#WHY IS HE TRYING TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD IN THE SECOND ONE

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐋𝐀𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐒 ꕥ MAX VERSTAPPEN

summary. celebrating max’s 4th title was not in your plans.

warnings. piastri!reader, max is kinda obsessed with reader, public s3x (?), unprotected pinv, fingering, just straight up dirty.

gabri speaks! i’ve been thinking about mexico gp max and las vegas sealed the deal for me.

THERE’S A BRIEF moment of silence, of anticipation, and of complete confusion. The DJ had paused the setlist less than an hour in announcing there was a special guest appearance. Then as if on cue tonight’s race is plastered on the giant screen behind him and the words, “Max Verstappen,” echo throughout the nightclub. You resist the urge to roll your eyes knowing someone might be recording you, or your brother at least.

“I thought he was flying back?” You cover your mouth with your hand as you talk with your brother.

“I thought so too.” Your brother hums in your ear trying to hide his annoyed tone. Your brother got along with Max just fine but all he wanted was one night without F1 getting mentioned.

You on the other hand…

You’d only been in the paddock a handful of times but every race weekend you had managed to have the worst encounter with the dutch man. The first time had been incidentally, you faintly recall the energy drink splashing all over your new dress. You knew from the get go that it had been an accident but when Max didn’t as so much as a muster a quick sorry and instead went on his way you had no choice but to hate him.

“He’s such a dick.” You murmur to yourself unaware your brother catches your words.

“Be nice.” Oscar motions towards the countless people recording him.

���I’m gonna get another drink.” You sigh.

The music resumes and you find yourself into a crowd of dancing couples. Your short orange dress sticks to you as you walk towards the bar. It’d been a long night with your brother not getting the result he hoped for. The post race recap inside the garage had been brutal as well. You had watched as the championship slipped from Lando’s hands and Max claimed victory once again. It had been the worst two hours of your life to say the least. You’re way too frustrated to even notice the man approaching you. In a split second you’re covered in something that smelled similar to…

“Asshole.” You mumble.

“Mini Piastri?” He gasps dramatically. “Why are you here? I wouldn’t think you’d be celebrating after tonight.”

“Well, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” You scoff. “Does it Max?”

“I’d argue that it does actually. Considering your mood, you’d be happier if your little boyfriend had actually managed to have a good race.” He taunts you.

“Look, can you get out of my way? I have to go clean up the mess you made.” You point towards the huge spots of alcohol on your dress.

You don’t even wait for him to respond before pushing past him, brushing shoulders in the process, to head straight to the bathroom. You do your best to dodge those who already have had a bit too much to drink, unaware that the dutchman is right behind you. It’s not until you’re opening the door and notice it takes a minute too long to close that you turn around and spot him. His white dress shirt is already half unbuttoned while his hair is a mess. You stare at him incredulously as he leaned against the sink.

“Max, you can’t be in here.” You state bluntly.

“I don’t recall you telling Lando to piss off when he followed you into the bathroom in Austin.” He counters.

“How do- What?” You’re taken aback by his words. How did he know?

He ignores your question choosing to walk towards you instead. You’re now face to face with the man that had taken away your team’s championship. His eye bags are dark and you can tell it’s been a while since he’s gotten a good needed break. His tousled hair falls perfectly on his head and by the way his arms flex you can tell he’s been putting extra effort into them at the gym. All of a sudden you’re nervous to be under his glare.

“Does your brother know what you and Lando do in secret?” He questions.

“You should leave.” You try to sound confident but your faltering voice exposes you.

Max just smirks at your words knowing he was getting under your skin. He still recalls the first time he ran into you, when he spilled half a can of red bull on you. He doesn’t know why he didn’t apologize but when he saw the anger in your face he realized why. You had looked so beautiful that day with the short orange sundress that did nothing to hide your cleavage. He still remembers the disappointment he felt when he saw you and Lando walk out of the restroom all disheveled. So, when he beat Lando tonight he felt absolutely no remorse.

His lips ghost yours for what feels like an eternity. You’re frozen in place wondering how his lips would taste against yours. Maybe it was the alcohol or the way his arms flex around you but suddenly you needed to know what he felt like. His arm tentatively grazes yours as it sneaks down to your knees. A gasp finds itself leaving your lips as your legs spread open instinctively. He wants to make fun of you, of the way you melt under him so easily, but he knows better. He can’t risk ruining the moment. It’s when Max inches his fingers closer to your thighs that you suddenly realize what’s happening. In a matter of seconds you push him off you and head out the door.

You’re barely four steps out when Max yanks you back and you hit his built chest. This time he doesn’t hesitate and grabs your jaw pulling your face towards his. Your lips meet in a heated kiss as his arms find their way around your waist. This time you’re the one that moves his hands from your wait to your ass. The confidence was beginning to build up and soon enough you’re tugging on his hair as his tongue enters your mouth.

“Max…” You moan and somehow it becomes the indicator that you want this. That you want him.

He pushes you flat against the cold brick of the hallway, the dimmed lights helping hide your bodies from the crowd. You’re lucky he holds you up because your legs feel like jello and if he lets go you might lose your balance. His hands roam your waist, back, and neck before he moves your hair out of the way. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses around your neck as his hands work their way down to your legs. They slowly glide up until he’s playing with the hem of your short dress. You can already feel his growing erection press against your ass.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He groans against your ear.

You really want to tell him to fuck off but your body reacts differently. You’re shocked when instead of telling him to call it a night all you murmur is keep going. In a matter of seconds your dress is being pulled up towards your waist. You can’t help the whine that escapes your lips as he rubs your aching core through your panties.

“So wet already.” He groans. “For me or Lando?”

“Shut up.” You still find it in you to annoy him.

To your surprise he doesn’t hit you with another remark. Max had been an asshole to you long enough. Now, that you were in front of him practically falling apart he didn’t want to ruin the moment. There’s a brief moment of silence before his hand carefully moves your panties to the side exposing your core to the cool breeze. Your legs spread instinctively as his fingers tempt your folds. His fingers collect your slick as he explores you, the wet sound making him groan against you. Slowly, he brings one of his fingers to your hole entering it carefully.

“Fuck.” He moans against your ear as your cunt wraps tightly around his finger.

“Ma- Max. So close.” You’re barely able to say.

You let out a loud whine as he curls his finger inside of you leading to your climax. You come around his fingers as you coat them with your wetness. His fingers slowly move toward your mouth and you don’t hesitate as you take them into your mouth, tasting yourself. He almost comes undone as you lick his fingers seductively. Aggressively he grabs your jaw and kisses you. He groans as he tastes you.

You feel the tip of him first as he runs it up and down your folds teasing you. Your hands are weak against the wall as his tip approaches your aching hole. He enters you slowly, holding you tightly in the process. He stops halfway through not wanting to hurt you but when he hears your dirty moans he continues. Your nails dig tightly into his arms as he fills you up completely. He’s quite big and the new sensation has you spiraling trying your best to not fall against him. He takes advantage of your weakness and attacks your neck again making sure to leave love bites around your collarbone.

“Fuck, Max. You’re so big.” You whine without thinking.

You feel his dick twitch inside you at that. Your voice has him in a trance as he tries his best to not just start thrusting inside of you. It’s not until you start pushing your ass against him that he almost pulls out fully before thrusting back into you. His hands grip your ass tightly—surely leaving marks for tomorrow—as your cunt squeezes him. He’s never felt such a thrill, at least since Abu Dhabi, you were your own feeling. He couldn’t believe you had finally opened up to him in many ways you were way better than winning another trophy. Many curses escape your lips as he finds the perfect pace inside of you.

He manages to bend you over leading to the perfect position and somehow he’s even deeper inside of you. He grips your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he speeds up inside of you. His hand trails back to your cunt and slowly he starts playing with your folds. The feeling of his cock inside of you and fingers rubbing your folds is intense and you find a camisole feeling in your stomach approach you. You squeeze him tightly as his dick hits the right spot and you find yourself coming undone. You’ve never had an orgasm so intense in your life you don’t even notice how you coat his dick with your wetness.

Max isn’t far behind and speeds up at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him tightly. Your nails dig behind you at the overstimulation and stretch of his cock. Max hisses at the sensation finding it the tipping point. It’s not long before you feel his dick twitch inside of you and in a matter of seconds you feel him spill his seed inside of you. He grunts as he empties himself and as he pulls out. He pulls you up adjusting your dress in the process.

You bite your lip as he zips up his pants. The aftermath of your little rendezvous is different. Usually with others you don’t stay long enough to watch them dress themselves. But then you notice Max struggling with the buttons on his dress shirt and you find your hands on his chest again. You only button half of the shirt before stepping back. Neither of you say a word but the silence manages to speak for you both. You decide it’s time to go back but before you can take a step Max pulls you in for a final kiss before he leaves.

You’re barely able to walk back towards the VIP lounge and stumble multiple times in the process. You try your best to brush your hair down and fix your dress as you come closer to your brother’s booth. You sit down carefully unaware your brother is staring at you wide eyed and wondering why it took you almost an hour to get a drink. You shift awkwardly in your seat as Lily begins telling you both about her mixup at the airport. You turn around briefly as she goes into detail when you notice Max walking past your table. You keep your composure not wanting to expose your actions of the night but you should’ve known better. Oscar almost bursts out laughing at Max’s completely unbuttoned shirt.

“Lando’s gonna be pissed.” Your brother smirks.

“How do-” Did everyone know? “Oh, fuck off.”

The night progresses with your brother ordering countless bottles of Dom Pérignon. It’s almost five in the morning when Max takes the stage again with the DJ playing a remix of Super Max. As if on cue someone hands him a bottle of champagne and it doesn’t take long for him to start spraying it amongst those on the dance floor. You watch attentively as his chest shows the marks you left completely unaware of how your phone buzzes for the hundredth time that night.

9 missed calls from Lan

Lan: Tonight was shit.

Lan: Come over?

[nemisuki]

Good Soup

Fantasy AU | In a world of whimsical wonders and magic, the only thing you're curious about is why the blonde suddenly got shy at a simple goodnight. The language barrier between them is what keeps them closer. 

᧔o᧓ || Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, pure fluff, no angst, aged up, mutual feelings, split pov, language barriers, bkg learning english, silly bestie kirishima included, love confessions gone wrong, oneshot, bkg is a softie, 2.1k word count

"Go on! You can do it!"

An encouraging smile forms on her face. Her hands clasping together as she practically jumps up and down from mere excitement that he finally agreed to her request. 

Her eyes are completely on him, not wanting to look away. 

It takes a moment for Bakugo to register her words. Attempting to recall what she's been teaching him. 

He assumes she's saying something encouraging, given that bright smile of hers.

He can't believe he's doing this. If it was anyone else he wouldn't even be attempting this shit. But one look at her excited expression made his mind think otherwise.

Plus she's been bothering him about this for weeks now. 

Under his breath, he grumbles a handful of curses in his native language, courtesy of his tribe. He switches his weight onto the other foot, crossing his arms over his chest.

She is quick to notice his sudden fidgeting. A sign of discomposure.

But she thinks it's charming. So she'll keep it to herself.

Y/N takes a step forward in his direction, softening her eyes at the sight of him. Realizing she may have unknowingly put too much pressure on him, "Oh I'm sorry! You don't have too, if you don't want to-"

"N-ɳαɱҽ.... αɾҽ... Bαƙυɠσ Kαƚʂυƙι...."

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

Her heart hastens at the sound of his deep voice. His slow and hesitant words echoing in her ear. The foreign accent made her skin tingle with bliss.

After his words, she lets a few giggles escape her lips. Not directed at him, but because the way he avoids eye contact was simply adorable.

She can tell he tried his best.

"Almost!" she says while gently taking a hold of his hand. His body tensing as she makes physical contact.

His eyes darted back and forth between her hand and delicate eyes. She speaks gradually to correct his wording, "my name.... is.... bakugo katsuki.”

She nods in his direction for him to try again.

The sensation of her much smaller hand holding his, the warmth of it, gives him an odd sense of tranquility.

How stupid.

"M-Mყ ɳαɱҽ ιʂ Bαƙυɠσ Kαƚʂυƙι"

"Yes! You did it!"

She squeals with delight. Having to restrain herself from pulling him into a hug. Knowing he'll probably shove her off not a moment after.

So instead she simply squeezes his hand. Honestly a bit shocked he hasn't pulled away yet-

Without warning, she can feel his fingers slowly intertwine with her own. Causing a shiver to go up her spine. 

What is he...

"Gσσԃ.... ɠσσԃ ɱσɾɳιɳɠ"

Huh?

Y/N stares at the blonde, now perplexed at his words. He must've picked it up from their travels together. But does he know what it means? It's not morning but night time.

She tilts her head and lets out a small laugh. How refreshing.

"Hm? Did you mean goodnight?"

The tips of his ears quickly turn red as he hears her laughter.

“Gσσԃɳιɠԋƚ" he says, tightening his grip on her hand. Looking into her eyes, now a bit more sincere with his words.

"Ah- you're going to sleep already? I suppose you do sleep early" she hums while nodding in his direction.

"Goodnight Bakugo!"

She's about to pull away yet his grip on her doesn't lessen. His eyes slightly widening at her words.

The blush from his ears immediately spreads across his cheeks in a light dust of pink.

"G-Gσσԃɳιɠԋƚ Bαƙυɠσ?" he mumbles to her in slight disbelief.

"Huh? Uh- yeah... Goodnight Bakugo" she says now bewildered by his reaction.

He doesn't move for a few seconds but then his own eyes soften. Completely catching her off guard.

She's never seen such a calm look on his face. And she didn’t know how she lived up til now without seeing it. 

Y/N watches as he pulls his hand away from hers. Now feeling cold without the physical contact. Her fingers twitch, wanting to feel that warmth again.

He takes a hold of the red necklace that's resting along his collarbone. Tugging it off and draping it over her head instead. Lifting her hair so it could sit perfectly around her neck.

She can feel her cheeks warm up at the gesture, "what- your giving this necklace to me? But it's yours" she says, looking down at the red pendants hanging off the black string.

"ʏ/ռ Gσσԃɳιɠԋƚ"

His hand lifts up to gently touch her flushed cheek. Only making her more bashful by the minute. 

What's up with him?

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ  ⎯⎯ ✦

The next morning was quite chaotic.

Y/N emerges from their tent, still feeling drained from her sleep. They’ve been traveling a lot recently and haven’t had the chance to rest up properly. 

She steps over to the campfire, joining Bakugo and Kirishima for some breakfast. Seems like the blonde is cooking some soup. 

"Hi you two" she says, yawning and attempting to rub her eyes awake.

She didn’t even have the time to sit down when-

"Y/N?! Why are you wearing Bakugos necklace?!" Kirishima quickly whispers to her, looking baffled and sending a suspicious look her way. 

Kirishima was completely fluent in the English language unlike Bakugo. Apparently when dragon kind are mere fledglings, they're especially quick to pick up multiple languages.

Hence this left Kirishima to be the translator for the trio. 

The duo found Y/N a few months ago, a rogue traveler who enjoyed exploring the world. She practically clung to the two after they helped her take out some bandits, who previously attempted to steal her rare items such as unicorn hair and some potions. 

She grew fond of the duo and decided to tag along ever since. At first Bakugo was completely against the idea. But the red haired dragon took a quick liking to her. So against Bakugos will, Kirishima allowed her to join them.

And so they’ve been traveling together since then. Exploring the world and taking on quests for gold. 

For now they needed rest, so they set up a little camp for a few days. 

"Huh? Oh this!" her hand gently traced over the variety of red beads. A sheepish smile sneaked on her face as she recalled yesterday's events, "Bakugo gave it to me last night when you went out to collect more firewood.”

The blonde ignores the whispered chatter behind him, continuing to stir the pot of soup around. Well not like he could understand what they are saying anyways. 

Meanwhile, Kirishima practically jumps out of his seat from her words. Looking at Y/N as if she had two heads.

"Kirishima? What's wrong?"

"You're telling me Bakugo willingly gave that to you?! Did he tell you anything else?!"

"Uh- well... he just told me goodnight is all"

"Goodnight?"

But before she could respond, Bakugo was already walking towards them. Holding two bowls of warm soup and handing one to Kirishima. 

His head then turns to look at Y/N, holding the other out to her. He seems to be in thought, trying to recall the right words to say, "...ԋι... ʂσυρ... ϝσɾ ყσυ?"

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

"Good Morning Bakugo! Ah thank you so much" she takes the warm bowl and looks back up at him. Feeling her body tingle with joy. A warm smile displayed across her face. 

Kirishima's eyes are practically bulging out of his sockets as he looks between the two. Having a sudden realization.

He quickly looks in Bakugos direction and starts speaking in their native tongue. 

"BαƙυႦɾσ! Aɾҽ ყσυ ƚɯσ σϝϝιƈιαʅ?!"

The blonde's mood suddenly switches as he stares at Kirishima. Immediately soured at the dragons words, "Tƈԋ ɳσɳҽ σϝ ყσυɾ ԃαɱɳ Ⴆυʂιɳҽʂʂ ʂԋιƚƚყ ԋαιɾ!"

"Hσʅყ ƈɾαρ ყσυ αɾҽ! Yσυ ɠαʋҽ ԋҽɾ ყσυɾ ɳҽƈƙʅαƈҽ αɳԃ ιƚʂ ƚɾαԃιƚισɳ ιɳ ყσυɾ ƚɾιႦҽ ƚσ ɠιʋҽ ιƚ ƚσ ყσυɾ σɳҽ ƚɾυҽ ʅσʋҽ! Cσɳɠɾαƚʂ ɱαɳ!" he shines an excited grin and pats Bakugos back encouragingly. His wings fluttered involuntarily with pure delight.

"Hαɳԃʂ σϝϝ ԃαɱɳ ιƚ!" Bakugo yells back, trying to shove his hand away. Followed by a couple of empty threats directed at the red head. 

After a few seconds, confusion suddenly dawns on Kirishima. He takes a peek back at Y/N who is sitting down on a log calmly eating her soup. Already used to the twos bickering so much that it doesn't faze her. 

"Wαιƚ, ԋσɯ ԃιԃ ყσυ ƚɯσ ҽʋҽɳ ƈσɳϝҽʂʂ? Dιԃ ყσυ ƚҽʅʅ ԋҽɾ ιɳ Eɳɠʅιʂԋ?"

"Lιƙҽ I ʂαιԃ Ⴆҽϝσɾҽ! Nσɳҽ σϝ ყσυɾ Ⴆυʂιɳҽʂʂ!"

"Aɯ ƈ'ɱσɳ BαƙυႦɾσ! I'ɱ ƈυɾισυʂ!"

The blonde lets out an annoyed sigh. Knowing Kirishima won't stop his pestering anytime soon unless he answers. So reluctantly he speaks in a quiet grumble, "I ʂαιԃ.... goodnight ƚσ ԋҽɾ"

A moment of silence passes between the two. 

Kirishima tries processing his words but he furrows his brows completely lost, "Uԋ σƙαყ? Sσ ɯԋҽɳ ԃιԃ ყσυ ƈσɳϝҽʂʂ ƚσ ԋҽɾ?"

"Hαԋ? I ʝυʂƚ ƚσʅԃ ყσυ ʂԋιƚƚყ ԋαιɾ!"

"Wαιƚ- ɯԋαƚ?! Nυ υԋ!"

"I ƚσʅԃ ԋҽɾ goodnight! Aɳԃ ʂԋҽ ʂαιԃ ιƚ Ⴆαƈƙ!"

"Hσʅԃ σɳ, ԋσʅԃ σɳ! BαƙυႦɾσ! Wԋαƚ ԃσ ყσυ ƚԋιɳƙ goodnight ɱҽαɳʂ?"

"Eԋ? Wԋαƚ ƚყρҽ σϝ ϙυҽʂƚισɳ ιʂ ƚԋαƚ! Iƚ ɱҽαɳʂ I ʅσʋҽ ყσυ ιɳ ҽɳɠʅιʂԋ!"

Kirishima couldn't believe what he was hearing. From Bakugo out of all people. 

The dragon practically bursts into a fit of laughter. Holding his stomach and wiping tears from his eyes that started to form at this revelation.

Bakugo stares at him baffled then a look of embarrassment forms on his face,"ԃσɳ'ƚ ƚҽʅʅ ɱҽ-"

"D-Dυԃҽ! Goodnight ԃσҽʂɳ'ƚ ɱҽαɳ I ʅσʋҽ ყσυ ιɳ ҽɳɠʅιʂԋ!" Kirishima manages to say in between his relentless giggles.

"Mρԋ-" Bakugo quickly turns around to hide his face. He couldn't believe it. But it makes sense now, last night's look of confusion on her face.

The way she went straight to the tent after he gave her the necklace. He just assumed she was just as shy as he was. 

"Hey what are you two talking about?" Y/N says walking in their direction with a look of interest in her eyes. 

"Nothing, just Bakugo thinking he confessed-"

At the sound of his voice, the blonde spins around and slaps the back of Kirishima's head. Not understanding much but knowing he's up to no good. Making the dragon stop mid sentence to whine and rub his scalp.

Bakugo eyes travel to Y/N, more specifically the necklace around her neck. His necklace. 

He huffs and points at the piece of jewelry. Then proceeds to open his hand at her. Asking for it back silently.

He waits, expecting her to hand it back. 

The blonde was beyond embarrassed that she didn't understand his motivates yesterday. Thankfully she seemed oblivious to it all. 

In his tribe, it's tradition for males to pass on their necklaces to their lover, signifying eternal devotion and trust. Yet the two weren't official after all like he originally thought. 

He'll just give it to her another time. When he learns how to properly confess.

But then all his thoughts pause when he sees Y/N pouting and shaking her head no. Holding the necklace closer to her body so he can't snatch it away.

"I want to keep it please" she says softly to him, hearing her own heartbeat in her ears from the nerves. She doesn't know why he wants it back, but she feels closer to him this way. It's the first thing he's ever given her.

Kirishima being the third wheel, quickly translates to Bakugo with a sly grin.

Bakugo listens then lets out a sigh of defeat. Waving his hand dismissively to her, allowing Y/N to keep it. She smiles brightly and nods towards him, “thank you bakugo!” 

He grunts in response and walks away to serve himself a bowl of soup. Or perhaps to hide the flushed look on his face. 

One day he'll learn how to confess. Maybe he’ll ask Kirishima for some help later on. 

What a pain.

But little did the blonde know.

Y/N was already planning to ask Kirishima the same thing. Trying to learn Bakugos native language in hopes of confessing her feelings. 

Kirishima could only bite back his tongue to hide his knowing smile. Looking at the oblivious pair as they all eat breakfast around the campfire.

Though he couldn't help but to let out a small chuckle at the sheer coincidence of it all.

"Hm? What's so funny Kirishima?"

He dismissively waves his hands at Y/N's comment and smirks, "nothing at all, just realized I forgot to say goodnight to you yesterday" he says, holding back a laugh as Bakugos head snaps in his direction. 

The blonde sends Kirishima a deadly glare. Standing up to teach him a lesson. Seems Bakugo reached his daily limit of the redheads teasing, "Yσυɾ ԃҽαԃ ʂԋιƚƚყ ԋαιɾ!"

That's how Kirishima ends up hiding behind her as Bakugo stomps towards the two. Leaving poor Y/N as a human shield.

She still has no idea what's going on but laughs alongside Kirishima as the three chase each other around the campfire. 

What a good day…. and night?

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ     ⎯⎯ ✦

A/N ||| This fanfic was inspired by a Fantasy Bakugo x Reader piece I read a LONGGGG time ago on Wattpad. When I was younger, I was obsessed with this fic as a newbie reader & mha fan. Unfortunately it never had a proper ending, as it's incomplete like many other forgotten fanfics out there. I’ll add the link here to credit them but please remember it's INCOMPLETE! And the author won’t update it anymore so fyi! This was oddly healing to my younger self, kinda funny how I went from being a reader to the writer :)

[natalienomad]

1. Rivaini

2. chaotic good, there with the good morals but damn if it ain't weird as shit to get there

3. Elf and Deathcaller Mage. I figured a Lord of Fortune would be chill with spirit magic.

4. Relaxing at a graveyard in Rivain. Possibly digging up corpses looking for loot, and maybe a companion or two.

5. Oh sarcastic! If you're a necromancer ya gotta have a lil giggles in ya to be around the LoF.

6. Davrin. Hunting down monsters may not be Rooks jam, but petting a cute griffon? And saving griffons? Can't pass that up! Not to mention going on walks with tea that makes ya high sounds like a pleasant evening.

7. Emmy. My lil Richy. He needed someone to understand the spirits like him that wasn't from the Mourn watch. An outside perspective, with equal reverence for the spirits.

8. At first? Lucanis. Until he showed her coffee and rum go well together.

9. Oh no, Isabela thinks we're still too down to earth to really get into the thick of it. That's why she lends us Taash, to really get the fire going under the Veilguard.

10. Shes been known to take a few sticks and bang on rocks for a good time.

11. Staff. Staff Staff Staff. Make thing blow up? Make thing blow up Wayyyyyy over there? Yes please.

12. Asexual, with a Panromantic heart. If things happen, they happen. But the true goal? Is getting a kiss and really feeling it down in her chest.

13. Isnt necessarily evil, nor is it good. Simply a way of balancing the world. You live. You eat. You breathe. You die. ....though she may raise you afterwards.

14. She's a big nature hobbyist. Going out on walks, seeing the wildlife, trying to maintain that balance of life and death.

15. She liked Antoine and Evka right away. And her first hatred was with the Mayor of D'metas crossing. Trading life for gold was silly. You rob graves to get gold and raise them. Give them new life, not condemning them to a branded unlife.

16. Assan may be a good boy, but she's always wanted to have a few druffalo to tag along and help ferry her treasure and new friends.

17. It feels like she got tossed into the life, just by happenstance. She doesn't mind, tho she detests the leadership she has to take on, it weighs on her.

18. More than likely owning said druffalo caravan.

19. At an old age, after continuing our little Manny's training after my dapper guy passes on. One day I'll join him, after they dig his coffin up, and lay us to rest together. Knowing Manfred will become the greatest watcher of them all, a lich all his own.

20. It's a complex stance, she'd aid him in his freeing if the spirits, to take down a tyrant meant to enslave others. But to sacrifice those same spirits like a pawn? She'd feel regret and pity and shame and continue the fight, knowing it was the only way, but knowing this man also had to be toppled.

21. Hard to pick a favorite, she uses a healthy balance of fire, necrotic and ice. But if she had to pick one? The fire beam ulti.

22. Common, Elvhen and Qunari.

23. Ask Manfred to go on a walk.

24. Oh absolutely. Whether the skeletons we raise have a semblance of the original owner or just a spirit accessing the memories who's to say. But we certainly pass on, somewhere.

25. Oh Deathcaller for certain. She'd wish to dabble in Evoker, but being a powerhouse in the back that can wipe a wave of darkspawn out in seconds is a Good Feeling.

26. Herding Dog. Not a war dog. I have a job, and it's helping these nerds figure themselves out and point them in the right direction. And I'm happy to do so.

27. Traipsing along ancient burial grounds mostly. Going into town to sell said goods, share interesting stories I've heard from the spirits in the tombs.

28. Oh Rook is Alllllll too happy to let Isabela take the wheel. Literally and figuratively. The Lords are far more chaotic than Took could handle. She needs a good balance of crazy and semi crazy, and sane to help Her stay sane.

29. Mourn Watch. So I could've snuggled up to this kindly older man quicker! He's such a charmer!

30. Her carefree and loving nature that she expresses to herself and all her friends.

Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

[kinzhae]

"Left Behind."

Gojo x Reader, angst with no comfort, reader and gojo drifts away as they enter jujutsu high, being left behind, reader sacrificing her life in order to keep gojo safe.

The first time Satoru left you behind, you brushed it off.

“Gojo Satoru is going to change the world,” you told yourself, smiling as you watched him walk off with Suguru Geto and Shoko Ieiri, his laughter echoing down the hall. His carefree attitude was infectious, and while you were happy for him, it hurt to know that you weren’t part of that laughter anymore.

It hadn’t always been this way. You and Satoru were inseparable once, bound by childhood promises and shared dreams. Back then, the world wasn’t complicated, and neither was he. The cocky smile he wore now was once reserved just for you.

But Jujutsu High changed everything.

---

You noticed the shift slowly. It started with missed conversations—whispers in the hallway you weren’t invited into, a glance over your shoulder to see him too far behind to call out to. Satoru didn’t mean to push you away. You knew that. But as his new friendships deepened, it became clear that your bond wasn’t the unbreakable connection you once thought it was.

Suguru was kind, brilliant, and calm—the perfect foil to Satoru’s chaotic energy. Shoko had a quiet wit that matched his sharp tongue. Together, the three of them felt untouchable, like the rest of the world could only stand by and watch as they carved their own path.

You were no longer part of that world. You tried to let go, you really did.

Even as the ache settled in your chest, you told yourself it was enough to simply watch him thrive. If Satoru was happy, wasn’t that all that mattered? You repeated those words like a mantra, trying to ignore the sting when he barely noticed you anymore.

It wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

But the cracks in your heart didn’t care for reason.

One day, everything changed. You were heading back to the dorms after a long day of training when you overheard the conversation.

Two voices in the shadows.

One familiar, one chillingly foreign.

“Gojo Satoru. The Six Eyes... He’s too dangerous to keep alive,” hissed the first voice—a higher-up whose name you didn’t dare utter. “The balance he disrupts, the power he wields... If he continues unchecked, no one will be able to control him.”

“And what do you propose?” growled the second voice, raspy and cold. It wasn’t human.

You froze, your blood running cold as you peeked around the corner.

“I want him gone. Do it cleanly. I’ll ensure you have what you need—resources, bodies, whatever it takes. Just make it happen.”

The curse smiled, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. “Consider it done.”

Your world tilted.

They were going to kill him.

Satoru.

The boy who laughed too loudly, who stood by you even when the world felt too heavy, who once promised you that you’d always be by his side.

You had already been left behind. But you wouldn’t lose him. Not like this.

That night, you sought out the curse.

Its presence was suffocating, the weight of its aura pressing down on you as it materialized in front of you.

“And what do you want, little sorcerer?” it sneered.

“My life,” you said, your voice steady despite the terror clawing at your throat. “Take my life, my powers—anything. Just leave Satoru alone.”

The curse’s laughter echoed around you, harsh and mocking. “Anything, you say? Bold. And what makes you think I’ll honor such a deal?”

“Because if you don’t,” you said, lifting your chin, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

A lie, of course. You were no match for it. But the curse seemed amused enough to agree.

“Very well. Your life for his. But once the deal is struck, there’s no turning back.”

“I know.”

As the curse’s claws reached out, you closed your eyes, picturing Satoru’s smile one last time.

You disappeared that night.

No one saw you leave. No one even knew why. You left behind nothing but questions and an empty dorm room, your name slipping further from their lips as the days turned into weeks, then months.

Satoru didn’t notice at first. You hadn’t been close lately, after all. But as time passed, he started to feel the absence.

It was subtle at first—a glance around the training field, expecting to see you standing at the edge, watching with a small smile. Then came the ache, the nagging sense that something was missing. He asked Shoko, then Suguru. Neither had seen you.

When he went to your room, it was stripped bare, as if you had never existed.

Satoru wasn’t the sentimental type, but the emptiness you left behind gnawed at him. He tried to brush it off—he was Gojo Satoru, after all. He didn’t dwell on things. He didn’t need to.

But late at night, when the silence grew too loud, he found himself thinking of you. Of your smile. Of the way you used to scold him when he pushed himself too hard. Of the way you had always been there, steady and unshakable, even when the rest of the world felt like it was slipping out of control.

He searched. Of course he searched.

But you were gone.

---

Satoru never stopped looking. Not really. Even years later, long after the grief had settled into something dull and hollow, he still found himself scanning crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

He told himself it was guilt—guilt for letting you slip away, for not noticing how far apart you had grown. But deep down, he knew it was more than that.

He had left you behind.

And he would never forgive himself for it.

[wheels-of-despair]

Moment of Truth Pairing: Eddie Munson x Evil Woman Summary: Eddie is forced to have a terrifying conversation. Contains: Awkwardness, unnecessary panic, family fluff. Words: 1.4k

Eddie Munson lifts his fist to a familiar door and hesitates before knocking on it. Is he really doing this? Does this even need to be done? Can't he just…

He can feel Wayne glaring at him from across town.

He sighs and knocks gently, scrunching his eyes shut and bracing himself. He hears footsteps approach. The click of a lock. The creak of the door opening. He feels the warmth from within.

"I'd ask what you're doing up this early, but it would appear you've fallen asleep on my doorstep," an amused voice says.

Eddie opens his eyes, so nervous that he can't give that excellent greeting the smile it deserves.

"What's wrong, honey?"

It's just Mary. His girlfriend's mom. A person who feeds him multiple times a week. Keeps the cabinets stocked with his favorite snacks. Has never yelled at him or told him to get out of her house. Has declared him her favorite child, even though he's not really hers. Made him a Christmas stocking and a dang Easter basket. Why is this so hard? Why is Eddie Munson, loud-ass Eddie Munson who never shuts up, suddenly unable to form a single word?

"Do you want me to go get--" Mary gestures vaguely behind her, but Eddie shakes his head quickly. She tilts her head to the side, analyzing him. Probably seeing right through him. He's doomed. He braces himself when she opens her mouth to speak again, but what comes out is, "Will you at least come in before you catch a cold?"

Eddie stands there for a few seconds, stunned. When he comes to his senses, he nods once, and she stands aside to let him into the kitchen. Once he's inside, his body leads him to the table. To his chair. He's here so often, he has his own spot at the table. He stares at the wood grain and focuses on his breathing, trying to gather his courage. This should not be so fucking hard.

A cup of coffee slides into view. The one with the Garfield comic on it. His favorite. He reaches for the cup and takes a drink, hoping it will give him the jolt he needs.

The woman even knows how he takes his fucking coffee.

Eddie blows out a long breath and looks up at her, sitting across from him. Still in her bathrobe. Hands around her steaming mug. A curious look on her face.

"I love your daughter," Eddie finally gets out.

"I've always suspected," Mary says, trying to hide her smile behind her coffee cup.

Eddie feels a little less nervous and a little more at home with each passing second. Maybe the coffee warmed up whatever part of his brain froze on the way over here.

"I've been talking to Wayne," he explains, the words finally coming to him. "And he says you have to get the father's permission to ask a girl to marry you. I told him it was an old and outdated tradition and she'd probably kick my ass and lecture me about women's lib or something, but he insisted. 'That's the way we do things, boy'," Eddie says in his best Wayne impression. He looks up for a reaction, but there isn't one. He clears his throat and continues. "And I know she doesn't give a flying… crap about her old man. She'd die laughing if she thought I asked Gareth permission for anything. So can I ask you?"

Mary takes another sip of her coffee and appears to consider it. That's good, right? She puts her cup down and leans forward, lacing her fingers on the table. He's dead, he's so dead.

"Edward?"

"Yes, ma'am?" he asks, trying not to tremble.

"Are you asking for my permission to ask me a question?"

Eddie feels his face flush, but he nods.

"Proceed," she says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair with a smirk that she definitely passed on to her daughter. Of course she's not going to make this easy on him. He gathers his courage. Moment of truth. Now or never. He can do this.

"CanImarryyourdaughter?"

Eddie's world stops as his words - or is just one big word? - hang in the air. He can't breathe. He can't blink. All he can do is watch the face of the person who will decide his fate. She considers it for what feels like ages, but eventually, a twinkle in her eye gives him hope.

"Eddie?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"What took you so damn long?"

Eddie lets out the breath he's been holding all morning, feeling light-headed all of a sudden. That's a yes. They laugh together and sip their coffee quietly for a moment.

"You know," she says softly, "I put on a brave face for the kids, but I was so nervous about moving here. Starting over is terrifying. It really could've gone either way. Those first few weeks weren't great. The kids didn't know anybody. Couldn't even get them to leave the house. Hawkins felt so different from home. I was starting to think we'd made a huge mistake... and then, school started. Gareth came home rambling about joining a real Dungeons and Dragons club with his new friends. And you know what my daughter said to me, after her first day at her new school? Something she'd been dreading and griping about for months?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"She said, 'Mom, I'm gonna marry the guy I sat next to in homeroom.'"

Eddie's eyes fill with tears. Mary reaches across the table and puts her hand on his.

"You've been a part of this family since the day my kids met you, Eddie," she smiles. "So yes. Yes, you absolutely have my permission to make it official and marry my daughter."

"Thank you," he whispers, wiping his stupid eyes with his free hand. Stop leaking! This is a happy occasion!

"After you both graduate," she says firmly.

Eddie nods his head in agreement.

"Why are you here?" a sleepy voice asks from behind him. Eddie whirls around in his chair and spots his future wife standing in the doorway in rumpled pajamas and messy hair. He'll never love anyone else. "And more importantly, why are you crying?" she asks, suddenly more awake.

"I'm not crying," he argues.

"Mom, what'd you do to him?" she accuses, coming to stand behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. "You know I'm the only one allowed to make him cry!"

"I'm not crying, dammit!" he insists, wiping his eyes with his fists.

"Who's crying?" Gareth yawns, appearing in the doorway.

"All of us, now that you've cloaked us in that cloud of toxic fumes you call morning breath," the Evil One snarks. Gareth sticks out his tongue and breathes at her, and she pretends to stagger and faint, landing in the chair next to Eddie. She smiles and reaches out to move a stray strand of hair out of his face.

"I'm making a breakfast casserole," her mom announces, getting up from the table.

"That takes forever," Gareth whines.

"Then go back to sleep 'til it's ready," she answers, opening a cabinet and pulling out a mixing bowl.

"Do you need help?" her daughter asks dutifully, while her son drags his feet into the living room and collapses on the couch with a grunt.

"Nope," comes the answer. "Go back to bed, you sad excuses for teenagers are all up unnaturally early."

The love of Eddie's life looks at him with tired eyes and nods her head toward the bedroom. Taking the hint, Eddie gets up and pushes his chair in. She leaves the kitchen, yawning as she goes, knowing he'll follow.

"Hey," Mary says quietly, before Eddie disappears from sight. He slowly turns to face her. She crosses the room quickly and pulls him in for a hug. "You can call me Mom if you want to."

"Really?" he whispers. Mom. That's going to take some getting used to.

"Yeah," she says, pulling back to give him a meaningful look. "But I'd rather not be Grandma just yet, if you catch my drift."

"Yes, ma'am," he says quickly, feeling his face go red again.

"Go take a nap, favorite child of mine, I'll call you when breakfast is ready."

"Kay," he grins, spinning around and heading for bed with his future fiancée.

[milktiicup]

Hi! I’ve never requested anything before so i’m not even sure if this is where I send it to you, but fingers crossed :D I have two requests, not that you should do both, but because I couldn’t make up my mind on which I wanted to send. (Also i’m requesting these as a female reader but you can decide if you want it to be strictly female or not.)🤍🤍

First one, (Homicipher, Mr. Crawling) (And if you write for plus-sized readers) Where the reader has gotten their clothes dirty and gets offered the wedding dress, but knew she wouldn’t be able to fit in it? And Mr Crawling comes and finds them upset and tries to help or make them feel better.

Second request for Homicipher Mr. Crawling, where the reader has gone to their world with their friend, but the friend dies/gets killed, and the reader is inconsolable and can’t stop crying, and Mr. Crawling tries to soothe them (Maybe trying to get other monsters to help him).

the gift of belonging!

You force a small smile, weak and unconvincing, and give a slight shake of your head. “It’s… really beautiful. Thank you. But I don’t think it’s going to work for me.”

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ i did the first one if that was okay!? sorry this is a bit cringe or not what you wanted >w<

warnings. plus sized!afab!reader, insecurity, cringe writing, the bride is a cutie patootie

The Bride holds the pretty white dress in her gloved hands. The soft fabric gleams under the dim light, pristine and delicate. You can only imagine she’d be donning a cute, girlish smile if she had a head, her childlike excitement radiating through her aura as she presents her gift to you. Your lips tug into a frown, the corners heavy with the weight of reality.

The dress is truly gorgeous.  The lace is intricate, the bodice peppered with delicate embroidery, and the fabric flows like water in her hands. You can feel the unspoken invitation in her silence as she holds it out, but you can’t find it in yourself to reach for it.

Your mind trips over the obvious truth. There’s no way. You know, just by looking at the dress, that it won’t fit. The cinched waist, the narrow bust- it was never made for someone like you. It wasn’t designed with your body in mind, and the thought stings more than you’d like to admit.

You force a small smile, weak and unconvincing, and give a slight shake of your head. “It’s… really beautiful. Thank you. But I don’t think it’s going to work for me.”

The words sound hollow in your ears. She doesn’t push, instead slowly lowering the dress to the floor. Is she hoping you’d change your mind? You can tell she doesn’t fully understand why you refused, but she doesn’t question it either. She drifts away quietly, her footsteps barely making a sound as she retreats, leaving you alone with the heaviness that’s settled in your chest.

You slump against the wall, lowering yourself until you're touching cold concrete. You lip quivers. Your body feels sticky with blood and grime. You sniffle, blinking back the tears threading on your eyelashes, and take a deep breath. There was no use getting upset- you had to find something else to wear.

“You okay?” You almost jump out of your skin, and right now, you really wanted to. “Hurt? Pain? …Troubled?”

“Mr. Crawling.” You offer a dim smile.

He settles next to you, mirroring you with his knees to his chest. He still towers over you. Mr. Crawling doesn’t let out his usual sharp giggle. A frown tugs at his face. He places a hand on your head, patting your hair in a futile attempt to make you feel better. 

“Why troubled?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing, really… “ The words catch in your throat as if you were suffocating. You scowl, nails digging into the flesh of your knees. 

“You troubled,” he insists. “Talk, me. Me help.”

The genuine concern in his voice is like an attack on the defense you put up- shooting right through it. You sigh, eyes focusing on the depressing concrete of the floor.

“It’s just… the dress. It’s really nice, but it’s not for me.” You gesture vaguely at yourself, your cheeks heating with frustration. “I’d never be able to fit into something like that. And I ruined my clothes earlier, so it’s just- ugh, I don’t know.” You cover your face with your hands, the vulnerability bubbling up faster than you can stop it.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then you feel a soft, tentative touch on your arm.

“Clothes bad,” Mr. Crawling declares firmly, as if the dress itself is the villain in this story. You peek through your fingers to see him glaring at the discarded garment like it personally offended him. “No fit? Not for you. Not right.”

You let out a weak laugh, lowering your hands. “It’s not the dress’s fault. It’s just… I don’t think I belong in stuff like that.”

“Wrong.” His response is immediate, almost sharp, and his long arms reach out to wrap you up in his arms. His expression softens as he looks at you. “You belong. Pretty things, soft things. Belong you.”

You blink at him, your breath hitching as his words sink in. He shifts closer, his hands trailing down your arms gently, his cool touch comforting.

“Not need dress. You…?” He pauses, his brow furrowing as he searches for the right phrase. Then his lips curl into a small, sly grin. “Pretty. Lot of pretty. Much pretty!”

Your smile grows, butterflies dancing free in your stomach- but you pause. 

Footsteps echo from the long hallway, and you can see the white glow from the Bride. She seems shy almost, kicking a heeled foot and holding something behind her. She reveals another dress- simpler in design, but still beautiful in its own right. The shape is more forgiving, the waistline relaxed, and the bust much more accommodating. 

“Me give clothes,” she explains, voice soft. “Pretty clothes. For you. You want clothes?”

The Bride stands there, patient. Her gesture is humble and almost tentative now, the tension between you and her unspoken but present. The dress in her hands feels like a bridge, a silent offer, and it takes a moment for you to realize the magnitude of what she’s done.

You blink, unsure if you should reach for it, as if afraid to hope that maybe- just maybe- it’s a sign that something’s finally clicking into place. Mr. Crawling’s arms tighten around you, the cold of his touch a stark contrast to the warmth that spreads through you from the sight of the new dress.

You rise to your feet and take the dress with shaking hands. 

“Thank you,” you say, a bright smile on your face. “It’s pretty. It’s perfect.”

“You like? Me glad!” The Bride clasps her hands together. “Goodbye!”

And she disappears, just like that.

You stare down at the fabric in your hands, the fabric melting between your fingers. The dress isn’t just something to wear- it’s something that fits you in a way you didn’t expect, both physically and emotionally. You can feel the weight of her kindness, the unspoken understanding of your struggle, wrapped up in the way she offered it to you.

“You like clothes?” Mr. Crawling asks.

“This is perfect!” you beam. 

You can feel the warmth of his gaze on you as you hold the dress up, considering it for a moment longer. It’s no longer just a symbol of what you thought you couldn’t have- it’s a symbol of what you deserve. You deserve to feel good. You deserve to feel comfortable in your own skin. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you have to apologize for who you are, for what you look like, or for the size of the body you carry.

It feels amazing to be out of your soiled clothes, and in something so elegant, so pretty. You twirl for Mr. Crawling. He claps his hands, his giggle bouncing down the hallway like an audience just for you. You can feel the blush rising on your cheeks. 

“Your clothes pretty!” Mr. Crawling grins widely. “Me glad. Me happy. You happy.”

“Hehe, thanks.”

“Pretty. Much pretty. You always pretty. Me like,” he says, as if it was the most simple thing in the world.

Your face burns. You reach down to his head, ruffling his long hair in something you can barely call a pat. He presses his face into your palm, giggling. 

 “You always say the nicest things, Mr. Crawling.” 

He tilts his head as you pull your hand away. “Me good?”

“You’re good. Very good.”

[notlongtolove]

the fox and her hound

“a fox?” he repeated, and you nodded. “a vixen.” spencer doesn’t understand why you call yourself a fox, not really. so you show him. not all at once, but in pieces, small glimpses of your world that you let him catch—if he can keep up.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff with a pinch of angst

content: a love story told through the allegory of a fox and a hound, mentions of metaphorical wounds

word count: 2k

note: no linked poem bc idk just thought of this and wanted to write it. mayhaps im taking this nature trope a tad too far lol but anyways i will probably come back to edit this.

a line: They don’t see it, do they? The way the fox rolls in the field when she thinks no one’s looking, laughing under her breath as she goes.

On your first date with Spencer, you’d asked him what animal he’d be. He had paused, tilting his head just slightly. He’s never understood why people ask questions like these. What animal? What color? What season? Animals are animals, colors are colors. It would be impossible to pick one to embody his entire being. Such separate realms of nature, totally different worlds, he thinks.

But you’re sitting across from him, head tilted, eyes glinting under dim light. Pretty. So pretty. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, doesn’t want you to think he’s boring or stiff or unfun. He wants to answer correctly, even though he knows there’s no “correct” answer to this.

“Maybe a golden retriever,” he said, trying to keep casual, “or a beagle. Something friendly.”

Something safe, he thinks. Something pretty girls statistically like.

You had smiled then, slow and soft, lifting the glass of whiskey to your lips, you said with all the certainty in the world:

“I’m a fox.”

“A fox?” he repeated, and you nodded.

“A vixen.” 

You didn’t explain it, just swirled your glass like you were swirling the word on your tongue. You loved the taste of it, loved the way it warmed your chest on the way down. Foxes are well-adapted to stay warm. Their thick winter coats, their long, bushy tails. They don’t need anyone to hold them when the frost bites or when the wind howls through the trees.

Spencer doesn’t understand why you call yourself a fox, not really. The dog stays close to the house. He doesn’t stray far, never been anywhere else. He doesn’t know. So you show him. Not all at once, but in pieces, small glimpses of your world that you let him catch—if he can keep up. The forest is dense, you see, the paths are winding and uneven. The shrubbery is thick, sharp branches clawing at the skin. There are logs in the way and the dog stumbles over them sometimes. You wonder if he’s getting tired, if your hidden path is too hard for him to navigate. If the spiders that weave their webs in his face and the fire ants that bite at his ankles are too painful to endure.

So, sometimes, you stop. You sit together on the forest floor, catching your breath. You wag your tails lazily and just talk.

“Why don’t you trust me?” he asks, his voice gentle but steady, the kind of tone that makes it clear he already knows the answer.

“I do,” you say quickly, instinctively.

He doesn’t push. He waits.

“I know you don’t,” he says finally, not accusing, just truthful.

You look away, fidgeting with your tail between your legs. “I’m trying,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says again, softer this time.

Because the fox knows her way through the forest. She knows every twist and turn, every trap hidden beneath the leaves. You tell the dog he’d never catch up, sometimes hiding, sometimes running faster—just to see if he’ll try. Spencer doesn’t tell you how he sees that every time you disappear into the trees, you always turn back. Always looking over your shoulder, always checking to see if he’s still behind you. 

Eventually, you reach your den. Your fur coat is scratched and bruised from the branches and the logs, the forest leaving its marks on you like it always does. But you’re here. He’s here.

Silently, you wonder how many more times you’ll have to make this journey. You don’t think you can endure another. But you don’t say it.

Instead, you take him inside.

Your den is small, cobbled together from dirt and leaves, from twigs and scraps you’ve gathered over the years. You show him your dirt mantle, how you’d packed it tight with earth and how you’d lined with relics of your life. You show him the first flower you ever found, or what’s left of it—a brittle stem, its petals long gone. You tell him the story of the hound who crushed it. 

There’s a feather on the wall, light and fragile, from the first bird you ever caught. You smile as you tell him the story of the chase, how fun it had been to run and run with your foxes until the world blurred around you. Until you were the only one left. In the corner, something glints: A metal buckle, tarnished but unmistakable. From the shoe of the first hunter who’d ever caught you.

You trace your fur with your fingers, telling Spencer your adventures and stories of the traps and the teeth, of the hunters who came with rifles and ropes. The dog sits, listening, understanding. You show him how the edges of your den are marked, too. The walls are carved with notches—five, ten, fifteen. Each one a hunter or hound you’d escaped from. You’re proud, you say, even as you run your hand over the rough lines. They’re proof you survived, that you’ve outwitted them time and time again. Not unwounded, not unbroken, but alive. 

You tell him you’re very proud of yourself.

The dog tilts his head, watching you carefully. He sees the way your voice falters when you recount the stories of cages and leashes, how your tail twitches when you mention the hunters. Spencer thinks the fox is lying.

So, the dog tries to teach the fox his ways.

He clears out your mantle first. He takes down the brittle flower stem, the feather, the tarnished buckle. Then, he takes your paw and shows you how to sniff out the bright pretty toadstools, the ones that make the forest less dark. He shows you the rain puddles, not just for drinking, but for jumping in, for splashing until your laughter scares off the birds.

Together, you fill your den with new relics. Ticket stubs from the village fair, postcards you write but never send, laughter tucked away in secret corners. Kisses, soft and warm, planted like seeds that grow slowly into something that feels like home.

Spencer rubs off the old notches on your walls with the pads of his paws, the dust of their memory falling to the floor. In their place, you make new marks. Not notches, but drawings. A fox curled in the safety of her den. A dog lying beside her, his muzzle resting on his paws.

Night after night, you curl up beneath your mantle, snouts touching, tails tucked beneath you. 

And then winter comes. Now, your walls feel too big for just a lone fox.

You see, the dog always listens to his master. He sits, he fetches, he stays. But always under command, always under the whistle’s call. And when his master calls, he has to go. Tail wagging or tucked low, he goes. 

“You’re hardly ever here anymore,” your voice cuts sharper than you meant it to. 

“Can we please not do this now,” he says almost pleadingly, his jaw tight.

For the first time, in the quiet of your den, the fox feels the cold.

The dog goes. The fox doesn’t follow. She can’t. She doesn’t belong where the dog goes—to places of shiny badges and polished shoes, of clean, carpeted floors and voices that echo off tall, glass walls. So she waits in her den, her fur bristling against the chill, her paws worn from pacing the same patch of dirt.

You try to remind yourself of who you are. A fox, sly, swift, clever. A fox, who doesn’t need to wait for anyone. 

But still, when the forest quiets, you glance toward the trees. You press your ear to the ground, hoping to catch the faintest echo of his steps, the rustle of leaves under his paws. The fox runs her fingers over the edges of the drawings, tracing the uneven lines, patching the spaces in her den where the light and the wind get in with twigs and leaves. She roams the fields, trying to race the clouds again. But she doesn’t think she runs quite as fast without Spencer beside her. She chases her tail like he taught her, spinning in quick circles, but it’s not as fun when she’s alone. She doesn’t try to catch the birds anymore. It doesn’t feel the same.

When Spencer comes back, his coat bruised and worn from his time away, the fox licks his wounds. The scrapes and the scratches, soft and slow, patching his paws with the leaves she’s saved. ​​He carries something in his teeth—a token, a peace offering, a sign that he thought of you while he was away. 

A flower. 

He’d found it near the river, petals still dewy, fragile and bright. He hopes you like it. You do.

You take it from him with careful paws, eyes tracing its delicate form before placing it on your mantle, next to the postcards and ticket stubs, next to the daffodils, peonies, dahlias, irises and all the other flowers he’s found for you over time. You think back to the brittle and dead stem you once kept and wonder if there’s any way to hold onto something that beautiful forever.

Because sometimes even beautiful flowers die.

And when it comes to fight or flight, the fox always runs. They say it’s in her blood, in her very nature to flee. So she bolts. She runs away from the den, away from the mantle and the flowers he’d collected. The fox doesn’t know if she can find flowers quite as beautiful as the ones Spencer has given her.

You don’t need the flowers, you tell yourself. You’ll find a new den, find new birds to catch, rebuild your mantle from scratch, carve new notches in your walls once more. You always do.

But the hound finds you. Bred for hunting. Tracking. Scenting. For knowing where to look and how to catch. Bred for the hunt, he always finds you. Your crouched back, tail down, ready to pounce or bolt if you have to. Every instinct telling you to run, to vanish into the underbrush before he can catch you. 

“Open the door,” a voice calls, low and insistent.

The fox is curled in the corner of this den. It doesn’t hold the warmth of the last.

“I know you’re home.”

She shuts her eyes and digs deeper into the wall.

“Open the door,” he says, voice softening, pleading. "Please."

The fox exhales, and with a shudder that shakes through her, she reaches out and opens the door. She misses her flowers.

It’s not the chase you expect. No barking, no growling. You bare your teeth. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. 

“What do you want?” she asks, claws sharp.

“I want to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Then I’ll stay here until you do.”

And so the fox and the dog sit. They wait and wait then talk and talk. By the time the first rays of the sun creep above the treetops, the fox is laughing again. It’s a sound that is warm and bright, something that makes Spencer’s heart feel a little fuller, a little lighter. He thinks he understands now. 

They don’t see it, do they? The way the fox rolls in the field when she thinks no one’s looking, laughing under her breath as she goes. The way she finds the sunniest patch to lay in and closes her eyes, tail swishing in contentment. They only see the scars and the snarls. They don’t ever see the joy.

“You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?” he asks one evening.

The fox doesn’t answer right away. Her ears twitch, and her eyes flicker to the mantle.

“I don’t like the word never,” she says finally, “It feels like an impossible standard.”

The dog thinks about this, his brow furrowing. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know,” she replies, and this time her voice is soft, her tail brushing lightly against his side.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[sturn777]

skater bf matt x rich reader hcs?

skater!bf!matt x rich!reader headcanons . | ( female reader ) wc ?? ( masterlist ) + ( request )

boyfriend!matt who always has calloused hands from skating but keeps yours soft like it’s his job. he’ll carry your prada bag in one hand while holding yours in the other, even if it gets him teased by his friends. “bro, i’m whipped and i don’t care.”

boyfriend!matt who gives you a skateboard just for aesthetic purposes, even though he knows you’ll never use it. he spray paints your initials on the bottom and makes sure it’s the exact same color as the new gucci loafers you just bought. he secretly loves how out of place it looks propped up in your designer-filled bedroom.

boyfriend!matt who takes you to skateparks but never lets you step foot on a board. “you’ll break an ankle in those heels,” he says, but the real reason is that he’s too scared you’ll get hurt. instead, he’ll let you sit on the sidelines while he shows off. every trick is 10x more impressive because he knows you’re watching.

boyfriend!matt who writes your initials on the grip tape of his board like a lowkey claim. his friends notice, of course, but he plays it off like it’s no big deal. “yeah, so what? she’s my girl.”

boyfriend!matt who gets annoyed when you pay for everything, but secretly loves that you insist. you’ll buy him new skate shoes without a second thought, and he’ll grumble, “you didn’t have to do that,” but he’s already lacing them up and showing them off to nick and chris.

boyfriend!matt who loves that you’re completely out of his league but never lets you feel like it. to him, you’re just his girl, the one who keeps his head on straight and his heart soft.

boyfriend!matt who finds your world so overwhelming but can’t imagine not being in it. he’ll sit stiffly on your cloud couch in your marble-lined living room, wearing his scuffed vans, legs spread wide while your dad tries to make polite conversation. he just smirks at you across the room, mouthing, “this is insane,” and you can’t help but laugh because, yeah, it kind of is.

boyfriend!matt who doesn’t get why you insist on coming to his late-night skate sessions, but secretly loves it when you’re there. you’re perched on the edge of an empty fountain in your oversized blazer, legs crossed, scrolling through your phone. he looks up after nailing a trick, and you’re already grinning at him like he hung the moon.

boyfriend!matt who teaches you how to ollie in your pristine backyard. the board wobbles under your feet, and you let out this little shriek that makes him laugh so hard he falls over in the grass. “you’re hopeless,” he says, but his hands are steady as he holds your waist, guiding you step by step until you kind of get it.

boyfriend!matt who knows nothing about fashion but will stand outside a boutique holding all your shopping bags, grinning like he’s won something. you come out looking effortlessly put-together, and he whistles low under his breath. “damn, babe, you really went all out for me, huh?”

boyfriend!matt who presses stickers from his favorite brands onto your hydro flask and luggage because “you need to roughen it up a little.” you roll your eyes, but he catches you tracing the outline of his thrasher sticker later, and it makes him grin.

boyfriend!matt who has zero shame rolling into your country club brunch with a scraped-up knee and a t-shirt that smells like sweat and asphalt. he’ll kiss your cheek in front of all the pearl-wearing moms just to watch you blush. “what? they should know who you belong to.”

boyfriend!matt who says, “don’t touch that,” every time you try to clean one of his skateboards, but secretly loves when you do. you polish the wheels like they’re vintage car parts, and it makes his heart ache a little.

taglist : ( @emely9274 ; @bluestriips ; @loveparqdise ; @flouqissss ; @st4rcs ; @starwebber9 ; @conspiracy-ash ; @sweetrelieef ; @chris-hallelujah ; @leoslaboratory )

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 103)

The nest was full of movement. Uzi was officially a week overdue… and justifiably moody.

She was getting colder, little needlepoints of chill bubbling up from underneath silicone, and so she kept getting up to throw more blankets over her- and then she'd have to rearrange them until she was satisfied with it.

She was getting to the point where she was making a nest within a nest, curled up tight in blankets.

N and Tera were together, sitting just outside the entrance to the nest. N's nerves on frayed ends, something was going to happen tonight. Something big- something life changing.

“Papa?” But before that, there was his daughter to tend to.

N smiled down at her, there was tiredness I'm his eyes, but he was never too tired for her.

“What is that stuff?” She pointed out to the creeping growths that could now be seen from the nest, soon there would be no more safe spaces.

“It's kinda gross looking isn't it?” He hummed. she held his hand with both of hers as they looked over the landscape. She nodded, making a disgusted face.

“Thats why Mommy and I are working so hard, to get away from it.” He explained; he didn't want to tell her the exact stakes, he didn't want to scare her.

“Danger?” She asked again. Cocking her head.

“Yeah. It is. But we'll keep you safe from it. Don't worry.”

She looked back at the distant tendrils and hissed threatingly, glaring at it.

N chuckled, “Or you can keep us safe!” He tickled her sides, making her squeal with laughter and kick her feet.

It was only after she got breathless when he stopped, laughing lightly along with her light giggles.

“Wanna help…” She said after a moment, crawling back into her dad's lap and wrapping herself in his coat. Looking up at him.

“You can help by being the most adorable kid in the world.” N booped her visor. And she laughed, blinking sleepily.

“I think it's naptime…”

Before either drone had a chance to make good on their naptime promise. Uzi yelped from inside the nest, followed by a whimper of pain.

N's core dropped into his stomach.

Tera popped awake as well, clambering to sit up. “Mama!’

N stuck his head into the nest, where Uzi was within her mini-nest, propped up on a pillow with a blanket covering her abdomen, she had a hand on top of it.

“N!” She called, sounding alarmed and distressed. “I think-!” She's interupted by a full body shudder and a warning on her HUD. [INTERNAL DAMAGE DETECTED!]

Cr-rack!

There's the sound of splintering silicone and Uzi whined, heat flooded her entire body and every single one of her internal fans kicked on at once.

“Oh! Oh it's happening!” N felt a mixture of joy and fear wash over him as he fumbled over everything trying to reach her, Tera crawled up onto his shoulder and held onto his hair for support.

Uzi blinked before tears came into her eyelights, pain and happiness mixing together into a powerful cocktail of emotion she couldn't contain.

Happiness was quickly ursurped by agony- another wave of pain and the sound of more silicone cracking like an egg.

“F-fuck!” She cursed, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes. “Oh gobo-JeSUS!” She yelped and reached for his hand which nearly crushes his own with how hard she gripped

He winced before smiling down at his girlfriend. “It's alright, you got this.”

He sat Tera down so he could take a peek underneath the sheet covering Uzi's bottom half, he's underneath for half a second before he came back out, gulping and eyelights hollow.

“oh…”

Uzi does not like his expression in the slightest, she gripped the bedding underneath her. “What?! What does that mean?!”

“You're uh…” His voice faded out. “You're open…uhm.” He made a gesture with his hands, splitting them apart down the middle almost like a bear trap.

Uzi gulped, but can't say anything due to the pain clogging her throat. N just returned to his place holding her hand.

CRACK!

She couldn't hold back the scream, so she instead bit into a pillow to muffle it, her grip tightened around N's hand so much he could feel the metal bend and hear it groan.

He didn't say anything though, just smiled and pet her hair, cooing to try and give some comfort to her.

“Breathe. Okay? We've prepped for this haven't we?” He suggested softly, and guided his mate through a breathing technique Uzi had written off as stupid before.

“In. One, two three. Out.” He did it with her, and it worked for a moment before she's squeezing his hand again, this time though, she felt all the extra weight she'd been carrying for six and a half months drop suddenly-

“Guess who's back!” Someone came sailing into the nest without a care in the world… it's V, holding a worker arm before dropping it the second she hears Uzi's unearthly scream.

“Oh shit!”

“V you have the words shittiest timing!” Uzi grunted, burying her head in N's shoulder as her body jolts from pain.

V crept up to Uzi's other side, offering a second hand for Uzi to punish mercilessly, which she does. And V doesn’t even wince when her hand bends.

N had to leave Uzi's side to dip his head underneath the blanket again, this time he stays a little longer before reamerging.

“You're gonna hate me… but you have to push!”

Uzi just nodded, whimpering as with another wave of pain, she pushed along with it, compounding it, it's so painful she saw stars.

She needed somewhere to bury her head, but N was to busy tending to another part of her that she couldn't- until V shoves her head into her shoulder instead.

She pet the back of her head, being a rock against crashing tides.

Uzi sobbed along with each push, gripping onto V like she's the only thing keeping her alive and then-

“One more! You can do it!”

“I-I Can't! I can't!” She trembled, voice scratchy from her screaming and sound watery from tears.

“Yes you can! One more! I promise!” Her mate encouraged her, and with a yell she did, one more time.

Snap!

Something shifted and she felt the pain let up immediately, she breathed heavily into her freinds embrace, and loosened her grip. V stroked her back, Uzi didn't complain.

An ear peircing cry broke into the nest, the sound of a very, very healthy set of new lungs breathing for the first time.

“You did it! Oh god… Uzi you did it!” N exclaimed happily, barely heard over the crying. She doesn't respond, she's still trying to catch her breath.

N feels the tears in his visor as he wipes his child clean.

In his arms was a small, squishy version of a dissasembly drone, with conical arms and booted legs that matched his own, wrapped around the tiny body is a tail with a nanite canister, glowing bright white; it lacked a stinger though… which was probably very good for Uzi.

The babies head was covered in locks of silvery blonde hair, five glowing balls rested on his head, and their eyelights were white though closed and still screaming.

“Hey! Shhhh, shhhh, It's okay, it's okay…” N brought the newborn up to his chest to listen to his core, they were quite a bit larger then a pillbaby, but still smaller then Tera.

The baby slowly stopped crying, turning into sniffles as their eyelights drifted around the nest.

“Thats it…” N hummed.

Uzi slowly lifted herself out of V's shoulder, soaked in sweat and still panting softly. V didn't rush her, instead just pushed purple hair out of her face.

Uzi made a breathless but appreciative noise in response. V laughed.

“You did it… you wanna see?” Her voice was soft, caring, if Uzi didn't know better, she'd probably assume it wasn't V.

Uzi slowly turned to look at N, who was enraptured in the sight of his new son, who was balling his little fists up and wriggling absently.

They made eye contact, tears welling up in both of their eyes as her son was gently placed on her chest, he farther calmed down with the sound of her core.

“Heh… oh my god…” Uzi croaked out, brushing some silvery hair out of the little one's face.

“Jesus, he's your mini-me N.” V commented, smirking as she leans back, watching the dents in her hand heal out of the corner of her eye.

“H-he is…” Uzi smiled though the dull pain still thrumming through her.

Tera silently crawled into V's lap, having been very quiet while all this was going on. V laid a hand on her head. “It's okay. It's over.”

N and Uzi embraced tightly, careful to mind the newborn between them.

“I love you. I love you so much.” N nearly sobbed, tail wrapping around them protectively, Uzi just tilted her head up and kissed him; locking them together for at least a minute.

V rolled her eyes and covered Tera's visor… which Tera just peeked over, not like she hadn't seen her parents kissing before anyway.

“I love you too…” Uzi sighed, nuzzling up into his chin. The newborn raised a little fist up at them.

“And you… Bishop.”

“Yeah… that's your name isn't it buddy?” N cooed down, Bishop babbled back up at them.

Uzi leaned back into V and Tera, startling the female dissasembler for a moment before she simply accepted it. “Don't get too comfortable with me now…”

“Mm. You just babied me like you were my mom. Hush.” Uzi quipped back tiredly, and V laughed back.

“Heh… yeah well… you need someone looking after you.”

“Hey…” N began to protest lightly.

“She needs another girl looking after her. You don't count. You're her boyfriend.” replied, though her statement lacked any bite.

Tera clambered up into her Mom's lap to look at the addition that caused so much commotion, cocking her head as both siblings locked eyes.

“Brother!” She beamed immediately, leaning in- but not too close. “Here! Not shy!”

The three adults laughed together. Uzi safe between two killing machines, and both her kits safe and sound.

“Yeah! He's here now! His name is Bishop!” N smiled back, lifting her into his arms so she could get a better look without putting pressure on an already worn out Uzi.

“Bi-Bis-” She struggled a little with his name. So she shortened it. “B!”

He wagged his tail; giving his first smile…

Uzi found a shoulder to bury into, not caring if it was V or N, she was exhausted… and a nap sounded pretty good right about now.

She got dual purrs in response, and she quickly booted off to recover. The last thing hitting her audials being N;

“We've got the kids… get some rest…”

[hippolotamus]

"Are you going to be okay?" + Bucktommy

No. No, I am not 😭 Please remember this is an angst prompt and that I love you so, so much 💞

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

your smile and the sound of your voice | T | 1.2k

“Are you going to be okay, Buckaroo?” 

Hen taps the neck of her beer against his and nudges his shoulder. 

“Yeah, of course.” He checks his phone again and sees the text he’s been waiting for from Eddie.

Be there in 5

“Yeah,” he says again, brighter and easier. Like he’s suddenly got more room to breathe.

She fondly rolls her eyes, letting him know she’s not buying it but she’s here for him all the same. 

His gut twists with nerves, like he inhaled an entire roll of Mentos and chased it with a two liter of Coke. He’s fine, though. He’s more than likely tachycardic, and he’s sweating like a pig, but he’s good. Honestly. 

Why wouldn’t he be? His family is supporting him through one of the more dramatic moves he’s ever tried to pull off. And he didn’t have to say a word for them to buy into his unhinged plan. They just- did. Albeit with many unvoiced concerns communicated in shared glances and whatever telepathy thing Hen and Chim have going on. Still, they’re here and he’s so, so grateful. He’ll want them to celebrate or if… well, he just needs them either way.

He taps his foot nervously, gripping the karaoke mic tighter and watching the seconds tick by on his watch. And then he sees him. His world stops when Tommy notices him. Their gaze locks across the room like one of those cheesy rom coms that Tommy loves. The kind they’d watch on the couch, or in bed together on a lazy afternoon. Buck wishes it was actually one of those meet cute moments where the main characters have a love at first sight experience. 

Instead, Eddie and Chim are nudging Tommy towards the front of the bar, urging him not to turn and run. All so Buck can cut his heart open and bleed out on the stage for him – for them – and hope he has enough time before his veins run dry. 

Tommy reluctantly sits on the bar stool strategically placed front and center. He’s flanked by Eddie, Chim, Maddie, Hen, Karen and Josh like a group of off kilter secret service agents. And yet he’s still looking at Buck with this mix of adoration and exasperation. Like nothing changed and he’s just here to watch his boyfriend be an idiot.

Buck’s heart pounds behind his ribcage and it’s all he can do to stay standing. He takes a swig of his beer, not that it does much when his mouth feels drier than the Sahara. Hopefully Tommy will understand needing a little liquid courage if only because he knows how much Buck hates singing in public. 

“Ready?” The DJ asks him.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Buck’s eyes flick to the screen, knowing his piece begins immediately. There’s no intro or lead up. Just Buck and whatever’s left of his dignity. 

“If you change your mind-” he winces as his voice cracks, “I’m the first in line. Honey, I’m still free, take a chance on me.”

Christ, it’s so off key but he’s on a roll now and gaining confidence with every note. 

“Gonna do my very best and it ain’t no lie, if you put me to the test, if you let me try!” Buck sweeps his free hand over his torso, peacocking in every sense of the word.

Tommy scrubs at his face, looking for all the world like he wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole. Not that Buck blames him. 

“Please don’t make this harder.” Tommy sighs. Silently begs with a pleading look. 

Buck sings louder to drive the point home. “You want me to leave it there, afraid of a love affair. But I think you knoooow, that I can’t let go.” 

Even with Tommy’s palm covering his mouth, Buck can still see the smile glowing in those blue eyes he always wants to stay lost in. 

He steps off the stage, flirty and confident as his friends make room for him to circle the man he’s over the goddamn moon about. The man he’s so fucking in love with that he’s willing to humiliate himself in front of their colleagues. “You say that I waste my time, but I can’t get ya off my mind. No, I can’t let goooo. ‘Cause I love you so.” 

Buck shrugs playfully, drinking in the embarrassed smirk he’s so familiar with. Just one of the dozens of expressions he’s catalogued over their months together. And tortured himself with in the weeks since Tommy broke his heart. Both of their hearts, really. 

By now, the crowd is clapping and cheering him on as he sings his lungs out, strutting around like the lovesick fool that he is. 

“Honey, I’m still free. Take a chance on me!” 

The song fades out, coming to an end as he slides on his good knee. He stops in front of Tommy, panting and flushed, baring his soul for everyone at the badge and ladder to see. Except he only needs one person to see it. To see everything and not be terrified.

“I know I fucked up before and I- I rushed things. And I know this isn’t how any of this should have happened. But you wouldn’t answer me or- or return my calls or texts.” His jaw trembles, voice breaking as tears drip off his chin. “You can take your time, baby. I’m in no hurry.” 

Buck risks reaching for Tommy’s hand, threading their fingers together. “Tommy. Sweetheart. Take a chance on me. Again. Please.”

It feels like a truce, like a fresh beginning. Like the start of something.

“Evan.” 

Buck’s blood fizzes like champagne, bursting with hope. Tommy smiles, a lopsided thing, and oh Buck can hardly sit still long enough to hear what comes next. But he has to, he needs to be patient. Not impulsive, not like before. 

“Buck,” Tommy corrects. 

The world seems to collapse around him. His chosen name sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Like a sour note in an otherwise beautiful aria. 

A tear escapes, rolling down Tommy’s cheek, past his now wobbly lip. “I wish I could. This is- it’s sweet and no one’s ever done anything like this for me before.” Tommy looks up at the ceiling, just like he did that night in the loft, and then meets Buck’s gaze again. “You are gonna be someone’s once in a lifetime. I just know it. But not-” There’s a strangled sound between them, from god knows where. Maybe it’s Buck, maybe it’s Tommy. Maybe it’s both. 

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispers. 

In a blink, Buck’s hand is empty and Tommy’s weaving through the crowd. Leaving him all over  again.

“No, wait! Hold on!” Buck drops the microphone, ready to chase after him this time. Like he didn’t before. Like he should have. He apologizes as he knocks into tables and past servers until he’s finally out in the cool night air. He licks the salty tears from his lips, frantically searching in every direction. It hasn’t been that long. Buck was seconds behind. Tommy has to be here. 

But he’s not. There’s no sign of him in the crowds of people walking by. People laughing and talking and living their lives with fully formed hearts. All of them ignorant to Buck and his despair. 

“Wait,” he rasps, falling to his knees in the middle of the filthy LA sidewalk. “Please wait.” 

[rowayneau]

Hazbin Hotel x Twisted Wonderland

An idea for an AU where the whole Hazbin Hotel ended up in Twisted Wonderland. The whole hotel(after ep 2) is suddenly transported to Night Raven College and somehow combines with The Ramshackle Dorm. Everyone is freaking out and is wondering where the hell are they, and who is this human kid (Yuu) and is that a talking cat?!?! Why are its ears on fire??? 

There will be a lot of chaos before everyone settles down. I can see Crowley will try to take advanta–ahem, show his kindness and let them stay on campus in exchange for helping out with the school.

Also this is a Hogwart/Disney school?? Where villains are being worshipped as heroes and history is not what it seems. I can see Charlie being a Disney fan will feel conflicted about this? Was their history wrong or the movies wrong? Not all the story is what it seems.

Charlie will learn a thing or two about perception in stories. How the story is being told depends on who's telling it, maybe her parents' story of hell might not be as accurate as they tell her.

But who cares about that right now, this is a magic school with wonders and amazement and new opportunities. But they are stuck being staff in a school full of douchebags kids with no pay. Yayyy…….. 

There are assigned different jobs and spread out across campus

Charlie: School's official therapist/counselor. Usually has no patients unless is an Overblot victim or Yuu coming in from an Overblot incident or dealing with Crowley’s bullshit. She is also Yuu’s primary caretaker, Crowley is irresponsible enough to leave Yuu on their own to fend for themselves doesn’t sit well with Charlie. So she stepped up and became a big sister to Yuu.(Which is a big relief. Have you seen what this kid went through in the game, especially in the later books?)

Yuu: Charlie assistant therapist/Crowley's gofer/Hotel gofer/Grim's caretaker. The unfortunate isekai protag who ends up cleaning up all the mess/incident at school. If that's not bad enough, with Ramshackle combining with the Hazbin Hotel, they will also need to deal with the Hazbin crew too. Will not be able to catch any break. At all.

Vaggie: School security and second gym coach. Will be extra protective of Charlie and super on edge due to being in a new environment and in an all boys school. Hates Coach Vargas as he reminds her of Adam and will be very strict towards the students and training them like a drill sergeant

Angel: Health/Sex-ed teacher. How did Crowley approve of this? No one knows. He is the teacher that everyone avoids but has to see due to being mandatory. Very uncomfortable and in way too many details of sex-ed during his class. Luckily for them, the students are all underage and he won't go that far. Except for Leona who is currently 20 years old. Yeah.....

Husk: School cafeteria worker. No different than working at the bar in Hotel but instead of hearing the Hazbin's moan and bitch about their problems, he gets to hear students moan and bitch about their problems. Oh and no alcohol since it's a school and all.

Niffty: School Janitor. Everyone is afraid of her and is cleaning up after themselves just to avoid her. Students with bug-like features or resembles it hides from her.

Alastor: School Announcer. This creepy fuck took over the school broadcasting system and turns it into his own radio studio. Keeps tabs on the student body and makes announcement that either is useful or just fuck with the student body. Very interested in this world of magic and trying to study them for his advantage. He is also looking into Unique Magic and is particularly interested in Azul's.

Sir Pentious: School Repairman. He mostly causes explosions with his inventions and his egg bois can be found all over campus. There are just so many of them, like an Easter egg hunt. His invention is interesting enough and everyone likes an airship with a death ray attached to it.

I can imagine in this AU they will be stuck until all 7 Overblots are resolved and then maybe they will find a way back to Hell. Along the way, they will get involved in a lot of shenanigans and start to grow fond of the kids. 

They can see the kids do their best, but they always lose. What surprised them is that even with constant failure and loss, they never gave up. The kids are so passionate about their dreams & ambitions when they fall down and crawl back up no matter what.

In a sense, they can see how these kids are similar to Charlie with her dreams. Maybe there is more in common to them in this world than they thought.

[hidingwhere]

Hybrid Task Force 141 x Human Reader AU

Hybrid AU where 99% of the world are hybrids and the only remaining humans are either hiding away or being taken by those of power for experimental use. After all, humans are such strange, complex creatures to hybrids.

The Task Force 141 are on a mission in an unknown country, cold and frost lingering against their bones and leaving them with a constant chill. All four of the men were wolf hybrids, hence why they were a task force. They stuck together through thick and thin and battlefields of violence.

However, one day, when stalking through the woods with guns strapped over their backs and heavy clothing to keep them warm, they stumbled upon a little creature. Kyle, who spotted you first, thought you were a little cat, maybe a snow fox suited for the weather… until he saw your pale face and human ears. Human ears. That fact itself almost stopped him in his tracks.

What was a human doing in an awful snow storm like this? He approached slowly, crouching down before pulling you forward and taking a long sniff of the air. A human, confirmed. He called the others over urgently, grabbing at the thin material of your jumper and jeans and watching your scared little expression become even more petrified when seeing three men appear from behind the first.

“Bloody hell,” Johnny mutters. “What the hell is a human doing ‘ere?”

“They’ll die out here if we don’t get them somewhere warm,” Price adds on gruffly, his wolf-like ears pushed back unhappily at the weather.

“They’re scared,” Simon points out. “Gotta hope they ain’t a fighter otherwise they’ll be giving themselves a death wish staying out here.”

Kyle turned to look back at you again, your body reeking of anxiety and nerves as he didn’t let go of your jumper. “Darling, you’ve gotta come with us, alright? We’ll keep you safe.”

No reply. Not a single word. He purses his lips before quickly making a decision and hauling the child up into his arms. “Come on, we need to get back to the cabin.”

You’re surprisingly compliant as they walk back to their temporary place, not struggling or trying to run away. They wonder if the cold has affected you so badly that you have no energy to try and fight back, or you don’t realise what’s actually happening. Kyle sits you down by the log burner in the living room upon the old carpet. The fire sparks and produces masses of heat that slowly wafts over to you as John wraps a blanket around you.

Your head falls back in exhaustion but John stops it and pushes it forward again, watching your slow blinks and disorientated movement.

“Can’t believe there was a child out there,” Johnny voices suddenly makes an appearance as he walks from the kitchen. He hands John a freshly made hot water bottle who then proceeds to place it on your small feet.

“When’s the last time you saw a human, eh?” He asks John, crouching down beside you.

“Years back.”

They soon set up a little make-shift bed on the floor besides the warm fire and let you rest. When you wake up, the fire is slowly settling down and emitting less heat. That is however until Johnny chucks another wooden log on the burner. It crackles wildly as you sit up, blinking and looking around. You feel a thick blanket beneath you that still doesn’t cover the feeling of the hard wooden floor.

“You alright, kid?”

You stare, perplexed, at the man in front of you. He’s human except for the… wolf ears. They flicker every few seconds, twitching.

“You feeling warm?”

No reply.

“Still in a little bit of shock?”

No reply.

Suddenly, Simon walked into the room, the bottom part of his balaclava pulled up as he sipped on his tea.

“‘M fucking freezing,” he says as he passes Kyle. You watch the little interaction, the massive masked man so casually drinking tea with a mug in his hand. You slowly look to Johnny.

“That’s Simon, he’s not as scary as he looks, I swear. The one that just walked past is Kyle, the one with the beard is John and I’m Johnny.” He smiled at you.

“Where am I?” You ask quietly. “I was in the woods… woke up here.”

“Ah, well, we were on a little mission and saw you wondering about. Didn’t wanna let you freeze out there so… brought you to our temporary cabin.”

“But you’re… a wolf.” There’s a few seconds of silence as you stare up at the man. “Don’t you live in caves?”

He barks out a laugh at your statement, finding it amusing. You seemed like someone to have little to no knowledge about hybrids. “Nah, we live in normal homes.”

“And you’re all wolves?”

“Mhm.”

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: soooo i've never had a taglist before, so if i'm missing anyone please say something lol

part 16: the cold acknowledgement of truth

word count: 1,924 tag: @bruhidkjustwannaread | @rubyxx16 | @bellabarnes1378 | @johnmurphys-sass

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The truth—it was a dreadful term. It was awful because there was a truth, but beneath that single statement, there was a whole story beneath it. That's why you loved books, loved your shop. Inside those walls were a thousand truths and their stories. The truth was always simple, but everything beneath it was not.

You stared at the photo of Ezra, pinched tightly between your fingers. Tommy was asleep, but when you picked up his trousers, the photo fell to the floor. In that brief second when it drifted down just before hitting the carpet, you felt the world stop. Hundreds of memories coursed from your heart until it reignited your veins. While your first reflex was to rudely awake Tommy from his slumber, after your thoughts settled, you realized that the more important part of this moment was that you had to explain yourself. You had to tell the story you'd avoided for years. The reason why you ran and probably would continue to run.

"I was going to ask you in the morning."

When you turned, Tommy sat upright in bed. He stared out at the wall, almost unwilling to meet your eyes because he, too, felt like he was caught in the middle of the lie. It wasn't a lie, but still, he felt guilty.

"You..." You took a deep breath. "Where did you find this?"

"Finn found it at the bookshop. In your desk." Tommy reached for a cigarette and attempted to hand you one.

You just looked at him, eyes not quite glaring but concerned. "How long have you had this?"

"A while."

You snapped, hand flying across his cheek. Tommy stood and grabbed your wrists as you tried your hardest to hit him again. He hushed you, trying to understand your incoherent rant. When you finally gave up resisting, there were tears gathered at the corners of your eyes.

He released you, taking your face in his hands. He pleaded with you in spite of the anger you tried to direct back at him.

"I was going to ask you, alright?" Tommy reasoned. "But you were still healing. You needed time, y/n. I wasn't going to put you through anymore pain."

"So, your solution was to fuck me first and ask questions later?" Your voice was laced with rage, but he continued.

"You know that's not what happened last night, y/n. Hate me all you want for wanting to wait, but you can't be angry with me for not wanting to be the source of your frustration." Tommy stroked your cheeks with his thumbs. He kissed you gently, and while you wanted so badly to hit him again, you relaxed just enough to accept the gesture. "We need to know if he is the reason why Bingham tried to kill you. But I will only ask you when you're ready... Or if it's absolutely necessary."

"And is it absolutely necessary now?"

Tommy nodded softly.

You took several deep breaths to steady yourself. You'd never told anyone about Ezra, not since you left London. But if you had to say it now, the fact that Tommy was the one who was asking allowed you a small comfort.

“Bingham doesn’t just hurt people. He breaks them,” you said finally, your voice just above a whisper. “And he knew exactly how to break me.”

Tommy said nothing. He ran his fingers through your hair, letting you find your words at your own pace.

“His name was Ezra,” you continued, eyes slowly shutting as if you needed to recall his face. “He was kind. And firm. Solid in life and his decisions. But he wavered because of me. He…” Your voice faltered, and you swallowed hard, tears growing heavy before sliding down your cheeks. “Ezra, he had seizures. Sometimes for no reason. Other times because something was unbearable. We never knew when it would happen.”

Tommy’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t press you to continue, knowing you needed the space to speak freely.

“You know, even back then, I was like this. I loved secrets. I loved when others told me theirs, and I did the same then just as I am now,” you admitted. You opened your eyes and met his with a somber smile. “I used it for my benefit. I thought I didn't have anymore secrets to keep from Ezra, but I guess there was one.

"I found him on the floor." You shut your eyes again, your lip quivering as you struggled. "It happened again, another seizure. It was so… So violent. I tried to get help. They took him to the hospital, and when I tried to follow, Bingham was outside. Said he spoke to Ezra, but wouldn't tell me what it was about. The way he looked at me—fuck, Tommy—the way he looked at me with that fucking smile. He made me feel like whatever he said brought on the seizure, and if it was about me, then Ezra's death was on my hands."

Tommy rested his lips against your forehead, and he felt you tremble.

You inhaled sharply. The tears kept flowing, but you forced yourself to continue. "When Ezra's father came to me, he just told me to leave. Never show my face in London again. Said that a man named Alfred Bingham brought him disturbing information, and that he was paying me a courtesy because Ezra loved me."

You chuckled bitterly.

"So I left. I might have had another choice, but I couldn't find another way out."

“And then you came to Birmingham,” Tommy said, his voice soft but steady.

You looked at him, your eyes glistening but defiant. “Not at first. Bingham found me again soon after.”

The fire crackled in the silence that followed, the weight of your words slowly drifting in the air.

"He made sure I would think it was my fault." Your eyes became distant. You reached up to your neck, and your fingers stroked just below your chin. "And he made me pay for the burden of that guilt with my skin."

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

Tommy poured himself a glass of whiskey, his movements deliberate and slow, the weight of his thoughts pulling at him. Polly sat in an armchair across from him, her sharp eyes fixed as she waited for him to finally speak.

“Well?” Polly prompted, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “You said it was serious. So speak.”

Tommy leaned back, rolling the glass between his fingers as he stared into the amber liquid. For a moment, he seemed almost reluctant, a rare vulnerability in his normally stoic demeanor.

“I know who he is,” he said finally, his voice low and controlled. "The man in the photograph."

Polly raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. “Go on.”

“She had a man once,” Tommy began, setting the glass down. “Ezra. Young, from what I’ve pieced together. Picture-perfect sort of love—at least from the outside.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph the brothers had found, sliding it across the table to Polly.

She studied the image, her gaze softening for just a moment before she placed it back down. “And?”

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “He’s dead. And she blames herself.”

Polly frowned, leaning forward. “Blames herself how?”

“Bingham.” Tommy’s tone was bitter as he said the name, his hand curling into a fist. “He convinced her it was her fault. Told her that whatever happened to Ezra was because of her choices. Fed her guilt like poison until she believed every word.”

Polly sat back, exhaling sharply. “And was it her fault?”

“She doesn't know.” Tommy’s voice dropped, his frustration creeping into his tone. “She’s spent years living with the weight of it, not knowing if Bingham was right or if he was just using it to keep her under his thumb.”

Polly’s face hardened, her mind clearly working through the implications. “You're saying he’s not just going after her physically—he’s been in her head. For years.”

Tommy nodded, his fingers tapping against the arm of his chair. “It’s why she doesn’t let anyone close. Why she walked away that night, after…” He trailed off, his eyes flickering with a shadow of something unspoken.

Polly caught it, her lips pressing into a thin line. “My God, Tommy. How in deep are you?”

Tommy’s gaze snapped to hers, cold and sharp. “Deeper than I would usually care to.”

Polly tilted her head, studying him with a knowing look. “If you can't say you're in love with her now, then I'm afraid I've lost the point of all of this.”

Tommy didn’t answer, his jaw tightening as he looked away.

Polly sighed, leaning forward again. “Tommy, listen to me. Y/n isn't Grace. She doesn't just help you—she acts. She acts a little too much like you, and I know that's why you can't wrap your head around whatever it is that you feel for her. Most importantly, y/n seems to be the first woman in your life who is more than willing to prove you wrong without forcing you to change. She not only accepts you. She welcomes whatever darkness you might bring into her life because she's already in that world.

"If Bingham’s got her this twisted up over something she doesn’t even know the truth about, he’s not just a threat to her. He’s a threat to you. To all of us. If she starts doubting herself when it matters most, she could bring us all down.”

“I know that,” Tommy snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. He dragged a hand down his face, his frustration evident.

Polly softened, her sharp gaze turning more maternal. “It's about time you're honest with yourself as to why you're going through all this trouble for her, Tommy. Because if you don’t…” She trailed off, letting the weight of her words hang in the air.

Tommy stood, pacing toward the window. He looked out over the darkened grounds, his mind already turning over what needed to be done.

“If this is what it was supposed to feel like,” he said finally, his voice quieter but resolute. “I'm not so sure I ever really knew what it was.”

Polly rose, walking over to stand beside him. "What?"

"Being in love."

She placed her hand on his shoulder, masking the soft smile from his admission. “Just remember, Tom. You might think you’re protecting her, but some walls need to be broken before they can be rebuilt. And sometimes, people need more than a reason to fight. They need someone who gives a damn. She'll need more than a night in your bed to understand.”

Tommy’s expression didn’t change, but his silence spoke volumes.

Polly removed her hand and backed away towards the door, but he called her back with a truth more painful than he wanted to admit.

"He hurt her."

She stopped and turned to him. "How?"

The look in Tommy's eyes told Polly everything she needed to know.

She nodded softly just as the the sympathy of anger started to bubble in her chest. Polly held her head high, the face of maternal strength returning with her resolve.

"Then make sure the bastard gets what he deserves."

As Polly left the room, Tommy stayed where he was, the weight of her words settling over him. His thoughts drifted back to you. To the woman who had survived so much but carried a pain you refused to share. And to the flicker of something he’d seen in your eyes—a longing, buried deep, that mirrored his own.

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

Arcane Season 2's One Big Problem

Arcane should have been three seasons.

That, I think, lies at the core of the show's problems in season 2. While Season 1 was fast-paced, it felt right for what was happening. Season 2 is much like most of its characters, trying too hard to do too much all at once. If they had had a third season they could have tied up their plotlines in a more satisfying way.

Don't get me wrong, I love Season 2, but I can't ignore how much this pacing affects things. I can't ignore how the political drama is shunted aside in favor of introducing and resolving these wider fantastical elements which are just too much for a single season of television.

I understand why they did it this way. At the end of the day, Arcane is a fantasy action series first, a familial tragedy second, and a fantastical geo-political war drama last. That's why those first two elements are given narrative precedence over the last one, but it's hard to ignore how the broader problems with the world of Arcane go unresolved, especially when they are such a huge part of the story beforehand.

Arcane should have had three seasons. Season 2 should have been focused on the escalating war between Piltover and Zaun while the wider fantastical elements brew in the background. Season 2 should have focused on Piltover's gradual descent into wartime fascism and Zaun's more and more desperate and inhumane measures to fight back. With another season to breathe and give this focus, it could also mirror in the escalating conflict between Vi and Jinx.

And then, when those massive fantastical elements do explode into focus with Victor's cult becoming wildly known, it's could be all the more impressive and frightening, with these elements properly built up over an entire season.

The third season would then, of course, see the forces of Piltover and Zaun be forced to unite against Viktor and his glorious evolution. Maybe he has been taking the dead killed in the war and making them into his soldiers, and know the cast must face slain friends turned into living nightmares. Forcing a total breakdown of societal barriers in the name of survival as Viktor makes a play for Divinity.

I dunno. I think it might have been better

[syntheticavenger]

Let Him Loose (Preview)

As promised, here is a preview of what I am working on. A slow build to be sure but it's been a while since I posted something and I'm still working on closing up some fics but life has been extremely busy!

I'll also be responding to those in my inbox - I didn't forget you, I promise!

Dennis Baker x Female Reader

Word Count: 925

Warnings: None for now, just some world building.

-

He keeps his eyes on the road, lifting a shaky hand to bring the insulated mug to his lips, swallowing down a sip as an 80’s synth pop song plays faintly in the background. Dennis has always been a nervous sort but today he’s much worse for wear, talkative at first about his new promotion until the city became a distant past, the highway stretching longer than before, his silence almost unnerving. His fingers grip the steering wheel tight, a cheerful commercial breaking through as you strain to listen to it.

“Come on down to Delilah’s Discount Deals! Where there’s something for everyone,” the upbeat spokesperson invites before the music starts again.

Enough is enough.

Your boyfriend’s jaw is clenched so tight that you wonder if he’ll break a tooth, placing your hand on his over the gear shift as he looks down under his clear framed glasses.

“Hey,” you begin, seeing him smile for a scant second. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he answers, his eyes going back on the road. “Why?”

“Because you’ve barely said two words since we left?”

“Sorry. Just got a lot on my mind.”

His phone alerts with another incoming text message and then another before he exhales loudly.

“She won’t let up,” Dennis says forlornly. “I’m driving as fast as I can. Why they need me there before tomorrow is ridiculous, it’s not like we’re part of their plan.”

He accelerates slightly, your fingers pressing into the plush leather armrest as he begins to slow.

It’s not a secret that he doesn’t want to see his family for the holidays. He’s been putting it off for months – years even – but a promotion, even one that he had excitedly told his parents, had been a cause for a celebration that ended up becoming mandatory, by his family offering to host you both for the holiday, not taking no for an answer.

There’s not much you know about his family. Ever since you started dating, he’s been careful to navigate how he speaks about them to you. It wasn’t the best upbringing, that much you know as he’s shared that much. He grew up poor, bullied for his glasses and calm demeanor, ostracized for leaving the small town he grew up in for a scholarship for college and never looking back, let alone to visit. His parents, Dennis had told you, were proud people – proud of who they were and where they came from.

It was obvious that Dennis didn’t agree and knowing how stressed he was, it didn’t make sense for you to push the issue, not when you knew that topic is one he still tries to avoid.

“We don’t have to go,” you speak up, Dennis shaking his head slowly, eyes still on the road.

“That won’t go over well. Just better to get it over with.”

“Dennis,” you admonish, seeing him reach for his coffee again. “They’re your parents.”

“I know. They’re gonna love you, you know.”

As much of a comfort as that gives you, it’s the sadness in his voice that almost feels envious. Still, you don’t press, quietly looking at the window as the trees whizz past.

“You don’t seem excited.”

“I’m not,” he answers matter-of-factly, picking up his phone to glance at the text message before he places it back down, a look of dread appearing on his features.

“What is it?”

“My brother will be there.”

“Oh?” you ask, watching him take another gulp of coffee. “You haven’t seen him in a while, right? Sounds like a family reunion.”

“I wouldn’t call it that but sure.”

“What’s your brother like?” you ask, trying to get him to open up. Whatever the text message was, it didn’t please Dennis in the slightest, seeing him turn the phone face down in the cup holder.

“The favorite.”

“The favorite?” you repeat, Dennis still looking straight ahead, his fingers flexing slightly.

“Yeah.”

That’s all the response you will get, you realize, Dennis giving a short shrug. You know nothing about his brother, only that he has one, something muttered when you were first starting to date but the subject was dropped quickly.

“He’ll like you,” he says, almost bitterly. “You’ll like him too.”

“How do you know?”

You sound accusatory but you don’t mean it. Dennis seems so resolved that he’ll be cast aside that you find yourself getting defensive, as if he doesn’t believe you won’t be on his side.

“Because he’s the rugged type. I’ve seen the books you read,” Dennis chides with a slight smile that is gone before you can appreciate it. “He’s like that.”

“Books are books, they aren’t you,” you remind him, flashing him a smile. “Those books don’t have your self-deprecating jokes, your thoughtfulness and care. You know that.”

He smiles finally – a real smile with a flash of pearly white teeth – before he settles back into his seat.

“Just promise one thing,” Dennis says after a short pause, slowing to look at you for a moment. “Stay inside when it starts to get dark when we get there. Probably a silly superstition but it’s important. Promise?”

You want to make a joke but you know better, especially with how serious Dennis has become again. You’ll ask your questions later, when he’s not so agitated.

“I promise,” you recite.

“Good,” he says with a sigh of relief. “My family loves their traditions, Ari even more so. Let’s just ease you in slow so you don’t get overwhelmed.”

“Who is Ari?” you ask.

“My older brother.”

[the-au-thor]

ʙᴀʙʏꜱɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴜɴ | ᴘᴛ.14 | ᴇ.ᴍ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Summary: everything is coming up roses (not really)

Cynthia and Gareth get married. You look stunning, Mun's hot.

Everything is gonna explode in your faces.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fey!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Click here

[¹][²][³][⁴][⁵][⁶][⁷][⁸][⁹][¹⁰][¹¹][¹²][¹³][¹⁴][¹⁵]

You climbed the stairs of the massive château, carrying your high boots in hand, and walked down the hallway. Before you even opened the door, you called out Eddie's name, pushing it open and stepping inside. They were about to play the final dance of the night, and you weren’t about to waste it searching for him. He’d mentioned going to the bathroom about fifteen minutes ago.

You’d been with him long enough to know that even if Eddie was setting some kind of bathroom world record, he wouldn’t take this long. So, with a slight huff, you shoved the door open and entered the room. The lamps on the bedside tables were on, casting a soft light across the space. That’s when you saw him, sitting on the bed, his profile illuminated.

He was hunched forward, elbows resting on his thighs, his hands holding his trusty notebook open.

“What…?” you murmured, catching your breath with a half-smile. “What are you doing with my notebook, Munson?” you asked, your voice teasing but tinged with reproach.

Eddie lifted his face to look at you, his expression fractured by a furrowed brow. There was something there—a mix of worry and maybe even disapproval.

“Your notebook fell on the floor,” he explained, pulling a card from the open pages. You recognized it instantly; Will had given it to you in Glastonbury after offering you that job. You’d tucked it into the notebook, trying not to stress about a decision you already knew, deep down, that you’d made but hadn’t been ready to face.

“Fey,” he said, his voice heavy, “I need to know why you’ve got Will Walsh’s number tucked away in here.”

You swallowed hard, bracing yourself. This was the start of a tough conversation, and a wedding wasn’t exactly the perfect setting for discussing your future with your partner. Everything had been going so smoothly—of course, something like this would come up now.

You’d arrived in France a few days ago, and right after the second concert in Paris, everyone traveled to Château du Rivau. A place originally built as a medieval fortress, steeped in history—literally—from the Hundred Years' War onward. It was almost spiritual, as Cynthia had put it, to add this union to the château’s storied past.

“Not that you can compare a rock star’s wedding to Joan of Arc’s cavalry,” Robin had whispered in your ear, “but I get her point.”

Robin, Steve, and Vickie had arrived to Paris with you. The rest of the psrty would arrived to the Wedding. Eddie, being the amazing friend he was, had ignored their protests and insisted on covering the best suite and all the meals and parties for them. Steve had even reconnected with an old friend working as a chef at one of the restaurants they visited. Robin assured you that this one was strictly a friend, which somehow made the whole thing even more romantic. Everything was still fresh, but Robin was convinced this could lead somewhere meaningful.

“This place, Fey… have you seen it?” Eddie had murmured, collapsing onto the bed you’d share for the week. “I could write an entire album here. Just give me a pencil, a tape recorder, and lock me in with you.”

He’d reached out, gently tugging you down beside him.

You’d followed naturally, curling up almost on top of him, resting your head on his chest and listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You’re writing in the middle of a huge tour,” you reminded him, tracing slow, idle patterns along his side. Your hand skimmed over the fabric of his Judas Priest shirt, your fingers occasionally catching on the faint ridges of old scars beneath.

“These days are for Garret and Cynthia,” you added softly, not looking up. “Maybe take a little break?”

The rooms in the château were limited. The new owners, who’d taken over in 1992, were still restoring parts of the property, leaving some wings unavailable for guests. That meant sharing rooms was a necessity. The group didn’t mind; they’d once all crammed into Mike’s basement, and nothing could ever be worse than that.

Eddie had kissed the back of your neck in silent acknowledgment before eventually drifting off to sleep. You’d pressed a kiss to his cheek, easing out of bed with practiced care not to wake him.

You wandered through the château’s winding halls until you reached the rear gardens. The courtyard had been restored, and a few gardeners were tending the trees and flowerbeds, giving the space a refreshed glow.

You hugged yourself, taking in the view until Robin’s voice interrupted your reverie. She and Vickie approached, arms wrapped around each other, both smiling as they studied you.

“What?” you asked, noticing the curiosity sparkling in their eyes.

"You look worried. Didn’t Cynthia hire a wedding planner?" Vickie asked, her tone genuinely concerned.

Robin let out a sigh.

"Don’t tell me she roped you into organizing everything?"

You laughed, relaxing your arms.

"Oh, she tried," you said with a half-smile. "But I’m pretty sure I found her a solid planner who’s going to handle all her requests."

Robin let go of Vickie, tilting her head at you.

"Then why do you look like someone peed in your cereal?"

You saw Vickie try to elbow her, but it didn’t seem to faze Robin at all. The two of them stared at you, their curiosity piercing. You hesitated for a few seconds before finally speaking.

"You two work in the music industry, right?" you asked, scratching at your scalp.

"Yeah, well, I’m in music production," Robin started, "and Vickie handles all the boring stuff."

Vickie crossed her arms, her mouth tightening into a silent growl.

"Legal. I handle all the legal stuff," she corrected while Robin nodded and gestured like, Yeah, I said that.

You took a moment, looking down at the ground before meeting their eyes again. "Good enough for me," you admitted, starting to pace. A step here, a step there. "And I’m trusting in the concept of confidentiality—especially from…" you pointed briefly at Vickie, who nodded in understanding.

Stopping in front of them, hands still on your hips, you exhaled sharply. Then, with a slight pout, you finally said it:

"About a month ago, Will Walsh came up to me at Glastonbury…"

Robin’s grin spread like wildfire, sharp and knowing.

"I see you remember that, Robin," you said dryly.

"Of course I do," she shot back, like it was obvious.

"He told me he’s leaving his brother."

Vickie gasped, placing a hand on Robin’s shoulder as if that single motion could communicate a flood of emotion.

"Oh my God," she said first. "Robs…"

"It’s happening," Robin said, nodding, just as shocked. "He’s leaving that jackass!" She spoke with such conviction, closing her eyes like she was savoring the thought.

"The musical balance is finally going to be restored," Vickie said with a smile.

Okay, so clearly they were fans of The Lull, but like the rest of the world, not fans of Freddie Walsh.

"So… back to my story," you teased, amused by their reactions. "Will made me a not-so-tiny offer to become his…"

"MANAGER! YOU’RE GOING TO BE HIS FREAKING MANAGER!" Robin screamed, jumping up and down.

Your eyes widened in panic as you looked around, rushing to cover her mouth. "Vickie, what part of confidentiality did she…? Oh, crap, do these walls echo, or what?"

Vickie massaged Robin’s shoulder casually, smiling.

"Give her a second," she said with a shrug. "It’s the excitement. She has to let it out, or she’ll get migraines, you know?"

Sure enough, Robin’s volume eventually lowered to a more manageable level.

"Muh-muf-tajk-it," she mumbled against your hand. You let go."Take it. Take the job. What are you even talking about? It’s your dream!" Robin exclaimed insistently. "What’s the problem?"

"The problem…" you murmured, looking between them, meeting their eyes in turn. "…is that I haven’t told Eddie. And Will’s business card has been burning a hole in my notebook—and my conscience—for weeks. Eddie keeps asking why I haven’t signed Robert’s new contract, and I haven’t found the right time to tell him. It never feels like the right time."

The three of you fell silent. Robin seemed to be deep in thought, mulling over the best way to respond. Vickie, however, was already smiling, her opinion at the ready.

"Oh, honey," Vickie started gently, "there’s no such thing as the right time. You have to make the time."

Robin nodded. "And it’s not like you’re telling him you’re breaking up with him or that you’ve…"

"I don’t know, caught a rare and deadly disease," Vickie finished, placing her hand over yours. "Sure, it might be a little weird for him at first. Eddie’s pretty competitive when it comes to your…"

"Attention," Robin interjected, clearly finding the right word before Vickie could.

"Yes! Attention. Exactly," Vickie agreed. "And yeah, it might feel a little strange, but if there’s anyone who’s ready to be your biggest fan and see you shine, it’s Eddie. Remember how he reacted at Steve’s party?"

"He was so mad about underestimating your talent and how Robert was overworking you," Robin recalled with a smirk. "He’ll be fine. You just need to tell him."

You nodded, absorbing their advice, and reached a conclusion.

"Maybe not during the wedding, though…"

They nodded in unison.

"Definitely not during the wedding," they agreed.

You smiled. "I’ll tell him after, then. Right? It’s not crazy to say yes to this. Is it?"

"It’s not crazy," Vickie reassured you.

"And I’m not leaving Eddie. I’m just working for someone else, and he’ll understand."

Robin scoffed. "Eddie? Of course."

That evening, dinner was served in an enormous dining hall that had been recently renovated. It was almost too ostentatious—tall ceilings with elaborate frescoes, chandeliers that looked like they belonged in a museum—but you knew it would make for a great story someday, the kind you'd laugh about with friends: "Remember when we had dinner in that over-the-top château?"

The band had asked you to hire cooks for the days they'd be staying, and the château's owners had recommended staff who could help with anything you might need. The meal was lavish, course after course arriving as the sound of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter filled the room.

As you ate, you caught Dustin watching you from across the table. His expression was thoughtful, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

When Eddie leaned over and offered you a taste of his dessert, you didn’t hesitate. You took a small bite from his spoon, then instinctively reached out with a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth. He smiled at you, that genuine, easy smile that lit up his face in a way that still caught you off guard sometimes.

“That,” Dustin said, breaking the moment but not the warmth of it, “is exactly what I was talking about that night by the lake.” His tone was soft, a quiet reflection. “Seeing him like this? It makes me happy. Makes sense, you know?”

Eddie chuckled softly, brushing off Dustin’s sentimental tone, but his hand found yours under the table, squeezing it just enough to make you feel what words couldn’t say.

The sounds of the wedding preparations echoed outside. You and the rest of the girls had gathered in Nancy and Jonathan’s room to get ready. Cynthia had been sweet enough to hire a stylist for herself, her bridesmaids, and all of you, even though she didn’t have to.

As you got dressed and had your makeup done, the girls talked about their dream weddings. Some of them saw it as a distant future; others, like Suzie, felt it was just around the corner—literally. You listened, amused, as they debated everything from family life to the ideal number of kids. Nancy wanted one, citing her career and the importance of giving a child quality attention. Suzie agreed but for simpler reasons; she’d grown up surrounded by siblings and craved personal space.

Robin and Vickie wanted “a ton,” laughing about a rainbow of kids from all walks of life.

You felt a bit out of place in the conversation. You hadn’t thought much about love, let alone a family. But for a moment—just a fleeting second—you pictured yourself in that kind of life.

The revelation hit like a gut punch, leaving you feeling both heavy and hollow. Was it the wedding atmosphere? Or the way Eddie’s face came so vividly to mind in that fleeting fantasy? Whatever it was, it terrified you.

The girls left the room one by one, their black dresses trailing behind them as they headed outside. The groomsmen were supposed to be wearing white, except for Gareth and Cynthia, who stuck to traditional attire.

As you stepped out of the room, you didn’t expect to find Eddie waiting for you.

He was dressed in white too, though his shirt was unbuttoned at the top, and his bow tie hung loose around his neck, giving him that effortlessly cool but maddeningly attractive vibe. His hair had been tied into a neat bun, styled just enough to look intentional while still keeping his edge.

The chain with the ring he always wore dangled from his neck, and his fingers were adorned with his usual array of oversized rings—including the one you’d given him in Denmark.

Your mouth opened, words tumbling out before you could stop them.

"What? Trying to outshine the groom?" you teased, not bothering to hide the fact that you were really looking at him—from his boots to his perfectly tousled hair.

But Eddie stayed quiet, doing the same to you.

It felt like his gaze burned wherever it landed, starting with your black platform boots and slowly trailing up to your exposed shoulders.

You laughed nervously. "What?" you asked again, as if the word could shield you from the intensity of his stare.

Eddie wasn’t going to let it slide. Leaning against the stone wall of the castle’s west wing, he let out an incredulous laugh and shook his head.

“Jesus Christ, Fey,” he muttered, disbelief dripping from his tone. “God…” His eyes lifted to the ceiling, as if pleading to the heavens instead of addressing you. Slowly, his gaze dropped again—fixing on you, then on the gift he’d given you, now draped perfectly on your figure.

“Hurricanes are gonna get their names from you,” he said, dragging his fingers over his mouth like he needed to stop himself from saying more. His eyes burned with an intensity that made your skin prickle as if he were physically touching you.

For a few seconds, silence stretched between you, heavy and electric. Then, as if he couldn’t bear it any longer, Eddie crossed the space and cupped your face, pulling you into a kiss.

You surrendered without hesitation, your body leaning into his like it was second nature. Only when your breath faltered did you manage to break away, gasping for air. Eddie didn’t seem to care. While you caught your breath, his lips continued their exploration—trailing kisses across your jaw and cheek, as if no inch of you could go unacknowledged.

“Munson…” you murmured, his lips dipping to your neck, setting off a rush of warmth that pooled in your core.

This. Wasn’t. Normal.

“Mmm?”

“Mun…” you laughed softly when he kissed the center of your chest, just above the edge of your black dress. His hands pressed into your lower back, pulling you against the cold stone.

“What the hell—” you managed, breathless, as his lips continued their downward path, dangerously close to challenging the fabric separating him from his goal.

“Fey,” he murmured against your skin, his lips returning to your neck like it was home. “Gareth doesn’t need me.”

“You’re his best man,” you reminded him, your voice tinged with both amusement and exasperation.

“He’ll forgive me.—Eventually,” Eddie replied, voice low, his hold on you unyielding.

“Babe, this is one of your best friends’ weddings. It can wait.”

“No, no, no,” he protested, shaking his head. “Fey, this moment—this—is going to slip away, and I can’t let that happen. Not now. Not like this.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze urgent, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“This damn dress. Oh, God,” he groaned, glancing up at the ceiling again like it might save him. “How the hell did I not think this through? You can’t wear that dress and look at me like that. Fey, how do you expect me to stand next to Gareth all night knowing you’re out here looking like trouble?”

You laughed, but it wasn’t all at him. His frustration mirrored your own, though he didn’t seem to realize how much of it you shared.

“It’s not going to slip away,” you reassured him, cupping his face and kissing him softly. “We’ll pick this up later, right where we left off.”

He seemed to understand then, the tension in his frame softening slightly. In the quiet corridor, Eddie pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead—a gesture so reverent it felt like a signature on invisible promises.

With a heavy sigh, he nodded, taking your hand firmly in his. When he finally let you go, it was with clear reluctance. You watched as he returned to the hall, positioning himself beside Big Rock and Jeff, ready to fulfill his role.

The Château stood like a timeless gem in the French countryside, its stone walls bathed in the soft glow of late afternoon sunlight. A long gravel path lined with meticulously trimmed hedges led to the grand entrance, where guests were already gathering. The theme was strikingly unconventional yet undeniably sophisticated—men dressed in pristine white suits, save for Gareth, who stood out in a classic black tuxedo. Women, draped in flowing black gowns of silk and velvet, created an ethereal contrast. Cynthia, radiant and otherworldly, was the exception among them.

Her blonde hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the golden light. Her gown was a dream of white lace and satin, tailored to perfection. The neckline dipped tastefully, and the train swept gracefully behind her as she walked, a vision of timeless elegance. In her hands, she carried a bouquet of pale orchids and roses, a touch of white amidst the dark palette.

The ceremony took place in the château’s rose garden, framed by rows of perfectly pruned hedges and trellises heavy with climbing roses. A soft string quartet played in the background, their music weaving through the gentle murmur of the guests. Garret, standing at the altar beneath a wrought-iron arch adorned with white roses and greenery, could barely hide the emotion in his eyes as Cynthia approached.

The reception was held in the grand ballroom, its walls adorned with intricate carvings and chandeliers dripping with crystal. Long tables covered in white linen and accented with black centerpieces—candles, delicate vases filled with lilies—gave the room a timeless, cinematic charm. Champagne flowed freely as friends and family toasted the couple, their laughter filling the air.

The black-and-white theme extended to every detail—the towering wedding cake was a stunning black fondant masterpiece, adorned with white sugar flowers, and even the dance floor was a checkered marble expanse. As the evening deepened, Cynthia and Garret shared their first dance beneath the glittering chandeliers, their silhouettes perfect contrasts against the black-and-white backdrop.

It was a wedding for the ages, unforgettable in its bold elegance and the palpable love that filled every corner of the château.

Eddie’s eyes were on you throughout the entire ceremony—those deep brown eyes locked on yours, intense, as if silently repeating the promise you’d made to each other earlier. You felt it low in your stomach, a warmth building with every glance. There was no way you’d make it through the night without Eddie’s hands on every inch of you. You knew it. You felt it. And at this point, you didn’t care—you wanted it. That desire felt amazing, not obscene or easy to dismiss, and you both seemed to agree. You prolonged the feeling as much as possible: through dinner, the toasts, the cake, and the dance floor.

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” Eddie announced, his breath warm against your neck as he pulled his hands away from your waist.

“Come on, Munson!” Steve groaned from his spot on the dance floor, arms wrapped around her famous friend you’d barely had the chance to greet before the ceremony started.

“I’ll be back,” Eddie called over the music, leaning in to kiss you quickly before walking away.

Max and Jane pulled you to the dance floor, urging you to join them. You’d kicked off your platform boots, dancing barefoot now, the cool tiles grounding you as you twirled and swayed. You barely felt your feet, but you wouldn’t stop until the celebration officially ended and everyone had retired to their rooms. Two more songs passed, and Eddie still hadn’t returned. A flicker of worry crept in—you imagined him a little too drunk, lost somewhere in the château’s half-renovated wing, buried under scaffolding and rubble.

When you finally found him, of course, it wasn’t at all what you’d expected. That conversation you’d planned to have after the wedding? It had come early.

You didnt' plan to throw it at him like this. Not in the quiet tension of that room in that dark and big castle. Not in the middle of a wedding.

“Feywild,” Eddie’s voice cut through your thoughts like a jagged blade, pulling you back into the present. You turned toward him, only to meet the weight of his accusing glare. In his hand was Will Walsh’s business card, the number you’d tucked away scrawled across the back like a secret exposed. “Why the hell do you have Will’s personal number in your planner?”

The air between you felt electric, suffocating. You frowned, struggling to suppress the unease crawling up your spine.

“Sounds like you think I shouldn’t,” you murmured, stepping closer. The ache in your chest deepened as you kicked off your black boots, their heavy thud lost in the charged silence. Reaching for the planner in his hands, you tried to keep your voice steady. “What is this, some kind of rule now?”

His eyes didn’t soften—if anything, they darkened, sharp as broken glass. “You know that’s not what I’m asking, Fey,” he said tightly, his jaw twitching with the effort to hold himself together. “I just... I thought you said you weren’t taking that offer, that Freddie was a walking disaster. So why the fuck keep Will’s number if you’re not planning to take the job?”

You felt your pulse quicken as his words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken accusations. Your tongue darted over your dry lips, a nervous reflex, and you reached out to pluck the card from his grasp. It felt flimsy in your fingers, weightless compared to the storm brewing in the room.

“I wasn’t gonna talk about this until after the wedding,” you admitted softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your voice wavered, and you hated the vulnerability it betrayed. “Will’s leaving his brother to go solo, and he—he offered…”

“You’re leaving me for Will Walsh?” Eddie’s voice cracked, and for a fleeting moment, the sharp edge of anger faltered, replaced by something raw and pained. It hit you like a punch to the gut.

“Are you joking? No,” you said quickly, though your heart clenched at the disbelief etched across his face. “I’m not leaving you. I meant the job—he asked me to be his manager.”

The words hung in the air, but they didn’t seem to reach him. His jaw tightened, and his gaze flickered away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “And when exactly did you decide this?”

The question felt like a blade, twisting. You could feel the weight of his disappointment, the unspoken hurt laced into every syllable. It wasn’t fair. His gaze, searching and relentless, bore into you, and you felt a flush of heat rise to your face.

“I haven’t decided anything yet,” you replied carefully. “I’ve been weighing the pros and cons, that’s all.”

Eddie let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp enough to make your chest ache. “Nah, Fey. You decided the second he gave you the offer. Otherwise, why haven’t you signed the contract Robert sent you? Huh?”

The question came like a slap, and for a moment, you just stared at him, stunned. Blinking rapidly, you felt the sting of unshed tears. “I haven’t signed anything because I’m still figuring things out! Why would I sign something if I’m not sure yet?”

“How long has this been on the table?” he pressed, his tone sharp enough to cut. There was a challenge in his voice, a dare for you to lie. But you didn’t.

You sucked in a breath, the admission sticking in your throat. “Since Glastonbury,” you finally confessed, your voice barely audible.

Eddie’s laugh was humorless, his smile a mere shadow of something real. “Since fucking Glastonbury?” he repeated, and the hurt in his voice was unmistakable. “And you couldn’t find a single damn moment to tell me? Why the hell did you hide it, Fey?”

Your heart twisted painfully at the look in his eyes—an agonizing blend of betrayal and disbelief. “Because I knew you’d react like this!” you shot back, the words escaping before you could stop them.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m betraying you!”

Eddie’s hand shot out to point at your planner, his voice rising with every word.

“And keeping it from me isn’t betrayal?” he snapped. “Will Walsh, Fey. Will freaking Walsh.”

“I thought the problem was Freddie, not Will,” you countered, your own voice beginning to rise.

“It’s all the same!” Eddie shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of his anger. “You’re leaving me for Will Walsh.”

The accusation sent a wave of frustration surging through you, and you rolled your eyes, the motion as sharp and deliberate as your words. “So this isn’t about when I chose to tell you, is it? It’s about me working for someone else.” Your voice trembled with the effort to keep your emotions in check, but there was no mistaking the bite behind your words. “See? I knew it. This is exactly why I said we needed to keep work and our relationship separate—to avoid this. And now, you’re being completely fucking unfair.”

“Unfair?” Eddie barked out a bitter laugh, the sound so cold it sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes burned with something darker now—something dangerous.

“Yes, unfair!” you shot back, your frustration spilling over. “You were the one who got drunk at that party and told me I deserved more than this job. So why is it, the moment I get an opportunity that matches my skills, you take it so personally?” You crossed your arms, a defiant gesture, as your voice rose in pitch and intensity. “What is it, Eddie? Do you actually want me here because you love me, or because you’re so used to me saving your ass you don’t know how to live without it?”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, Eddie just stared at you, his lips parted like he wanted to respond but couldn’t find the words. His silence only stoked the fire inside you.

“Fey, I’m warning you. Don’t start throwing accusations at me—”

“No, no. Don’t you dare turn this around on me,” you cut him off, your anger surging like a tidal wave. “You’re the one who started with the accusations. I get it, maybe I should’ve told you sooner, but your reaction is so completely over the top. I’m not fucking leaving you, Eddie! I promised I wouldn’t, and I’m not. I’m just changing jobs. Is that really so goddamn horrible?”

“Yeah, it is,” he shot back, his voice trembling with emotion. His hand gripped the back of a chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Will’s going solo. He’s gonna be neck-deep in backlash from his brother’s fans, and you think you’ll have time for a relationship? You’ll be launching your career just like he’s launching his.”

“And what?” you challenged, stepping closer. “I’m supposed to give up on my dreams because you’re scared we won’t spend enough time together? Your tour ends in a couple of months. We’ll make it work. We’ll adapt.”

Eddie started shaking his head before you even finished, his curls bouncing with the movement. His disbelief was almost palpable, and it was like you’d been stabbed.

“For fuck’s sake, Munson!” you burst out, throwing your hands in the air. “Do you even realize how happy it makes me to see you succeeding? So why the hell can’t I expect the same from you? I don’t want to walk behind you, Eddie. I want to walk beside you. Can’t you see that?”

For a moment, his gaze dropped to the floor, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but heavy, weighted with resignation. “You won’t be walking beside me, Fey. You’ll be walking away. You’re leaving.”

You let out a hollow, bitter laugh, the sound echoing in the small space. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut—he wasn’t speaking as your boyfriend anymore. This was your boss talking now.

“I can train someone else,” you offered, though the words tasted sour on your tongue.

“Not in the middle of a world tour! Are you insane? Do you really think anyone could fill your fucking shoes?”

You shook your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “I was hired because you couldn’t stay out of trouble. But since we landed in Europe, you’ve been focused. No incidents, no drama. You don’t need me, Eddie. Not anymore.”

He stared at you, and in that moment, the raw hurt in his eyes nearly undid you. “You always wanted to leave, didn’t you?” he said quietly, his voice shaking with barely contained emotion. “Admit it. You’ve had one foot out the door since the moment you realized your heart was involved.”

The accusation hit like a slap, and you felt your chest tighten as you fought back the tears welling in your eyes. “And what about you, Munson?” you shot back, your voice breaking. “You’re so scared of being abandoned that you can’t love me the way I deserve. You’re so wrapped up in your own feelings, you don’t even see mine. What am I to you, Eddie? Your safety net? Your little fairy, flitting around to make your life easier?”

“Fey…” His voice cracked, and you saw the tears in his eyes, but they weren’t sadness—they were fury, a storm you weren’t sure either of you could weather.

“Don’t call me that,” you whispered, stepping back as he reached for you. The distance felt unbearable, but you couldn’t let him close the gap—not this time.

“Don’t go, Fey,” he pleaded, his voice breaking.

Your chin trembled, and for a moment, you hated how fragile you felt under his gaze. “This was a mistake. We were never ready for this. You need me more than you love me, and I love you more than I need you.” Your fingers brushed over his as you took his hand from your face, the cool metal of his rings grounding you for a fleeting second. “I quit, Munson,” you said firmly. “And this... us... it’s over. We don’t know how to make this work, and if we keep trying, we’ll destroy each other.”

“You’re fucking running away, Feywild,” he accused, his voice raw with desperation.

You nodded, tears finally spilling over as your heart shattered. “Yeah. And you’re scared, Eddie. We’re both just doing what we have to to survive.”