figment of his imagination. There's a type of wonder in his expression, wide eyed and doused in disbelief.

"You want to talk, right? That's why you're here?" You ask sharply, in a rapid fire, ignoring Thatcher as he shuffles just close enough to enter your peripheral vision. You have half the mind to warn him to back off, but you don't.

"Yeah, I just wanna talk," Rafe answers. It sounds like another lie. His eyes are still attentive on you, the joined shades of faint gray and blue boring into you with an intensity that you long to both shy away from and bask under. You can see it now that you have to confront whatever this is. He's made it more than apparent that he won't leave you alone. That he won't back off until he's said his piece. He's a dog with a bone, and he isn't going to relent until he finally gets his way.

"Fine." You relent, and all but slam the can of drink that you're holding on the edge of the kitchen table, nearly knocking a bag of chips down onto the floor. You swear you can see relief wash over Rafe then, slipping over from his body as though he had been held down by a physical weight. The alleviation burns bright in his stare, and a deep, silent sigh expels from his chest. It's as though you had just saved him. Tugged him out of deep, dark waters and onto solid land.

It's Thatcher who speaks up next, standing straighter like he might dare to move closer. "Hey, are you sure that that's a good idea?"

That's all it takes for Rafe to start forward, lunging like a guard dog. "Why don't you stay the fuck out of it, huh? She's not your girl, so do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut."

You have to throw yourself in front of him again, smacking your hands onto his chest to try and nudge him back. It's probably by the grace of God that he relents, yielding to the press of your hand and allowing you to push him back a few paces. You're quick to look over your shoulder to pass a glare at Thatcher. A silent signal to get him to keep silent, lest this get out of control. It's a plea and an order all once, and thankfully he complies, even while he looks like he wants to do nothing more than to meet Rafe's challenge.

"It'll only be for a few minutes," you decide and promise; to Thatcher, to Rafe, but mostly, it just seems like you're saying it to yourself. You can see that Thatcher is uncertain. He has every right to be. You should be as well, but you can't find yourself to be swallowed by your doubt and caution. Instead, you move around him, not even bothering to check and make sure that he's following.

You know that he is. Like a buried instinct, you can practically feel his presence running down your spine as he trails closely like a shadow. Allowing you to guide him through the living room where some people pause and turn with confused expressions as they see Rafe pass. But you do your best not to pay them any mind. Not even when you can hear hushed murmurs manage to trickle past the wild thrum of music; gossip already taking root.

You were able to get a glimpse of Becca making out on the couch with the stranger from earlier. You wish you had it in you to be happy for her, but you're currently too busy being attacked by a chaotic swirl of emotions as you lead him down the narrow hall until you come to a door on the right. The knock that you harshly tap against the flimsy wooden panel is loud but rushed, and you hardly give anyone time to answer before you're twisting the knob and all but throwing the door open on its hinges.

Fortunately, it's empty and you're quick to slip into the compact space, slamming it shut behind you once Rafe steps past the threshold and twisting the lock. It's all done with the sharp pronunciation of anger, quick and heavy as you try to control the absolute flood of insults and questions that threaten to spill past your lips, but you settle for leaning back against the sink, watching him with your arms crossed.

"Well? Go on then," you encourage tersely.

His eyebrows crease just the slightest. He shifts back, tilting on his heels while his lip's part. Like he's perplexed. "So that's how it's gonna be, then?"

"Yep."

He stares at you for a few beats as though he's trying to process your remark, wiping a hand along his mouth in an annoyed gesture. "Y-you just left. Without hardly so much as a word. One minute we were fine, and the next -" his hands raise up in the air in some sort of a flourish like it'll help him articulate better, " - Gone. Like nothing. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

For a long moment you can only stare at him. In disbelief. In complete shock honestly. You can feel your face twisting up in a snarl, but probably does nothing to show the true extent of your anger. "What it did to you? What about me, Rafe?" It comes out scathing. Dripping with contempt and it has you leaning just slightly from the support of the sink - just enough to tilt into his space. "Do you even realize how shitty it made me feel, seeing her clinging to you like a tick? No warning from you or anything. You used to sleep in my fucking bed, Rafe. I would wash your boxers with my laundry. And then what? I'm just thrown away? That easily?"

A laugh bubbles up from you, full of scorn and mocking. You hate the lost look in his eyes. How he shuffles back a few paces, as much as the small space of the bathroom with allow, just until his back nudges with the wall and shakes the small picture frame hung there. Suddenly, he seems like the trapped animal. A nervous, wild thing that's been cornered and threatened, but you can stop yourself once you've started, and it pours out of you in a rush, talking over him as he tries to speak. Tries to defend himself with more lies.

"I guess it's my fault though, isn't it? I shouldn't have expected anything different. How could the prince of Kildare Island be seen with someone like me, huh? I'm not rich and perfect. How could a Pogue honestly expect to be with someone like you? " Your mouth shapes into a grimace as you observe as he stands to the wall, shoulders hunching like he doesn't know what to do with himself. "What was I to you, honestly? Just a distraction? A little inside joke with yourself? A quick fuck to take the edge off when life with daddy and mommy got too rough?"

"That's not it, okay!?" He shouts suddenly, moving forward abruptly enough to send you reeling back into the sink. Enough for the press of the porcelain to sting. "Will you just let me speak? Just - " His face pinches again, lips twisting while he draws in a deep breath as a means to steady himself. "Just let me talk."

It makes you swallow. Burying down the nerves that prickle along your gut and beneath your skin as you watch him. You move your hands to grip the edge of the of sink tightly enough for your knuckles to ache, but you do keep your mouth shut and he seems to take your silence as the go ahead.

"I didn't sleep with her, alright? I tried. But I didn't - I couldn't. "

"Like that's any better." You scoff. It's childish, but in your defense, he's entitled. So out of touch with reality and the impact that he truly leaves on things. Unaware of the hurt that he's carved into you. You have to distract yourself by looking off; anywhere but him, and you end up scanning over a half-used bottle of body wash and a bar of soap that sits in the bathtub caddy like they're the most interesting objects in the world.

"When I'm with you, you make me feel . . . things. Things I've never felt before. Not really." The clunky confession draws your attention to him much easier than you'd like to admit. The way that he describes his feelings is always odd. Detached. Sort of messy, like he's trying to come to terms with being a human being and doesn't know how to fully understand the gravity of his own emotions. "It was a lot to deal with. I didn't know how to. And there was all of this shit with my family and that damned Pogue sticking his nose where he shouldn't - I just needed a distraction. But it couldn't have been you. I wouldn't have been able to keep myself - "

He seems to catch himself short. Biting his tongue to keep it at bay. And whatever it is you aren't sure. But you have to know now. He's not allowed to backtrack as soon as it gets uncomfortable for him. Not after what he had done. How he had left you and tried to pin the blame back on you.

"You wouldn't have been able to keep yourself from what?" It surprises even you when your voice comes out soft. Far too light for the conversation you're having and all of the pain that it's digging up. But it must have some sort of effect on him. He seems to lean closer to you then, like he longs to dip into your space and is just barely resisting in holding himself back.

When he looks at you again there's such bare vulnerability reflecting in his gaze. It nearly breaks something in you, but you hold onto your resolve. Gripping tight onto the heat of your resentment while something pathetically tender yearns to surface. It's dim and weak, but even the traces of it are enough to frighten you. To make you angry at yourself.

Rafe himself seems to hesitate. Like he's reached a physical barrier and doesn't know how to move past it. Something about his aversion annoys you. The implications that his words have left hang heavy in the atmosphere. Thick and prickling just like the humidity outside, and it seems to cling to your skin just as it would. Uncomfortable and sticky. He looks as though he might back away again. His body curling in on itself, clearly agitated, like he means to hide from your stare.

"Rafe," you murmur. It sounds like a plea to you; just as desperate as he looks. it almost pains you to be so delicate around him, but you can't seem to force the anger back into your voice.

He swears lowly under his breath, muttering lowly to himself in a tone that's too quiet to make out. He nearly looks as though he's lost his mind, mumbling to himself with some sort of distress clearly visible in his posture. And then in a blur he's on you. He's crowding you into the sink, his hands cupping your face lightly as though he wants to touch but isn't sure if he can. There's something frantic about it all. Like someone trying to catch water and keep it from slipping between their fingers. And there's a glimmer in his eyes that fervent, full of need and want; pupils blown so wide that they almost seem like chasms. Like they could swallow you whole.

"I think I love you." He says it slowly and yet it still comes out like a mess. Like he's articulating softly to try and sound out a foreign language. A tongue that he's never heard before. There's a confused edge to it. Almost as though he's in disbelief himself.

It leaves you more stunned that anything that has left him this night. Or in the entire span that you two have known each other. There's laughter welling up inside of you, but it feels like it might be out of hysterics rather than joy, but all you can do is sit and stare at him in total silence. You think you've lost the ability to speak. Your voice is absent. A dead thing in your throat.

"Baby, talk to me. Say something." His thumbs sweep along the swells of your cheeks, stroking you tenderly like you're something breakable.

"That's not true." You will it out of you, forcing your voice from your chest and it rises up a pale comparison of its usual tone. Light and weak around the edges. You hate the hurt look that flickers across his face. As though you had struck him or thrusted a knife into his chest. "You wouldn't have hurt me if you did. You wouldn't have done what you did."

"I know, but I was scared, baby." He nods in agreement. But there's still an excuse. Because there always is with him. He just can't seem to help himself and cuts you deep, prodding the wound that's already there and bleeding. It has you gripping at one of his arms, to pull him away or keep him close you aren't sure. "I was scared of us."

"There is no us."

"But there could be."

He's clinging onto you with the desperate zeal of a starving man groveling at the feet of a savior. Spewing out praises and pleas to satisfy the unforgiving hunger ravaging his body. In any other circumstance, you would have delighted in seeing him so anguished. You would have gloated over it. But it's difficult to find that delight while he's making promises of you've always longed for. A promise that you know he can't really keep. Not when you're worlds apart. It makes it cruel, the way he dangles it in front of your face with so much conviction. As though he believes in his own lies.

And you want to trust in them. So badly that it aches. It's almost like a physical agony, and it has you resisting the urge to lean into him for a comfort that only he can provide while he causes your pain.

"Don't do this, Rafe. Please." You know that you must sound pitiful. A far cry from the rage that had possessed you only moments before, and you hate how powerless he's able to make you. How easily he can disarm you with just his presence, the sound of his voice. You're weak against him. You think that you always have been, long before the two of you had begun to hook up; always sneaking quick glances at him when he wasn't looking. Admiring him when you knew that you shouldn't have been.

"We can do it; just you and me." He insists, curling his body closer to yours as though he's trying to cage you in; his lips nearly brushing along yours. It has his scent wafting over you, filling up the air and tainting every drag of oxygen you take until he's trapped in your lungs; all dark rum, musk, and a blend of something woody and embellished with a hint of spice. It always blends with the salt of his skin and his natural scent. The same one that had stubbornly clung to your sheets and lingered about your trailer like an unwelcome ghost for days.

"And what happens then? When the friends you're always so worried about see you with me? How do you think they'll look at you then?" You try to manipulate some strength into your voice, but it still sounds too light, even to you. Nearly wavering.

"They don't matter anymore. Not really. " He promises. The cradle of his hands becomes firmer in its press, sinking the warmth of his palms into your skin. "It's just you; it's always been you."

You think that it shatters you and snaps your ire back into place all at once. Striking fire around the molten heat that had just begun to dim. But it doesn't manifest in the nature of more scathing words or a slap to his cheek. You just want him to shut up. To stop talking. Suddenly, your lips are on his, your fingers are threading through his hair as you guide him into a kiss that's all teeth and tongue; fueled by the fire and the suffering in your veins.

A small, startled sound puffs from his chest. The only indication of his surprise before he's matching your passion with an ardor and need that leaves you just as bewildered and breathless; swept under as though a raging surf has crashed over your body. He nips at your mouth, biting at the tender flesh of your bottom lip like he means to draw blood. His nails scratch at your scalp, his fingers tensing like you might slip away otherwise and he's determined to keep you held against him while he nudges his body flush to yours.

It quickly becomes a tangle of limbs as you both scramble to get closer, guided by the overwhelming sense of relief that smooths over you like a balm on a burn scar. The taste of him in your mouth seeming to soothe you and tear you apart all at once, but you can't find the strength to stop now that you've started. The mere idea of it seems like a damnation. Like hell incarnate. And now that he's here you can't help but to wonder how you've made it so long without him. You feel drunk on him. Intoxicated by the alcohol on your veins and the scent of him; the desire coiling in your belly like something molten and starved.

You moan into him when he removes his hands from your face sweep them down the length of your body. Trailing them along your ribs and down to cup your ass, squeezing the shape of it as he hauls you up onto the counter and the edge of the sink so that he can wedge a place for himself between your thighs. It urges your legs to part, and you willingly let him settle between them, rucking your skirt up high on your hips as he presses against you.

Fitting himself so close that there isn't any space left to separate your bodies.

He already seems restless, his hips working on yours in slow, almost broken grinds. Like he's not even aware that he's doing it. Mindlessly seeking out friction while he breathes into you. It's like he's been starved, and now that he has something to feed that hunger, he's frantic and wanton. His fingers claw at you. Gripping so tightly that you know the skin beneath them is going to smart and sting later, but you almost welcome the pain. The reminder that it'll leave.

You've been kissing for so long that it feels as though you're beginning to suffocate. The small gulps of air you've been snatching in between the nips of his teeth and the sweeps of his tongue aren't enough. There's a slight pinch in your lungs, screaming at you to pull away, but you wait only till the last second to do so. Only removing your mouth from his once you fear you could go lightheaded and faint. Still, you can't help but to mourn the loss when you break the kiss to come up for air, gasping softly to soothe the mild ache in your chest.

Rafe's nose brushes against yours, nudging as though he's tempted to seek out your mouth again. But he grants you the mercy of occupying his own by scattering fervent kisses up the stretch of your neck, removing a hand from your hip to grip your hair instead. Using it as leverage to tug your head to the side to offer himself more of your flesh.

It all feels so overwhelming. As though all of the nerves in your body have come alight and are burning, flaring like embers at the press of his body and the wet glide of his mouth. His tongue traces over you, lashing out to taste the salt on your skin. His lips close around the point on your neck that turns you soft, and just as easily as if he had pressed a button, your muscles seem to go taut and malleable all at once when he begins to suck. Slightly dragging his teeth over that spot, making your hips jerk against his. He's already hard. The weight of him pressing against your cunt. The motion tugs at the fabric of your underwear, and it could be embarrassing when you notice the arousal soaking the material, making it cling to your skin, but you're too deep in the want the licks up your flesh to truly care.

He groans lowly in your ear, the noise drawing up deep and heavy from the depths of his chest. Spurred on from the restless drag of your hips as you begin to greedily chase after the bright heat that zips up your spine when you do.

"Rafe." You moan, clinging to his shoulders like it might keep you from floating away.

"I know, I know. I got you." He mumbles it on your skin, saying it between sharp bites of his teeth. His fingers flex again, like a physical period on the sentence. Then he's moving again. Shifting his focus down your chest to map out a string of kisses across your chest. Nipping at your collar bone and tracing his tongue over the hint of your breasts that peek from the low cut of your shirt. Your head thumps back on the mirror as you arche towards him, seeking out the wet heat of his mouth when suddenly he pauses. His lips detach from your skin, just near enough that you can feel the light brush of them, but it's not firm enough to bring you any pleasure.

Your eyebrows furrow close when he still doesn't move. You can't keep yourself from tilting your head down to glare at him with a frustrated scowl, lightly panting as you as you speak. "Wh - why did you stop?"

He pulls back then, posture straightening just a bit to meet your eyes, and you can't keep the confusion off of your face when you feel something slip from between your breasts. But then a glint of gold passes into your vision, twinkling lowly in the warm light projecting over the bathroom. Dangling from his index finger and still hooked around your neck is a familiar chain. Thin and delicate, but it's the pendant that hangs from it that really captures your attention.

Humiliation stings at your cheeks at the sight of his expression. All smug and too satisfied as he suspends the charm in front of your face, faintly swinging it back and forth like a taunt. Forcing you to confront the R and its significance; still safe and secure on your body despite everything. You can see his delight and pride glinting clearly in his eyes, and there's a comment on his tongue.

"Don't," you warn. But despite your best efforts to sound firm, something soft bleeds around the fringes. It's playful but also sensitive. Reluctantly spirited despite all of the hurt. It dips over the heat that clouds over the atmosphere like the light fall of a delicate, scattered rain. It's frustrating how natural it feels. Like slipping into the comfort of your bed after a long day or falling back into the soothing relief that comes with giving into a bad habit. It's like a second nature. That should concern you. It should make worry and maybe even hate yourself a bit too, but the wave of self-loathing doesn't come. You can't seem to find a place for hatred when being so close to him is like coming home.

"Don't what?" He asks cheekily. Finally, he drops the necklace. But he doesn't break eye contact as he leans forward to plant a kiss between your breasts over the obnoxious barrier of your shirt. You've never wanted to rip off a piece of fabric any more than you do now. It's almost as though he can read you mind once his hands slip beath your shirt, bunching the short, tight cut of it further up your ribs and past your breasts until its little more than a strip of gathered fabric. And then he's slipping it up around your torso and impatiently tugging it free from your arms, which you lift to aid him. Allowing him to toss it somewhere on the floor. You hear it land with a light thump, discarded and forgotten.

There's only the cover of your bra now keeping your chest from being on display, but his eyes zero in on it regardless. Eyeing the shape of your breasts as they heave against the lace clinging to them and the gold jewelry draped over your skin. That starved look is back again, melting with the smug glint in his eyes; gone dark from lust.

"I've missed you so much." He speaks against you, speaking the words to your skin like it's a prayer. A declaration and plea for all at once. He drops to his knees then. The bottoms of his shoes lightly squeaking on the tiles as he shifts to trail the plush of his mouth down your stomach, pausing in his trail to swipe his tongue along the divot of your belly button. It makes your stomach twitch when he does it. Lurching at the liquid fire that it leaves in his wake. He playfully nips at the hem of your skirt, nosing at the button keeping it secure around your waist. "What about you, baby? Did you miss me?"

He already knows the answer to that. You can tell by the way that his eyes fix on the pendant glinting just above the joining strip of your bra, between the cups of delicate fabric. But even with the traces of his ego still present, the desperation that was there before is still clear in the dark of his stare. He looks so vulnerable then, with his head cradled between your thighs, staring up at you like a sinner seeking absolution. You know that he's always craved to be wanted. To be needed and seen.

You could easily tear him down right now, in the exposed state he's in. To exact the revenge that you had wanted so badly. To finally get ahold of the retribution that has haunted you for many sleepless nights. But the desire to truly do so doesn't come. The sting of anger that ravaged you before has dimmed into a weak ember, set to go dark and cold.

Instead of lashing out, as though it has a mind of its own one your hands reach down to smooth over the side of his face. Your fingers glide over his skin and cup around the shape of his ear. His eye lashes nearly flutter when he leans into the warmth of your palm, seeking out the press of it like he needs it to survive.

"Yeah, I missed you," you admit. You swear that he shifts closer to you at the confession. Such a minute movement that you might not have noticed it had your attentions not been so heavily fixed on him. There are the traces of a smile on his lips. But it isn't smug like before. It seems like one of relief this time. Happy and at peace. Like a sentence so small as brought him a kind of solace.

"Yeah?" He presses a soft kiss onto your upper thigh then, holding his mouth there while a puff of what could be a breath of laughter, or a sigh of elation leaves him. "Let me show you. Can I show you?"

The fervent pitch of his voice is loud in your ears, your dazed mind sluggishly making sense of his rushed beg. But once it connects, you don't take long to respond. Your head nods quickly in agreement, a jumbled string of yeses pouring from you in a steady stream. Anticipation thrums thick in throughout your body, smoldering and intoxicating as it winds through your veins. You've hardly done anything with him, and you already feel drunk. Like your head has been packed full of stuffing and fumes. You feel like a live wire. Running hot and searing; waiting to light up in a barrage of sparks.

You swear you could already tip over the edge when he shoves his face between the apex of your thighs, laving his tongue over the clothed heat of your cunt without any warning. Licking you through your underwear. It all but crushes a strangled gasp from you and your hands fly to the edge of the counter to support yourself as your body curls in on itself. Doubling over from the zip of pleasure that skirts through you like the wild crack of a lightning rod.

"You're already soaked," he groans. The vibrations of his voice doubling with the drag of his tongue and making your hips mindlessly grind into the warmth of his mouth. It feels so good, and yet it somehow isn't enough. The barrier of your underwear makes the swipe of his lips and tongue too dull. A faint comparison of what it could be. Of how good you know it really feels.

"Ray, take 'em off." You beg, arching as he grinds the point of his nose against your clit.

The look in his eyes is impish as he watches you from his place between your legs. The look of it is always a sign of trouble from him. Especially in situations like this, where he can easily exercise control over you by keeping you malleable and desperate on the caress of his fingers or the glide of his tongue. He'll keep you dangling on that edge for hours if you let him. Pushing and pulling you like the sway of the tide. Working you up to the precipice of something debilitating only to drop you back from it, until your pleasure ebbs away into a dull, frustrating ache. And he'll do it over and over again until your moans meld into the beginnings of a sob. But you can't do that. Not now, at least, with a hunger and want that feels like it could tear you apart by twisting inside of you.

"Please, don't tease tonight." You pant, still mindlessly chasing after what little pleasure he gives with the roll of your hips. "Not now, Rafe. I can't-"

"I won't. I promise," he says, placating you with kisses along your underwear, sucking at the delicate skin at the joining of your hip and thigh. "I'll play nice, hm?"

It's only then that he's tugging your underwear off. Ripping it from you so suddenly that it would have uprooted you from your place if you hadn't already been clinging to the edge of the counter. You can hear the sharp cry of fabric giving a little as he slips it free from your legs. But you don't have time to mourn or admonish him for the loss because you're pretty sure that he pockets it, taking if for himself like the pervert he is. It wouldn't be the first pair that he's snagged from you. His probably has more of your panties than you do at this point.

He uses his shoulders to shove your thighs far apart, using his hands to lift and drape your legs over his back as he lurches forward, smothering himself in your bare cunt. He groans into you, dropping his mouth open to swipe his tongue, lapping at you like a man starved.

A loud, startled moan rips free from your lungs and you only have half the mind to swallow it down, making it trail off in a strangled noise. You can still hear the party living on just outside the thin barrier of the door. The music and chatter from beyond it trickling past in a muffled hush. From deep in the living room there would be no possible way for them to know what's happening, but if someone was to walk past the bathroom it would be more than apparent as to what the both of you are doing inside.

Rafe isn't having it. He lands a soft smack on the outside of your leg, mostly just to catch your attention, but the subtle sting of it makes you gasp regardless. It forces you to return you focus to him, looking down at him as he watches you with eyes that seemed glazed and almost drunk. He just barely pulls back, his lips still sweeping over you while his tongue brushes over your clit in soft licks as he talks in a slurred sort of tone: "Don't hold yourself back like that. Let them hear you. I want them to." His voice dies down then, falling into an almost crazed murmur in between the drag of his mouth. But you are certain that you can make out scraps of what he's saying in between the messy, wet sounds coming from your pussy and the pants of breath rising from his lungs. Something along the lines of "especially him - I'll kill him."

Regardless of who he's referring to (even though your addled brain slowly gathers that it's more than likely Thatcher), it should concern you. The threat that easily slips from him as though he's proposing something as simple as taking a joy ride around the island or making a remark about an annoying coworker. It's supposed to be disturbing, especially when you know that violence comes easily to him. Sometimes as simple as breathing. As though it's engraved in his DNA, part of his genetic coding.

You know deep down, in the pit of your soul that the remark isn't one to simply pass off. It isn't just a product of his mood or a fleeting result jealousy; it could very well be a promise. He's always been protective over what he deems as his. If anything poses a threat to his happiness or comfort, he's quick to lash out. He doesn't shy away from the possibility of violence, bloodied knuckles or busted noses and broken wrists.

You had seen the way that he had looked at Thatcher earlier. Like a guard dog staring down a potential intruder through the bars of a fence, eyes wild and locked on. You hate to admit that you liked it a little then too. The glimmer of satisfaction that had zipped through you then had been so easy to ignore underneath all of your confusion and frustration, but here and now, with his head buried between your thighs and his fingers tensing around your skin, it's impossible to disregard.

His jealousy had been clear as day underneath the warm hue of the kitchen light. Naked for the world to see. Thatcher had to have noticed it then. He would have to be an idiot not to. Rafe came here to find you, trailing after you through the crowd of Pogue's and locals just so that he could speak to you. His reasons for showing up to this party in the middle of nowhere was obvious to everyone, and it pleases some twisted little part of you to know that gossip must already be circulating around the rooms just outside. Whispers about you and the prince of Kildare Island himself that would quickly spread beyond these very walls and make their way to town to be scattered amongst the population. To the two-faced old women of the church on Driftwood Parkway and all the way down to the rich men in khaki's as they cruise across the green in their golf carts.

Just about everyone on this island would know about you and him by the time that the sun sets tomorrow over the waves and douses Kildare in the dark. Just the prospect of it nearly pleases you as much as the glide of his tongue splitting you open does. Dipping inside the entrance of your cunt like he means to drink your soul from you. The combination of it all threatens to make you double over again, and to keep yourself from writhing off the counter you thread your fingers into his hair. Using the grip of it to grind your hips against his nose and the heat of his mouth. Your head knocks back on the mirror with a dull thump as a cry shakes itself free from your ribs, pitching and ragged.

"Rafe - oh fuck. God."

"Mmm, nah, not God - it's just me." Comes his response. It's so cliché and corny that you would have rolled your eyes and scoffed at him were you not too busy trying to gulp down oxygen in between your labored breaths. All you can do is manage an exasperated, playful frown in response, but you can see amusement flicker in his own gaze at the sight of it.

His apparent delight is enough for you to scramble enough air together to form a sentence, but it comes out winded; slow and choppy around the edges while you force it out. "You're so lame, Ray."

"Well, you're stuck with me. Now don't interrupt me." Then he's taking your clit into the cradle of his tongue and sucking. Laving it with small licks that turn your thoughts slow and syrupy. You hardly notice that he's pressing a finger against you, gathering the slick of your cum before slipping it inside, stretching your walls around the thickness of it; so much longer and wider than your own. It has your jaw dropping at the added pleasure and your hips twist up when he trusts it in deep. Finding that depilating spot that leaves you a mess with a practiced precision, reaching it so easily, just as he's done countless times before.

He chases after the jerk of your hips. Keeping his mouth fixed to you while he hurtles you closer to drowning in bliss. The influence of your approaching orgasm starts to crest with a speed that's dizzying, and you feel as though you hardly have any time to brace for it. It has your free hand scrambling across the stretch of the counter, blindly seeking for something else to hold on to, but all you succeed in doing is knocking down a bottle of mouthwash, sending it toppling over the edge to clatter on the floor below.

You can feel it fizzling at your fingertips and toes. Skirting down your spine like a zip of electricity, like a drizzle of scorching honey. Your body is drawing up tight. The muscles in your abdomen already seizing to mangle the pleasure from your body.

"Ray-Rafe, I'm gonna cum. You're gonna make me cum."

He doesn't bother coming up for air. Instead, his free hand slips up your thigh and reaches for your own. For the same one that had been mindlessly clawing for something to reach onto, and it makes your heart ache a little bit when he takes it in his own. Threading his fingers with yours for you to squeeze. It's a gesture that's far too sweet for a person who's currently eating you out in someone else's bathroom, but the pressure of his palm on you, the chill of his ring on your warm skin, the intimacy behind it, is enough to throw you headfirst into the throes of an orgasm.

You moan his name when you cum. Repeating it over and over again like a mantra that might save you as your bliss rips through you. But it's the support of his hair threaded through your fingers and the weight of his hand held in your own that serves to keep you grounded while you coast through the flood of warm and pleasure. It ebbs away slowly. Slipping from your body like melted sugar being poured down the drain and stubbornly catching in place. But it doesn't stop. It stretches out in front of you and begins to shift into something tainted by licks of fire and shocks of electricity.

It's too much. Blending between the lines of pleasure and pain. You need to catch your breath. To properly orient yourself but Rafe hasn't removed his mouth or his fingers from you. It's like your nerves have been lit on fire and it only heightens when he slips a finger in along the next, curling them together to stretch you out around them.

"Rafe, I can't." You nearly sob, your back impulsively bows and twists to try and shuffle your hips out from underneath the constant swipe his tongue but he stubbornly keeps himself in place.

He parts his lips from you only long enough to speak out a harsh reply, his voice firm and rigid while he pins you with a stare that's equally unwavering. "You can and you will. You've done it before; just ride it out and take it, baby."

And then he's on you again. Smearing your pussy open with his mouth, which suddenly feels too hot. It's a sweet sort of torture. One that you've never fully gotten used to, as much as you like it. It's like grasping onto a pop of lightning; searing underneath your flesh and ravaging you from the inside out. He's gone down on you for hours before, spurred on by the stresses brought on by his family and the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's a sort of stress relief for him, in some way. He gets a kind of peace out of it. From keeping you underneath his mouth and working orgasm after orgasm out of you until you're a wet, incoherent mess. Even while you benefit from it, it's more than apparent that it's mostly for his pleasure.

A set of your favorite silk sheets had been ruined because of it. Nothing that a cycle in the one of the trailer park's community wash machines hadn't taken care of, but the point still stands. He had kept you there for hours, pinned down on your bed while he used your body, wringing it of its pleasure and getting drunk on the taste. You had lost count of how many orgasms he had pulled from you after the third one. You can only hope that he isn't that starved for it tonight. You don't think that you'll survive it. Not here at least, while you're held up in Thatcher's bathroom.

But it seems that a small mercy has been bestowed upon you with how another coil of bliss begins to wind up tight, closely trailing after the influence of your previous orgasm. It's running up on you so much quicker than the first. Zipping through your body at a breakneck pace, spurred on by the curl of his fingers, and strengthened by the traces of ecstasy that still flood your system.

The movement of his fingers flexing and stroking inside of your send little shocks of static zipping inside of you. Still bordering on something almost painful, but it only serves to tip you that much closer to the precipice. Promising to toss you over the edge as he lightly shakes his head while he drinks down your arousal.

You gasp as you look down, taking in the sight of him through the rapture turning your mind into mush. He looks blissed out, eyes slipped closed and the worried pinch between his eyebrows has smoothed out. The traces of your cum has smeared across his nose and the corners of his cheeks, glinting softly in the light. He seems just as intoxicated it as you. Soothed by the taste of your cunt and the scent of sex in the air. It's filthy.

You hardly register being swept under by your pleasure, but it tugs you down ruthlessly. Seeming to snatch you by the throat and leave you breathless as you twitch and jerk beneath his mouth, and you're hardly able to hear his words of encouragement as he thrusts his fingers deeper to help ease you through the thick of it. "There you go. Just ride it out and give it to me."

Your body bends the command like its gospel; hips twitching to the rhythm that his fingers have set to further chase after the dull flickers of heat biting at you at you and sinking in the base of your spine. It turns your blood into something molten, and your muscles go pliant like melted wax, leaving you to sag against the mirror like dead weight; the sink presses almost painfully into your back but you're too spent to shuffle from it. He lets up only once a sharp hiss escapes you, slipping past your teeth in a thin sigh. He's careful when he removes his fingers free from you, shuffling up from his kneeled position on the floor to stand on his feet. His drags his tongue over his fingers as he does so, cleaning the taste of you off of them as he watches you with an intense stare, releasing them from his mouth with a pop that seems to ring out across the close walls of the bathroom.

He crowds into your space suddenly, his body now flush with yours. His chest heaving as though he had just run a marathon. "You did so good, always such a good girl for me." He murmurs as he places a kiss to your forehead, undeterred by the perspiration that dampens your skin. It's another soft moment between you both. Like an echo of all the ones just like it from the past, hidden under the guise of an odd camaraderie, always dancing around the emotions that truly lied beneath. This feels so much more natural than that. No longer self-conscious or restrained.

It makes everything seem light and airy. Probably a side effect of the dopamine now rushing through your veins and the remaining traces of alcohol, but there's no mistaking the soft look in his eyes. The peaceful expression on his face, now free of the clear agitation that had drawn his body tight just earlier. It has you reaching out for him. Smoothing your hands up his arms, feeling the texture of his shirt as they trail up his shoulders - a dark black shade. One of your favorite colors on him. Something that you had casually shared with him once, and it makes you smile to think that he had purposely worn it to come and see you.

Your fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck, carefully scratching your nails along the sensitive skin there. It feels like a reward when a pleased sigh puffs from his chest, and he props his forehead against yours to stare into your eyes. His own hands come up to trail over your bare thighs, messaging the flesh there as he runs them up and down their length, prompting you to lift them to wrap around his waist. Tugging him closer despite the slight tremor running through your relaxed muscles.

You feel almost impossibly close to him now. As though a pocket has been carved in time and made for the both of you; intimate and private. Even with the dim chatter of the party and the dull hum of music drifting through the flimsy door, and the possibility of people standing just outside, listening in to gawk and recount what they've heard and seen. The Kook prince himself is fucking a Pogue. You'll no doubt get looks once you finally leave this little space. Some will be curious and shocked; others will probably be out of disgust and maybe even horror. But that seems so trivial right now. None of it has a place in this moment. It's secondary. And you can't be bothered to give it any attention while he watches you as though you've created the heavens themselves, the same ones that glimmer and wink above this very island. The striking blue of his eyes seeming to burn with something that seems a lot like admiration.

"Hi," you breathe. It sounds a little corny. Kind of dumb, even to you, once you fully register what you've said, but it's all that seems fitting. It's like you're meeting him all over again, as dramatic as that may be. Like you're seeing him for the first time. You can only hope that it isn't just from the high of sex - that it won't all wear off and vanish as soon as you both leave this room and face reality.

"Hey, pretty girl." He returns with a smile of his own. It urges you to lean that much closer to him, drawing your legs up tighter around him to seek out his natural warmth. He complies easily, allowing you to press him flush to you, almost molding your bodies together. It soothes the wounded ache in you that still lies beneath the surface of it all, stinging lowly under the haze of bliss and pleasure. The warmth of him and the pressure of his body smoothing over the hurt like a compress.

But the press of him against your inner thigh draws everything to a hush, hot and heavy under the material of his pants. It shouldn't be possible, but the subtle weight of it against you has another flicker of lust lashing between your hips. Smoldering and heating up like a handful of embers. And suddenly the scent of him filling the air is tempting, all dark musk and cardamom. It's mouthwatering, settling deep in your lungs with every drag of your breath.

It's almost instinctual when you slip one of your hands free from the back of his neck to glide it between the press of your bodies, playful trailing your fingers down and past the stretch of his abdomen until you're able to cup him through the material of his pants. A groan rumbles out from his chest, deep and drawn out before bleeding into a low, almost strained "fuck."

"Still need you, Rafe." You brush your lips over his, gathering the traces of your arousal that's smeared on his mouth onto your own like a vulgar sort of gloss.

"Yeah, shit, okay," he agrees. He nods frantically in agreement, pulling himself back from you just enough to give you the space to start undoing his pants, but your fingers slip on the button, slightly slick from the sweat on your skin and uncoordinated from the zeal of your excitement. Rafe isn't patient enough for you to make a second attempt it seems, restlessly batting your hands away with a somewhat snappy, "Jesus, just let me do it," huffing from him as he reaches to slip the button through the puncture in the material.

The urge to snap at him rises up, but it's snuffed out just as quickly when the sharp metallic sound of the zipper being tugged down its teeth cuts across the heavy air. It all happens in quick succession after that. He tugs his pants down just enough to free the length of his cock. He doesn't give you the ability to admire him, because he's tugging you forward by your thighs, parting the sliver of space between your bodies to drag the head against the slick entrance of your cunt, still wet and messy from the mixture of your cum and his spit.

He tilts his face to be able to speak against your lips, gazing into your eyes with a determination and fervency that seems to cut through you, holding your attention hostage even as one of his hands comes up to grip the nape of your neck. All but pinning you in place.

"I want you to scream for me. Don't you dare fucking hold back."

That's all the warning you get before he's shoving himself inside of you with a single thrust. Burying himself all the way to the hilt, forcing your walls to give and stretch around his girth. Even with the aid of your previous orgasms making you pliant and soaked, there's still a dull ache that zips through you as your cunt clenches around the shape of him. The force of him inside of you all but strikes the air from your lungs, and it leaves your hands to scramble across his shoulders, your fingers gripping and clawing at the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself.

He doesn't waste any time by starting in a slow pace to gradually work up to something greater. He's moving fast and hard from the very start. Thrusting himself in and out of you like he's desperate. All but punching himself into you with enough force to rattle your head back on the glass of the mirror, and with how many times you've knocked against it tonight, you have to send a fleeting prayer up to the universe that it won't shatter and break.

It's like he's trying to make up for lost time. Like he's trying to drill all of his frustrations into you; all of his pent-up anger, humiliation and regret; to make you feel what he's feeling. Or maybe he's just trying to prove a point. To himself, to you, and all of the people outside. That you're his. It leaves you clinging onto him. Holding on while he drives himself into you with a passion that's almost brutal. You can practically feel yourself going stupid. Going pliant and dumb on his cock at it drags through you, gliding against your walls in a way that makes you feel all of him, every little detail. Every single inch is heightened by the veins that run down his length, starting from the base to trail down near the head. He used to go crazy whenever you would glide your tongue over them, throwing his head back and moaning with the sound of your name or a curse under his breath.

You almost wish that you could have him in your mouth right now. To see him break underneath something as simple as your tongue and the heat of your mouth, but you think that you could die if he pulled out of you. It would be a horrendous sort of torture. Worse than death.

"God, you're such a fucking slut, hm?" He almost croons it. Mean and condescending as he grips your cheeks to get you to look at him. Making you get lost in the flecks of cerulean and hints of gray that's nearly become swallowed by the width of his pupils. "Letting me fuck you like this, in some Pogue's bathroom while everyone stands outside. They're probably listening right now; you know that, right? Standing outside while they listen to you moan like a whore."

It's downright degrading how he's speaking to you. It should hurt you to some degree, or make you irritated at the very least, but all it does is make you clench around him harder. Your pussy seizing up around his length like it's trying to suck him inside to keep him there. And he feels it too. You know he does based on the nasty smile that breaks across his face; teeth baring in what almost looks like a snarl. All arrogant and mean.

"Yeah, that's right. Not even gonna deny it, are you?" He uses the hand still secure around you jaw to shake your head for you as though you're a doll. Using how malleable you've been reduced to for his own benefit. "That's right. Cause you're mine. "

You find yourself nodding out of your own volition then, drawing up enough focus to will yourself in moving your head around the grip of his hand to agree. You can tell that it pleases him. His expression is one of pure, arrogant delight, and you know that he'll be riding the high of having you dumb, and cock drunk like this for days. His ego always manages to find a way to inflate whenever he succeeds in turning your brain into liquid and mush; until you're practically mindless and stupid. It used to have him striding around you trailer with a satisfied glint in his eyes. The traces of a smug smirk on the edge of his lips as he'd rummage through your fridge for leftovers or dig through your cabinets for a snack before he'd leave (unsurprisingly, Kildare's most spoiled rich boy can't cook worth a shit - he's burnt eggs black before and left your trailer tinged with smoke that took a good two days to get aired out).

But you can't find it in yourself to be exasperated or annoyed with him while you're too occupied surviving the white-hot heat shooting throughout your body, drizzling down your spine like a vat of liquid sugar to settle between the cradle of your hips. It's too much. It's like being torn to pieces but in the most delicious way possible; you don't want it to stop. You want to stay here, suspended in this moment with the scent of sex and the musk of his cologne staining the air. With the warmth of his body seeping deep into your bones while he uses you for his pleasure while throwing you headfirst into your own; the sound of his name repetitively falling from your lips.

So it's completely cruel that he suddenly pulls out of you, leaving you torturously empty and on the edge of something cataclysmic. A confused, annoyed look crosses your face, and a complaint rises to the tip of your tongue as you openly scowl at him. Though you don't get the opportunity to voice it.

"Turn around. " He commands impatiently, but he doesn't even give you the chance to try and shuffle free from your perch on the counter. It's all an abrupt rushing blur when he tugs you from your spot and forces you onto your feet. His hands settle on your waist, fingers greedily gripping the shape of them as he spins around you on your heels and bends you over with the firm press of his hand. A gasp rattles from your ribs as he pins you on the sink, leaving you exposed to the gluttonous sweep of his eyes.

Then he's kicking your legs apart, spreading you open to bare you to him and without any warning he's slipping himself back inside in a single, long thrust. It has your jaw dropping open, your lashes fluttering at the sensation of it ripping through you, all liquid and smoke. Now that he has you facing the mirror, it gives you no other option but to watch you both as he begins fucking you again. It's like a magnet to metal, the way that your vision flickers up to him. Seeking out the sight of him as he works you closer to that debilitating end.

Not even the way that the harsh edge of the counter digs into the bend in your hips is enough to distract you from it. The pinch of it fading into a dull ache. He looks beautiful like this. Even as he does something as vulgar as watching the sight of his cock ceaselessly plunging into you. It's as though he's hypnotized by it, his own focus fastened to where the two of your bodies join. Where the smack of your skin meeting his sounds out from; the wet slap of him thrusting in and out of your pussy.

There's a blush on his cheeks, and a sheen of sweat glinting softly on his skin like a dusting of pale gold. It almost makes him look angelic. That should be impossible for someone as frantic and violent as Rafe, but there's no denying that there's something gorgeous about him, as volatile and unpredictable as he can be. The sounds falling from past the parted shape of his lips are beautiful. His moans and the almost drunken cursing and rambling douse your nerves with heat and rapture every time he speaks; slurred and low like he's falling apart in the best way possible.

It took you forever to convince him that it's okay to vocal in bed. That the sound of him groaning is a turn on. For the longest time he thought it was a joke, like you were trying to trick him into embarrassing himself. Some odd form of toxic masculinity, you think. But you had finally succeeded in getting him to be comfortable with it, after what must add up to days of convincing him and getting him to moan in bed, he finally gave in. And now it's almost impossible to get him to shut up - not that you would ever dare such a thing. You wouldn't dream of depraving yourself of it now that you have it.

He finally looks up from between your bodies, and you don't miss the way that his eyes nearly roll in the back of his skull, lashes fluttering. He meets your stare in the reflection of the mirror, and that mean smile makes its way on his face again. But it's gone nearly just as quickly as it had appeared. His mouth drops open in a deep groan when your cunt clenches tight around his girth, a crease pinching between his eyebrows to make an expression that almost looks pained.

He leans over you then, hooking his chin over your shoulder to nuzzle his nose against your head to speak into your ear, not breaking eye contact with you even for a split second. "You're not allowed to leave me again. You can't this away from me. You're not gonna take yourself away - not again."

It's structured like a command. Or manic ravings. Regardless, it would enough to send anyone else running the other way and ducking for cover. Someone with common sense, maybe. But the tone of his voice is so desperate. Fragile and a little distraught. Like the very thought of you slipping from him could send him into a spiral. It has so many different things rising up inside of you: a sick type of satisfaction. The hurt in you pleased to see him in just as much pain. To know that you're not the only one who's been scarred. But there's the urge to soothe him as well. To cradle the parts of him that have been broken and kicked - by the world, his family. To nurse the wounds that have been left on him. They all gave up on him, but you don't think that you can.

It has you tilting your head back to give him access to your neck, and like a moth to a flame he immediately dips his face to tuck it into the junction of your shoulder. Nipping at the skin with his teeth and breathing in your scent like it's a drug. One of your hands lets go of the iron clad grip it has on the edge of the counter to clutch at his hair, threading through the thick of it and grazing your nails close to the nape of his neck.

It draws his attention back on you, making him tilt his head just enough to meet your eyes again in the reflection, pinning you with a stare that seems to communicate so much. It's a silent plea and a devout order all at once. A beg that you won't slip away from him.

"Just as long as you don't leave me first," you answer. Your voice is full of conviction, even as it wavers just the slightest. The sound of it weakened by the breathlessness in your lungs and the brutal pace that he's managed to maintain; still thrusting himself into you as though he needs it to survive.

He speaks into your skin then, answering you in a low mutter. Nearly a whisper: "I won't. I won't, I promise."

One of his hands shoves your hips down flat on the counter. It slips your hand from his hair and forces your spine to curve into a more pronounced arch that somehow makes him feel deeper than before. Hitting that spot inside of you with every single stroke. Forcing a gasp of air from your chest every time his hips meet yours, making your toes curl in your shoes. The position that he's tiled your spine into almost stings. The ache of it licking up your back but can't find it in yourself to complain. Or even really care. Not with the way that it's rendering you completely mindless. Seeming to knock a thought from your head with each grind and thrust.

One of your hands flies up to the sink. Your fingers claw and grasp around the shape of it, clenching around the cool steel like it's a lifeline, but it does little to offer any semblance of support to guide you through the high that's beginning to overwhelm you. It bleeds along your toes and sears up your fingertips and up your spine like a current. It has your body going slack, muscles falling weak. It's almost as though you've been tazed when your head drops against the counter. The weight of it suddenly too much for your neck to hold up.

It's like everything's been plucked free from your skull. Leaving it an empty pocket, a vacant space that only Rafe occupies. You can't focus on much more than that now. You're lost in the pleasure lighting you up from the inside out and eating you alive. It's only the vague details that you're still able to register. Like the smear of your arousal slipping down your thighs, pushed out of you each time he pulls out to fill you up again; the sting of the counter's lip digging into your hips; the smack of his balls hitting your clit with every stroke, sending sparks around your cunt, making it clench and pulse around his length. You think that you might be drooling, but you aren't entirely sure; saliva slipping past your lips as your mouth hangs open.

You can hear yourself moaning over the rush of blood roaring in your ears. Breathless, pitchy moans rising in the humid air each time he pumps into you, rolling his hips in a way that's almost mean. The zeal behind every movement would have the crown of your head knocking into the sliver of wall beneath the mirror if it wasn't the secure grip he has on your waist, keeping you held in his grip so that he can control your movements. Practically using your own weight and pliancy to fuck you back onto his cock.

You try meeting his thrusts on your own, but his hold on you is rigid, and the rhythm he moves in is punishing. At this point he's just using you, and simultaneously using himself to get you off like it's his job.

"You're so tight," he groans. You can't see his face, not with the side of your own pressed to the counter and your eyes squeezed shut, but you can hear the smug edge in his tone. He's absolutely thrilled with the state he's reduced you to for the second - third time this night. "You're squeezing me, baby. Gonna kill me if you keep doin' that."

But he quickly contradicts his statement, gripping onto your hair to pull up and off of the counter. Just enough so that he's able to slip his other one past your hips and the fabric of your skirt to glide his fingers around your soaked cunt, just above where he thrusts into you. Gathering your cum on his fingers, and then his slipping them up to circle around your clit.

You would have doubled over if it wasn't for the hold he has on your hair, keeping you held in place. A flare of pain bites across your scalp, but it's a shadow in comparison to the ecstasy flooding your system. It might be dramatic, but a small part of your brain wonders if you'll survive the onslaught of it all once it finally slams over you. It's hurtling towards you again. A rising tide that's set to drown you and hold you down. It flares underneath your skin, skirting across your nerves and leaving traces of heat behind.

It has your body winding up tight again. The muscle connecting you and holding you together seizing up in preparation to wring you dry of every ounce of pleasure, and Rafe is determined to get you there. Working himself inside of you in a way that has your eyes threatening to roll back, his fingers sweeping tight figure eights over your clit, making your abdomen draw up harshly.

"Shit, Rafe - my God."

"I feel you about to cum again. I know you're close. " He says it in your ear, slipping his hand from around your ear to grip your throat, using the leverage to tip you back towards his chest. His nose nudges along your cheek and you can feel the brush of his lips glide over the edge of your jaw. "Just let go. You know you want to. I want you to cum on it. Give it to Daddy, baby; let me feel you, pretty girl."

It's like your body was waiting for his permission, and now that it has it, it's caving in and sweeping you under. Time seems to blank out as a field of stars bursts across your vision. All of it flattening and smearing into a distorted blur with your sense of sound dimming into something dull and muffled. The only distinguishable noise is the roar of your heart thundering in your ears like a warped drum. It makes you lost, muscles lax and completely reliant on him to keep you upright.

It probably only takes seconds for you to come back to yourself, but deep in the throes of it, it feels like years have passed. As though you've been frozen in place and dipped in hot wax and electricity. It bursts in your bones and the pit of your stomach, making your body tremble with aftershocks as it struggles to ride out the waves of bliss ravaging through you.

It takes a minute for your brain to orient itself. For you to become aware of your limbs and the support underneath you, the drag of Rafe's cock still splitting you open. It's beginning to border on too much again. The pleasure is leaning on too sharp and bright, making you hiss under your breath. But Rafe is close. You can hear it in the groans spilling from him. You can feel it in the glide of his hips. The once hard, smooth rhythm faltering into something broken.

"Where do you want it?" He gasps in between raged pants. A glimpse in the mirror lets you see his face and the grimace taking up his expression. Like he can hardly stand the pleasure overtaking him - like it's tugging him apart at the seams and might not leave anything of him left behind. His grip is harsh on the length of your neck. His other fingers squeezing tight on your hip. Hard enough that it's going to smart the skin underneath, and it's with a shaky sense of strength that you manage to lift a hand up to slip over his hold on your hip. Your fingers threading alongside his.

You feel as though you can hardly breath, forcing your lungs to expand and pull in oxygen. Trying to give yourself enough air to form a sentence, and you just barely manage to do that. You practically have to force it out of your throat. "Inside. I'm still on the pill-"

That's all you get to say before he's doubling over you with a long groan. Driving himself into you a few more final, sloppy thrusts. They're sharp and heavy from the force behind them as he tries to work out every possible scrap of pleasure, a rush of heat spreading throughout you as he cums inside - thrusting his hips into yours one last time and holding himself there. Making you take every possible drop.

That's how the two of you stay. Pressed against each other and floating in your own euphoria as the high in your vein's flows and ebbs through your limbs and fills your head with an empty kind of euphoria. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, syncing with your own as you try to level out your breathing. You aren't sure how long you stay that way, with Rafe draped along your back just barely holding himself up with your joined hands now splayed out on the counter. The thumb around your throat idly sweeps along your pulse point, tracing over your skin like he means to count the racing of your heart.

It all feels thick and syrupy. As though your limbs have been left to soak in a pool of warm water. As pleasant as it is and as hesitant as you are to move, the weight of him simultaneously sagging against you and keeping you held up is straining on your spine and shoulders. The desire to shift from your position is dull, but the ache in your body demands otherwise. You lightly nudge him in the ribs with your elbow, reluctantly mumbling for him to move. To which he complies with a quick, alright, alright, I got it, huffed out, but it lacks any real bite as he detaches himself from you.

It makes you uncomfortably aware of the sheen of sweat that clings to your skin, and when he finally pulls out of you it's even worse. You both groan from overstimulation when he removes himself from you to tuck his cock back into his pants, the metallic cry of the zipper ringing off of the bathroom walls. You can feel his cum trickling down your thighs, smearing across your skin and beginning to cool.

Now that the high of it is wearing off, you just feel gross. It has you turning on your heels to face him, the bottoms of your shoes squeaking on the floor as you pivot to lean your back against the counter with an exhausted sigh. You let your head thud back against the mirror again, but you can't find it in yourself to care this time. Not while you can barely hold yourself upright; the buzz of sex still pleasant and clinging in your body.

You hadn't even realized that you've closed your eyes until a sharp clatter has them opening. Your head also turns on its own, leaning to glance over to your right where Rafe stands alongside you, rummaging through a narrow set of cabinets fixed between the sink and the bathroom door, carelessly glancing around the folded piles of towels and wash cloths.

Your eyebrows furrow as you watch him while your sluggish brain connects the dots. As soon as you come to the realization, you can feel the opposition on the tip of your tongue - ready to say no. To tell him that you can just wad up a pile of toilet paper instead, but he's already plucking a towel up from one of the shelves and gently nudging past you to run the tap, the knob quietly squeaking as he twists it on.

You don't hide your exasperated look when he shuffles away from your side to stand in front of you, reaching to spread your thighs open. You hiss when he runs the damp cloth over you, cleaning up the mess you both made with the aid of the warm water he's soaked the fuzzy material in. You appreciate the gesture, but you still don't think that he had to ruin someone else's towel to do it.

"Really?" You ask, tilting your head as you watch him.

His eyebrows perk up just the slightest when he meets your unamused stare, but he doesn't seem to be troubled by it in the slightest. Once he's finished, he tosses the soiled cloth across the room and into the bathtub without so's much as a glance.

"What? We already fucked in the bathroom; I don't think a towel is going to do that much more damage." He just shrugs, unbothered and nonchalant as he answers. Then that amused, smug smile is on his face again as he casts a look towards the door. "Unless you wanna walk out of here with my cum pouring out of you. I won't complain."

You can't help but to roll your eyes at him while you reach down to tug your skirt from where it had rucked up, smoothing it back down to cling over your thighs, but the expression seems much more playful and relaxed than it should probably be. His usual brand of douchie, cocky sarcasm is already making a comeback now that the tension has left him. It should annoy you, probably, but it soothes you more than anything. It's a comfort, as odd as it may be, to see him gradually resorting back to himself. Arrogant, and a little obnoxious, but in a way that you find entirely endearing.

He notices the traces of the smile on your face. You can tell by the way that his own goes from gloating to a little soft. The tenderness of it reflecting in his eyes as he closes the space between you to settle himself close. His lips are on yours then, drawing you into a kiss that's so much slower than the first. The desperation and the anger between you both having settled and died out like a fire. Now there's nothing left but ease and a relaxing calm. It makes it unhurried and languid as he leads your lips to move against his.

It doesn't last for long though, eventually breaking off for you to come up for air. His eyes are still a little glazed over when you meet them. Dopey from the high of sex, and knowing him, a line or two. He seems so far off from the nervous wreck that he usually is. Free from the aggression and arrogance that usually taints everything he does.

But he's soft with you. Gentle when he wants to be - gentle with you. Only you. And it's going to stay that way if you have anything to say about it.

"Don't ever pull that shit again, Ray." You warn, dipping your voice into something stern despite the affection blossoming in the pit of your chest. " I swear I'll castrate you if you do."

Something like a snicker puffs past his lips, like he finds the prospect entertaining. Or maybe he just likes you being possessive over him. It's probably that. Regardless, he leans closer to you, pulling you closer by your waist and stroking his hands down your hips. "Yes, ma'am, I'll keep that in mind."

You don't get to respond to him. A knock rattles against the door, slow and light enough that it nearly sounds hesitant. Still it causes you to flinch a little, nearly jerking you out from underneath Rafe's hands but he maintains his grip on you, assisted by the way that the counter keeps you blocked in place.

"Hey, uh, I'm not trying to . . . interrupt anything, but you've been in there for a minute, so I just wanted to check and make sure that you're alright." The voice that bleeds past the barrier of the old wood is muffled from the thick of it, but just loud enough that you're able to recognize it as Thatcher's. Embarrassment floods you at the realization. Especially when you briefly think back on your old statement you had promised to him just before leading Rafe out of the kitchen. It'll only be a few minutes. That's what you had told him then. It's definitely been longer than that. Probably closer to thirty - if not longer.

You let your forehead thump against Rafe's chest, a low, defeated sigh leaving you as you consider what to say next. An apology would probably be in your best interest. Just to be polite, for what little it's worth, considering that you and Rafe have all but defiled his bathroom. It makes you wonder how you're even going to be able to walk out of here without cringing underneath the weight of everyone's intrigued - if not disgusted - stares.

"I just made her cum three times in a row, man, but yeah, she's 'alright.' " Rafe replies, irritation and contempt lacing his words like a venom. You truly wish that the floor would split open to swallow you whole as soon as you register what he said. All you can manage is pulling yourself back enough to shoot him a withering glare, but he doesn't appear to be affected by your look in the slightest, far too busy scowling at the door.

"Rafe," you snap. You try to collect yourself, mentally shaking off your humiliation as best as you can and dipping your voice into something pleasant and even to be heard through the door to answer Thatcher. "Yeah, I'm fine. We'll be out in a minute. For real this time." You almost wince when it leaves your mouth. The awkwardness of the situation stretches on when Thatcher doesn't answer immediately. There's a pause and silence before an unsure, stiff "alright" rises up from outside before he presumably leaves.

A relieved sigh leaves you, the breath you were holding leaving you like a deflating balloon as you allow yourself to lean into Rafe once again, finding solace in his warmth to try and detach yourself from the embarrassment of the encounter. His arms slip around you easily. Shifting to take you around the waist in a loose hold that has all of your thoughts settling down into useless background chatter.

"Want to go to yours?" he asks suddenly. It makes you look to him again, shifting back on your feet to observe him from the containment of his embrace. There's the hint of something vulnerable peeking through the blue of his eyes as though he's partially expecting you to deny him. To pull the rug out from under his feet - turning him away. Like it was all just a cruel joke to get back at him.

As wrong as it might be, it feels somewhat vindicating to see him still so unsure. Visibly insecure about where he now stands with you. Mostly because you're in the same boat. This is a new territory for you both, and regardless of the previous words shared, there's still the fear that it was all induced on his part by the high of the moment.

"Then maybe in the morning we can go get breakfast at Merrick's? Just not dinner there though - if we're going out for dinner, then I'm taking you somewhere nice."

That grabs ahold of your focus in easily. Rafe's been to your trailer a hundred times. Sneaking in in the dark and making himself welcome in your home. Using your shower, eating your food, sleeping in your bed. All of these intimate things done as easily as second nature. But something as simple as walking alongside you, as touching you openly in the stark daylight, was a boundary that had never been crossed past casual conversation. Whenever you had associated it was under the guise of eating at your work, or because you had naturally happened upon each other in your day to day lives. There was never any intent behind it. Especially not while in a part of the Eight.

Merrick's is right on the docks, settled in the center coast of the Northside of the island, among the wealthy houses and businesses of the OBX. It's a fairly popular spot among the wealthy locals. Being seen with you there would be a public declaration of sorts. Something that the customers, and employees would take notice of.

"And you're good with that? Being seen with me?" The question leaves you in a pale version of your usual tone. It's hesitant, revealing the fear that begins to pool in your gut. Settling there like a nausea. Now it's you waiting for him to reject you - to backtrack on his promises and leave you standing here in the middle of this bathroom hurting, confused and heartbroken. You could nearly imagine the scornful smile that would tug at his lips, the glimmer of his teeth, the contempt that would burn in his eyes as he pinned you down with an unforgiving stare. You wouldn't survive it.

But it never comes.

"I meant what I said earlier. I don't give a shit what anyone has to say; you're my girl now." Some of his usual hostility seeps through his tone then, biting through the sweetness of it. None of it aimed at you. But it's like he's asserting a challenge for himself and others. Stating a threat to anyone else who may try to oppose him - or you. But it sounds like so much more than just the promise of a possibly verbal conflict. That wild glint is back in his eyes, passionate and determined, and you know now that he's prepared to draw blood for your sake. That he'll break bone and start fires to defend your name if he has to.

It's another one of those things that should repel you - a red flag waving vigorously in the air, but you can't find so much as the hint of an urge to turn and run. To escape and from his explosive nature, but you find warmth and comfort in it. He's like a wildfire. Erratic and starved, lashing out and reaching for anything that might burn and feed it, and like a glutton for punishment, you'll always open yourself to be consumed. Willingly allowing yourself to be licked at by the destructive edge of his nature; picked apart and feasted on. But he'll be there to put you back together again. Always eager to hold you up in his greedy palms, to have you safe in the shelter of them.

Because he's sweet too. Caring when he wants to be. When he's allowed to be - safe from criticism or disapproval. He's been taught to be harsh. A product of his father's love, most likely. But you'll show him a different kind of love if he lets you. Something gentle and nonjudgemental. The sort of affection that he's been deprived of his entire life.

You're his now, and he's yours; rough, violent edges and all.

"Okay," you agree. "Breakfast it is then. And dinner." You nudge his nose up with your own, guiding him to angle his head so that you can place a lingering kiss on the plush of his mouth, feeling the shape of his smile against your lips.

"Alright, and dinner." He nods, raising his hands to cradle your face. Watching you with a gleam in his eyes that looks like he wants to devour you entirely and hold you close. "Just you and me."

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napakmahal · 1 year ago

Text

“Talk about what?”

Hey pooks, let’s play a game called: How many euphoria references can you find in the fic?

“Ow, it’s in my eye!” Hiro’s eye began watering at the foreign feeling of the thin eye makeup brush.

You kissed your teeth and rolled your eyes playfully, “It’s not in your eye, you’re just not used to it. Calm down you big baby, your tears are making all my hard work run down your face.” You gently tapped a piece of tissue under his eye.

Lately, you’d breally been into gem eye makeup and sharpe eye wings. And for the sake of you being friends Hiro decided to let you practice a look you’d been wanting to do. You would’ve done it on your own face but you’d been doing your makeup all week and your skin needed a break.

Based on his face, you chose to give him black racoon eyes along with the eyelinder wing. Then adding tiny eye gems along the bottom of his eyes. An amazing look, but the process was being delayed way more than it should have been because somebody couldn’t get it together.

You put down the brush and picked up your black liquid liner in it’s place to make the inner eye triangles. “Okay, do not move whatsoever.”

“I’ll try.” Hiro responded quietly, while looking up at the ceiling.

The beginning sound of Gone Girl harmonizing melody played alongside the buzzing of the bathroom fan was the only noise being made between the two of you. You could tell Hiro was struggling to not let the smooth bristles of the eyeliner bother him.

During this whole process, he was having a really difficult time not looking at you. You’d met Hiro when he was in high school. Your mom had business with the school and she brought you along. It was only the second month of high school for him- who was nine at the time, and seeing you was the first time he every felt interested in anything in high school. When he learned you were not a student and just the child of someone who worked with them, your mom had set up a playdate with his aunt. Because that’s what nine year olds do, they have playdates.

And you’d been side by side for a good chunk of your lives, but when Hiro had finally told you he was going to college in the city, you’d assumed it meant that you would stop spending so much time together. But, on your first day of school you had a shitty time because highschool sucks but when you walked out after the day was over and saw him waiting with a shark ballon and snacks, the day had started looking up.

You’re Hiro’s first love, at least he likes to think of it that way. Honestly, he doesn’t really know what consistiutes love and if he told anyone he thought that they’d tell him he was too young to know. How could he be too young? It’s not like he hasn’t loved people before. But they would never say that if he said he loved you because you were his best friend.

You’re Hiro’s first love, but he never told you that.

After finally placing the final gems lining the bottom of his eyes, you leaned back and looked at your work with pride. Hiro turned and looked at himself in the mirror with black eyeliner and smokey eye makeup with sparkling gem stones stuck on his face with eyelash glue.

“I feel stupid!” He laughed out loud.

“Everyone feels stupid, who gives a shit.” You placed your head on his shoulder.

Hiro tried desperately to ignore the swarming butterflies in his stomach at the feeling of your body pressed against his.

While cleaning up all the mess you two had made, he found it very hard to stop looking at you. Even though he was the one with a attentive and eye catching makeup, somehow you were still his focal point. He hadn’t looked in the mirror to see his own face as nearly as many times as would be expected.

“Oh wait!” Yout zipped up your makeup bag. “I have to take a picture!”

“What! What do you need a picture for?” Hiro groaned.

“Reference, duh.” You said it like it was the obvious thing in the world and pulled your phone out.

You had Hiro sit on the floor, with the flash on to make sure that the gems really shined while you took the picture. After you took a few (hundred) you stared at them while sitting across from him on the floor.

“Hm,” You hummed.

“What?”

“I like what I did, but I think I accidentally fucked with your gender expression.”

You two burst out laughing at the comment. But after all of that, you moved from your spot and sat next to Hiro on the floor. Where you then dropped your body weight into his lap.

“Thank you,” You looked up at him.

“For what?”

“Letting me do your makeup.”

“Oh,” He scoffed. “Totally, you can do it anytime.”

Then you two just hund out there on the floor, SZA on repeat and the buzzing taking over the atmosphere around you. Somehow, Hiro’s hand found yours and now you were just pushing and pulling your arms simultaneously up and down.

“You know, you can be so charming when you’re not frustrated or hungry.” You looked up at him.

Hiro placed his free hand on his heart, “Aww, thank you. I’m charming as shti.”

“Oh wait, your gem’s falling.”

You sprung up from his lap and tried to gently stick it back to his skin using your pinkie finger. Once you’d accomplished that, Hiro’s eyes would not avert from you. It was like his brain was at odds with each other because the left side wanted to save his dignity and friendship, and the right was doing what ever it wanted. So now you two were just staring at each other face to face, nobody said a word until:

“You’re the first guy who ever let me do this to them.” You whispered with a smile.

And he will never know what force of magic compelled him to do it: he leaned forward and stole a small kiss from you. Totally taken back, your eyes widened and you sort of leaned back. Just as he did it, Hiro could feel all the color in his face drain and all the butterflies had morphed into moths that ate his insides.

“Shit,” he whispered. “Shit, shit, shit- I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean- well- I’m sorry. I-I should go, right?”

He was a babbling, stuttering mess. You, still semi- in shock were trying to make sense of out what just happened.

“I’m gonna go.” He spit out and raced out of your bathroom, down the stairs and out of your house. (After saying bye to your mom of course.)

“Y/n!” You heard your mom call out .

Still in a daze, you walked over to the top of the staircase adn wondered if maybe you were dissasociating. Had that all happened it your head? It all happened pretty fast so maybe…wait was Hiro even here?

“What was that?” She asked. “Hiro just said bye and left. What happened?”

“I-,” You opened your mouth and waited for the sentence to form. “I think he kissed me.”

“Oh..” She put her head down and went back to staying out her teenage kids business.

But the part that didn’t come out of your mouth was: I think I wanted him to.

Just then in an moment of irrational behavior, you slipped on some slides and ran outside the house. (After tell your mom you’d be back.) Hiro had walked to your house so he couldn’t have gotten very far. You found him taking the long way back to his house by walking through some backallery where apartment buildings put their dumpsters.

“Hiro!”

Oh fuck what now? As if the day couldn’t kick his ass even more. Were you there to tell him off about how you can’t just spring that on people, or how you now saw him as a creep? Either way, by the end of the conversation you had chased him down to have your friendship would never be the same. Assuming you stayed friends.

Much to his surprise when you got to him, you straight up hugged him. Like a huge, tight, warm hug. The kinda hug you give people when they go away to college or when the come back. He didn’t know what to do with that.

“Uhm,” He’d started to wonder if maybe the alley was a welcome in the twilight zone. “S-so, are we gonna pretend that what I did wasn’t super weird?”

To try and make him feel better you said, “It wasn’t weird-”

“No, it was.” He cut you off. Your attempt failed. “It’s okay you can say it. But maybe, we don’t have to talk about it?”

Hiro may have liked you, but no feelings were ever worth loosing you as a friend. In his world you were th eonly thing that he could have. Tadashi had friends his age who did things people their age do. He had you, and he didn’t want to loose you. Maybe by not talking about it, you could pretend it never happened and things would stya the same.

You smiled and pulled away from the hug. Looking up at his black racoon eyes were the left one was missing a gem and the eyeshadow was smeared.

“Talk about what?” You played.

Hiro breathed out a sigh of relief with a smile. “So, you’re not mad at me?”

With the same spurr of irrational thought you used when you left your house, you propped yourself up on your tip toes, leaned forwards and gave him a proper kiss. Not a quick peck, but a kiss.

He honestly thought he was going to pass out. All thd wind had been knocked from his lungs and he was sue the buildings around him looked like they were melting. You gently brought your fingertips to your own lips and smiled.

“Why would I be mad?”

#baymax #big hero 6 #big hero six #hiro hamada #tadashi hamada #bh6 x reader #disney #fanfic #hiro hamada x reader #tadashi hamada x reader #napakmahal #gone girl #sza

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hihello-pinky · 2 years ago

Text

Sight

Suna Rintarou x F! Reader

Sometimes, it takes losing someone to finally see them. He wished he knew this before, but Rintarou had to learn this the hard way. WARNINGS: Cheating, Explicit Smut, Rape/Non-Con, mentions of abortion, use of derogatory terms

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This is no way represents my views of the original anime/manga characters.

WC: 5.5k Genre: Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort Other Tags: Forced Marriage, Developing Relationship, Denial of Feelings, Emotionally Repressed, References to Illness, Angst with a Happy Ending, + more to be added.

part two part three part ???

leave me love?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

You never imagined you would find yourself in a situation like this: married at twenty-six with two children, a big house, a job that fits your time, and a husband who doesn’t love you.

Clicking the book you’re reading into the next page, you take a sip from the orange juice that you made, making sure not to drop anything on the Kindle. The faint sound of Blue’s Clues is playing in the background. It can be a perfect Saturday afternoon, save for the fact that Rintarou, your husband, still hasn’t come home from his company’s event last night - the one he didn’t even ask you to attend.

But can you blame him, though? You know very well that if he could, he would erase every single proof of your marriage. He hates you. And if it weren’t for his parents threatening to disown him and strip him off his inheritance, he wouldn’t have married you in the first place.

Your thoughts go back to where everything started.

You were somewhat of a goody-two-shoes. You never went to parties while you were studying, never missed a class, never missed a violin lesson. Sure, you did date a boy before but you never went beyond hand-holding. However, a week before your graduation from university, you were pressured by some of your friends to attend a house party. You decided to go, telling yourself that you should at least try before you officially graduate.

That’s where you met Suna Rintarou.

Dark hair, greenish eyes, a small smirk. You were instantly captivated. He was friends with the host of the party - Komori Motoya - which explained why he felt so at home in the place. He was with other friends and they certainly exuded a kind of air that would draw people to them. Upon noticing your intrigue about the man, your friends warned you to stay away from the “rich playboys” to stay out of trouble.

You had listened to your friends but little did you know, you already caught the eye of Suna. Atsumu had nudged him the moment you entered the house with your friends and when Komori welcomed them, the older twin asked about you. The host only shrugged and said that someone must have brought you with them. Suna only raised his brows and observed you the rest of the night.

The next morning, you woke up in bed with the guy who caught your attention at the party the night before. The two of you were undressed and there was a dull ache in between your legs. You hastily left the house, not even thinking of contacting or looking for your friends.

You cried when you went home, never imagining that your first time would be with a stranger. You never should have gone to the party… you shouldn’t have let yourself get drunk… maybe you wouldn’t have been taken advantage of.

Graduation came and it was a big milestone in your life. The celebration and jovial atmosphere for days distracted you from what happened a week prior. You were excited to begin a new chapter in your life. Everyone around you was excited as well. You had a bright future ahead of you.

Until two weeks later, when you found yourself inside your bathroom, with a stick and two lines glaring at you.

The squeal of your children brings you out of your reverie. You look at the living room and see your husband crouching down to let your kids hug him. You almost laugh as the two step back from their father. They must have smelled the liquor on him. Rintarou, however, lets out a small chuckle at the kids’ reaction.

You expected him to go straight to the stairs but you’re surprised when he goes over to you and makes a kiss sound without meeting your lips or cheeks. A facade. To let your children believe that their parents are in love. You appreciate the little gesture from Rintarou, even though most of the time he forgets to do it. However, the action allows you to get a whiff of a woman’s perfume. He doesn’t even bother to try to hide anymore that he’s seeing other women. And, despite it being an open secret between you two, it doesn’t make the pain any less.

Because in spite of all his meanness and nasty treatment of you, you had grown to love your husband.

As he pulls away, you try to give him a smile. “Do you want me to prepare anything for you?”

He holds your hand, aware that your children are watching you two. In a whisper, he says, “I want you to leave me the fuck alone for the rest of the day.”

You sigh, close your eyes, and nod. “Okay.”

After he left to go to your shared room upstairs, you turn to your Kindle and close the case’s cover. You leave it on the counter and go to your children. “Risa, Ryuu, let’s get you changed before Grandpa and Grandma come to pick you up.” Every other weekend, Rintarou’s parents loved to have the kids over, being as they are the first grandchildren. You watch as both of your kids pout and give you the puppy eyes, wanting to extend their telly time.

You smile fondly at them. When you learned that you were having twins, you were so scared. You didn’t grow up with a mother and suddenly the world was telling you that you’re going to be a mother of two for the first time?

You pinch each of their cheeks and say, “If you’re not ready by the time your grandparents are here, I’ll ask them not to give you chuupets.” The twins gasp and run towards the stairs, only stopping at the bottom and asking for your assistance. You giggle and guide them up the stairs to their room.

You take the time prepping your kids and packing their bags for the overnight stay at their grandparents’ home. Humming, you brush your daughter's dark brown hair which was the same shade as her dad’s, as she tried to fix her brother’s hair, which was as black as yours. Besides the hair colors, though, Risa resembled you and Ryuu resembled Rintarou.

“Mommy, so excited for birthday next week!” Ryuu exclaims. “Gifts?”

“Of course, honey,” you reply to your son, making his eyes twinkle. Eyes that looked so much like Rintarou’s. You inwardly sigh and wish that Ryuu’s father would at least look at you like that someday.

“Food? Games?” Risa adds.

“Yes, darling, mommy has everything planned out already.”

“Yay!” The kids squeal and goes around the room doing their ‘happy dance’. You watch with teary eyes as your children dance happily. You may not be loved by your husband, but at least you have your children.

---

Suna is on the balcony of your shared room when you come in. He had just seen his parents’ car drive off. Good, another night without the children, another night of not needing to tolerate your presence.

“You could have at least seen your parents off,” you comment, gathering the robe from your dresser, and preparing to take a shower for the night.

Suna rolls his eyes. “I thought I told you to leave me the fuck alone.”

You ignore his comment and say, “You’re smoking. Again. That’s bad for your health, you know.”

“Stop acting as if I care about your opinion. In case you forgot, you mean nothing to me.” Still, he stubs the cigarette in the ashtray and stands up from the chair, entering the room and sliding the door shut behind him. “Also, why the fuck are you here?”

“This is my room, too, Rintarou,” you reply softly, not wanting to make the argument bigger. The two of you have established that on the nights when your children are away at his parents’ house, you would stay in their room. That’s how much Rintarou couldn’t stand you. However, there are times when you don’t want him to always get his way. Tonight’s one of those nights.

“Fucking hard-headed bitch,” he says out loud, making sure you hear, before slumping on the king-sized bed and throwing the covers over him. He hears your sharp intake of breath but chooses to ignore it.

He stays on his phone the whole time you’re taking a shower. He’s almost at the end of the homemade video that Atsumu had sent him when the door opens and you come out with your body wrapped in your cotton robes, some drops of water adorning your face. He goes back to his phone to type a quick reply to the blonde twin.

[ tell Mina her moans sound good if only she wasn’t faking them half the time ]

Despite the fake moans that Atsumu’s girlfriend let out in the video, Suna can’t deny that he is horny. Sure, he can contact one of his girls at the moment but that will take time and his cock cannot wait anymore. And here you are, freshly out of the shower, looking so ready to be fucked.

---

You feel his eyes watch as you make your way around the room. He stands from the bed, approaches you, and just as you are about to sit in front of your dresser, he stops behind you, meeting your eyes through the mirror.

“W-What do you want?” you ask softly, though you already know by the look in his eyes. He cups your left breast with a hand while the other makes its way under the robe. You hate the whimper that escapes you.

“Hmm… I haven’t done anything yet and you’re already this wet?”

“Rintarou,” you start to protest. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Your pussy says otherwise.” He inserts two fingers immediately, making you moan. You aren’t really in the mood but your body is a traitor, always giving in to Rintarou. His hand cupping your breast begins to undo your robe as his lips start a trail across the expanse of your neck and shoulder. He turns you around, sucking a harsh mark on your collarbone before throwing you to the bed.

When he crawls over to you, you feel his hard member against your folds as he ravages your chest. He kisses you everywhere in your body. Everywhere but your lips. You’ve long accepted that no matter how often you let Rintarou take you, he would never kiss you on the lips; he didn’t even kiss you on your wedding day.

“Shit,” he curses as he slaps his dick against your folds. “You’re so fucking wet.” He aligns his member to your slit and you widen your eyes.

“Ah, Rintarou, I’m not yet--” your sentence is cut off by a shriek as he thrusts all the way inside. It stings, you weren’t prepared and he didn’t give you a chance to adjust as he begins slamming his hips relentlessly against yours.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Such a tight pussy. Moan for me, slut.”

You try to put your hand against his pelvis, asking him to slow down. “Please, Rin, I - Ah - It hurts!”

He chuckles. “Really? But I just felt your pussy clench tighter around me. Just be glad I’m fucking this cunt.” The bed starts to creak and your body is slowly inching upwards at the harshness of his thrusts.

You lay there and take it all, clenching your fists on the sheets, for Rintarou hates it when you leave marks on his body. It doesn’t mean he hates leaving marks on yours, though. Oftentimes he would litter your body with bruises and he didn’t even care whether or not they were in visible places. More than once did you get flustered when Ryuu or Risa asked about some purple marks on your neck.

He doesn’t even let you breathe through your orgasm as he starts fucking you harder after you came, pursuing his own release. After steadying his breathing, he pulls out of you and leaves you alone as he goes to get himself cleaned up. A few minutes later, he emerges from the shower room and goes straight outside to the balcony.

All while you remain on your back, trying to fight the tears from falling. That’s it. No aftercare, no asking if you were alright. You hate yourself for letting him use you like this; like you aren’t his wife. Just someone to use for his own needs. You close your eyes and scold yourself. You should’ve just decided to stay in the kids’ room tonight.

---

He may be a good liar but there’s one thing that Suna cannot lie about: he likes having sex with you. He would never admit it to anyone else, though, not even the Miya twins, certainly not to the Miya twins.

He couldn’t quite explain it to himself either, but the first time after he fucked you as his wife, he had the urge to cuddle with you. He thought it was just the rush of things but it happened again the second time… and the next… and the next… Until he developed a habit of leaving you alone and staying away from you every time after sex.

Suna isn’t the insensitive bastard that everyone thinks he is. He could tell how hurt you are every time when he pretends as if you didn’t exist again. As if he didn’t just share his body with you.

But he has to. He has to not feel anything for you. Not even guilt, not even pity. He cannot afford to feel anything for the person who ruined his life.

---

Monday mornings are for Ryuu and Risa. You liked taking them to the nearby playground to play with other kids and socialize as well with the other parents. Your children were able to make friends but you’re still having a hard time fitting in with the parents. You couldn’t blame them; you were five to ten years younger than them.

“Somebody had a good time last night,” a deep voice comments beside you. You look to your right and see a tanned man take the space with his broad body.

“Iwaizumi-san,” you say, “Nice seeing you too. Who had fun last night?”

The man smiles at you. “I told you to call me Hajime, Y/N.” He looks at his son who’s playing with your children. Iwaizumi is your only friend among the parents in this playground. You two had gotten close as he’s only a year older than you. He’s a single dad, left to raise his son alone after the mother decided that she did not want anything to do with him.

“O-okay, Hajime,” you respond, then repeat the question. “Who had fun last night?”

Hajime laughs and points at your jaw. “You.”

You quickly pull out your phone and check your reflection. Sure enough, there is a faint mark from Rintarou from the night before. He didn’t leave the house yesterday and after you tucked Risa and Ryuu to bed, he joined you in the shower and took you against the slippery walls. You blush at the memory and refuse to look Hajime in the eyes. “It’s a…. mosquito bite.”

At that, Hajime laughs even louder. “I’m not your kid, Y/N. No need to lie to me.”

You’re still blushing. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Come to think of it,” Hajime says after a few moments. “How come I’ve never seen your husband here?”

You blink, surprised at the sudden question. “He’s a very busy person.”

Hajime only hums in response.

“Is Kenta joining the party on Saturday?” you ask, eager to change the subject.

“Of course,” Hajime replies. “He’s been bugging me about what gifts to buy for the twins.”

You laugh a little. “I’m sure the twins will love whatever gift you give them.”

“Of course,” Hajime replies, “They are as sweet as their mother.”

The compliment makes you blush but you tell yourself not to dwell too much on it.

---

It’s eleven in the evening when Rintarou arrives home. You are in your room, finalizing the last details for Ryuu’s and Risa’s birthday party.

As usual, your husband ignores you, and you would have let it go if only you didn’t need to ask him something important about the party. “Rintarou, what’s your guest count for the party on Saturday?”

He scrunches his forehead. “Party on Saturday?”

“It’s the kids’ birthday,” you say. “You forgot?”

“Ah,” Suna sighs. “How do I even pretend that I’m sorry?”

You close your eyes, trying to reign in your anger. “I can stand it if you hate me, but do not hate my children. You can hurt me all you want, but don’t you dare hurt Risa and Ryuu.” You are starting to have a headache again, something that has been frequent for the past week.

“I don’t hate them; I didn’t intend to forget, okay?” he barks back. “I just hate the fact that they’re the reason I’m married to you. Once the company has been fully turned over to my name, I’m going to file for divorce and get custody of them.”

The laugh that escapes your lips surprised even you. “Hell, I would allow that! You? Custody? Of my children? No way in hell! You’d have to kill me first!”

He opens his mouth to retort but you jab your pointer finger against his chest, making him stumble back, not at the force but at the surprise. “For all I know, you just want custody to please your parents. You don’t care about the kids; you care about how you can weaponize them. Do you think I forgot about the time I told you I was pregnant and you straight up told me to get an abortion? You think I’d leave my children in your care?” The pounding in your head has worsened but it is nothing compared to your heartbreak. Whatever hopes you had in having a somewhat okay relationship with Rintarou have just been doused by the ice-cold reality that he’s a horrible person. A horrible, horrible…

---

Suna, for the second time that night, stumbles back in surprise. One moment you’re repetitively jabbing at his chest and the next, you’re falling against him. He gets his footing and catches you in time.

He ignores the way his heart leaped when you fell. He quickly convinces himself that the only reason he was a bit worried about your fall is that he knew his parents wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. “Hey,” he tries to shake you but you are unconscious.

He heaves a sigh as he carries you to your shared bed. He places the back of his hand against your forehead and upon feeling that you’re not feverish, Suna scratches his nape. If you don’t have a fever, then what caused your collapse? He debates calling for a doctor; this shouldn’t be such a big deal.

Then what should he do? He looks at you again and sighs. Maybe he should just let you sleep it off?

He sighs and pulls out his phone. About to text the family doctor, a message from Osamu pops up on his screen.

[ sorry for the late msg, browsing online for ur kids’ bday. y/n told me not to overthink what gift to buy but what do u think they’d like? ]

Of course. Osamu fucking Miya remembers his children’s birthday. He knows his friend has a little crush on you; he even got a scolding when he confided about getting you pregnant. His gray-haired friend was actually the one to rat him out to his parents, but it backfired when his parents forced him to marry you.

He's still good friends with the younger of the twins and the only time they argue is when his friend lectures him about morals and how he should start treating you better. If only Osamu knew...

[ they have a lot of toys, i think. better go with books ]

[ okay, what books do they like? ]

[ i don't fucking know, samu. u think i read them stories to sleep? ]

[ ok rin, relax. god u r so irritable these days ]

He does not reply, not in the mood to argue with his friend. He looks at you still lying on the bed. You look so peaceful and all with the purple blanket that he has thrown over you. Maybe you're just tired. Sighing, he locks his phone and places it on the bedside table.

No need to call the doctor, you're fine.

---

You wake up sweating a lot. Looking up, you notice that the AC has been turned off. You slowly sit up, letting the blanket slide away from you, and then turn to your right and see Rintarou sleeping shirtless.

The last memory you can remember is having an argument with him before passing out. Did he bring you to your bed and cover you in sheets? Is that why the AC's turned off?

Your eyes soften at the realization, bringing back memories of a time in your pregnancy that you treasure so much. Memories that feel like dreams, given your current situation with your husband. You carefully get off the bed to change as your back is drenched in sweat. As you look through your clothes in the closet, you take a mental note to schedule an appointment with the doctor after Risa's and Ryuu's birthday party this weekend. You pick a thin camisole, deciding that it's best if you leave the air conditioner off since Rintarou's half-naked.

You mentally hear your friend, Sacha, telling you about how you should stop being nice to your shitty husband. You stifle a laugh.

Around fifteen minutes after situating yourself back on the bed, you sigh and sit up. Sleep isn't coming and what else can you do than pick up your journal and write another entry? However, as the pen is in your hand, you only end up staring at the blank, white page. You can't bring yourself to write down tonight's thoughts, for you're still hurting over it.

Rintarou's a horrible person.

A lot of your friends have said it to you and yet you refuse to listen. But then... what he told you about planning to get custody of the kids... you know he has lots of money and connections and the law sides with the likes of him. If he's being serious about it...

"Can you stop?"

That's when you notice you have woken up Rintarou by the rhythmic tapping of your pen on the notebook. You clear your throat and begin to apologize when he sits up and groans before throwing you a glare.

"Don't even try to say shit like you're sorry or something."

You bite your tongue and only nod meekly at him. You're not sure whether to bring up the argument or not.

Rintarou turns his gaze away from you before mumbling something.

“What?” You carefully ask, failing to catch what he said the first time.

His voice when he replies is so low that it’s barely audible. “Are you okay?”

To say you’re surprised is an understatement. Not that this is the first time he has asked you this question. You just thought you’d never hear it again from him. “Yes. I don’t know what happened.”

“Cool. If you ever do not feel well, go to the doctor. I can't have you passing out. My parents will never forgive me if something bad happens to you.”

Of course, it’s his parents. Any semblance of concern that Rintarou shows to you is always rooted back to his parents.

The two of you remain silent for a while before your husband speaks again. “The twins… some friends from high school club, college. Say, maybe around fifteen to twenty people?”

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s talking about his guests at your children’s birthday party. You try not to smile. “Noted, thank you.”

You two don’t talk after that. Rintarou leaves to smoke on the balcony and you remain in bed, deciding on rereading your journal.

---

The house that Rintarou’s parents gave to the two of you has a backyard garden. It’s not decorated much, save for the numerous ornamental and flowering plants. Gardening became one of your pastimes during your pregnancy. A swing set with a slide is placed neatly in a corner.

You watch as your kids’ friends play on the slide and your heart clenches, thinking about the backstory of that particular display.

“Great party,” Hajime bumps you playfully, a tall glass of juice in his hand. “You’re a good organizer.”

You smile at your guest whose son is playing happily with your children. “You always compliment me, Hajime. Sometimes I think I don’t deserve it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I mean my compliments, though. You shouldn’t be too hard on yourself, Y/N.”

The smile remains on your face. The two of you begin to talk about another kid’s party in the next month when Rintarou joins you.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says curtly to Hajime and you wonder about his rather unfriendly demeanor.

Hajime gives your husband a kind smile. “Iwaizumi Hajime, a friend of your wife.”

Rintarou ignores Hajime’s outstretched hand. “How did you two meet?”

“Playground,” Hajime replies, gesturing towards the kids. “That little boy over there is my son.”

Rintarou only hums in response. You think of how he probably did not know about the playground and for a moment, you start to question yourself whether or not it was rude to invite Hajime to come to the party in a house that was technically Rintarou’s. But then again, you remind yourself that the older guy is a parent of your kids’ friend, and the celebration is for your children, not yours.

“Well,” you awkwardly break the silence that has taken over. “I’m going to make sure the cupcakes are ready to be served. Enjoy your time, Hajime.” You give your friend a smile before walking away, at the same time Rintarou sighs and leaves as well.

The rest of the party goes well. All the children had fun. Towards the end, right after Rintarou’s parents had to leave earlier, you notice an unfamiliar woman arrive. You briefly wonder who she is, that is, until your husband welcomes her with too-friendly arms.

She doesn’t even bother to greet you nor the kids. She just trails along Rintarou, pretty much ignoring everyone else. Hajime gives you a curious look and you wave him off by forcing a smile before turning away and bumping into Osamu.

“He’s a jerk,” the gray-haired twin says lowly, an arm on your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

You give him a small nod. “She’s just his friend.”

Before you can hear Osamu’s disagreement, you hurry towards the kitchen so you could distract yourself for a while. Before rejoining the rest of the party, you decide to go the to the restroom to freshen yourself up. It’s at that exact moment that the door opens and you’re met by your husband and the woman, him still breathing heavily, her trying to manage her disheveled hair.

You feel like throwing up.

Rintarou only rolls his eyes at you before leaving, the woman following behind him. You would have just ignored them but you hear her whisper, “Pathetic” and the next thing you know, you’re grabbing her hand tightly, pulling her towards you. Once she’s facing your direction, you slap her. “Get out of here.”

She’s baffled and looks to Rintarou for help. He only watches the two of you in amusement. “What do you want me to do? You heard my wife. Get out of our house.” The woman looks at him in disbelief before marching away, leaving you and Rin alone. He smiles at you. “Happy?”

Taking a deep breath, you shake your head. “You’re horrible.”

---

Rintarou is angry. You can feel it with every harsh thrust of his hips against yours, with every rough bite he leaves on your body. He’s mad, and he’s not holding back.

The thing is, you are just as mad as him.

How dare he bring one of his women to your children’s birthday party? How dare he do lewd things with the said woman in the restroom of your house? Sure, the house is his per se, but his audacity to do the filth in a celebration of your children’s day is too much.

“Harder,” you groan out, not bothering to mask the bitterness in your voice. “Is that all you can do?”

His response is a particularly hard thrust, making you scream. “Shut the fuck up,” he says irritably. “Fucking whore.” He hoists your left leg up around his waist and starts to drill into you harder as he busies his lips on your collarbone.

You scratch at his back. Tonight, you don’t care that he hates when you leave marks on him. Tonight, you don’t care that he doesn’t love you. Tonight, all you care about is how good he’s making you feel. He’s not using your body, you’re the one using his.

Another hard bite on your shoulder makes you whine and Rintarou pulls back, glaring at you. “You probably let that man fuck you, huh?” He says and for a moment, you’re confused. Who is he talking about?

“Friend my ass,” Rintarou continues as his pace becomes more unforgiving. “You probably set playdates for the kids so you two can fuck.”

Oh.

You let out a laugh, which immediately gets swallowed up by a moan. “Really, Rin? You’re accusing me of sleeping with a friend when you’re the one who brought one of your whores to the party? Hajime’s only a friend.”

“Don’t say his name!” He spits and thrusts into you deeply.

“Are you jealous?” You ask the question before you can stop yourself, making Rintarou’s movements halt. He doesn’t answer and only looks at you coldly before pulling out and manhandling you so you’re all on fours.

He doesn’t even give you time to steady yourself before he plunges his cock back in and starts jackhammering against you, pulling your hair in the process. You were shamelessly moaning now. You can hate yourself later, you tell yourself. For now, you’re going to let Rin fuck the frustration and anger out of you.

Three orgasms later, you lie on your back with Rintarou beside you, panting heavily. Now that the rush of ecstasy has subsided, you feel empty again. Instead of trying to talk to your husband about your problem, you resorted to having hate sex with him. It’s normal for Rintarou, he hates talking to you; but for you to do it, too…

“Don’t do it again,” you say softly. “Bringing your women here.”

“This is my house,” Rintarou answers matter-of-factly. “I can bring whoever the fuck I want.”

“Look, I don’t care if you’re seeing other women,” you lie through your teeth, “But can you at least protect the kids? They’re still your children. They don’t deserve to be tangled up in our problems.”

He doesn’t answer for a long time that you’re convinced he’s ignoring you when he sits up and groans. “Fine. I won’t bring other women here. But that friend of yours should never step foot here again.”

The way he spits out the word ‘friend’ reignites the anger within you. “Why are you accusing me of something I’m not doing? Of something you’re doing? Why do you care about –”

“Wow, so bold of you to assume I care!” He retorts, cutting you off. “Are you really still in delusion that I give one fuck about you?”

You closed your eyes, heat building up behind them. Due to anger or hurt, you’re unsure yourself. “What happened?

“What do you mean?” His voice is still filled with venom. You open your eyes to see him standing up and lighting a cigarette.

“What happened, Rintarou?” You repeat as you also stand up, wrapping a robe around your sore body. “Just when we were getting along back then, you suddenly turned cold towards me. Why?”

“Fuck off,” he spats and while his words are like daggers to your heart, you stand your ground.

“I deserve to know. We’ve been married for five years and through it all, I stood by your side even when I knew you weren’t mine.” Your voice cracks and it’s as if your walls have broken down. “I endured everything: your cold treatment towards me, you sleeping around with other women, your blatant disregard of my feelings. I-I… Why? I just want to know, Rintarou. Why did you make me fall for you only to break my heart?”

His back is still turned towards you so even though you can’t look at his expression, you see him tense at your confession. You finally did it, laid out all your feelings. It’s all up to Rintarou now on what to do with them. Your heart is in his hands.

“Fuck,” he mutters before stubbing the cigarette in his ashtray. Before hastily getting dressed. Before leaving your room, shutting the door behind him. And just when you thought it couldn’t break further anymore, your heart shatters to even smaller pieces.

TO BE CONTINUED.

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chaotic-mystery · 1 year ago

Text

Pairing: dbf!Joel x f!reader

Summary: your waitressing job has been going good so far and Joel’s finally warming up to you. Halloween being celebrated at White Pony has to you excited for all the customers you can serve…but what does Joel do when one doesn’t treat you how you should be treated?

Content Warnings: eventual smut bc enemies to lovers okay we’re getting there! 18+ mdni!, mean!joel, drinking, no outbreak!au,reader smokes, Joel smokes, Joel’s bitch ass girlfriend, slut shaming (we don’t like Michelle) groaping, fighting, mentions of wounds and blood, reader has daddy issuessss, Joel finally being NICE (will update as we progress)

Word Count: 4.3K

A/N: This shit is starting to warm up and I am biting my fingers for the barbecue scene okay!!! Will they kith? Maybe. If you can spot all my silly references in here, kiss kiss to you pookie.

Within the last two weeks of training at White Pony to be a waitress and being with Michelle almost every night, you had to see more and more of Joel. The first few days he refused to come in the bar like he always did before you got the job. It was his- as he put it, “place to be away from you.” Nice.

Michelle was still just as scary as the day you met her. She kept Joel close in her eyesight when you first came to training but as the days passed and she watched you two hardly say any words to each other, she loosened the leash on him again. Since your blow up with him, things were still kind of weird in the way that all you said to each other was, “You done with that?” and “Another round.”

Tonight you were celebrating Halloween down at the bar and Michelle told you all to come dressed as something, no shift unless you actually try with your outfit. It should’ve been no surprise to her that you'd show up as a blood sucking vampire and not just a regular old boring vampire. The black corset dress with the stockings and glitter everywhere had Michelle’s mouth dropping with shock. “Darlin’ when I said dress up I didn’t mean that dressed up.” Her fake witch nose was kind of crooked with the way she glued it to her face but it suited her. The passive aggressiveness she gave you was really starting to work your nerves but the tips were good here, you could easily talk shit about her attitude later while counting all your bills.

You smooth down your dress and give a twirl, showing off your boots that you just got in the mail. You’ve already heard from Joel how many packages get delivered daily and that “the mail truck parks too long in front of his driveway” yada yada yada. He whined the same spiel every time you almost had it down word for word.

Joel’s eyes meet yours as he leans back in the stool and he begins turning slowly while his eyes scan your outfit briefly. A sly smirk forms on his lips, “So just how much garlic should I put around me to keep you away?” His glass meets his mouth, taking a small sip of his whiskey. Your plastic tray falls at your side as your shoulders drop, your eyes low with annoyance.

“Yeah? You feel proud of that one old man?” you mock, leaning against the bar until all your drinks are done being made. The glasses start to pile up, ready to be taken to the corner of girlfriends celebrating the night all dressed up as different colored crayons.

Your fingers delicately place each glass on the plastic tray and Joel gives a breathy laugh. “I’m proud of that, yeah.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, cowboy. You're not my type to even sink my teeth into.” The firm tone takes him by surprise and his eyes flicker over your body once more before scoffing.

“I’m everyone’s type, thank you very much. I’ll take another whiskey too, ma’am.” The devilish grin appears once more which only makes your eyes roll.

“You aren’t even in my section Joel. Fuck off, get your lady to do it.” You shoot back, the annoyance not shying away from your face at all. Joel nods slowly and turns away from you, finally laying off just long enough to let you get back to your job. Michelle watches you closely as she overhears you telling Joel to fuck off, her stern look burning imaginary holes into you.

When she busted you for talking like that to Joel, it was just best not to even look at her, this not being the first time she’s caught you with your sailors mouth in full effect.

With the night flying by from a packed bar, the tips were coming in well. Everyone was dressed up as something, leave it to Joel to dress up as…himself.

“Let me know if you need anything else!” You shout over the music to your newest table and give everyone a smile before retreating to the bar. With Joel and Michelle in the corner canoodling at the end of the counter, you couldn’t help but throw up in your mouth a little. Her costume wasn’t going to last much longer, the evidence of a missing nose so apparent. Her costume was falling off her shoulders constantly, it was a bulky old witch dress and it looked ancient.

Your hands run along the bar and pat it eagerly like an impatient puppy just ready for another table and more money.

Suddenly a group of men walk in and the bar gets a tad quieter. The dress shirts they have on are so tight you can see the tank top underneath the fabric. Something about them just stuck out like a sore thumb in the best way possible and you wanted to be the one to serve them.

“Nell, how do I look? I’m gonna take that table and get the best tips for us all tonight.” You giggle and fix your hair while the bartender tells you how good you look. Joel must’ve sensed someone having fun because the next thing you know, an arm was grabbing you and walking you towards the back of the bar away from all the bustle and crowd.

“Ow Joel, get off me. What are you doing?” You shout, grabbing your arm from his grasp and groan while rubbing the tender skin.

“No, you aren’t taking them. They’re out of town assholes that sometimes stop in and it’s nothin’ but issues every time. Let Danny take ‘em.” He almost sounded concerned but the look in his eyes didn’t last long before he looked away.

You stomped your foot softly and groaned, folding your arms across your chest. “Danny doesn’t even pool his tips at the end of the night like he’s supposed to! I can handle it Joel, I’ll call you if I need you to reenact Road house, okay?” You snicker at your reference and walk away before he could argue more, your tray innocently behind you as you walk up to the full table of intimidating men.

Joel was seething in the corner, his tongue running over his teeth against his closed lips while he watched one already get handsy and try to cop a feel under your dress. Joel Miller was not jealous. He was worried for your safety and you were known to get yourself into some crazy things due to miscalculation on your part of common sense. He was almost too aware of how chaotic you could be at times but at this moment it wasn’t a joke to him. He sat back in his chair and turned it so you were in his view the entire conversation. The glasses of whiskey turned to glasses of water so he could be clear minded if things got sticky. You walked back over and he pretended not to overhear your conversation with Nell about the men fawning over you.

Joel rolls his eyes and drinks his water, the annoyance you even entertained those assholes after he told you not to, just sitting deep inside his chest. Your small tray was packed with beers and shots of your top shelf vodka and his eyes widened, already knowing how tonight was going to play out. He sighed, smacking his hand on the bar before getting up to change the song on the jukebox. Searching for what felt like forever, he finally landed on one of his old favorites.

Porn star Dancing by My Darkest Days & Zakk Wylde.

You stupidly sit on one of their laps and try to engage in the conversation but it always turns back to you. Hours go by of the conversation being about you and not in the best way. They’re asking what time you get off, where you got your sexy little outfit, what color were your panties, shit you shouldn’t be asking your waitress. A hand reaches to your neck and squeezes, making your skin crawl inside. They all smell of menthol and nicotine mixed with gray goose, too much liquid courage.

Joel grabs Michelle and starts dancing with her in the corner, her back to you at the table the entire time. He keeps his eyes locked onto you, very very closely. Even when you extend an arm to grab an empty bottle out of the way his eyes are following. They kept tugging you to sit back down, making his blood boil and his teeth clenched tightly. Somehow you managed to slip away for just a moment and make your way to the bathroom, darting around the corner into the pitch black hallway that was sheltered from noise. Joel lets go of Michelle and follows you without any sound, trying not to startle you.

He stands against the wall and listens to your sobs muffled behind the bathroom door. The tears were pure fear and regret. Maybe, just maybe, Joel had a point. Even if you wanted to close their tab and stop serving them it would just make things so much worse for everyone. You got yourself into this mess, now it was up to you to get yourself out of it. You grab a small piece of toilet paper and blot away your tears, the post cry makeup making you look even better than before. Such a silly way of looking at the situation but you couldn’t deny a good cry moment.

A chill ran down your spine as you faced Joel outside of the bathroom, his head hanging to hear better. When the door squeaks open, his head snaps up and his eyes are on yours. With his strong gaze not leaving yours, you clear your throat and shrug like you know nothing.

“W-why are you outside the ladies bathroom?” You knew why he was out here, he probably saw you run in here and wanted to report back to Michelle, or even worse, tell you, “I told you so..” blah blah.

“Are you okay?” His hand rubs his neck as he stands up straight, moving closer to you. He reaches out and grumbles as he wipes away a tear. “Can jus’ ask Danny to finish out the table, s’okay if you change your mind.” Your glossy eyes look up at him and you smile, shaking your head no.

“Can’t. I got this Joel, I just need to get through it and I’m done for the night.” Your hands wrap around your arms, shivering under the A/C vent. Joel’s shoulders drop in frustration and he sighs loudly.

“Darlin’...” he starts, “don’t do this. Look I’ll tip you whatever they were even thinking about and more jus’ don’t do this to yourself.” His soft words were actually making you reconsider but then again, what did he care? You snap out of it and sniffle, shaking off the sadness.

“I’ve got it Joel, promise.” A fake smile passes from your lips and he doesn’t take the bait at all. You both walk down the hall to find the table empty of bodies and three dollars squashed under a shot glass with vodka dripping down the side. Three. Dollars. You embarrassingly grab the money and look around confused as to what you could’ve done to deserve a three dollar tip. “God damnit..” you mutter under your breath. The glass clanks together as you begin to clean off the table, not wanting anyone to see this mortifying crime scene any more than they have to.

Joel’s frame catches in the corner of your eye, his mouth covered by his hand. When you stop cleaning to look at him, he stares right into you and for a split second it doesn’t look like Joel at all. He gets up, snatching the three dollars from your hand and you knew something bad was going to happen. Joel shoves the exit door wide open and smacks the siding of the building. As he marches outside, he sees the fancy car still sitting in the parking lot, the men outside around it cracking jokes and being rowdy.

“Joel…” You call out and immediately run after him, small struts because of your boots. “Joel sto-”

“S’cuse me fellas. Three dollar tip, really?” Joel chuckles and puts a hand on his hip, the look on his face hard as stone. Here we fucking go, you thought to yourself. Everyone from inside gathers outside and you slowly make your way to Joel, his hand flying in your direction motioning you to stop in your tracks.

“What’d you say, dickhead?” One of the men called out, his words semi slurred. His friends laugh and Joel sarcastically laughs before standing up straight.

“See, I don’t know where y’all are from but around here we tip our waitresses real nice. Three dollars? Cmon man.” He was maybe thinking they “forgot” to put down a ten dollar bill or something, no way they meant three dollars.

“Man she was worth three dollars but she can come home with me if she wants for the rest of the tip, know what I mean?” The assholes behind him hoot and holler, clapping their hands together and praising the man for the disgusting comeback.

“Joel stop cmon just drop it it’s fine let’s just go back inside.” You firmly shout, voice cracking from humiliation. Joel turns to look at you and pushes his hand down telling you to calm down. As his boots drag against the gravel making his way to the group of skeezy men, he tuts loudly at them.

“Do I have to teach you a thing or two about manners, asshole? She’s not a fuckin’ fast food burger that you get for three dollars. She’s worth way more than that. You basically groaped her all night, askin’ what color her panties are, when she’s leavin’, how badly does she want your money, but I don’t have to tell you any of that. You know exactly what you’ve been sayin’ to her all while she’s jus’ doin’ her job. So let me ask you this, you do plan on tipping her correctly, yes?” Joel stopped just as he was toe to toe with the man, not a smirk to be found anywhere except on Joel.

“Ye-yeah man um, let me get my wallet.” He hastily reaches into his pocket while he stutters apology after apology to Joel. Just as he’s pulling his hand out, he balls it into a fist all wound back to hit Joel. Never once did it connect with his cheek, never.

Joel grabs the skeeze’s wrist and twists it roughly before throwing him on the ground, his buddies getting up contemplating if they really wanted to do this or not. Joel gets on top of him, throwing punches left and right, grunting with every connection his fist has with skin. Blood trickles down his hand between his fingers and he doesn’t stop until the guy is begging for mercy.

Wiping his nose and breathing in deeply, Joel gets up and grabs the wallet that was supposed to be taken out before all this started. His bloody fingers split it open and find a bunch of cash, flicking through all the bills.

“How much was their bill, darlin’?”

Everyone's eyes were on you and the chattering started to fill your ears.

You clear your throat roughly and walk closer to Joel by just a few steps, not wanting to get too close.

“Uh…I don’t remember. It was around 213 dollars I believe…lots of gray goose shots.” Your eyes went wide when he pulled out two 100 dollar bills and folded them, passing it to you between his index and middle finger. You take it apprehensively, staring at the grunting man rolling around on the ground. Joel nods at you a little and asks if you’re okay. Just as your lips part to tell him thank you, someone is running up on him.

“Joel watch out!” You shout and he pushes you back so much you fall on the ground. A fist hitting him right in the face, “You fuckin’ prick! Wanna piece of me old man?!” The other guy shouts at Joel and hits him, starting to wrestle him on the ground. They roll around causing the gravel dust to stir up and you think quickly on your feet. Going behind the guy trying to wrestle Joel to be on top, you kick him right in the balls with your boots. “Get off of him!” You shriek and grab his hair, tossing him backwards. The audible winces and groans from the crowd echo off the buildings, Joel sits up and looks at you like you were some angel or something.

Reaching out your hand for a lift, you take deep breaths and help him up off his ass.

“How was that for your reenactment? You okay?” He asks as he begins to brush the gravel off his palms. The men were on the ground rolling in pain still, such a funny thing to watch.

Chuckling softly, you turn back to Joel,”Yeah I’m okay. You okay?” You nudge his arm and see his knuckles still dripping blood. A small nod comes from him and you grab his hand slowly to observe the wounds.

“Should get some ice on that Mr.Miller.” The glimmer in his eye takes you and draws you in, standing there holding onto his hand for far too long. Everyone behind you cleared out and went inside, leaving Michelle there alone. She clears her throat and you snap back to earth and drop Joel's hand rather fast.

“Take her home Joel. She’s done.”

“What?!” You shout in complete surprise.

“Mich come on baby I don’t think that’s very fa-” Joel’s reasoning is cut off by a groan from Michelle.

“No! I can’t have a floozy willing to do whatever for tips work here and expect my boyfriend to protect her! You’re done!” She was expressive with her hands just like your mother used to be, which was exactly how you were feeling. A little girl once more and your mom was beyond done with you.

Your tongue pushes against your cheek and you go inside to get your coat and purse. Nell was the only bartender who didn’t treat you like a monster and she started to get pissed off when you told her the news. Joel and Michelle were outside arguing and you stood by the door eavesdropping, careful they couldn’t see you.

“You’ve never once defended me from a creep like that!”

“Oh Michelle, is that what this is about? Really?”

“No, of course not Joel! You know damn well she knew what she was doing dressed like that coming to work and getting on their laps the way she did! What else did she expect from them?!” Her hands were flying up in the air as Joel’s head dropped, shaking side to side.

“Michelle she’s just barely started her life, what did you want me to do, hm? Watch them take advantage of her?!” His arms reached out, searching for something that wasn’t there.

“No but what do you think is gonna happen when she walks around here acting like a slut?!”

As your fast breaths started to fog the glass awaiting Joel’s response or even some sliver of defense, nothing. He said nothing.

Joel knew that wasn’t true. He watched your driveway like a hawk regardless how many times he said he didn't. Tommy was the first and last person you’ve been with since you moved back but that was none of Michelle's business even if you wanted to get with everybody.The door flew open and you walked to your car, getting in the passenger side. All you wanted to do was cry yourself to sleep, Joel could drive. More muffled sentences rang outside the car, something about Joel calling her tomorrow. You felt pretty buzzed after that encounter until overhearing that fuck ass conversation. That was probably the first time anyone has cared so much about your safety, your well-being, you in general. No one has ever willingly stuck up for you like that and beat someone the way Joel did. Not even your own dad has done that or would ever. You must’ve been replaying in your head the images of Joel beating that man so much because all at once you came back to the now, his fingers snapping in front of your face.

“Cmon, we’re home. You’ve got a cut on your knee sweetheart. Let’s go clean it.” He fumbles with your house keys and unlocks the front door, making his way into your house.

“Jus’ sit, I’ll be back. Where’s the bathroom?” Shutting the front door, you point to the left and sit slowly to observe the cut.

It was definitely something. The nylon stocking was tattered and covered with dry blood caked onto the broken skin. Joel arrives with the rubbing alcohol sloshing in the bottle along with a washcloth.

“I didn’t mean to push you down so hard, m’sorry.” Joel kneels down in front of you and rests your foot against his thigh so he can examine how bad it was. Those beautiful brown eyes were getting you again. It didn’t seem so far-fetched to forget everything, even the conversation you overheard, until he pressed the alcohol to your skin. Sucking in a sharp breath, you grab the armrest of the couch and whimper quietly at the contact.

“Ow..Joel that-ah-ooh-that hurts.” You suck in sharply again, his eyes going back to your cut.

“I know baby, I know..I’m sorry, jus’ hold on f’me.” He whispers as he rips the material of your tights until a large hole is created around the scrape. His rough hands covered in blood were so gentle on your leg, his fingers wrapping around the back of your boot covered calf.

“You should really let me bandage up your hand, can at least do that much for you.” The room went silent and all that was heard was Joel’s deep breaths and the washcloth pressing against you. He sighs and grabs a bandaid from where he set it down on the couch cushion, opening it to cover the wound.

With a firm press on the edges, his thumbs smooth over the entire bandaid and he glances up at you hoping you weren’t wincing in pain.

After a long pause he mutters, “I’ll be fine, just need some ice is all. Also um…darlin’..” he started and continues to ever so slightly rub the bandaid.

“I know you overheard ‘Chelle and I talkin and I just wanted to apologize on her behalf. She doesn’t think those things about you and neither do I, okay?” He didn’t sound too sure that he even believed the words coming from his mouth.

You were too emotional to argue with him so a small nod was all you responded with.

It was a bullshit apology and it didn’t even need to come from him but there was too much in your head right now, an apology was the last thing you were concerned about.

Without a word you get up slowly and step onto the front porch with a new pack of cigarettes in your palm. Joel hesitated following but he wasn’t done with you just yet. The front door squeaks open softly and before even turning around you had the cigarette held out for him to take a few drags from.

“Are you uh..are you goin’ to your dad’s barbecue this weekend?” The smoke rolled out of his mouth and he ashes over the railing.

“I’ve thought about it..” You take a puff and pause. “What would I even say? ‘Hey dad uh I know I just got my job here but I got fired because I was dressed like a slut.’ Mmm, I don’t know, Joel.” All the smoke exited your lungs by the time you were finished talking and the glowing orange light was lifted again as your cheeks hollowed taking another hit.

Joel turns to you slightly, holding out his hand with his fingers spread and ready to take your cigarette.

“Jus’ don’t tell him anything. He couldn’t even wish you luck or congratulate you for gettin’ the damn job anyway. Asshole.” His face disappears behind a cloud of smoke and it was probably for the best due to the shit eating grin on your face while his words echoed in your head.

“So you’re finally getting it I see, Mr. Miller.” The cigarette slowly dwindles and he lets you have the last drag.

“I can’t see why he’d ever treat you like that, I wouldn’t dream of treating you that badly and you really know how to work my fuckin’ nerves sometimes, little girl.”

The pair of you laugh and Joel flicks the cigarette butt on the driveway, shoving his non fucked up hand in his pocket. The dim porchlight hardly illuminated his face but the moon on the other side made up for what you couldn’t see.

“Get some sleep, you’ve got job hunting to do tomorrow.” His boots clunked against the wooden floorboards of the steps, gravel crunching as he got further across the way to his sidewalk.

“Oh, one more thing sweetheart!” He shouts from his porch.

“I’ll back you up no matter what. He doesn’t know you anymore, not like I do.”

Your face was hot to the touch from his words. Joel Miller finally finding his heart? Who knew he had one? Each of your front doors closed and you went to sleep that night just imagining how the barbeque is going to go. Joel fell asleep that night with a bag of frozen peas on his knuckles and a small grin on his face.

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eijirousbestie · 2 years ago

Note

YOUR ART MAJOR STORY WAS FIRE!! IM AN ART MAJOR AND WE HAD TO DO DETAILED PORTRAITS THIS MORNING AS AN ACTIVITY OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS AND ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT WAS YOUR STORY 😭😭😭😭 anyway i had the vision of Y/N doing a portrait of bakugou for her class ❤️❤️❤️❤️

AHH THANK YOU SM hearing someone thought abt my story in their day to day life is actually insane so thank you for reading!! Love to see a fellow art major around here🤝🏽I hope this story is to your liking i tried my best😭<33

“Can I draw you?”

this is kinda long (I got too into it lol)

pulling at the heartstrings a bit here

he’s a willing participant???

unorganized dishes

golden hour

* * *

Being an art student had its perks. For one thing you didn’t have “real” homework like other classes and you could spend majority of your time creating something new. In other cases, being an art student was dreadful, and today proved that to be true.

Walking into class and setting your bag down, you sit at your easel and scroll on your phone as your professor waits for other students to trickle in before he takes attendance. The sound of a chair scooting can be heard as your professor makes his presence known and calls role. He finishes and places his clipboard down, clapping his hands together with enthusiasm.

“Good morning guys! First things first, I just wanted to say you all did a great job at critique this past Tuesday. I was very impressed with the outcome of all your pieces. Now for those of you who have checked the class schedule, you’ll know we have our Portrait 1 assignment due at the end of next week. I’ll give further instructions and we’ll go ahead and get started on those today.” He grabs a stack of papers, assuming to be said detailed instructions for your next assignment. As soon as he hands you a copy, you skim through the premise of what you’re going to be doing.

Portrait 1 Assignment

1. Pick a subject you will be referencing to for your portrait. (No you cannot use a reference online. It has to be someone you can poke).

2. Arrange a time outside of class to meet with your subject to begin your sketch.

3. Pick a feature of your subject to enhance in your final drawing. You can add color, darken line weight or distort the feature you chose, but the rest of the portrait should be in the style of a sketch.

This drawing should be done on an 18x24 sheet of paper from your sketchbook and no smaller.

You internally cringe at the thought of having to snatch someone from campus to sit with you for hours just so you can draw them. You instantly begin to think of people you know who you can draw. You take your phone out and begin typing up a message to a friend of yours, asking when they’re free. Much to your dismay, they inform you that they have work directly after class all this week and won’t be able to help. You understand, but now you’ve got yourself stuck and you absolutely refuse to ask a stranger. For the remainder of the period, all you can do is mindlessly write a list of names and the pros and cons of their potential availability.

* * *

Sitting in the living room after getting back to the dorms, you rest after having no success trying to recruit anyone to be your reference. The dorms are practically empty as everyone is out doing something. Working, training, shopping. Everything you don’t do. Essentially losing hope for the day, you resort to lounging on the couch. Cozy pajamas nearly lulling you to sleep. However before you can slip into the best nap of your life, clanging from the kitchen startles you awake. Whispered curses soon follow, ultimately giving away who caused the noise. Getting up from your oh so comfy spot, you make your way to the kitchen to investigate. Peeking a head in the doorway, you see a rather frazzled Bakugou picking up pots and pans that had fallen to the floor.

Looking at his bent form, you speak up. “You aight?” He picks up the last pot and places it on the counter before responding, fully facing you.

“I’m good. My bad if I woke you.” You give a shrug and lean your hip on the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest.

“Nah you’re fine. Wasn’t fully knocked out anyway. What were you doing in here?”

“Reorganizing. For whatever reason, idiots around here can’t understand that stacking dishes causes shit to fall. Just proved my point too.” His eyes fall on the various pans on the counter he was in the process of arranging. You give a chuckle and move to help put them away.

“Say it louder for the people in the back.”

“Yeah well apparently they ‘don’t respond well to yelling.’ Whatever the fuck that means.” He nags as you both place each dish in their respective places.

“Gotta give em a glare or side eye to get the message across,” you joke.

“Shit only goes so far. But if looks could kill everybody here would be on their deathbed.”

“Jesus man, gruesome much?” You let out a heartier chuckle, actually entertained by his empty threats.

“S’called being self-aware.” He leans against the now empty counter and folds his arms across his chest. A silly thought crosses your mind. A glimpse of hope even. You decide to pursue it.

“Speaking of looks,” you start off tentatively, “I could really use yours if you’ll let me.”

He gives you a half-curious look, left eyebrow slightly raised as he side eyes you. “The hell’s that mean?”

You’re not sure whether it’s the desperation talking or the fact that you’re half asleep, but you immediately hit him with your dilemma.

“Well… can I draw you?” It seems like minutes that go by before he responds with a sharp click of his tongue.

“Lay off the drugs huh? Shit’s got you talkin outta your ass.”

“Bakugou please! I need a reference for an assignment and I’d really appreciate if you’d let me draw you. It won’t take long I swear I’m fast!” Your hands are clasped together as you ask for his cooperation.

“The hell’d you wanna draw me for? Plenty other people you could ask.”

You don’t have it in your heart to mention nobody else was available to help you. It’d be like blatantly telling him he was the last option and you don’t want to potentially upset him by saying that. It’s not necessarily true either, you just didn’t think he would be up for it in the first place so you didn’t want to bother him. He was your saving grace really, never the last option.

“Well you’ve got great eyes. And perfect eyebrows too. So it’s kinda hard not to want to draw you. But seriously, if you’ll let me, I’ll do my very best to capture the best parts of you. Please?” If you hadn’t known any better, you could’ve sworn you saw his hands clutch the counter in a death grip. He’s quiet for a moment. Two moments. Then he shakes his head in disbelief and his eyes sweep to look at anything else but you.

“Fine. Just don’t make me look like shit got me?” A light look of embarrassment covers his face. It’s endearing.

“I promise.” You smile a wide grin, relief relaxing your shoulders. “You mind if we get started tonight? I’m kinda behind as it is.”

He gives a nod and a hum in response. You tell him to stay put as you grab your sketchbook. He takes a seat on the couch and watches the slow sunset. It’s golden hour and the living room is filled with warm oranges and yellows as the sun is close to calling it a day. You come back, supplies in hand and before you can put your things down, you catch Bakugou as he gazes out of the window, the setting sun casting onto his face. With his hand propped under his chin, he looks ethereal. His red eyes now a vermilion as the rays reflect on them. It highlights his jawline, casting shadows that make the edges prominent. His hair aglow in the light, tufts of blonde now appearing marigold. You don’t realize how silly you must look staring at him until his eyes flicker to your frozen form. His gravelly voice pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Got your stuff?” He doesn’t move from his spot as he asks. You gather your bearings and nod.

“Yeah uh I got everything I need. We can start now if you’re ready?” You walk over to the couch where he sits, setting up your easel right in front of him.

“Mmh go ahead. Is there a certain way you wanna do this or?”

“No no what you’re doing now is fine. It’s actually better if you’re comfortable. We might be here a while, but let me know when you need a break.” He gives a nod of approval and you’re off, hands sketching and eyes darting back and forth between easel and subject. Soft scratching noises from graphite on paper filled the silence. By this point you were detailing the features of his hand holding up his face. Neat nail beds and cleanly trimmed. Bruised and scarred knuckles from countless hours of training. A strong neck that connected to an even stronger jaw, probably chiseled by the gods themselves.

You’d be lying to yourself if you thought drawing him would be a chore. It was actually enjoyable. There was no need for trivial conversation. Just you sitting there, drawing him as he let you. Him trusting you to capture his very being with only a pencil. It was a beautiful experience and you couldn’t be more grateful that you both were a part of it.

#bakugou headcanons #bakugou katsuki #mha headcanons #mha x reader #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #mha drabbles #katsuki bakugo imagine

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cryptictongues · 1 year ago

Text

Cruel

pairing: Barnabas Tharmr x Leviathan!Reader rating: Explicit (MINORS DNI; 18+) word count: 4.5k summary: You will be Barnabas's ruin.

warnings: porn with plot, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, praise kink, vaginal fingering, body worship, angst.

This was supposed to be an Enemies with Benefits type beat but lmao it shifted a little bit. Hope this kicks off the week for those that enjoy!

Spoilers from the very beginning of the game, as well as certain things about Barnabas you learn later in the game. Also, there are some references from FFXVI Ultimania. Explained some of that in a comment if interested!

There are a few lines used from the game in the beginning. I do not claim that I own those lines or anything that Square Enix has created.

[AO3 link]

Barnabas didn’t want to be here. Sitting here with Dhalmekian’s leaders as they list all the reasons that he should grant them his knights to fight against the Ironblood makes him mentally roll his eyes. He only accepted the invitation for this meeting to ensure the plan he has set forth is going as planned. All in its right place he tells himself.

“Did you not pledge your swords to our cause!? The Marshal yells, and all Barnabas can think of is how pathetic the Marshal is. Men begging for him to save them, as if they deserve saving. He feels Harbard take a defensive stance beside him, sword at the ready.

“Come now. Marshal–the king of Waloed is our guest.”

Silence spreads at that statement, as if they are remembering who it really was that they were in the presence of: Barnabas Tharmr, Warden of Ash and king of Waloed, and the Dominant of Odin… a Dominant that has slayed thousands upon thousands in battle with a single stroke of his blade. They knew not to step on his toes, or they too would seek the same fate, as well as a termination of allyship.

Barnabas turns to Harbard, shaking his head and scoffing at their pleas. Harbard goes at ease and looks to the Dhalmekian leadership. “And you have His Majesty’s answer.”

Groans and sighs waft around the room, no words being spoken as everyone contemplates their next moves. Barnabas casts his eyes down, thinking about how everything is going. His goal for this meeting is to have Hugo Kupka take the field as Titan, needing him to take down the Shiva Dominant that the Ironblood have so she can be captured. He needs all of the Dominants in the right place for this to work, and if he gets her, then everything will be set. Well almost.

Most of the Dominants outside his circle are exactly where he needs them. Bahamut is out of the way, staying within his means of commanding the Sanbrequois forces. Ramuh is out playing “hero”, most likely nearby to try and retrieve the Shiva Dominant. The Phoenix is six feet under where he belongs. All of this comes to fruition as the perfect vessel, his mythos, starts to come together. There is only one issue: you.

Leviathan, Goddess of Chaos. The one who should be by his side to bring on a new age. But you fail to see the bigger picture, and that has led you astray. It infuriates him. You infuriate him. It drives him mad that you could betray him, and potentially ruin everything he has laid out, yet still have a soft spot for you. It makes him sick to think that no matter how hard he tries to fight his urges, you are still able to make him remember that he is what he hates most: human.

Commotion returns his mental focus as he hears shouting coming from the hallway, blood curling screeches growing louder before everything falls silent again, aside from the footsteps approaching the double doors. Once the footsteps halt, the doors swing open… and there you are in all of your glory.

“Sorry to crash your meeting, my dear friends.” You say, bowing slightly, although Barnabas could tell it was in a mocking manner.

He keeps his face stoic, but his insides churn at the sight of you. It has been a few years since his last encounter with you. You had left him ten years ago, leaving not a trace of your whereabouts. It had sent him spiraling, as you were the last person, he expected to turn against him. The next time he saw you was a couple years later when he arrived back from Storm to the shores of Waloed, and he saw you there by the ship port. His first emotions were anger for how dare you show your face. That was until you climbed aboard, dragged him to the lower deck, and had fucked him on the floors on the Einherjar. Then you disappeared again, seeming to find him a couple times a year since and the both of you would engage in a few rough rounds before departing again. There are many times in the beginning he contemplated getting rid of you, the sting of treason heavy on his heart, but he grew to accept this agreement. If it meant he could be close to you, to share some semblance of the past when you were his most avid supporter, it would be enough. The last time he saw you was three years ago up until now, a big gap of time spent compared to the others. On the inside, he was surprised, but you tend to have a way with your timing on things.

You look older, but he still saw the radiance you allure, wearing a dark blue velvet gown that covers your every step. Collar bones exposed and skin glowing like the moon reflecting the sea. You are like a siren calling to him, and it was working because all Barnabas could think is how beautiful you are… and how cruel you could be all the same. Because he knew your presentation was for him, and that he would break. He always did.

You are standing by the table now, hands placed on top as you scan the room. Everyone looks shocked, not expecting surprise visitors, let alone a rogue Water Dominant. The reaction makes you smile; you love catching people by surprise. Your eyes land on Barnabas, and good stars above, he looks gorgeous. Chest slightly exposed, beautiful blue silk and black fabric in intricate form on his body. He really hasn’t aged a day.

Finally, a member from the Dhlamekian council stands, taking an immediate defense posture. “I don’t know how you bested our men, but you are not welcome here. This is between us and the Waloeders.”

You shrug. “Well thank goodness that I am a Waloeder. Well, by blood at least.”

Benedikta snickers, an obvious grimace on her face. “And you chose to leave, therefore I don’t think you have business here.”

You turn to her, a wicked smile appearing on your face. You walk towards her, placing your hand on her face to caress her smooth skin. “Oh, but I do, Benna.”

“Keep your hands off of her.” You hear a growl from across the room, turning to see it is none other than Titan himself. You feign innocence. “Or what? Are you going to put your hands on me? It’s not nice to manhandle a lady.” You turn fully to him now, a smirk forming over your innocent gaze. “Not that I personally mind it.”

Barnabas internally growls at your notion, moving his hand to his chin to keep his jaw locked. The last thing he needs is for his facade to slip.

You sense the Marshal stand, irritation clear on his face. “I’ll ask one more time to leave, or I’ll have my guards escort you out.”

You belt out a laugh. “What guards? Look around!” Your arms go to the air spread out, turning your torso from side to side to show that it is just them. That seems to set him off as he goes to walk towards you, seemingly wanting to throw you out himself. You can’t have that.

You put your hand out towards him, feeling the blood run through his veins before gripping your fist, causing the Marshal to stutter in his stance. He gasps in pain, grabbing at his chest as he tries to breathe. You throw your fist down by your side, sending him to the ground in a fetal position. You keep your grip as you walk to him, bending down as you place your other hand's fingers on his chin, lifting it up to look at him. You see he is struggling, and all you can do is tsk. “Know this: I could make you scream just like I did to your men out in the hall. Consider this a mercy.” You tap his face before releasing him, leaving him on the floor as he tries to gain his bearings.

Your attention goes back to Hugo Kupka. “You may want to ready yourself, Titan. The Ironblood are invading Dhalmekian territory as we speak.”

Hugo’s face is stone, walking past Marshal and others to the door. “Kupka!” The Marshal chokes from the floor. Hugo doesn’t look his way as he replies. “The Ironblood will rue the day they set foot on Storm… this game is over.”

He makes his exit, closely followed by Benedikta. You see her leave with confidence in her stride, very obvious that she is trying to prepare her facade. You chuckle at this new development.

“Everyone out.” A stern voice says, and you turn to see it is none other than Barnabas, whose hard stare is on your form.

Everyone is still, not knowing if they should listen as it is their territory after all. You, however, could care less. “Do the lot of you not understand signals? Get out.” You say sternly, command dripping from your voice. The council slowly makes their way out, afraid to talk against you due to what they witnessed. You hear them talking amongst themselves in disappointment, confusion, and curiosity, questioning what business Leviathan has with the mighty Odin. You turn your head towards the Lord Commander himself, watching him stay firmly in his spot. “That means you too, Harbard.” Barnabas dismisses him, and Harbard walks past you, smirking as he is the last one to exit. The doors shut and you face Barnabas. “It’s been a long time, Barney Boy.”

His face twists. He hates when you call him that. You walk towards him, commanding his attention as you sway your hips. “Awe, does the strong, dark King of Waloed not like being called that?” You walk slowly behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “Would you like me to call you something else, your majesty?” You draw out, hands running down to the inside of his royal blue undershirt. You lean down by his ear, taking a second to let your breath graze it as your left pointer finger traces the scar on his chest. “Would you like me to call you something endearing like my dearest?” You kiss under his ear, and he shivers. “Or…” you continue to kiss down his neck. “Would you like something a little more submissive like my pet?” You nip at his neck, and he grunts.

He craves you in this way. When you left Waloed, left him, he struggled. He had been with several women since, but he always feels like he has to hold himself to the standard he’s set for himself. He could always be vulnerable with you, no matter if it was you in control or him. With you, he gives himself fully and he can’t say he ever regrets it even though you will be his ruin. He is sure of it.

You step back from him only to step into his line of vision, leaning against the table. You place your hand on his cheek, and he leans into its cool embrace, craving anything you would give him. “Someone seems touch starved. Is Benedikta not keeping you warm at night?”

“Nobody will ever compare to you, no matter how cruel you are.” He speaks truthfully, turning his face into your palm to press his lips to the softness of your skin.

“Is that true? Because I know of someone, or rather something that seems to topple over me.”

He growls. “You know my relationship with my master is not the same as it is with you.”

Your hand moves from his cheek to grip his chin, holding it tightly as your eyes burn into his. “Are you sure? Because it seems every time we are in this situation, it’s my name you call out; like I am the one that can grant you salvation.” You bend down to kiss his forehead, whispering your next words against it. “It’s a shame I can’t seem to make that illusion stick.”

You pull away and move to sit on the table. Your left foot is set on the arm of his chair, while your right one rubs against his muscular thigh. You love how muscular he is, his battle hungry body filling his clothes out deliciously, especially in his black trousers. Your foot moves past his thigh to his crotch, rubbing his bulge with little pressure. He is staring daggers at you, but you know he won’t do anything. He could have taken you in his arms and fucked you face down into the table if he wanted to, but he knows your command is law in these moments. Right now, you are his God.

You push your foot slightly, causing him to buck into it with a sigh. “It’s okay though. I like to pretend, even if it is for a moment.” You set your right foot on the other side of the seat to settle on the arm rest. You pull your dress up, exposing yourself to him.

Barnabas licks his lips. No matter how many times he’s had you, he will never get tired of how beautiful your womanhood is. His breath deepens, wanting so badly to touch you, but he knows the rules. You are in control.

“Did you want to touch me, Barnabas? It’s been a long time since you’ve had a taste, hasn’t it?” He mewls, nodding his head, hands clenching and unclenching to calm himself.

You smirk. You know him like the back of your hand. You know what he wants, and you are going to give it to him. “Go ahead, my darling. Claim your prize.”

There is hesitation on Barnabas’s half. It isn’t like you to give in so easily. You will toy with him until he is begging for you to let him touch and taste you. You would make him watch as you pleasure yourself, letting the sweetest gasps fall from your lips. You wouldn’t let him have what he wants until there is visible evidence of your essence dripping from your fingers. You see his hesitation and you giggle. “There is no catch, my dear. This is all for you. Indulge in me, worship me, for I know it is what you crave.” You lift your foot again, this time putting it on his shoulder to edge him forward. He simply cannot refuse.

He reaches forward, his big hands starting from your calves to your thighs, gripping the flesh as he brings himself forward. He places kisses on your thighs, giving small nips only to lick them right after. He takes his time with you, worshiping you like you deserve, making sure to convey his devotion to you as your encouragements reach his ears.

“You revere me so much, don’t you? You are doing a wonderful job at showing that.” You purr, using one hand to run through his dark locks. “But I want those pretty lips to worship me where I will be brought to ruin. Will you worship me there?”

He looks up to you, steel blue eyes stirring with his need to praise you. “I will do as you wish, my Goddess.” He goes in, securing your legs over his shoulders, and letting his tongue sing praises against your delicious cunt.

“You are such a good boy.” You mewl, gripping his hair as your other hand holds you up so you can watch him please you. All you can think is how beautiful he looks in his submissive state, an absolute juxtaposition to the battle hungry maniac he is.

His hold on you tightens, his actions becoming more relentless the more you praise him and the more your essence starts to make its way onto his tongue. He moans into your pussy, lapping at your clit with vigor. He has had many women on his tongue, more as a way of getting them ready for his own selfish pleasure. No one has ever compared to flavor, for he yearns for you to fall apart on his mouth. To know that he is the one to bring you to completion makes his blood pump strongly through his veins, going right to his manhood.

Your noises grow louder, becoming apparent that your release is calling to him to give you what you need. He takes his right pointer and middle fingers to your heat, sinking them in as his tongue worships your clit. He feels your hold on his hair grow stronger, and his moan against you with the fast work of his fingers signals your finish. You cry out, thighs squeezing around his head as he rides your orgasm out. He slurps the sweet liquid dripping around his fingers, letting you calm down as your breaths echo throughout the room.

You pull his head up, hard enough to the point where he is now standing in between your legs. You are both staring at each other, both breathing heavily waiting for each other’s next set of commands and moves. You stare at his lips, glittering with your essence. Your resolve is breaking down, your want to do what you haven’t done in many years taking hold of your heart.

Barnabas is waiting for you to tell him what you want from him next when gravity seems to shift as you pull him down, your lips pressing against his in hunger. Time seems to still, his mind going insane as your lovely lips move against his. Something he noticed in previous meetings is that you would never kiss him. Whenever he would go in to kiss you, you would avoid saying he was undeserving of that kind of affection from you. The last time he had kissed you was not long before you left. It has been ten long years since he received this blessing, and rather than thinking about what has changed, he loses himself in you wanting to make up for all the times he wasn’t allowed to love you like this.

His hands grab your face, holding it in place as he escalates his kisses. The callused skin of his palms feels good on your cheeks, the roughness causing you to latch your hands to his top attire. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him on top of you as you deepen your kiss with him. His bulge is right up against your wet cunt, and he softly grinds into you. The feeling feels good on both ends, both of you capturing each other’s gasps and choked moans as things get heavier and more intense.

You pull away, placing both hands onto his cheeks as you look at him. The emotions swirling in his gaze are almost too much to bear, and if you want to do this right, you cannot be sucked into them. You won’t let that happen.

“Make love to me, my darling. Please.” You whisper.

He is fast to lower his trousers enough to release his cock, lowering his face to yours to kiss you again as he sinks into your warm heat. You whimper, his cock stretching you out in an exquisite way. It has been a very long time since you’ve had him on top of you like this, and you will burn this into your memory for all time.

Barnabas picks up the pace slightly, letting go of your lips to trail wet kisses down your neck. He sucks harshly where your neck and left clavicle meet, the need to mark you infiltrating his soul. He missed loving you like this. He can’t believe you are allowing this. For so long, it has been you to have your way with him, to have complete control over the situation. In any other instance, if he had instigated this, you would have punished him till kingdom come. But you started this. You allowed this. It is now the both of you engaging with each other how you both used to. It is too good to be true.

If only he knew that it was.

He keeps leaving marks on your neck, painting the beautiful picture that you are his to mark. He is pumping his cock in you in deep strokes, reaching every depth of your cunt that sends you reeling. His hands travel down to your breasts, squeezing through the velvet of your dress which makes your nipples rub against the fabric. You hum in approval, bringing your hands to the collar of his undershirt to move it aside, bringing your mouth to his chest, the both of you now marking each other as you both reach the edge together.

Barnabas is fucking you full force now, his right hand pulling your head back as his mouth leaves your now marked body. His lips meet yours again, praises and whispers of affirmation leaving each other in the same breaths.

“Release for me, my Goddess.” He breathes into you. “Bring me to ruin.”

You cry out against his lips, your walls squeezing his cock as you cum for him. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him against you as he releases during your high. He draws in and out, slowing down as his cock becomes more sensitive by the second. Once the both of you are down, he releases your lips, heavy breaths and stares exchanged in the aftermath. He groans as he pulls out of you fully, causing you to sigh at the emptiness, letting your legs unravel from his hips to dangle against the table.

You work to calm yourself down, needing to get yourself together before you do anything else. Your eyes shut, focusing your mind on your next moves. You know what you need to do, yet you didn’t realize cutting off your boundaries would make this much harder. It has to be done.

You sit up to see he has fixed himself up and is staring at you with what you can only see is hope. It makes your chest pang a little harder, knowing what you are about to do will sever your ties with him for good.

You move off the table, situating yourself so your gown is smoothed out and looking somewhat presentable. As you are doing this, you see his feet reach your line of sight. You look up and he is directly in front of you. His eyes are soft yet holding back. He is smiling down at you, and it makes your heart flip. You want so badly to confirm you are here to stay, but that is far from the truth.

“What’s changed?” He breathes out. “This isn’t like you. I feel as if I’m back in the past; back to how things should be.”

Your gaze stays down, working up the courage to say what you came to say. His hand comes to your chin, mimicking how you had gripped his chin earlier, and lifted your face to his. He is examining you, not understanding why you don’t seem happier. “You are usually so cruel to me, making me earn my servitude. But most of all, you haven’t blessed me with your kisses in a decade. So, I’ll ask again, what’s changed?”

You sigh, stepping back from him. His hand is still out, confusion taking over his features at your mannerisms. Your confident gaze is set back onto your face, not wanting to potentially give into him. “This is a goodbye.”

“A goodbye? Meaning what?” Barnabas asks, his tone shifting slightly, his brows knit together.

“I’m leaving Valisthea… for good.” You admit.

His blood runs cold. Leaving? What could you possibly mean by that?

You watch his features shift once more, only this time it snaps your heart in two. He is scared; you can see that very clearly. It is the scared look of a boy, as you know deep down that is who Barnabas is: a lonely, scared boy. You continue. “Things around here are getting worse with the Blight and the ridiculous wars you and everyone else seem to lash out with. Countless lives lost to them. It is barbaric, and this place is no longer a place I can proudly call a home.”

“My biggest reason is that I cannot live in a place where you exist.” Your voice shakes.

“Exist?” He chokes out.

You smile, a hint of sadness complimenting it. “The way you want the world based on how your god wants it will not only destroy everyone, but it will also destroy you. I will not stay to bear witness to it.”

“You know that this is the only way to salvation.” Barnabas says above a whisper, not wanting to give away his motives, but he knows it is futile. He knows you are smarter than that.

You laugh, sorrow building in your chest. “If your plan to have us enslaved by that thing you call a god is salvation, then I’d rather be dead.”

The next thing you feel is your back hitting the wall, Barnabas pushing himself into you as he holds your head in his rough hands, eyes staring at you belligerently. The scared boy you saw from the deep dwellings of his heart vanishing before your eyes. “We have always belonged to one another, ____. We can build a world that no man could ever dream of seeing.”

This sends you into a spiral, causing you to laugh maniacally. “I have always belonged to you, but you have never fully belonged to me.” You push him off of you, leering at him as you can feel yourself starting to rage. “You were the only one who could bring me to my knees, but I am not the only one that can bring you to yours.”

You rush towards him, pushing him into the table with your hand on his throat. “Remember this, Barnabas.” You seethe. “You may hate mankind, but under all of your disdain, you are still nothing but a man. Not even being Akashic can change that.”

You feel him try to turn you over, but as soon as you feel him move you grip your free hand, making him stop in his tracks as he groans out in pain. You make his blood run slowly, having it flow away from his hands and feet to make them go cold. “Do you forget who you are dealing with? Your god made my Eikon the strongest. That was his first mistake because unlike you I am not a sheep in wolf's clothing. I will not stay to be his puppet.”

You let him go, backing away as he drops to his knees, numbness in his limbs as the blood slowly returns. “For your sake, Barnabas, I hope you find peace as I understand your need to avenge, but I will not stay for the finale.”

You kneel, looking at how pitiful he looks. “I do love you. And because I do, I must save myself the heartache that I will never be able to change your mind. Goodbye, Barnabas.”

You stand back up and turn away, walking to the doors and out of his life for good. Barnabas coughs, hitting the cold floor with his fist to calm the anguish that repeatedly suffocates him because now he really is alone.

If only you knew that his attempts to keep you here weren’t for ulterior motives… he just wanted you to stay.

#barnabas tharmr x reader #barnabas tharmr smut #barnabas tharmr angst #ffxvi x reader #barnabas x reader #my fics #angst #smut #ffxvi #final fantasy xvi

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theladyofdeath · 1 year ago

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Lady Death's Lover {VI}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: Oh my word...I have had the most difficult time getting this up this week! I'm sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to everyone who reads, comments, likes, and reblogs! x

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Dear Cassian,

I must admit that I am completely miserable in Adriata. It has rained all week so I cannot go to the ocean, which is the only thing worthwhile to do here. I have also found zero romantic partners which has brought the boredom to a new level of heinousness. I do not think I can stand this place for more than a fortnight. By the Cauldron, I do not think I can stand it for another day. Perhaps I will cut my trip short.

Do have enough diabolical fun for the both of us in my absence, will you? If I know you are causing chaos, that is enough for me for now.

Your Favorite,

Mor

P.S. Try not to attempt to philander with any more married women. It’s very ungentleman-like.

Nesta

My gowns are lovely.

The modiste has truly outdone herself. There are four in total and each matches the other but has its own personality. The fabrics are all deep blues and grays, meant to bring out my eyes. They are the colors I am most comfortable in. In fact, most of my wardrobe consists of blues and grays but no one has complained about it thus far.

After transferring payment, my gowns are loaded into my carriage. Before making my way back home, I take advantage of the time alone and make my way down the street to my favorite bakery. I’ve never been one for sweets but they make the best macarons in Velaris and I cannot help but buy a box whenever I visit the modiste.

It is when I’m coming out of this bakery that I see him.

For a moment, I forget how to walk. Every elegant thought vanishes from my mind and I am suddenly all too aware of the giant box of sweets in my hands.

I pray he doesn’t see me and for a moment I feel I will get away with it, but then he turns from where he walks across the street and halts when he catches my eye. For a moment, we both stand there, staring at one another.

Then the world around me comes back to life.

The city streets around me resume, full of life. Carriages hurry past and people rush in and out of the shops. The sky above, recently clear and bright, opens up and the softest of rains falls down upon me and my macarons.

He still stands just across the street, watching me, although his head has since cocked to the side and a grin has begun spreading across his lips. A sudden sense of embarrassment floods me. I must look foolish, standing here in the rain with a box of baked goods while everyone around me starts to run to safety from the turn in weather.

Oh, gods.

He’s coming towards me.

“Lady Nesta,” he begins when he’s halfway across the street, “your dress. You should find cover.”

I find my voice. “Ah, Mr. Nazari. Yes, I, um…yes.”

I go to turn on my heels but, in true Lord Cassian fashion, he steps in front of me just before I can get far. “A lady should never be caught in the rain.”

“If it were not for you blocking me I would be well on my way to shelter, my lord.” I try not to sound too demeaning, but I cannot help myself. Every now and then that tone just seeps out and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

He finds this funny, apparently. A chuckle escapes him and he nods. “Apologies. Good day, Lady Nesta.”

Not Lady Mandray.

Lady Nesta.

I somehow like it better coming from him, like it better than the title the rest of the ton refers to me as.

Lord Cassian steps aside and I go to stroll past him, but I stop when he begins to walk behind me. Turning, I lift a brow.

He stops and rocks back on his heels. “Do not fear, I am not following you. I walked here and now must walk home, which is this direction. That is all.”

“How far do you have to walk?” I ask, the rain picking up. I worry more for the well-being of my macarons than my hair.

“A little more than a mile, it’s no worry,” he says, shrugging, then continues on his way.

I hesitate, knowing I shouldn’t ask what I’m about to but asking it anyway.

“Would you care to join me?” I ask, and he freezes, his back to me. “It seems we’re going the same direction and you should not have to walk in the rain. It seems a storm is brewing. You wouldn’t want to catch a cold.”

Lord Cassian looks up at the dark clouds, the rain falling directly onto his face as he squints. He looks back to me, his face searching mine, but then he asks, “Are you certain? I don’t mind a little rain.”

Thunder rolls and lightning strikes, and I nearly drop my macarons. I swear it’s purely for my benefit when he clears his throat and says, “It would be a pleasure to join you, Lady Nesta.”

I nod quickly as a downpour begins and hurry to my coach up the street. By the time I throw myself inside, my dress is drenched and my hat is drooping. Lord Cassian is in no better condition as he slides onto the bench across from me, his jacket drenched and his trousers sticking to his thighs.

My breath catches at the sight of him and I suddenly feel foolish. It should be impossible for a man to look more dashing sopping wet, but he somehow manages to. That ridiculous, shoulder-length hair of his is soaked and dripping into his cravat. I don’t realize I’m staring until I meet his eyes, and suddenly I’m all too aware of every inch of my body and his. My cheeks turn pink and I have to clasp my hands together to keep them from shaking.

The carriage jolts as it begins its journey and it makes me jump, which makes Lord Cassian grin…although he tries to suppress it. This was a mistake. That’s what I get for trying to be nice. This very thing reminds me why I do not do nice things often. Nice things always come back to bite me in the ass.

. . . . . . . . .

Cassian

Lady Nesta looks equally stunning and uncomfortable, although her discomfort is not the type of discomfort that causes alarm. No, it’s the type of discomfort that tells me she does not do this often.

I do not know much about this woman but I do know that she’s not exactly…personable. I’ve heard what other women of the ton think about Nesta — Mor brought the gossip to our recent Monday tea time and I have a feeling Rhys put her up to it — and it’s not good. In fact, the ladies of Velaris think Lady Nesta to be brutally honest and permanently bitter. I, however, value honesty and think a certain level of self-hatred and introverted nature can be mistaken for anger or bitterness.

Not that it should matter.

After my last encounter with Nesta, I vowed never to be around her again. Especially alone. Yet, the second I saw her stepping out of the bakery with a box-full of what seems to be macarons, my feet decided my thoughts should be damned and acted of their own volition. Before I could fully comprehend what I was doing, I was standing in front of her.

Now, I’m alone with her yet again, stuck in a coach as it rattles down the cobblestone. Outside, it’s pouring as it often does in the spring, and all I can think about is how her eyes keep drifting to me.

I’m trying to also be inconspicuous about where my eyes are wandering, but from the way her pale cheeks are turning pink, I don’t think I’m doing it properly.

Her light blue dress is clinging to her skin and I can’t ignore how her breasts are even further on display behind the soaked fabric. It doesn’t help that her chest is rising and falling, rapidly, as if she’s had a difficult time catching her breath since entering the confined space that surrounds us.

“You’re having a ball soon,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say but I know that we can’t keep sitting here in silence, me trying my best to avoid the swells of her breasts, the way I can see her peaked nipples through the wet cotton.

“I am,” she says, voice soft but firm. “Will you be in attendance?”

I clear my throat. “Yes. Thank you for the invite.”

I neglect to mention that I originally did not plan to attend, that being in the same room as her is too tempting and I’m currently going mad, but my brothers coaxed me into going.

She gives me a curt nod before taking a deep breath and letting her eyes wander towards the closed window. I swallow, cursing as my eyes take another dive to her chest and back up again. Once the silence becomes too heavy, allowing my thoughts to run rampant and inappropriately wild, I ask, “Do you do this often?”

Nesta’s eyes snap to mine and she blinks. “Do what?”

“Come into town on your own,” I say, and I watch as she swallows and clenches her jaw. “Not even a maid with you? Isn’t that unbecoming?”

Her eyes narrow and if it wasn’t for the quick rise and fall of her chest, the way her skin is flushed, I would think she was offended and not something else entirely. “Are you implying that I do not live my life as a lady should, my lord?”

“I’m implying that it is simply not safe for you to be traveling alone,” I say, and she watches as I run my hands down my thighs, trying to eliminate my sweaty palms. It does not work. “You never know others’ intentions when they see a woman alone.”

“It is the middle of the day,” she says, meeting my eye once more. “And I have my driver.”

“Still.”

We stare at one another for just a moment, but that moment is filled with so much silent, skin burning tension that I feel the need to loosen my cravat, shrug off my coat, but I don’t. I let it suffocate me, let her gaze strip me bare instead.

If I slouched in the slightest, my knees would nearly graze hers. Suddenly the space between us seems so short, too short to make any rational decisions. This was a mistake. I should have stayed on my own damn side of the street. I should have walked.

“Is that what this is, then?” she asks, and I blink.

“Pardon?”

“Do you have poor intentions, my lord?” she asked, clasping her hands on her lap. I swear they’re trembling.

“Need I remind you that you were the one that offered me a ride in your coach?” I ask, then add, “my lady.”

Her lips part, and it’s so slight that one has to be watching them intently to have seen it, which I am.

She shifts on the bench, words seeming to have left her. It’s the silence that makes me say, only because I cannot stand silence and I’ve already seemed to have dug myself into a hole of wickedness, “Perhaps it is you that has poor intentions.”

Her head leans to the side, which is somehow unladylike and beautifully cunning at the same time, and the smallest of smiles plays on her lips. There’s no joy in this smile, only a cruel seduction that has my trousers holding back my hardening cock. Now it’s my turn to shift, and she notes it, those dark eyes trailing down until they’ve settled on my lap. Her eyes flare before snapping back up to mine.

“I am a lady,” she says, simply. “Ladies do not have poor intentions, only charitable ones. What kind of lady would I be if I were to let a gentleman walk through a downpour?”

“Indeed,” I say, and I cannot even help how rough my voice suddenly sounds.

This is ridiculous. I feel like I have never been around a woman before, or like I am once again sixteen and around a woman for the very first time. Furthermore, she’s married. This is highly inappropriate, but I seem to have lost control.

No.

That’s not entirely true.

If I had lost control her dress would be torn to shreds and I’d have her lying beneath me on this bench, worshiping every inch of her body beneath.

“I am grateful,” I add, and she nods her head politely in response. I stay in control until a wheel hits a dip in the road and our bodies jostle, and we touch.

My knee hits hers and her foot lands on mine as she tries to stop herself from toppling forward. I don’t even realize my hand is on her leg, just above her knee, until we both look down at it.

I don’t move it.

She doesn’t ask me to, nor does she move at all. All that moves is the rapid rising and falling of her chest — a chest that my eyes are in perfect line with. Mustering every ounce of self control that I have, I go to lean back, to settle myself once again on the opposite bench until this torturous ride is over, but I don’t make it far.

Just as I move, Nesta places her hand on top of mine and I freeze. She’s looking at me wildly, searching my eyes for something. I don’t think I’m breathing at all. I have no thoughts in my mind whatsoever. All I can focus on is her intent eyes, her hand on mine, my hand on her skirts, her lips that are parted and begging to be kissed.

Neither of us says a word.

“Just—“

Whatever she’s about to say evaporates as the coach slows and when it jerks to a stop, reality steps back in.

Nesta snatches her hand from mine as if she’s been burned and I take the hint, pulling myself back just as the door opens and I’m looking at the front door of my townhouse.

Not wanting to keep the poor lad standing in the storm, I take my leave and hurry to my front door, drenching myself further. I don’t look back at Nesta. I have a feeling she doesn’t want me to.

I have a feeling that whatever she was about to say, whatever would have happened if we just kept driving, would have surely led to utter regret.

Before I shut my door behind me, I watch Nesta’s carriage roll away, gone into the storm.

Calling for my butler, I beg for a drink to calm my still pounding heart.

#nessian #regency au #19th century au #period au #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #sjm #fanfic #fanfiction

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genocidehim · 1 year ago

Note

Howard seeing the new receptionist at HHM and becoming obsessed; calling her cute nicknames and trinkets

notes: render is female, obsessive behavior? just a little words: 625

Howard's head had been somewhat lost during that last week, he was not normally a distracted man, of course not. However, there was someone who was beginning to catch his attention.

He was very good at pretending to stay one hundred percent focused on work, the last few cases that came to the firm had received very little of his attention due to his small obsession, which at first was sweet, even somewhat innocent.

Howard noticed you instantly when he saw that Brenda was no longer at the reception, and you were there occupying her place while seeming to be getting used to the new receptionist shift.

The first encounter was somewhat amusing, Howard called out Brenda's name and when he turned around, he found you looking at him with confusion on your face. He apologized a couple of times and stopped for a few minutes to get to know you before he had his meeting on the second floor. He asked for your name and your new position at reception.

"I'll only be here during Brenda's maternity leave. Don't worry, Mr. Hamlin, you won't notice any difference."

Your voice sounded sweet in his ears, you were so formal and polite, he even noticed how pretty you were even in your office attire. Maybe you put in extra effort in the mornings to look that way? Howard imagined you as a dedicated girl, enough to keep yourself so radiant in the middle of the workday.

Since he knew your name, he completely stopped calling you by your last name. Your name was sweet to pronounce, he wondered if you were really aware that he had been thinking about you and your name during the road trips to his home and back to work. Gradually, Howard began to think more and more about you for no apparent reason. And God, he really vibrated when he heard your cute voice calling him by his last name, many times he just passed by reception to hear you call him "Mr. Hamlin" with that sweet smile you gave him.

With time, he began to be more affectionate in terms of words, and the nicknames always came with his smiles dedicated only to you.

"Mr. Hamlin! Good to see you here. I wanted to let you know that Miss Wexler wants to meet with you. Should I send her over?"

"Send her in about twenty minutes, sweetie. I have to take care of some matters first" you heard as you picked up the desktop phone and quickly dialed a number. But before you could press call, Howard's voice caught your attention again.

"Is that a new perfume, dollface?"

His question caught you off guard, and you laughed in response.

"Oh, yes, it is!" you replied as you put the phone back in its place. "Does it really smell that strong?"

"Of course, I can smell your sweet fragrance from here… And I had to mention it. I never miss the opportunity to compliment a good perfume."

A slight blush took over your cheeks, and you smiled with some shyness. Although you were used to Howard's kind words and sweet nicknames, you couldn't help but blush like a silly little girl in love.

That drove Howard crazy. Seeing how with just a few words he could make you giggle and blush for him. It made him imagine how you would react if he tried other things with you. Would you be as shy and polite?

Over time, he no longer called you by your name. Now you were 'honey' and everyone in the law firm knew who he was referring to when he mentioned that name. But Howard didn't allow others to call you like that, his honey was only his.

#better call saul x reader #bcs x reader #howard hamlin x reader #howard hamlin fluff #howard hamlin bcs #howard hamlin #one short #request

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sjsmith56 · 6 months ago

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None Shall Sleep

Summary: Bucky comes to the aid of his neighbour one night when he hears her crying after breaking something in her apartment.

Length: 5 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, named but not described OFC, minor OFC, Pepper Stark.

Warnings: Description of eye surgery (personal experience), trust issues, Bucky feeling inadequate, health insurance company assholes.

Author notes: Inspired by this video of a tenor who sang Nessun Dorma (from the opera Turandot) accompanied by a flash mob orchestra in a German bookstore. The video showed up on my FB feed but I’ve always loved this piece, as it’s full of passion. My description of the opera is taken from the internet. https://fb.watch/pE60YHrtsM/? I’ve been to one opera in my life (La Boheme) which I enjoyed. Bucky is a big softy in this one shot which ends very romantically.

👁️ 🎶 🌖

Sam carried the last box into Bucky's new Brooklyn apartment, taking note of the high ceilings and windows this place had, compared to his old place, the small studio apartment. With the settlement for his back pay, and damages for what had been done to him awarded from the now unfrozen assets of Alexander Pierce and several other high ranking HYDRA officials, James Buchanan Barnes was finally in a position to live in a manner that he deserved. Buying this apartment was the start of his new beginning. He also had plans to take some college courses so that he could prepare for a life that didn't involve using just his physical attributes.

"This is really nice, Bucky," he said, as his friend came out of the bathroom with an empty box, pulling the tape off the bottom so he could flatten it. "Pepper found this place for you?"

He looked around. "Yeah, it is nice. Still has enough of the old features like hardwood floors and finishes, vintage claw foot tub in the master ensuite bathroom, mosaic floor tiles in both bathrooms. Feels familiar but it's mostly modern so it should last a long time. Not sure how the other owners feel about me living here but no one's said anything yet."

"Why would they?" Bucky scowled without answering. "Hey, your money is as good as theirs. You're quiet, you're not a criminal, and honestly, it will likely make criminals think twice about trying to break in. I'm sure you'll be attuned to everyone's coming and goings pretty quickly."

"You calling me a busybody?"

At least he said it with a grin. It was true. His bad sleeping habits meant he was often awake at night, watching out the window for anything out of the ordinary. Knowing his neighbour's habits came easily to him but wasn't always understood or appreciated by them. Still, his previous landlord and Pepper Stark wrote character references for him when he first applied to buy in the building.

A week later he had met several neighbours, finding most of them quite nice. It surprised him on the one night when he heard crying from his nearest neighbour's apartment, a woman he hadn't met yet. At first, he listened carefully for any sounds of fighting or abuse, but it sounded more like frustration than anything else. Then he heard the sounds of something breaking and jumped out of bed. Approaching her door, he listened carefully again then knocked before speaking.

"Hello? Is everything alright? I heard the sound of something breaking."

He could hear the sounds of someone approaching the door.

"Who are you?" Her voice sounded both anxious and upset.

"Bucky Barnes. I just moved in next door. I could hear you crying but tonight sounded like you broke something. I can help."

"Fuck." He could barely hear her swear. "Hope he's not an asshole."

With the sound of her locating the locks and turning them, he waited, only to be surprised by the sight of a woman with both eyes heavily bandaged.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," she said, extending her hand outwards, not quite in the right direction. "As you can see I have temporarily lost my sight. I'm supposed to have someone to help me but they haven't showed up for the past two nights and that's left me trying to fend for myself."

He took her hand gently in his, squeezing it then releasing it.

"Well, I'm here and I can help you if you wish."

"I know I broke something, and I stepped on it." She lifted one foot, that seemed cut open. Spreading her hands helplessly, she began to cry again. "Could you just help me?"

"I'm going to pick you up and carry you to the bathroom," replied Bucky. "You have cut your foot. I can take care of bandaging that. Then I'll clean up what you broke. After that, we'll see what more I can do for you, okay?"

She allowed him to pick her up in his arms, carrying her into her bathroom, where he placed her on the counter. Returning to his place for his first aid kit, since she only had a kit of bandages for her eyes, he gently cleaned her foot in the sink, then checked the wound for any pieces of the broken glass.

"What's your name?" he asked, as he applied some antiseptic to it.

"Roberta," she replied.

"That's a pretty name," he smiled. "How long have you lived here?"

"About a year. I sublet from the owner. You just moved in?"

"Yeah, a week ago. If it's not too personal, may I ask about your eyes?"

She lowered her head. "I was mugged, hit my head pretty hard on the pavement. It gave me a concussion and partially detached the retinas in both eyes, so I had to have surgery to fix them. It sounds kind of gruesome, but they had to empty the eyeball of the vitreous gel to do it, then used a laser to seal the tears, and then a bubble of gas to reinflate the eye was inserted to keep the retina in place. As the gas is absorbed into the body, the eye replaces the gel with new liquid, but it takes about six weeks for it to heal properly. This past week I had to sleep on my stomach at the hospital, face down so that the bubble stayed at the back of the eyeball and kept the retina from detaching again. I had an aide to help me at night for the first two nights when I was released, to make sure I didn't flip over onto my back, but she didn't show up last night or tonight. Since I can't see, I can't call my insurance company to find out what happened to her and the woman they got for the daytime doesn't speak much English. She just cooks and cleans for me."

He listened, fascinated by the medical process that would restore her vision, knowing that during the 1930s the success rate for repairing that was abysmal.

"When were your eye dressings last changed?"

"Two nights ago," answered Roberta. "I was trying to do it myself because it felt gross, but I knocked something over and it broke." She lowered her head as if she was looking at the floor. "I just feel so helpless. I'm sorry I woke you up."

Once again, he took her hand in his.

"I'm a lousy sleeper and was already awake. You stay here while I clean up then I'll see if I can help change your dressings. Is that okay?"

She nodded, waiting patiently for her neighbour to return. At least he sounded nice. Bucky wasn't a common name, perhaps it was a nickname. Carefully, she listened as she heard him sweep a broom over the floor and into a dustpan. The running of water was followed by the sound of a cloth being wiped over the floor, presumably to clean up the blood from the cut in her foot. Then she heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Just me," he said, before he entered. "Everything's cleaned up out there. Now, how do I take care of your eyes?"

She told him to boil some water first and let it cool, then add a little salt to help with cleaning. He left coming back a few minutes later. He washed his hands, then unwrapped the larger bandage which released the plastic eye shields that protected her eyes. Under them were gauze pads, which he carefully peeled off. All she saw was the light of the bathroom, and the bubble of gas inside her eyes which kept her repaired retinas in place. Everything else was blurred or distorted.

"It's pretty red," said Bucky, his face close enough to hers for her to smell his aftershave. "Is that normal?"

"Well, it's pretty invasive eye surgery so I guess it is. If you could take some clean gauze and dip it in the boiled water, as long as it's not too hot, you can clean the guck off, gently."

Patiently, she waited as he did as he was told, slightly surprised at how gently he cleansed her damaged eyes. She noticed the sound of whirring and that one of his hands was warm and the other cold, which she brought up.

"I have a prosthetic arm and hand," he explained, hesitantly at first. "It's a very high tech one. I'm kind of the only person in the world with one like it. It functions almost like normal, but they can't make it feel warm, or mask all the sounds it makes. I'm thankful for it but I worry about how people see it."

Roberta smiled. "Good thing I could only hear it and feel it then," she said. "Although, I bet it's impressive looking. Is it a prototype?"

"I guess," he admitted, then she was aware his face was further away. "Okay, that looks better. What's next?"

"There's a tube of ointment," said Roberta. "If you pull the lower eyelid out, you can squeeze a small portion into each one and distribute it a bit. That's to heal the incisions." She waited while he did it. "Okay, new gauze to cover my eyes, then the shields over top. Just check that the shields are clean. They can be cleaned with soap and water if they have anything on them."

She smiled as she heard the sound of water, assuming that the shields needed cleaning. Then they were placed over her eyes, and she held them in place as Bucky wrapped the bandages around her head to keep them there. By his silence, other than his breathing which seemed to shift slightly as if he was moving his head, Roberta assumed he was checking his handiwork.

"How is that?" he asked.

"Feels great," she answered. "Thank you."

"Is there anything else I can do for you? I'm guessing anything involving the eyes are out."

"I wouldn't mind listening to some music," she answered. "My phone is around here somewhere. If you could open the playlists, I could choose one. You're welcome to stay if you're not sleepy."

She felt his warm arm circle around her waist as he helped her off the vanity, then he placed her hand on his arm as he led her out to the living room, telling her when they were a couple of steps away from the couch. He joined her a moment later, as he placed her phone in her hand.

"Needs to be unlocked."

"Oh, it's set to Face ID which won't work with these bandages. If I give you the code, do you promise not to go snooping?"

"Scout's honour." She could just feel the smile from him.

After giving him the code she waited while he opened her playlists, then he began listing them off. When he got to her guilty pleasure one of opera, she told him to choose that.

"I'm a bit weird, I know," she joked. "Not many people my age like opera but it was something my dad and I would do every time the Met put on a new one. We always had discount tickets, would go for dinner, then to the opera. Dad loved it and it was time well spent with him before he died."

"I'm sorry. You must miss him."

"I do. He died of cancer just five years ago."

The sounds of La Traviata came on and he smiled as she relaxed, slightly leaning into him. She quickly told him the plot of the opera and encouraged him to close his eyes and lose himself in the singing. There were several other arias from other pieces that played then another came up and she straightened a bit.

"This is one of my favourites," she said. "It's called Nessun Dorma, from Turandot. A disguised prince falls in love with a princess who is indifferent to him. To win her hand a suitor must solve three riddles, but if he gets any of them wrong, then he will be executed. The prince succeeds but she still refuses him, so he challenges her to guess his real name, which would allow her to put him to death. If she doesn't then she must marry him."

"Does she?" asked Bucky.

"That's the mystery behind this opera," said Roberta. "The composer, Puccini, didn't finish it as he died, so no one really knows if he meant this to have a happy ending or a tragic ending. This piece, Nessun Dorma, means none shall sleep, as the princess commands everyone to put aside sleep and find out the prince's real name. Whether she found out and chose to reveal it or not is one of the great mysteries of Turandot. Both endings have been used, written by other composers."

He listened with her, finding it a stirring piece of music. As they listened to several more, he became aware of her breathing becoming deeper and more regular. Roberta had fallen asleep. Gently, he extracted himself from beside her then remembered what she said about sleeping with her repaired eyes. Going to the linen closet he pulled out some towels and rolled them into position on her bed, to surround her face, keeping it off the surface of the sheets. Then he returned to the couch and gently lifted her into his arms. She whimpered a little and buried her face in his chest.

"You smell good," she whispered, sleepily. "I like it."

"Thank you," he whispered back.

Gently, he positioned her face down, making sure that she was set in a way that was comfortable but allowed her to breathe. Then he covered her up with her bedcovers and turned off the light. Returning to his apartment, he laid on the couch, falling asleep until the morning.

Knowing that Roberta wanted to phone the insurance company about the aide not showing up, Bucky woke up early then listened carefully to any signs of the young woman getting up. When she did, he went over and knocked on the door, waiting as she approached. Instead, it was another woman who opened it and he looked at her a little surprised. She spoke Spanish, identifying herself as Maria, the daytime helper who cooked for Miss Roberta. Addressing her in Spanish, Bucky identified himself, waiting while she checked with Roberta before she let him in.

"I thought you might want me to help phone the insurance company," he said when she came out of the kitchen. "Find out what happened to your night-time aide. I also speak Spanish if you want me to tell Maria anything."

"Yes please, to both," said Roberta. "Thank you for putting me to bed last night. I actually had a good sleep because of how you arranged the towels. How did you know how to do it?"

He shook his head. "Just seemed right."

She gave some instructions for Maria, which he passed on, then dialled her insurance company for her, placing the phone on speaker so she could talk to the agent. When she told them the aide hadn't shown up for two nights they disputed her account, saying the woman had clocked in. Bucky frowned as he listened then asked if he could speak.

"Hi, I'm Roberta's neighbour," he started. "I can't say about Monday, but your aide was definitely not here last night because I heard Roberta crying after she broke something and cut her foot open. I looked after her, cleaning her eyes and changing her dressing. She wouldn't be phoning to complain if your employee actually showed up, don't you think?"

"Well, our employees are very professional and whose to say that you aren't lying on behalf of Miss Paxton?" said the woman on the other end.

Roberta's face reddened when she heard that, and Bucky felt his own irritation grow at the insinuation.

"Well, why don't I give you the name of someone to verify my identity," he said. "If you would be so kind to contact Pepper Stark at Stark Industries, I'm sure she can vouch for me."

"Your name, sir?"

"Bucky Barnes, currently one of the Avengers. My full name is James Buchanan Barnes."

There was no sound from the insurance agent for a moment. Then there was a little cough, and she came back on.

"I will make that call and get back to you, Mr. Barnes," she said. "Will you be at this number?"

"Yes, I'm not going anywhere."

He hung up and placed the phone on the table. There was silence between them until Roberta extended her hand towards him. Gently, he took it and held it.

"You're really him? I didn't quite hear your last name when you came in last night."

"Yeah, I'm him, the former Winter Soldier. Once we get this cleared up, I won't come around anymore, if my presence makes you uncomfortable."

"No, I mean, I would like it if you came over. I enjoyed your company. You were kind to me and let me talk about opera and never once interrupted. That's more than most men have ...."

She coughed, then began to cry and Bucky reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, then looked at it, realizing her eyes were still bandaged. Maria looked at him, whispering in Spanish that perhaps an arm around the young woman would be acceptable. With a slight smile to her he did just that and pulled Roberta close.

"I'm sorry. I'm kind of predisposed to being rejected and kind of jumped the gun on your reaction to who I was."

His phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket, seeing that it was Pepper. He explained to her why the insurance company was calling, smiling as she expressed dismay that they would leave a woman without home care when she was basically helpless because she couldn't see.

"If they don't send anyone, I'm happy to help her," he said to Pepper. "Roberta is very nice, and we got along just fine."

"Well, if they don't send someone, or if no one comes, you let me know, and I'll hire a small team myself to help her out."

He passed on the message to Roberta, who thanked Pepper profusely, then hung up, expecting to receive a call from the insurance company. When it still didn't come an hour later, they phoned again, were put on hold then the call was dropped. At that time, Maria came out of the kitchen with her phone, looking like she had bad news. With a halting voice, she told Bucky she was laid off, as Miss Paxton's insurance policy had been cancelled. Worriedly, she looked between Bucky and Roberta.

"Hold on, Maria," he said in Spanish. "You won't be laid off, I promise. Wait with Miss Paxton while I make another call."

After telling Roberta he had to make a private call he headed out to the hallway and called Pepper to pass on what he had learned. She swore profusely, then he heard a large exhale of breath from the executive.

"Alright, I'm assembling a team to take over Miss Paxton's care, and you tell Maria she now works for Stark Industries starting at twice the measly pay they were probably giving her. Then I'm calling my lawyer and getting them on the sudden cancellation of her policy. They can't do that, and I won't let them get away with it if I have to buy the company myself. Don't you worry, Bucky. We'll take care of Miss Paxton while you're on mission." She hesitated for a moment. "Okay, I wasn't supposed to say anything, but you'll be getting a call shortly."

Returning to the apartment, he broke the news gently to Roberta, then assured her that she would be looked after. He also told Maria she still had a job, with Stark Industries, sending the woman into her own joyful expressions that someone would do that for her. As she thanked him enthusiastically for his help, he received his mission alert from the Avengers and looked at the readout. He had six hours to report for duty.

"Well, I have some sad news," he stated. "I'm being called out for a mission, but you can take Pepper Stark's insistence on a team to look after you as the complete truth. She'll make sure you're taken care of while I'm gone."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know but we can talk whenever I have a chance," he replied. "Give me your phone and I'll put my information in."

He entered his information in her phone then did the same to his. Then they sat together on the couch. Her hand slowly inched its way towards his and he held her hand while they waited. An hour later, the doorbell rang, and the first member of Roberta's care team, Julie, arrived, along with a contract for Maria to sign that she explained fully to the woman. He stood up, then began to walk towards the door.

"Bucky, can I see you privately for a moment?" asked Roberta, then she blushed and grinned. "You know what I mean."

Julie took Maria into the kitchen, leaving the couple alone. Hesitantly, Robert lifted her hands towards Bucky, and he took them, holding them in his hands. She stepped closer, until there was barely any space between them. Raising one hand to his face, she cupped his cheek as he watched her intently.

"Thank you for taking care of me," she murmured. "You're a very nice man." He began to protest but she placed her fingers on his lips, and he instinctively kissed them, bringing a smile to her lips. "You are a nice man and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. When you get back, I would like to see you again. I don't know many nice men and I kind of want to keep you around."

If she could have seen it, his smile likely would have dazzled her. With his free hand he brushed some hair over her shoulder then leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.

"I would like to see you again, Roberta," he answered. "You're a very nice lady and I don't know many. You let them take care of you while I'm gone, okay?"

She nodded and they kissed again, for longer and with some feeling. Then he caressed her face and left to get ready for his mission.

Two months later.

Carefully, Bucky looked at himself in the mirror of his apartment, satisfied with his haircut and the trim of his beard. After making sure his tie was right and that there were no white cat hairs on his black suit, he turned towards the window. Alpine, the stray kitten he found on the mission and brought back with him, watched from her cat tree in front of the large window. He confirmed he had his wallet and his car keys, then checked the inside pocket for the tickets, smiling at how excited Roberta would be when he told her where they were going.

"What do you think, Al? Do I look good?"

A cross between a meow and a trill greeted him, confirming that he did indeed look good. Leaving a light on in the living room, he gave the kitten a quick stroke on the head, then left, locking the door behind him and walking to the apartment next door. He could hear opera playing in the apartment and smiled, then knocked loud enough to hear the music stop and footsteps approaching the door. It was opened and for a moment he was dazzled at the vision in front of him. Roberta was in a form fitting black dress that seemed to glitter like the night sky. Its open neckline highlighted her collarbones, and a hint of décolletage completed the top part of the dress. A long slit on one side showed off her shapely leg, along with the strappy-heeled sandals she wore.

"Wow! You look amazing," he said, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. "Pepper helped you get that dress, didn't she?"

Roberta blushed. "Maybe. We've become good friends, I think. So, we must be going somewhere fancy because you're looking good as well."

"Darlin' I always look good," he grinned, then his face grew soft as he came closer. "I mean it. You look like a dream and I'm the luckiest guy alive."

They kissed and she used her thumb to wipe off the lipstick that transferred to his lips. Taking her lipstick out of her clutch she reapplied it then waited as Bucky approached with her coat, helping her put it on. They held hands on the elevator down to the parking garage, where Bucky held the car door open for her until she was belted in, and he got in behind the wheel. As they passed over the Brooklyn Bridge, he told her to close her eyes so that it was a surprise. When he pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Opera House, he reminded her to keep her eyes closed. After helping her out, he handed his keys to the valet, then whispered in her ear.

"Open your eyes."

She opened them, ignoring the camera flashes from the paparazzi and seeing they were in front of the Metropolitan Opera House. A big smile appeared on her face, and she looked up at him.

"It's Turandot, isn't it?" she asked. "You got tickets?"

He nodded, then took her hand into the crook of his arm and began to walk to the entrance. There were several calls of his name, and he stopped once, to the sounds and flashes of multiple cameras going off, then they turned away and continued inside. After dropping off her coat at the coat check, they went up the staircase to the Parterre, where they were shown their seats, two in the front row of the left center box. Two programs were already waiting for them, and he watched with an amused smile as she excitedly read it through. When the music started, she watched the performance intently, occasionally glancing at him and squeezing his hand.

At the intermission, they went out and ordered champagne for her, bourbon for him, sipping it as several celebrities approached them, introducing themselves. Bucky was polite but reserved, his attention directed all towards Roberta. The second half of the performance was just as enthralling as the first, especially when it came to the performance of Nessun Dorma, which drew a standing ovation and cries of "Bravo" for the tenor who sang it. Bucky watched Roberta's face as she sat, enthralled at the whole experience. When it ended and the theatre started to empty, she sat bright eyed, still staring at the stage until she turned to him.

"That was amazing," she enthused. "I've never seen it before, and it was everything I ever hoped it would be. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he smiled, standing and offering her his hand. "Now, we can go to dinner, or we can pick up some takeout and have it at your place. I'm good either way. Which do you prefer?"

"You really don't mind takeout? These sandals are beautiful, but I'm not used to them, and I wouldn't mind changing into something more relaxing."

"Takeout it is," stated Bucky, as they approached the coatcheck and he helped her on with her coat.

On the drive back to the apartment building, they held hands, stopping only when they picked up some Chinese food. They were both quiet on the elevator ride to their floor. Inside her apartment, Roberta left Bucky to open the containers as she disappeared into her bedroom, coming out in a pair of leggings and a soft tunic. He took his jacket off, draping it over the back of the chair, then slipped his shoes off. They both ate a good portion of their food, then Roberta winced when she stretched her one foot, noticing she had a blister forming. Putting his food aside, Bucky switched positions on the couch and gestured for her foot, gently massaging it. As he ran his hand over her foot, he rubbed her ankle then her calf muscle, watching her intently.

"Stop," she whispered.

He stopped. Carefully, she shifted closer to him, ending up on his lap. Looking at his tie, she loosened it enough to raise it over his head, then unbuttoned several buttons on his shirt, placing one of her hands on his upper chest.

"Stop," he murmured.

She stopped, still perched on his lap, close enough that she was well aware of the warmth of his body radiating through his shirt and the hands that rested on her thighs, in addition to the bulge already forming in his pants. They gazed at each other then Roberta leaned closer.

"None shall sleep," she said softly.

"You're sure?"

"Very sure."

Slowly, he ran his right hand up her body to her neck. Placing his hand at the back of her neck he pulled her closer then wrapped his arms around her as they kissed passionately. They explored each other's lips and mouths thoroughly, before pulling away, each of them a little breathless. Lifting herself off of Bucky, Roberta went over to her phone and brought up the opera playlist then turned off the light and stood in front of the couch, offering him her hand. He kissed it, then raised himself off and picked her up in his arms.

"You smell good." Her eyes were luminous in the dark that was lit only by the moonlight coming in the floor to ceiling windows. "I love you."

He smiled softly, kissing the top of her head. "I love you, too."

To the sound of her favourite arias, Bucky carried Roberta into the bedroom where neither of them slept until much, much later.

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One shots Masterlist.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #sam wilson #bucky barnes oneshot #opera #Turandot #Nessun Dorma #romantic bucky #eye surgery

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seventeenlovesthree · 1 year ago

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SPOILER HEAVY REVIEW/FIRST IMPRESSIONS/META FOR DIGIMON ADVENTURE 02 THE BEGINNING MOVIE

So I had the privilege to watch the movie on release day and I have thoughts. Very unfiltered and out of order and knowing myself, my opinion will definitely change upon discussing, contextualizing and rewatching it, but... I need to get that first impression out of my system, maybe already link it with a few things we've previously known. So the following text will go through my experience in the cinema, the course of the entire movie and my personal opinions, so...

READ THIS AT YOUR OWN RISK, BECAUSE THERE WILL BE SPOILERS. LOTS OF THEM. ALL OF THEM.

(A/N: There will also be trigger warnings about child abuse and violence/gore/blood, so again, please be warned and read cautiously if you choose to do so.)

Alright, first of all, this was one of the special screening events all over Germany and, obviously, the majority of people who watched alongside my friend and me were nerds around my age. Those who used to watch the German dub back in the day - which was just a wonderful experience in general. The cinema wasn't completely sold out, but there were still lots of people! And I was there in my pseudo-Hikari costume nobody recognized, heh.

Before the screening, the event - hosted by KSM, who are responsible for the German dub - held a little trivia quiz! Which was pretty neat, they had questions like "What does Digimon stand for?", "What year did the plot of Digimon Adventure take place, when was 02?", "How many Tri movies are there?", "How many Digimon seasons exist in sum?", "What is te production company of Digimon called?", "What does the title of the first Tri movie - Saikai - mean in German?", "What is the first theme song called in Japanese?"

(The season number was a trick question since they said, including Tri as separate season may or may not count, but I had issues with this one too. And I had actually forgotten what "Saikai" meant...)

They handed out Blu-Ray copies of Kizuna for the right answers - and I actually won one by answering when the German dub of Adventure aired in Germany for the first time correctly. Good old 2000... I'll never forget that.

Then the movie started - I still don't really know how to go about this, so again, excuse the looseness of my rambling;

First of all, the German subs were okay, but once again a little loose and too quick/not accurate here and there. For example, when Tailmon audibly said "Hikari", the subs said "You are right". Not to mention that you HEARD them use the Japanese names, but the subs used their English dub names.

In the scene that was already shown to audiences last year, Takeru was talking about Koushirou not getting enough sleep and Hikari added that when she called Taichi, he scolded her since he was busy. The German subs outright skipped Hikari saying "Onii-chan", and made her just say "he". So... It sounded like she, too, was referring to Koushirou. Very weird...

Okay, to the stuff we haven't known yet!

If you asked me what this movie was about, I'd probably say: It's a story of child abuse and the consequences of miscommunication (and wishes). In several directions. And oh boy, the meta analysis to be written about this will take a while to conduct, because while the stuff appears to be "pretty on the nose" on surface level, it definitely CAN go deeper. The third theme of the movie is "the power of friendship" - and water is wet, obviously!

So we know about the giant Digiegg in the sky that has been floating there for a week. There is the message "Everyone should have friends and a Digimon partner" displayed on all kinds of screens. We see that Taichi and Koushirou are doing PR work while the 02 kids are hanging out in Daisuke's (employers') ramen restaurant until they see Rui on TV climbing Tokyo Tower, holding a Digivice. So they rush to save him as he falls - just to be greeted with annoyance and ignorance.

He tells them that he killed his own partner, that partnerships between humans and Digimon are a curse and should not exist. Miyako can't accept that and tells Hawkmon to stop him before he can leave.

So Rui goes: "Ah, how obedient. You are doing what you're told without questioning it and you probably like it that way."

We can tell - there is baggage there. Lots of baggage.

They later learn that the Digiegg may be Rui's partner after all - and since he claims that he climbed up there to talk to it, Daisuke is obviously super fired up ("You have balls, I like that", the cinema laughed out loud) and wants to help.

So of course he drags his boyfriend Jogress partner with him and they fly up there with Paildramon - just to get attacked by the egg and fall into a portal to travel back in time. What follows is them seeing Rui's backstory. And once they're back, he elaborates on it further.

At some point, my friend nudged me and asked me the following: "Do you also feel like you're watching Madoka Magica?"

Yes. Yes I did. 300%. I already assumed it'd be the case, since I initially thought Rui would be a time-jumping Homura and Ukkomon just another version of Kyubey. They even share lots of visual cues respectively, so it was not unlikely to happen, right?

... I was only half wrong there. Rui is not (intentionally) able to jump through time at this point. And it's actually not the kind of multiverse story I initially expected. (Even though there WILL be a change in the timeline, but we will get to that later.)

Ukkomon - is definitely Kyubey though. It appears in front of Rui on his 4th birthday. Which is on February 29 1996, meaning he is a leap year child. The Hikarigaoka incident took place a year prior - but he wasn't part of it.

TW Child Abuse

Rui lives in Hikarigaoka too. He's coming from an abusive household - his father is in a coma, and his mother may or may not have developed a bipolar disorder due to the stress, because she can be sweet one moment, and snaps completely the next, screams at him. Rui has marks of physical abuse all over his body and appears rather ruffled and malnourished... So when he accidentally wets himself on his birthday, his mother throws him out into the snowy cold of the night, half-dressed, to punish him. It's jarring to watch.

He wishes so badly for things to change. To have friends. To be protected from harm.

That's when a Digiegg appears in front of him - and Ukkomon hatches, asking about his wish and a digivice appears. He is, in this case, the first child to be partnered with a Digimon.

A Digimon that is capable of fulfilling wishes. Because it is connected with a godlike entity... Where have we heard THAT before...?

So what happens? Rui wished for friends. Rui wished for protection.

Suddenly, his mom starts being nice to him again. His dad wakes up from the coma. He has his Digimon by his side, who protects him from bullies and every type of harm. All Ukkomon says it wants is for Rui to be happy. To make him smile. To make sure to make him lots of friends who are just like him. That's all that matters to it, obediently following the initial idea, literally without questioning.

If you watched Madoka Magica (and also lots of other media that involve wish fulfillment, including Miraculous Ladybug), you know that there is always a price to be paid for wishes. And that you need to be VERY careful with how you word your wishes.

It all falls apart in 2003. What happens in 2003? Diablomon strikes back. Literally. The events are shown on television, we see Omegamon fighting Armageddomon - and Ukkomon explains to Rui how happy he can be that all these kids out there are fighting and willing to die for him specifically... Because... They became Chosen Children because of Rui's wish. Ukkomon enabled their partnerships to make "lots of friends who are just like you, having their own Digimon" - and Rui is horrified by the idea. It can be assumed that Ukkomon granted the "wish" in unity with Homeostasis (as deducted by Hikari at least and that will be relevant later on when we come to tying the lore together).

And then, in the next scene, you realize why Megumi Ogata voices Rui. The Shinji Ikari vibes are real with this one.

Ukkomon goes all "I would do everything for you to be happy" and we learn... That Rui's parents are already dead. They're just puppets Ukkomon has controlled to pretend a happy family life. It can be assumed that the same goes for the neighbour children who were seen during previous birthday scenes.

TW Violence/Gore/Blood

To say that the next scene is Ghost Game levels of gory and terrifying is an understatement. "I didn't know you took me to watch a horror movie", my friend says next to me. Rui ends up strangling his Digimon, trying to choke it to death, telling it that it completely misunderstood what he wanted, what he needed, what really makes him happy, that he never wanted any of this to happen. "This is not the happiness you wished for, Shinji-kun." When that doesn't work, he tries to smash his Digivice with a baseball bat... And loses his eye in the process. Fear not, Ukkomon pulls its own eye out to give it to Rui. More blood, more gore, body horror ensues as Ukkomon starts to melt away while crying in agony and disappears completely as Rui is surrounded by blood, the corpses of his parents and his own despair.

His narration ends there. All of that has happened years ago.

And I must say, I love Hikari. I really, really do. But in that moment, when she said "Poor Ukkomon, it just wanted you to be happy", I groaned. And heavily agreed with Rui when he replied "And that makes every action okay?!"

So again, one of the core messages of the movie is the subject of miscommunication. Rui says that there is no such thing as "unconditional bonds" and that "we can never fully understand each other". The Shinji Ikari vibes are SO strong with this one. The main conclusion the 02 group comes to is that they should have talked to each other better. That they should have talked about each other's intentions and needs, etc. And of course that IS a valuable lesson to take away from in every single way, but... Hikari's initial response felt so tone deaf to me in that moment. Of course she would empathize with the Digimon, but blaming the whole thing entirely on the abused kid not "communicating" properly with his partner after he finally experienced kindness and care after all the pain is just... Part of me wants to say "Yes, Hikari wouldn't want any Digimon to suffer, she hates injustice and condemns cruelty, we went through that with Ken's Digimon Kaiser arc", but the other part says "Hikari, do you remember the time you and your brother were traumatized because you two miscommunicated as literal children?! Taichi hurt you because he had good intentions, but you two didn't properly communicate - yet you never condemned him for that either, so I guess that's where it comes from and you haven't processed your own trauma yet after all." I am obviously not saying that she should condemn Taichi for what happened, but we also know that she idealizes him and that may have been her idealizing Ukkomon too. Hikari will be a kindergarten teacher, she will probably have to deal with other traumatized children in the future too, so... It's good that she contemplates her words as soon as Rui snaps at her, you can visibly see that she's thinking about it more closely. It's important to see the whole picture here - and that picture revolves around the circle of abuse. It's multi-faceted and it's important to address topics like that.

Then the egg hatches - and turns into a giant tentacle monster in the sky. But instead of Third Impact, it just created millions of Digieggs, to give each and every single human a Digimon partner. Because that was the initial wish, right...? To create more friends and give everyone a Digimon partner - just like the message on the screens says.

The kids start to panic, if that happens, it will cause lots of chaos all over the world, forcing partnerships to happen immorally like that, so they need to think quickly. Knowing that they need to stop it. Fight it. (Spoilers for Madoka Magica incoming here: In a way, Ukkomon's countless strings also reminded me of Kremhild Gretchen, the absurdly large witch form of Madoka that was so loaded with karma due to Homura's time traveling revolving around her that she turned out to be the most powerful, most devastating witch, nurtured by despair, capable of swallowing the entire planet, if not the entire galaxy...)

But... If Ukkomon is responsible for partnerships to be formed in the first place... Doesn't that mean that all ~60.000 partnerships that already exist will vanish too?

They discuss, they think about the consequences... And good old shoujo magical girl protagonist Daisuke Motomiya decides that partnerships aren't easily broken (*cries in Kizuna*), so they gotta go for it. The thing in the sky exists because of Rui's wish - so he is the only one who can solve this. Talk it out. Communicate it out.

And after some protagonist speeches and mutual encouragement, the Digimon all evolve up to their highest available level (meaning Imperialdramon, Shakkoumon and Silphymon - but they still had to show off Angewomon's new evolution animation prior to that, because DAMN) and rush to the place of the scene. Daisuke and Ken send Rui to fly into the egg in order to have a heart-to-heart, assuming that the Digimon evolved into this big tentacle monster in the first place because it just wanted to find a way to talk. (My friend interpreted this as some kind of Skullgreymon evolution, but I will get to that again in a sec!)

Thus he jumps in, travels back in time again, THIS TIME intentionally like the true Homura he was always meant to be - while Daiken act like a married couple wishing for their son to do his best.

If you know time travel stories, you also know that you're wise NOT to interact with what happened in the past. Ken even advises not to do that when they traveled back in time for the first time. But adult!Rui talks to his mother in the past, telling her that he knows she's got it hard - but that he wants her to listen to what her son has to say, because he really loves her. That makes the switch flip and she rushes to her neglected son to hug him... Hence causing the meeting between kid!Rui and Ukkomon to never happen. So Homura basically reached Madoka this time, huh.

Ukkomon still faces adult!Rui at the time and place they originally met - and Rui says he doesn't have anything to wish for anymore... Which Ukkomon at this point already knew. They have a light-hearted little exchange, talking about the things they actually didn't like about each other, finally being honest... And that they want to start over and meet again. "But for that, you need to let go of me now", Ukkomon says.

Rui travels back to the future and tells Daisuke and Ken that they still have to defeat the tentacle monster for the sake of a happy future. Of course they succeed, don't even need any new or special evolution or artifact to do that - and Ukkomon reverts back to a small egg in Rui's hands, ready to start over. With better communication this time, breaking the cycle of abuse once and for all.

And that's where it happens: The potential lore breaking - I mean, the whole thing is already confusing enough, which I will break down in a second, but...

Since the cause of the partnerships has now been taken out of the history books - the Digivices start to disappear.

All of them. Every single one on the entire planet. We see a BUNCH of international Chosen Children we've known from 02 before (including Wallace, Terriermon and Lopmon!) watching it happen with melancholic eyes. The Digivices slowly disintegrate into small light particles that float towards the sky... In the end, the kids reminisce about what the Digivices were there for in the first place, that they were a sign for the bond and connection between them and their Digimon - and that that may have been the case in the past, but that they're not needed anymore. That they don't need any device as proof for their connection. The bond between humans and Digimon can exist without having Digivices - at least from now on. So, in comparison to Kizuna, no partnership has "ended" this time.

Then a snowball fight happens between the 02 kids, their Digimon partners and Rui - initiated by Daisuke, who definitely intended to lighten the mood a little and cheer everyone up again. In the post credit scene, we see Rui fondly looking at the Digiegg in his hands.

The end.

... Wow.

Where to start, where to end. First of all, I NEEDED to check the Digimon Adventure novels again to see what exactly the Digivices were and how the process of "choosing the children" came to be. Excuse my rambling again, because I am still trying to figure out if all of this REALLY is lore-breaking or if there is a way to tie all of this together somehow.

So first of all - yes, Gennai did not know all about this, because apparently, a kid's wish caused all of this to get amplified. Homeostasis does not have a physical form, so it created its agents like Gennai - and PROBABLY Ukkomon too. Since we know the Digital World has "wish granting" abilities, I can accept there being a singular being that is capable of doing the same thing.

The question is - was the way the kids were utilized a happy accident too then? I'll try to interpret this as well as I can, but take all of this with a grain of salt, I may be completely wrong:

So to go in order: A Digiegg gets into the real world in 1995, and Homeostasis gets to scan Hikari, Taichi and the others, discovering the potential they have - since Hikari is the child that enables the hatched Botamon to evolve into Greymon super quickly, Homeostasis sends Parrotmon to retrieve it. Afterwards, in 1996, a Digimon like Ukkomon "would appear who had special connections with [a child] in the real world" (just like the 5 we kinda thought were the original Chosen Children). And thus, through Rui's wish, the "partnership system" was founded. Basically, Ukkomon's wish fulfillment powers enabled a system based on the limitless potential (of wishes and the bond between humans and Digimon) that was deemed useful by Homeostasis for the sake of saving the worlds. A system that wasn't in place like this before, so Rui was basically some kind of "prototype" - as was Ukkomon, kinda testing the waters of partnerships in the first place. And through analyzing the other 8 kids in the meantime, their potential had been discovered, which is why THEY also had Crests created for themselves. Like Ukkomon said - they came into existence to "protect" him, so he wouldn't have to save the worlds himself.

Takeru was the one who went "Wait, that's different information from what we have gotten!?" when Rui explains the whole situation, but I guess it could kinda make sense like this. The initial idea was based on a wish to just create "humans with Digimon friends" - and Homeostasis discovered that there is a HUGE "potential" in those partnerships since Digimon were capable of evolving faster and higher. And that also kiiiiinda explains why Gennai wasn't ever fully able to explain all of this, since - it was just very hard to explain. "You were chosen, because a kid wished for it" wouldn't sound convincing to anyone upon hearing it for the first time, right? Especially considering how often that question came up in several characters throughout the series. Sora, Jyou, Ken, just for example... They had all asked the question "why were WE chosen?" in one context or another. And now I can't stop thinking about this:

And... Even though it wasn't directly stated or alluded to in the movie, it kiiiiiiiiiiiiiinda corresponds with the neglect theory too. Since - the moment Rui wanted to end the partnership, the Digivice malfunctioned and Ukkomon just disappeared. It didn't happen the same way as it did to Taichi, Yamato, Sora and Menoa - but in a way, the way Ukkomon appeared as a giant tentacle monster, YEARS after the departure from Rui, is somewhat reminiscent of Eosmon appearing as well. And to get back to my friend's idea - yes, that also means that Eosmon and Ukkomon's tentacle form are BASICALLY like Skullgreymon, the result of neglect and corruption in their human partners' hearts. The only difference here is that both Eosmon and Ukkomon had BONKERS abilities (that were both linked to Chosen Children specifically, one of them trapping their consciousnesses and turning those back into children, the other capable of creating partnerships in the first place), whereas Skullgreymon was just terrifying...

It also doesn't completely contradict Menoa's theory from Kizuna - since, again, in the end, that was just a theory. That children are chosen "because of their potential". This can be read in both ways: their potential for the sake of causing evolution for Digimon as well as their potential to be a friend to Rui. They couldn't possibly maintain that if they "lost their ways"... (By the way, we have also disproven that "becoming an adult" makes the bond vanish, because if that were the case, Jyou would have lost Gomamon YEARS ago. I stand with the neglect theory here.)

Does that make sense? I'm not entirely sure. But stating it like this satisfies my mind more than how it felt when I left the cinema. I just wish they used more analogies and visual cues (like the ring and wordings from Kizuna) to connect the dots a bit better, but maybe I overlooked a few things.

There were a few things that absolutely got me into overthinking mode, for lore or personal reasons, but I can at least accept this theory from a lore perspective.

(Edit: On a different note, I like the idea of treating Ukkomon like Menoa in the way of her being an unreliable narrator that led to the whole "adulthood vs. neglect theory" in the first place. So Ukkomon may actually NOT even be aware that Rui WASN'T the first Chosen Child because, either it really didn't know or was manipulated by Homeostasis to claim that it's true. The reasoning behind that could be interesting to look at too... Long story short: Never take anything in Digimon at face value!!!)

As for the personal things... I saw a comment on Twitter that basically went like "It tells you a lot that I didn't even have to name the 02 kids once in an overall review". Because... Yeah, the 02 kids in particular didn't actually do a lot. They DID build up on the positivity Daisuke had already spread since the end of 02, believing in their bonds and the power of friendship and everything. An interesting aspect was also asking the question of whether or not the Digimon are acting out of free will, or if they do things out of obedience like Rui said, implying that Ukkomon just assumed his desires and completely neglected itself in the process. Hawkmon confirms that he does things because he believes in them - he DOES act very obediently towards Miyako in the movie though. But my personal opinion is that it depends on the partners and the bond they have (compare that to Jyou and Gomamon and you get a very different picture - and even Hawkmon has the ability to scold Miyako, so it really depends).

But aside from that? There wasn't as much, despite a few neat little character moments that people may or may not like, depending on their stance on certain characters (and ships as well).

Daisuke will be Daisuke will be Daisuke. He's the (endearing!) simpleton shoujo magical girl protagonist with a good heart and literally nothing but Ramen on his mind. V-mon is the exact same, they share one braincell in the most endearing way possible, they even finish each other's sentences and didn't doubt their bond for a second. ("You wanna know what friendship is about? THAT is!", V-mon says while just shaking Daisuke's hand. They're adorkable.) The bickering with Miyako is a bit of a theme there - especially in ONE particular scene...

... And that is in a scene involving Ken. For Jogress reasons, obviously, Daisuke and Ken are framed together a lot - and in this moment, Ken compliments Daisuke on being so serious and focused as he affirms his trust in Rui... Only to have Miyako ask them why they're flirting rambling so much, to which Daisuke responds veeeery defensively. (Edit: I just learned that the Japanese version ACTUALLY said "flirting", so that makes it even better, they know exactly what they are doing.) That aside, Ken is rather torn about the whole situation, he occasionally looks very troubled when the subject of partnerships is mentioned - and while they don't draw any Kaiser parallels as I initially assumed, Wormmon at least mentions how he and Ken could put their divide aside through communication. Which was a nice touch. (Also, Wormmon blushing as Ken pets him like a cat in his arms is the cutest thing ever.) And then... There is also that theme about, aside from Daisuke, another person being in his sphere quite a lot...

... And that is Miyako. They have at least three scenes in which, mainly, Miyako is the one reassuring or teasing Ken in ways that CAN be read in a certain light, but they kept it VERY tame. Again, Ken is very often framed between her AND Daisuke (and there is a moment between Ken and Miyako where Daisuke literally walks out of the frame and if that isn't meta, I don't know what is and basically, I feel like they should just have made Daikenyako canon), but... If you know, you just know. Especially with her using somewhat ambiguous sentences like "Well, let's see what the future holds, together". (I already know that a certain artist on Twitter completely exploded over that scene. It was interesting though that she had gone back to "Ichijouji-kun", even though by the end of 02, she had called him "Ken-kun" already.) That aside - she is basically the tech support in this, also there to comment on Daisuke's brashness. (Also, her saying "Goodbye, trusty D3" really got me emotional, that was tough.) And her being tech support in place of Koushirou was important, because...

... It really wouldn't have fit to have Iori do that, in my opinion. Sure, he works with computers too, just like the others do - but the scene in which he types is basically just there, because the computer room they used as shelter is from his previous high school and a superior allowed him to use it, so he simply just opened the live stream of the floating digi egg. That aside, Iori is mainly voice of reason again, nothing too major. His best scene is probably the moment one of Daisuke's snowball hits him in the face - because that's where he gets FURIOUS, it's very nice.

Then there's Takeru - and he was probably my favourite character among the 02 kids in this movie. It was already noticeable in the drama readings during DigiFes, but his main role is to be self-aware and make snide comments about things like "Oh my God, we were fighting in the open, of COURSE the media/military/whoever would see that and find us, what did you expect?!". He does that twice. (Tailmon does it too, which is hilarious. Whereas Patamon is just an innocent bean. "Patamon, you have no idea what I just said, right? "No, Takeru!") He's also driving support, as we already saw in the preview - while Daiken are riding on Imperialdramon, he drives behind them with Hikari, Miyako and Iori in the car as well. I was a bit disappointed to not have him mention his brother when the subject of "losing partnerships" came up, because he was absolutely troubled about the idea of being the cause of +60.00 partnerships disappearing, so Iori had to tell him to be rational and not be selfish...

... On the other hand, Hikari didn't mention Taichi in this regard either. As mentioned previously, I tried to rationalize her comment on "Poor Ukkomon", relating it to her empathetic personality - it DOES makes sense for her to assume that Ukkomon only did what it thought was right, since they didn't communicate properly. She thoroughly trusts in that she and Tailmon would always make their bond work through communication. To be hopeful yet also confident about their bonds. And her reaction towards Rui committing perceived injustice towards Ukkomon makes sense in context of her personality, since she probably still hasn't fully processed her own experiences. It was just jarring that she wasn't able to empathize with Rui on that. Daisuke was more open towards lending Rui a helping hand there. And hey, that is a very Daisuke thing to do - just like he was the first to reach out to Ken (and Wallace too, once he noticed he needed help and support), he was the first to reach out to Rui too. Who may have acted cruelly towards his Digimon (and that is not to be excused), but that was literally the circle of abuse, applying directly what he had adapted from his own mother. Digimon wouldn't be Digimon without trauma after all... That aside, there was not a lot to say about Hikari. She got a shot with Takeru during the snowball fight (as Ken and Miyako did), but that was it.

Long story short - the movie was fine. Visually, animation and colouring were VERY nice to look at, maybe a bit confusing at times, but that's what rewatches are there for. The sound was pretty great, the horror aspects were insane, but very well done in my opinion. The pacing was... Alright, though I'm not sure why several of Rui's leap year birthdays were skipped and that Ukkomon didn't appear in the meantime after 2003, so it begs the question of why exactly the movie took place in 2012 and not before. We also didn't really see a lot of the communication processes between Rui and Ukkomon, it was just claimed that there was miscommunication, but we don't know what else they were talking about for Ukkomon to "misinterpret" Rui's wishes. And that's where it doesn't help that Ukkomon reminds me of Kyubey so much, because its expressions are hard to read too. It's also unclear if there was actually more abuse (verbally or non-verbally) going on in the back - but it's not unlikely that it has taken place after all. So yeah, for the sake of the length of the movie, that was a lot more simplified.

I also don't reeeeeally understand why they showed the full Paildramon evolution twice. (Again, they were self-aware to some degree, because Tailmon stated "Do they really have to draw that much attention to themselves already?")

It's kinda sad that they didn't get any new evolutions. The character beats could have been even stronger, the "friendship talk" is nothing we haven't heard before, so the bonds could have been empathized a little more clearly - but then again, there is only so much you can squeeze into 87 minutes. And you could still feel the sense of togetherness, so that is perfectly fine in the end. The lore aspect is still a little difficult to wrap my head around, but seeing how I've outlined it above, I can make it work. Definitely looking forward to the audio dramas that will drop in the upcoming weeks, because a.) they will apparently contextualize more (especially in regards to Rui and Ukkomon's relationship) and b.) might allow more character beats.

Unfortunately, they may not fix my biggest disappointment with this movie. I had already feared it, but still hoped they wouldn't actually do that...

The older kids got the Tri revenge treatment. Literally. The three-second-glimpse of Koushirou and Taichi is the only life sign we get from the six older kids. Koushirou gets at least mentioned two more times, but that's it. We don't see Yamato, Sora, Mimi and Jyou. Not even during the montages. Not even when all the Digivices disappear and they show all kinds of Chosen Children across the globe. Nothing. We have no idea if Tentomon, Palmon and Gomamon are still there or not. No cameo, nothing. And that really left me with a heartache at the end, because I hoped they may at least use a montage like they did with Kizuna in the credit scene. And now I am left here craving Koushirou fretting over his phones probably also not working anymore, so he has to figure out a solution for that, gaaaaah.

That last part really left a bitter taste in my mouth and kinda soured the experience of the movie, even if the audio drama centering around Takeru and Hikari (!) may also involve Taichi and Yamato, but... It was okay. For the time being, I did enjoy watching the movie and the experience in cinema was just amazing. It was just difficult to digest. Let's see when I'll get to rewatch it. And let's hope that there still will be more content about the entire group - even without them having their Digivices.

#personal #my two cents #meta #digimon adventure 02 the beginning spoilers #the beginning spoilers #digimon adventure 02 spoilers

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thirteens-lucky-tardis · 8 months ago

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𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄 - 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐗 𝐎𝐂

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

≪━─━─━─━─◈─━─━─━─━≫

On the far edges of the galaxy, there was a planet called Savath. Savath was very attractive to the eye - trees of all colors, oceans, rivers, grasslands, and of course, the tall buildings of the capitol city, Tregore. Each structure was decorated in shiny silvers and golds. To any foreigner, Savath would be seen as literal Heaven. The entire planet was ethereal in every way possible, and no one dared attack the Savathians for fear that the attacker would not make it out alive, for the planet was inhabited by dragons. Not the dragons you are well accustomed to, but rather dragons in human form. Only the Elders are able to take full dragon form.

The Elders were the ones who founded the planet. Six dragons, to be exact. Three males, three females. Ryvyr, Kesoss, and Ailzram were the three males. Cigri, Ita, and Syphy were the female counterparts. Each dragon had a power that they brought to the world they inhabited. Ryvyr was a water dragon, thriving with the many bodies of water Savath had. Kesoss, being an earth dragon, found solice in the forests and mountains. Cigri was a dragon of fire and found the many small (not inherently dangerous) volcanoes fascinating. Ita was a dragon of air and could often be found sleeping on a cloud.

The last two dragons, Ailzram and Syphy, were embodying the light and dark. Ailzram had a dark personality. He never attacked anyone, but he seemed rather uninterested in every topic and would seem to anyone looking in that he was depressed. He could not live without his counterpart, Syphy, who was sunshine incarnate. She was always smiling and was rather childish at times, but in a sweet way. She loved Ailzram no matter what. They needed each other like the moon needed the sun.

Together, they made Savath what it is today - beautiful and prosperous. There was none who dared stand against them and none who defied them. They were content, and through the years, the population grew. There was never a shortage of food or water. There was always space for everyone, and just as such, everyone was welcome.

The most interesting part of Savath was the culture, more specifically, a ceremony called The Selection. This was a rite of passage for every citizen and happened when one was thirteen years of age. Prior to The Selection, every child has porcelain white hair, referring to that of a blank canvas ready for an artist to create a masterpiece.

You are probably confused as to what The Selection is, and this question will be answered soon.

For now, our story follows that of a young dragon named Ember. Like every child, Ember had hair as white as snow. Most describe her as reckless, and she is. She longs for adventure and has a driving desire to leave Tregore - to leave Savath all together. This ideology was frowned upon by her peers. Why would she want to leave such a perfect planet?

Our story begins mere weeks before Ember turns thirteen and before The Selection.

◇◇◇

"Rhae, come on! It's not much further to the top!" Ember exclaimed, rushing up the grassy hillside under the warm sun. She was very carefree and curious, always looking for more places to explore.

Ember's friend, Rhaelrivera, had already gone through The Selection and had joined the water dragons in all their glory. She now donned sea foam green hair and deep blue eyes, matching the colors of the water. "Ember, we should be getting back. It's late."

Ember sent a blank stare over her shoulder towards Rhaelrivera. A soft breeze blew through the atmosphere, causing their hair to gently caress their faces. "If you didn't want to come, you could have just said so."

"I did!" Rhaelrivera countered with a scoff. "You dragged me along anyway."

"Yeah, because I'm awesome!" Ember smiled and continued to the top of the hill, gazing down at the flower filled meadow below. She turned to see the towering silver and gold buildings behind them before turning back to face the meadow. In the distance sat a mountain range where a faint smog sat around the snowy peak. A lot of dragons were taken to this point for practice with their powers. Some fire dragons must be there right now.

Rhaelrivera soon joined Ember on top of the hill and looked around. She had never been up here before, even though it was a mere five minutes away from the city. Rhaelrivera let out a soft gasp. "Wow..."

Ember grinned and bumped Rhaelrivera's shoulder with her own. "Told ya." Rhaelrivera rolled her eyes and continued to gaze out at the scenery before them. The sunlight gently kissed the freckles on Rhaelrivera's dark skin in a way that made her feel angelic. Because she was a water dragon, the sun reflected off her skin like ripples on water. Ember always thought this was fascinating and often brought Rhaelrivera out into the sun, just so she could see this phenomenon. Going along with this, the iris of Rhaelrivera's eyes had the same effect, and the color seemed to shift like waves.

"Okay... maybe I should have trusted you about this..." mumbled Rhaelrivera.

"Ha! I knew you'd like it!" laughed Ember. Rhaelrivera smiled and slightly shook her head at the excitable girl.

The two sat in the grass, perfectly content with saying nothing in the moment and listening to the gentle breeze blow through some nearby trees. The silence between them was pleasant until Ember spoke up softly. "Hey, Rhae...?"

"Yeah, Em?"

"Was it... scary...?"

Rhaelrivera looked confused and turned her head to look at Ember, who appeared rather... timid, an emotion she had never shown before. "Is what scary?"

"The Selection... is it scary...?" Ember asked, her voice hushed as she picked at some grass.

"In a way... but once it's over, you have this sense of relief and belonging," Rhaelrivera explained, hoping to ease her friends worries.

"Yeah, but... my family has been all fire for generations, and I just know I'm not going to be... I'm deeply frightened..."

Rhaelrivera seemed to understand Ember's concerns. She nodded slowly in thought before looking back to the white-haired girl. "If you aren't fire, then that calls for a celebration. If you are, that also calls for celebration. Whatever clan chooses you, you'll be amazing. I know it."

Ember smiled gently. "Thanks... you always know just what to say."

"Well, I am a year older than you, so I better be wiser!" Rhaelrivera laughed. Ember joined in with her own laugh and slightly shook her head.

"Don't go getting an ego on me, now!" Ember teased.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Em."

The two girls sat on the hill well past sunset, talking and laughing about seemingly meaningless stuff with no relevance to anything or anyone other than them. When the moon began to rise over the horizon, they finally decided to head home. They began the trek back to the city and eventually parted ways. Ember headed inside her house, only to be greeted by the darkness and silence of the empty hallways. She made her way up the stairs to her room and sat on the windowsill, gazing outside. In the distance, the first star she saw that night flickered, so why not make a wish?

"Star light, star bright. First star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might. Have this wish I wish tonight," Ember whispered as if speaking to the star itself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

I wish for an unforgettable adventure...

Little did she know, the universe was listening, and planning out the adventure of a lifetime...

***

The closer the days got to Ember's Selection, the more nervous she became. She knew that she could get in trouble if her family wasn't pleased with the clan she was placed in, but what could she do about it? The absolute fear that came with The Selection was near the fear of death... it was terrifying in ways most minds couldn't comprehend...

Ember often found herself full of worry and anxiety, wondering what will happen and praying that she didn't disappoint her family. That would be the worst part of it all... letting people down...

As she sat on her bed in her room the night before her Selection, she could only stare at the white dress hanging in her closet. A blank canvas that she would design tomorrow. This seemed like a lot of responsibility for someone barely turning 13 in mere hours, but... there was something nervously exciting about it all. When she thought over the events happening the next day, she felt like things would be okay... that things would go right in the end...

But what truly is 'the end', if not for another beginning to an even better adventure...

≪━─━─━─━─◈─━─━─━─━≫

Also published on Wattpad: To Be Free by embers_dragon_

Tags:

@rxin3akamallory @pretty-chips @glow-autumz @evolvingchaoswitch @raccoonfallsharder @criticalcrit @thejudgyboiao3 @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @caesarhamato22

#rocket raccoon #guardians of the galaxy #marvel #gotg #gotg oc #guardians of the galaxy oc #rocket raccoon x oc #gotg fanfiction #rocket raccoon fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #oc fanfiction

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goofygoldengirl · 2 years ago

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How I Would Reorganize The Agreste Plotline If Miraculous Ladybug Were For An Older Audience

NOTE: Contains Season 5 Spoilers, Leak References, and Discussion of Mature Topics

I say reorganize instead of rewrite since I’m working with canon and embellish only on a few plot points that haven’t fully been touched upon yet. If you want to see how I reorganize the agreste plot for the show as is check out this post.

Season 1

Show in universe that everyone is aware of Emilie’s disappearance. In Origins, passing news blurb that it has been X amount of days and there are no leads into the Agreste case. This in turn, affects how his peers at school treat him, with some fawning over him like we see in the show, and the more sensitive ones reluctant to approach him due to his situation.

Ladybug is Adrien’s first ever crush. Show instead of implying on twitter that he takes romance hints from anime.

Plagg is aware of Adrien’s situation with wanting more independence and about mom’s disappearance. While he displays a lazy, go lucky attitude, he worries over Adrien. He encourages him to find himself as Chat Noir.

Show that even before Gabriel starts using the butterfly miraculous to get his wife back, he has unhealthy coping mechanisms. In the first few weeks after Emilie falls into a coma, he turns to drinking. Nathalie frequently joins him on his binges since she harbors guilt about Emilie’s illness. One night, they both get drunk and share a heated kiss.

Due to the kiss, and the stress of losing Emilie, there is a heavy tension between them. One day Nathalie snaps.

“What else could we have done? Emilie is gone! There’s no way we can bring her back! And if there was a possibly that we could, she’d hate us for it! Especially if she found out---I’m sorry I should have never brought that up. I’ll be on my way sir.”

Show that both Nathalie and The Gorilla care about Adrien despite their cold exteriors. With the next couple of seasons, he begins to open up to them, and they in turn.

Have Hawkmoth’s reveal that he is Gabriel take place at end of season 1 instead of beginning of season 2 in ML proper

Flashback 1: It is 2014 and Adrien is six years old. He asks his mother why he can’t go out and play with other kids and go to school like his cousin Felix and Chloe. Emile smiles, cradles his face, and tells him that he can’t because he is a very special boy.

Season 2

Introduce Kagami and Adrien’s crush on her. Tease Ms. Tusguri and Gabriel Agreste’s connection earlier than presented in ML Proper with a business call.

The in universe news about Emilie’s disappearance dies down due to a lack of leads.

Show how Adrien is still naive when it comes to interacting with the world, and why he may not pick up on the fact that Marinette has a crush on him due to the fact that everyone fawns over him.

Show one of Master Fu’s tutoring sessions with Adrien post Syren. Master Fu plants a seed of doubt in Adrien’s head that all is well with his family.

Highlight early on that while Gabriel does love his son, he loves the idea of Adrien the perfect, obedient child more than Adrien the trying adolescent. Make it clear that Adrien is Emilie’s child and that Gabriel found it difficult to connect to Adrien even before Emilie’s disappearance.

Start of Gabriel’s slippery slope into madness due to the constant losses.

Nathalie’s infatuation with Gabriel is teased early on in season 2, then confirmed with the events of Style Queen. She becomes more bold with her feelings. At the end of season 2, they almost kiss but Gabriel hesitates.

The events of Heroes Day play out like in ML proper . However, have Gabriel explicitly mention that it was the peacock miraculous that made Emilie ill.

Flashback 2: Takes place post Emilie’s “disappearance” but prior to season 1. Amelie and Felix visit. Amelie asks Gabriel for the Graham de Vanilly ring. Adrien and Felix interact. Felix has a mean streak. He asks how Adrien can deal “with such insufferable people.”

Season 3

Adrien and Kagami get together earlier. As a result their break up plays out a season earlier.

Nathalie takes up her role as Mayura. Her health worsens. Gabriel worries, and their relationship deepens to the point where they begin an affair. Gabriel is shown to feel guilty at first, but as he becomes more hellbent on being Hawkmoth, that guilt subsides.

Introduce sentimonsters like in ML proper. Place a hint that Adrien could be one.

Adrien mentions to Plagg that his mother used to have dizzy spells/ coughing fits like Nathalie. Plagg asks what disease she had. Adrien doesn’t know. He then asks Gabriel what type of illness Emilie had. Gabriel tells Adrien to mind his own business.

People drop hints that Marinette likes Adrien. Show that Adrien is in denial of his own feelings for her because of his feelings for Ladybug.

Show how Adrien gets stressed because of his modeling job. He is exposed to the underbelly of the fashion industry where his modeling peers have eating disorders, have drug/alcohol addictions, or are sexually preyed upon or exploited by their managers. Adrien wants out. He pleads with his father to stop modeling but is denied.

Introduce Felix like in ML proper. Show that Felix is knowledgeable about the miraculouses. Have him eye Gabriel’s brooch before leaving.

Have Chat Blanc and Ephemeral take place in this season. Keep plot and outcomes the same.

Gabriel starts to act more like Hawkmoth in real life and less like himself.

Flashback 3: Takes place when Gabriel, Emilie, and Nathalie are twenty years old. In the summer of 2000, they travel the world, in search of adventures and the miraculouses. The three of them have a close but complicated relationship due to the fact that Gabriel and Emilie are dating, Nathalie has feelings for him, and that she is friends with them both. This tension accumulates one night where they engage in a menage a tois. It is an event they vow to never speak of again. At the end of the summer, they have not found any miraculouses. Gabriel reaffirms his feelings for Emilie and rejects Nathalie completely.

Season 4

Love Square reversal. Adrien falls for Marinette. Slowly, they become closer and start dating. Gabriel finds out about Adrien’s feelings for Marinette. He forbids them to date, but they defy him. Gabriel tries to push Kagami onto Adrien.

Keep Felix’s discovery of Emlie’s body in Gabriel Agreste and trade with Gabriel at end of season 4 the same as ML proper.

Have Gabriel’s moral horizon event take place here along with Evolution in ML season 5 proper.

Nathalie and Gabriel’s relationship begins to crumble as he dives headfirst into madness and when she begins to question his decisions. The breaking point is when he does not leave the USB drive in the past like in ML Evolution. Nathalie declares that she will no longer help him, and states that she did everything for him because she loved him.

Adrien starts to look into his mother’s disappearance with Plagg and Ladybug’s encouragement. He discovers that his mother knew about the miraculouses.

The hints that Adrien could be a sentimonster intensify.

At the end of the season the alias rings are introduced.

Gabriel allows Adrien to stop modeling.

Flashback 4: Flashback of Gabriel and Emilie falling in love. Amelie and Colton’s rocky marriage. Same as the leaks. In 2006, Nathalie and Gabriel meet again. He says that he wants to try to find the miraculouses again, in particular the peacock miraculous. When Nathalie asks why, Gabriel answers “because it can create life”.

Season 5

The cataclysm happens. Gabriel’s subsequent illness is explicitly shown. He loses weight due a loss of appetite and vomiting. His skin becomes pale and gangrened sores on his arm weeps black pus. By the end of the season, he has to rely on IV fluids to keep him alive.

Nathalie actively goes against Gabriel and helps Adrien in any way she can.

Felix is Argos. Events of Emotion take place. It is made clear that he is a sentimonster. It is only hinted that Kagami is one too. In addition, he leads Adrien to Emilie’s body.

Adrien find out his father is Hawkmoth,that his mother is dead, then the final truth that he himself is not human. He wrestles with the guilt of catacylsming his father. However, he does not fall into despair as predicted in Chat Blanc and Ephemeral.

Adrien makes his stand against Gabriel. Gabriel is forced to confront the fact that Adrien is no longer his perfect child.

The final battle and the reveal happens. During the final battle, Adrien pleads with his father to see reason. Gabriel is too far gone and tries to kill Adrien. Gabriel uses the miraculouses to make his wish. As mentioned in the leaks, Nathalie is sacrificed. Gabriel is shocked. This forces him to come to terms that due to his selfishness, he has lost the two most important women in his life. He makes one final wish: to sacrifice himself to bring back balance. He dies. Emilie is still dead, but Nathalie lives.

Adrien obtains his amok. Completely orphaned, he faces an uncertain future.

Flashback 5: It is 2007, Emilie has gone through three years of fertility treatments that have brought nothing but disappointment. Clinging onto her last hope, she, Gabriel, and Nathalie travel to Tibet to find the miraculouses one last time. They find the peacock and butterfly miraculous and find out that in order to create a fully functional human sentimonster, a piece of the wearer’s DNA must be bound to the amok. Emilie allows Amelie to test out the peacock miraculous first with Colt. Their son, Felix, is born healthy. Emilie binds a piece of her hair to a photograph of herself as a baby for the amok, and creates the sentibryo that will become Adrien. She magically implants it in herself to carry out a natural pregnancy. However not long after, she begins to miscarry. Desperate, she dons the peacock miraculous. The power she uses saves the pregnancy, but causes the miraculous to become damaged. Adrien is born in 2008. As the years pass, Emilie grows ill and falls into a coma.

#miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #ml leaks #agreste family #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #emilie agreste #nathalie sancoeur

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thelanor-s-astame · 1 year ago

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Episode 1 Behind The Scenes!

youtube

Welcome to Amateur Hour! I mean this whole series is amateur hour, but stating out was REALLY amateur hour. So most of the way our videos worked is we would do a weekly video (Either podcast or Over The Shoulder game review). And I’d release a Funny Joke Video every two weeks. I was given Carte Blanch over my videos and basically just kinda did them on my own. So everything I did was suuuper rudimentary My scripts weren’t formated very well, there were tons of spelling errors, stuff I’d cut out I’d leave in the document and just remember I cut it out. But all this worked just fine because I was the only one looking at them.

And the way I’d send people their lines was I would *send* people their lines over discord and have them send me back an audio file that they’d recorded. I didn’t even really do any audio directing aside from a couple of notes. I might have directed Dalsson and TheDragonLover (heretofore referred to as Dergo), but that was it.

For anyone who might want to make a narrative series, uh… don’t do this with your main cast. If you have a guest star who knows what their doing and might not be comfortable being directed in a discord call with a stranger, that’s fine. But for everyone else you’ll just end up playing phone tag for a a couple of VA lines that won’t be nearly as good if you just set the people down in a call and told them what kinda performance you want them to give. A thing that, And I cannot stress this enough, they will be fine with you doing and in fact would much prefer this to the alternative.

And if you sit multiple people down in the call and do their voice lines in one day, that’s just way better! Your actors will be more comfortable with more friends around, and after the session is over, you have multiple scenes worth of voice lines to work with! It’s one of those “We do this thing like this for a reason.” kinda deals.

But ultimately a lot of the What Worked for those videos I’d put out every two weeks, and the video essays, did not really work here. But anyway lets look at the actual video.

The like first scene you can see how the cutting around is really off. That’s because the footage of me just standing there lasted, like, 3 seconds and I had a minute of dialogue, so I HAD to keep cutting if I wanted to use that footage. I should have just started a new save and rerecorded it but… again amateur hour.

But. The first joke here I think is really good. I have a lot of thoughts about it, so I’m going to make it a separate thread. There’s quite a bit going on there and I’m really proud of it.

But the beginning of the video, and the beginning of the series as a whole, is just kinda me moving from bit to bit like I did in the previous Joke Videos. These started out as those with a tiny bit more structure.

The Conversation with Elderbug here is what got Lordfrezon to get a better mic. Like this video convinced the man to get a better microphone. But you’ll notice Elderbugs mouth keeps moving when he’s not taking. I didn’t start putting a still picture over the talking characters yet

The quirrel scene is probably the best put together in the entire video. The editing is sharp. and I realized I could like, just reverse the video of him looking at the Black Egg to make it a little more dynamic.

But most of the dynamic-ness of these scenes comes down to me zooming in and out of characters faces for emphasis. The footage I’m working with is a character with a one second animation loop and another character staring up at them. So I gotta do a lot of cuts and zooms to make it look like a conversation with multiple emotions in it is happening. And I already had a pretty good grasp of that thanks to the joke videos! Say what you will about youtube video editing, but it sure teaches you how powerful quick cutting for emphasis is!

This was also before I started putting Reverb on every scene that takes place in a tunnel… which most of them do, and if there’s one thing I love, love, love playing with, it’s reverb. Sound design is my passion tbh. It is also the only thing I have any formal training in! I was taught it by a bunch of 80s rockers who showed me how to use an old analog soundboard for live mixing! And I’ve always held to the idea that 75% of video editing is sound editing, and 95% of that sound editing is shit no one would notice unless it wasn’t there.

There a little after the Quirrel scene I got *extremely lucky* and found a sign mender. Which is a really rare event. Just immediately out of the gate I see that man. I’d never seen him before I was getting footage for the video and he blessed me with his presence like an angel. Thank you Sign Mender! You gave me a great bit about property destruction!

The Cornifer scene is firstly, a great look into how a voice role evolves over time, and secondly, a great exemplification of what I started this with. Just Direct Your VA’s. You’ll notice how Saine’s performance on his first line here are worse than any of the other ones he’s given. He didn’t know what I wanted. And if I would have simply directed him, that wouldn’t be a problem!

He did, however get to delever the funniest lines of the video. And he did a great job with those! And, another thing to Saine’s credit is he does a fantastic job as Iselda! Man eats up that whole scene! Just great shit there!

Sly’s change is less in that the voice evolved as time went on and more I changed the character. I focused more on the Shopkeeper aspect rather than the teacher aspect as his Central Thing, and ultimately I think that was the best choice. Surly Shopkeeper who can “Show You Da Ropes” Is always a great character and he’s a lot of fun to write. Also all the thing’s Sly says about ‘God’ put me in a bit of a bind because “Okay, so why the hell does this guy know about The Radiance… a thing that a lot of people were lied to about for decades?” So I had to come up with some stuff for that. But that’s the kind of problem I love solving. Because it goes from “Weird plot hole” to “Ooh new character aspect! let’s give this man some depth!

Dergo’s performance as Myla is the best one in the video. And it’s great that’s the case too, because of how much *that* kicks off a lot of the story. But, yeah 10/10 no notes. Dergo is incredibly good at this shit.

The end bit with the snail man is probably my biggest regret of the video. It very much does not fit in with the tone of everything else. It’s kinda something that just happens in the first episode and I hope everyone forgets about. The implication he just murdered the snail guy is funny but it doesn’t fit in the wider whole. Whole scene just is not very good tbh. I also probably should have had someone else voice the Snail man as well.

And I wholeass forgot I used a different font for the credits! But I think that’s that for the first episode. IT’s kind of just a collection of thoughts, but the episode is just kind of a collection of scenes so, there we go!

#HKR-BTS #hollow knight meme #hollow knight #quirrel #content creation #youtube #Youtube

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queenofthekings · 2 years ago

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𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗, 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎𝖎 (𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊)

Summary: Hawkins, Indiana, 1986. A dead end town where nothing happens. One night, Eddie Munson goes missing without a trace. He turns up two weeks later on your doorstep, covered in blood and no memory of the last two weeks. When you notice him acting strangely, you follow Eddie into the woods and discover his terrifying secret. But the most terrifying part to you? You can't bring yourself to stay away from Eddie. Whether you've realised you're in love with him or you're under his spell, you don't want to be away from Eddie for a single second and a deadly love affair begins.

Author's note: I have no words to describe how thankful I am to everyone who read the first part and loved it! I was so worried that the hype around vampire!Eddie was long dead but thank you all so much for reading! Also bonus cookies to anyone who can name the song Reader listens to while walking into school; the only hint I can give you guys is that it's a British band's debut song 😉

CW: 18+, swearing, character death, sex references, potential smut in later chapters, vampire!Eddie, blood, scenes that people may find disturbing.

Word count: 4.6k

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

6:15AM came along again, reminding you that yes, indeed, you did have to go to school. Tumbling out of bed, you yawned as you looked at your wardrobe, your still mostly asleep brain trying to work out what to wear. You ended up picking out an old Star Wars t-shirt of your brother’s and a pair of blue jeans, almost falling over as you got into them.

Note to self, don't drink on a school night.

You weren’t entirely sure if you were still drunk, overly tired, or just massively hungover, the world didn’t quite feel real and tangible as if you were drunk but you didn’t remember drinking that much last night with Eddie. Come to think of it, you didn’t entirely remember how you got home.

Almost stumbling into the bathroom, you opened the cabinet and grabbed some Tylenol before making your way downstairs, picking up some sunglasses on the way. You tried your best to get to the sink undetected to swallow the pills but was caught by Jamie.

“My god, she awakens. We thought you were a goner last night.” He smirked into his coffee mug.

You glared at him through your sunglasses. “I’m fine.”

He nodded, finishing his mug, and placing it into the sink. “Mhm. Is that why you’re wearing sunglasses when it’s March?”

“Just take me to school, you ass.”

Jamie chuckled as both of you walked out to the car and drove to school. During the drive, you leaned over and turned up the stereo as loud as it could go, joining your brother in shouting the lyrics to West End Girls. While the music and the shouting making your head spin, getting to spend quality time with your brother was worth getting a migraine over.

Once the song was over, Jamie turned down the stereo. “I suppose we should talk about what happened last night.”

Sinking back in your chair, you shrugged. “I suppose so. I guess that’s why Stephen was a no show this morning.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “We talked a little this morning before he left, you’re not grounded, and he’ll properly talk to you when you get home. There’s no excuse for what he said to you, but he does want to apologize.”

Nodding silently, you pursed your lips together, unsure of how to respond. “So, I guess this isn’t the time to tell him I have a date on tonight.”

“Munson finally stepped up?”

“How’d you know it was with Eddie?”

Jamie smiled as he turned into the parking lot. “I’m your older brother, I notice everything.”

You smiled too, blushing a little. “So, do you approve?”

He turned the car off and turned to you. “More important question; are you happy?”

With the smile still on your face, you nodded. “I’m very happy.”

“Then that’s all that matters, as long as you’re happy and he treats you right, I don't care.”

You fist bumped your brother before you hopped out of the car, the sudden jolt instantly beginning your headache. Shoving on your headphones and pressing play on your Walkman, you tried to ignore the pounding inside your head, mentally making a note to talk to the nurse during periods.

As you walked into school, you felt your headphones being taken off your head. Turning around, you almost slapped whoever had done it but stopped yourself when you saw it was Eddie, grinning from ear to ear as he lowered the headphones. “You’re really hellbent on dropping that good girl persona, listening to a song about sex on school grounds. I should tell the principal.”

Taking back your headphones, you paused the song. “You tell the principal and I’m cancelling our date.”

“You’re still grounded?”

You smirked, biting your bottom lip. “Nope.”

“So, we’re still on for tonight?”

“Of course, I would’ve gone even if I was still grounded.” You were about to turn towards your locker when Eddie held your hand and kissed it, causing you to frown. “Why not give me a proper kiss?”

“Because, Juliet, I want to be a gentleman and wait until the first date.”

“Romeo wasn’t a gentleman.”

“Oh? You don’t want me to be a gentleman? You’d rather have me take you somewhere quiet and make you cum just by using my fingers?”

You blushed darkly, instantly feeling your desire for him rise within you as you imagined the scene. “Yeah, of course.”

“Not gonna happen yet, Juliet. You can get excited thinking about it until Friday,” he gave your ass a playful smack before walking away, the shit eating grin still present on his face.

“I’m going to kill you, Munson!”

While you weren’t a virgin by any means, you didn’t sleep around or have any friends with benefits. You had lost your virginity during a drunken one-night stand with one of Stephen’s co-workers at a New Year’s Eve party that year. It wasn't until after you two hooked up that he might’ve been… married. Your intention wasn’t to become his mistress or even see him again, you just wanted to lose your virginity and get it over with.

Even though your friends were all deemed “losers” and “freaks”, you couldn’t help but have the terrifying feeling of being left behind wash over you. You saw your classmates having relationships and going to parties, and while you crashed said parties; you wanted the life they had. And you certainly didn’t want to be the shy virgin when you went to college, you wanted to get out all the teenage hormones out of your system before you could call yourself an adult.

By the time lunch rolled around, you wished you were back in bed and sleeping, the pain killers you’d gotten around an hour beforehand hadn’t kicked in just yet and you felt worse than you did when you woke up. If you hadn’t felt better after lunch, you planned on going back to the nurse to get more pain killers.

You were quiet at the table, completely zoning out as the boys chatted happily. Eddie subtly gave your thigh a squeeze, causing you to look over at him. He gave you a slight nod, silently asking if you were okay. You gave him a small smile and nodded in return before getting up from the table, announcing you were going to get a soda.

After paying for your soda and opening the bottle, you made your way back to the table, humming a tune to yourself as you tapped the bottle. Just as you were inches from the table, Jason Carver and his cult of goons stepped in front of you, halting you instantly.

“Hey Y/N, I heard you and the Munson freak have a date tonight-” he started, a sly smirk spreading across his face.

Shaking your head, you interrupted him. “Jason, I have a splitting headache and I’m really not in the mood for your profession of love, so if you’d kindly let me get back to my table, I’d appreciate it.”

Jason laughed loudly, snatching the soda from you. “Oh, I’m not here for that. The boys and I just wanted to make sure you looked the part for your little date.”

You frowned, confused at what he meant but just as you were about to ask for clarification, the entire group emptied soda bottles, milk and juice cartons and water bottles onto your head, soaking you instantly.

Your bottom lip trembled as you heard the whole cafeteria erupt into laughter, everyone except Eddie who angrily got up from the table. “Hey Jason!” Eddie announced, waiting for Jason to turn around before punching him square in the face, causing Jason to fall to the cafeteria floor and the room to fall silent. “Stay the fuck away from her.”

Jason glared at Eddie, a bruise, and a large amount of swelling already starting to form on his face. “What the fuck did you just say to me, freak?”

Eddie’s fist clenched, getting himself ready for another punch. “I said, stay the fuck away from her, maybe you need your hearing tested.”

Jason didn't appreciate his attempt at sarcasm and began beating Eddie repeatedly and hard, everyone beginning to gather around the pair, chanting “fight fight fight fight”. Realising how dangerous the situation had become, you desperately tried to break up the fight but got elbowed hard in the face, either by Eddie or Jason, it happened too fast to figure out which.

Taken aback by shock, you walked backwards to try to get into the crowd, not noticing the blood dripping from your nose and down your face, onto your shirt. Instead of being let into the crowd, someone shoved you forwards, back into the fight. Wiping away the blood, you tried one more time to rip the boys apart, screaming at them to stop. You felt yourself being pulled down to the floor, the back of your head hitting the floor and then it all went black.

The fight was broken up soon after, with Jason and Eddie being forced into the principal’s office and you being carried into the nurse’s office. The crowd dispersed and the only thing on everyone’s mind was the fight that had just happened. Already, rumours were beginning to spread.

In the nurse’s office, you had finally regained consciousness, albeit you struggled to remember what exactly happened and insisted you were fine, and you just tripped. It wasn’t until Gareth gently broke to you that you’d been repeatedly hit in the face and your head struck the cafeteria floor, causing you to blackout.

He pressed an icepack to the back of your head, causing you to wince a little. “I need you to keep this on your head and get some rest.” You started to move your head to nod, but Gareth stopped you, moving your left hand to hold the icepack. “Don't move your head too much.”

Sighing, you pressed on the icepack, slowly raising your head to look at him. “Where’s Eddie?”

“Still with Principal Coleman.”

“Am I in trouble?”

Gareth shook his head, smiling slightly. “Nah, basically everyone can vouch for you that you tried to stop the fight, Jason initiated it, and Eddie threw the first punch.”

The thought of Eddie punching Jason because he was protecting and defending you made you feel a warm glow in the pit of your stomach and the ghost of a smile came across your face, but it slowly faded once you felt the pain set in from your swollen face.

“I’m gonna have to go back to class.” He announced, walking towards the door before turning to the nurse. “Is she gonna be okay?”

The nurse nodded, giving Gareth a gentle smile. “She’ll be fine, thank you for staying with her. She’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

Gareth gave you one last smile before leaving the office just as the bell rang, the annoying noise ringing in your head and bringing back your headache. The nurse noticed your discomfort, handing you a glass of water with some pain killers before leaving the room. Closing the door behind her, she was faced with Eddie.

“How is she?” He asked, nervously tapping his fingers against his leg.

“She has a mild concussion, a black eye, and a bloody nose. She’s lucky she didn't break something or crack her skull open. You boys need to stop playing roughly, someone’s gonna get hurt.”

“Is she going to hospital?”

The nurse shook her head. “No, we’ll keep an eye on her for the next few hours to see if she gets worse, but it doesn’t look like she'll need to go. You can go in and see her if you want.”

Eddie gave the nurse a nod before slowly walking into the office and closing the door behind him. He pulled back the curtain to see you sat on the bed, one hand for biting your nails and the other holding an icepack to the back of your head and staring at the floor. It wasn’t until you looked up that he saw how badly your face had taken the beating.

Honestly, you looked like shit.

Your right eye was so swollen, the eye itself could barely open, you had blood covered tissues shoved up your nose to stop the blood from dripping down your face and onto your t-shirt, although there already was a trail of blood covering the once pristine white shirt.

He kneeled in front of you, reaching out to touch your cheek but hesitantly stopped once he realised it would hurt you. “How’re you feeling, Juliet?”

A ghost of a smile came across your lips. “Like a peach. A very bruised peach.”

“I brought you something,” Eddie handed you a Hellfire Club shirt. He saw your eyes sparkling but cut you off to answer the question you were going to ask. “I was going to give it to you tonight, but I figured you wouldn’t wanna stay in a blood-stained shirt for the rest of school.”

“You still wanna go on that date when I look like shit?”

He frowned as he got up to sit next to you. “Of course I still wanna go, and I think you look like a badass with your black eye.”

Holding the shirt close, you subconsciously stroked the soft fabric. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

While Eddie didn't look as bad as you did, he still had bruises all over his face and his clothes were dishevelled. If you weren’t in so much pain, you would've kissed him. Instead, you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Sweetheart, you should've seen Jason.”

“Did you kick his ass?”

“Of course, bastard deserved it. Only got a week’s internal suspension for it, too.”

You raised your eyebrow. “A week’s internal suspension? Honestly, I was expecting worse. Like expulsion.”

He almost laughed at that, shaking his head. “Nah, you’re gonna be stuck with me for a long time, Juliet.”

Smiling, you nudged him with your elbow. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Now piss off while I get changed.”

Pushing himself off the bed, he chuckled a little before turning back towards you, kissing the back of your hand. “I’ll come pick you up at about 7, Juliet. Don't keep me waiting.”

Blushing darkly, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “No promises, Romeo.” You both smiled at each other shyly before he left the room, allowing you to get changed in privacy.

After changing, you sat back down on the bed, pressing the mostly melted icepack to your head and waited for the nurse to return. After almost half an hour, she returned to perform a check-up on you. It was decided that you would be picked up by Jamie and taken home, allowing you to rest for the weekend. When you were given your backpack back, you were also handed a note to give to teachers if you had any homework, allowing you not to do it.

When Jamie came to pick you up, you didn’t say a word and sat in the back of the car, putting your headphones on, and stared out the window. You didn’t want to talk to anyone about what had happened, you knew you would get blamed for trying to stop the fight and for getting hurt.

While you knew Jamie would never blame you for trying to do the right thing, you were just tired of the day and all you wanted was to get back into bed for a few hours and then have your date with Eddie.

Arriving home, Jamie helped you up the stairs and to bed, taking off your shoes and pulling the curtains to allow you to sleep without being interrupted. While you didn’t exactly sleep, you did enjoy being in bed during a school day and listening to the birds singing, and of course, knowing you had a whole weekend of no homework to look forward to.

At 6 on the dot, you slowly rose out of bed and bit your bottom lip as you thought of Eddie showing up at your front door, giving you that smile that made your knees weak and finally kissing you. Call Me by Blondie on your boombox, you carefully selected your outfit for the date. A simple white dress, light grey knee-high socks and your tried and tested denim jacket.

You looked at the outfit on your bed before going for a shower, being careful to go gentle on your scalp when you washed your hair. Once coming out of the shower, you checked the time. 6:23. Plenty of time.

Brushing your hair as gently as you could, you tied it up into braids to dry before getting dressed and sitting down at your dressing table. You gently began patting foundation and blush on your face to try to hide most of the bruising without looking like a bad circus clown, eventually giving up and accepting that you were going to look like the poster child for abuse for the evening, no matter what you did.

You took your hair out of the braids and looked at yourself in the mirror; your hair had curled a little but no matter how good your hair looked; you knew the only thing people would see was how badly your face was beaten up.

Sighing, you forced your feet into a pair of heeled boots, also grabbing your purse and jacket before leaving the room. Walking to the stairs and sitting down on the middle step, you stared at the front door and began waiting for Eddie to pick you up. You checked your watch; 6:59PM, he should be there any minute.

Only he never came.

Friday evening came and went. So did Saturday. And Sunday. Then it was Monday.

Still no sign of Eddie.

Walking into school on Monday, you looked everywhere for him but still nothing. It was almost as if he’d disappeared into a puff of smoke overnight, leaving nothing but a lot of unanswered questions. Eddie would sometimes spend the odd weekend in the city and not come back until Monday morning and spend the day hungover.

But he’d always say beforehand, and he never broke a promise he made to you.

Somewhere deep inside your stomach, you knew something was very wrong.

Once lunch rolled around, you made your way to the Hellfire table, instantly noticing Eddie’s empty seat. “Have you guys heard from Eddie?”

Gareth shook his head and replied through a mouthful of a BLT sandwich. “Nope, not since the last session on Friday. He said he was gonna go meet up with you before leaving and then he just never turned up for practice on Saturday.”

Frowning, you sat beside him. “Have you tried calling?”

Jeff nodded. “First thing we did when he didn’t show up to practice. His uncle picked up, but he didn't know where Eddie was either, assumed he was around yours.”

“Nobody’s thought to call the cops?”

Gareth's eyebrows raised so high, they almost looked look like they were going to go all the way into his hairline. “Dude are you crazy? Cops are gonna look through his stuff and instantly see his stash, then they won’t want to find a missing person, they'll be looking for someone to arrest.”

You leaned back in your chair, cursing loudly. Why the hell didn’t you think of that? Sighing, you pursed your lips together. “So do we just wait until he turns up?”

Everyone shrugged their shoulders, Jeff speaking up after a pregnant pause. “There isn’t much we can do, he’s a legal adult, he can come and go as he pleases.”

Bouncing your leg under the table, you shook your head before getting up from the table and disappearing into the school crowds. Using your doctor’s note, you stayed in the library for the rest of the day, knowing you were far too anxious to go to class and learn anything. You stayed in the library all day Tuesday, too, trying to distract yourself with whatever garbage novel you could find although nothing seemed to work.

Arriving to school on Wednesday morning, you jogged towards Dustin and Mike. “Dustin!”

Dustin turned to you, giving you a wide smile. "Hey Y/N, what's up?"

“You haven’t heard anything from Eddie, have you? Nobody else has heard from him since Friday.”

“He’s not with you?” Mike asked slowly, the cogs slowly turning in his head that perhaps Eddie wasn’t just crashing with you the whole time as he’d suspected.

You slowly shook your head. “I haven’t seen him all week.”

In unison, the three of you turned to look into the parking lot, noticing a cop car pull in as you all felt a sinking feeling in your stomachs. Eddie going missing wasn’t just him playing hooky anymore and everyone guessing and asking where he was, he was now deemed a missing person and the cops were going to be looking for him.

The cops interviewed every single member of Hellfire and eventually asked for you. You were pulled out of English class and taken into the cafeteria for questioning, already knowing how the cops were going to play it; Eddie was a runaway, and you knew where he was, you just wasn’t going to tell anyone.

“We’ve heard from friends of both yourself and Mr. Munson’s that he was on his way to see you on Friday.”

You nodded, trying to stop the constant anxiety. “Yes, we were going to go on a date.”

“What happened on that date?”

“Nothing… he never turned up.”

“Do you have people who can back you up on that statement?”

“Yes, my older brothers were home.”

One of the cops was asking all the questions, while the other was writing everything down in a notebook, not holding any interaction with you other than nodding. The one who asked the questions noticed the slight bruising around your face. “Did Eddie do that?”

“No, it was Jason Carver. Him and his group of friends poured soda cans over my head and Eddie beat him up for me. I tried to stop the fight and got hurt in the process.”

“You think Eddie ran away to get out of trouble for the fight?”

You frowned, shaking your head. “No, Eddie and Jason got internal suspensions for a week. Eddie wouldn’t have runaway over that.”

“When was the last time you saw Eddie?”

“At school. He came into the nurse’s office to make sure I was okay, and he said he’d pick me up at 7 from my place for our date. I know he had a D&D session after school and I’m assuming he went to that, but I didn’t see him after we met in the nurse’s office as I went home early.”

The cop who was writing finally spoke up after writing for a few seconds, nodding his head while you answered the question. “Do you have any idea where Eddie might be?”

Biting your bottom lip, you tried to keep your breath steady and not get upset. “I don’t know where he is. All I want is for him to come home.”

You were asked a couple more questions before you were dismissed, going back to classes, and trying your best to not make it obvious that you were crying. When the end of the school day came, Stephen was there to pick you up. Once he saw how upset you were, he hugged you tightly, pressing a kiss to the side of your head and took you home, never once questioning you.

Once you were home, you instantly went to your room and locked the door, the only sounds coming from your room was Always on My Mind by Elvis on a loop.

For the rest of the week, you barely talked to anyone and when you weren’t at school or helping with the nightly search parties, you were locked away in your room. You hated herself for completely falling apart without Eddie, and you felt pathetic for being unable to function when he was probably just off somewhere having an adventure.

But something deep inside of you was screaming at you that something bad had happened to Eddie, but you couldn’t put into words what had happened or to not sound completely unhinged.

In your room, you kept one of Eddie’s missing posters under your pillow after remembering what your mother used to say to you; if you want your wish to come true, write it down on a piece of paper and put it under your pillow then you can dream about making it a reality.

It was massively childish but in that time, you needed something comforting.

Pulling out the poster, you stroked Eddie’s picture with your finger, your bottom lip trembling as if you were about to cry. “Eddie where are you?” you whispered. “I forgive you for standing me up, just please come home.”

Jamie softly knocked on your door, you slowly unlocked the door and letting him in. “I thought you might want some dinner,” he smiled gently, holding up a Burger King bag. You smiled sadly back, sitting back on your bed with a heavy sigh. He sat the bag down on your dressing table before kneeling in front of you. “We’ll find him, I promise.”

You shook your head slightly, sniffling as you brushed away a tear. “He was there and then he wasn’t, like I blinked, and he was gone. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion and everything around me is moving so fast and I just wanna go back to when all of this shit hadn’t happened. And there’s all this pressure like everyone is hovering around me waiting for me to do something and I can’t do a fucking thing.”

There was a pause before you continued.

“Something awful happened to him, Jamie. I just know it; I feel it in my soul. But I can't make anyone listen to me.”

He took your hands, gently squeezing them. “Whatever’s happened, we’ll find him. Now will you please eat something? Your burger’s getting cold.”

You sighed, nodding, and grabbing the bag. You didn’t entirely want to eat, but you knew you had to eat something, even if it was just a couple of fries and a few bites of your burger.

By the time the two-week mark of Eddie’s disappearance had rolled around, your anxiety had reached breaking point. You couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, all you could think about was where Eddie could be.

Late Sunday night, you were awake and staring up at the ceiling, going over your last conversation for the ten thousandth time, debating in your head if there was some hidden message you’d missed but found nothing. Sighing, you sat up to take a drink, only to see your glass was empty. Rolling your eyes, you slid out of bed and dragged yourself downstairs.

Filling up your glass, you took a long drink before filling it up once again. Then you felt a strange feeling, something inside of you was telling you to go to the front door. You tried to brush off the thought by going towards the stairs, but the feeling only seemed to get more intense the closer you got to the front door.

Rolling your eyes to yourself, you carefully placed your glass on the stairs and walked towards the door. All you were going to do was open the door and prove to your silly sleep deprived brain that there was nothing there. Opening the door, your heart almost dropped out of your chest. Standing there, covered in blood and torn clothes; was Eddie.

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